Sad Wind From the Sea - Jack Higgins [30]
The beach was reached by a series of stone steps that zigzagged in a haphazard, lazy sort of way across the face of the cliff. Hagen was sweating when they reached the bottom. They walked along the jetty, the heat from the stones striking up through the soles of their shoes, and as they neared the boat they could hear a muffled banging. 'These stones are almost red-hot,' Rose said.
He nodded. 'Yes, and be careful not to touch any metal when you get on the boat. You'll probably burn yourself.'
They dropped down on to the deck and Hagen led the way into the wheelhouse. Everything seemed in perfect order and he ran his fingers over the brass-mounted compass with deep and conscious pleasure. The windows were grimy and smeared and, as he picked up a rag and wiped them, Rose chuckled deep down in her throat. He suddenly felt awkward and she smiled and touched his arm impulsively. 'I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun. It's just that you make it so obvious how much you think of this boat.'
He grinned. 'I know, I'm like a fussy old woman.' He led the way out on to the deck again and said, 'You'd better meet O'Hara.'
She followed him down the short steel ladder that led into the cramped, stifling engine-room. It was so hot that sweat suddenly poured from his face in tiny rivulets and he turned to her and pointed upwards. Rose, who was already looking faint, clambered back on deck.
The noise was deafening and he could see O'Hara in a corner banging a cylinder casing back into position with a heavy hammer. Hagen touched him on the shoulder and O'Hara turned and smiled and stopped banging. The reverberations died away. 'So you got here at last.' He was wearing only a greasy pair of shorts and a sweat rag.
'What shape is she in?' Hagen asked.
'Perfect, lad. Just a few odd jobs and she'll be ready for anything. The tanks are brimfull. Charlie saw to that.'
Hagen patted him on the shoulder. 'Good man! I knew I could depend on you. Now come on deck and meet the girl.'
They found Rose sitting on a coil of rope fanning herself with Hagen's panama. He introduced her to O'Hara and the old man's eyes gleamed approval. 'It's the first time I've known this one here to show any taste at all,' he told Rose and she glanced at Hagen and smiled.
They sat down on the deck, their backs resting against the bulkhead, and Rose and Hagen smoked cigarettes and O'Hara his foul old pipe. They didn't talk about the trip or the sea. In fact, their conversation seemed to touch on nothing connected with the Orient at all. O'Hara reminisced about his boyhood in Ireland, about the fishing and of going out with a gun in the early morning, and Hagen found himself remembering his early years in Maine and Connecticut. Summers sailing with the fishermen off Cape Cod and the excitement of returning home to a New England white Christmas. It was a lazy, happy sort of conversation of the kind one only has in the company of good friends. The talk ebbed and flowed like the tide and occasionally there were short periods of silence and these periods were more marked because of the stillness of the hot afternoon when the sea was like a mirror - still and resting in the heat.
It was during such a period of silence that it occurred to Hagen that he had not fully explained the situation to O'Hara. It was only by good fortune that the journey ahead of them and the eventual disposal of the gold had not been mentioned. He stretched himself lazily and said, 'I think we'd better have a look at that cylinder casing.'
O'Hara looked at him in surprise and then he nodded. 'All right, lad.'
Hagen told the girl to stay on deck and she nodded sleepily and stretched out in the slight shadow of the bulwark and he and O'Hara went below. Going into the engine-room was like diving into a pool of water. The heat was so tremendous that he had to make a distinct physical effort to force a passage through. He stripped off his shirt and squeezed into the narrow space beside the engine and began to screw the casing into place. O'Hara held it steady