Who Pays the Ferryman Read online

  WHO PAYS THE FERRYMAN?

  Michael J. Bird

  Copyright © 1977 by Michael J. Bird

  First published in Great Britain by

  W.H. Allen & Co. Ltd., 1977

  WHO PAYS THE FERRYMAN?

  Haldane knew he was staring but there was nothing he could do about it. There was such an air of unreality about this encounter, about her, about his reaction to her. It was almost as if this were some kind of magic moment; predestined and to be lingered over. And she did nothing to break the spell. Her eyes were on his. But then suddenly her frown deepened as though she were discomforted by his gaze and her own thoughts.

  'What is it?' she asked.

  ‘You remind me of someone,' he said and as he did so he felt certain that had to be the answer. But who?

  She studied him. 'Are you lost?'

  'In a way,' Haldane replied quietly.

  The woman hesitated, but only for a second. And then she smiled gently and she was even more beautiful.

  ‘You will take a glass of wine?' she asked.

  He nodded, accepting the inevitability of the invitation; only now without question.

  He crossed to the steps and began to climb them. And, as he did so, he was obsessed with the certainty that life had, at that moment, taken on a new beginning for him.

  When Zeus ruled the universe and Hera was his consort and all men were the playthings of the Gods. Charon ferried the dead across the river Styx to the Underworld and the Elysian Fields beyond.

  And for this service Charon demanded payment.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It had been drizzling when he had driven into the boatyard past the two men taking down the sign, HALDANE MARINE LIMITED. Now it began to rain heavily. Alan Haldane pulled up the collar of his coat and then, once again, ran his fingers over the recently varnished hull of the boat cradled in the slipway and remembered. It had rained on the day Ruth had been killed. And it had rained throughout the funeral too.

  It had been difficult enough then, watching the coffin lowered into the grave. How do you say goodbye to anyone, to anything, to anywhere that has been a part of your life for so many years? But today, standing alongside the last Sea Rover to be launched from the yard, it was worse for him. Haldane felt it and did not even try to deny it. On this cold, wet January day his sorrow and his sense of loss were greater than they had been on that cold, wet January day six years earlier when he had buried his wife.

  Momentarily he felt ashamed. but only momentarily. He shrugged, dismissing the twinge of guilt and retaining nothing more than a vague regret. There was no point in pretending. In twenty years of marriage the one thing Haldane had never doubted was his feelings towards the many boats which he had seen built to his designs; he had loved them all.

  Frowning, he once more gazed along the sleek lines of the yacht in the slipway, and then he turned, walked across to his car, got into it, started the engine and drove slowly away. He did not look back.

  Just inside the entrance to the boatyard the two workmen were sheltering in the doorway of the gatehouse with the sign they had removed leaning against the wall alongside them. Haldane did not even glance at them.

  He swung the car onto the road and accelerated up the hill towards the grey, wet town which Woolworthed and Kentucky Chickened the head of the estuary.

  His house stood, detached and desirable, beyond the western straggle of bungalows and isolated from the last of them by three miles of open countryside. By the time he reached it and pulled into the drive his clothes were beginning to steam in the fan blasted warmth from the car's heater.

  Haldane let himself into the house, took off his overcoat and dropped it on to a chair in the hall. As he did so he caught a glimpse of himself in the long mirror hanging on the wall beside the chair. He scowled. The fact that middle-age had brought with it no thickening of his waistline, no heavying jowls, only a rugged tracery of lines to his face and a hint of grey to his hair which, if anything, were an improvement on his youthful good looks, was little consolation at that moment. He crossed the hallway to his study.

  As he pushed open the door his feeling of depression lifted a little. The rest of the house had always been Ruth's, the furnishings and decorations reflecting her taste much more than his and he had never really felt at home in any other room but this one. The study was his, inviolate to any whims brought on by the Sunday supplements or advertisements in Country Life; a bulwark of individuality against the tides of fashion and the dictates of good investment. Here, sitting either at the draughtsman's table by the window with its view of the front garden or behind the large, mahogany, Victorian desk, Haldane had known the deep satisfaction of hard work well done. Here, in the comfort of the scarred, leather armchair drawn up to the open fire, alone, surrounded by his books and the litter of his personality and listening to his favourite music, he had known the absolute peace of mind and of spirit which elsewhere in the house had somehow always eluded him.

  Haldane closed the door, moved over to the fire and threw another log on to it. Then he took his pipe from his pocket, filled it and lit it with a taper which he took from a bowl on the mantle shelf and held in the flames in the grate.

  As he was replacing the taper, Ruth, blonde, attractive, trim figured and forty-five, smiled at him from the framed photograph on the mantelpiece. Haldane winced. But it was the model on the shelf in the alcove alongside the fireplace which did most to totally depress him once more. It was a beautifully crafted replica of a Sea Rover, complete in every detail, under sail and mounted on a stand. Haldane picked up the model and read the inscription on the silver plaque attached to the base of the stand, needlessly because he knew it by heart. Presented to Alan Haldane on the 7th May 1976 to mark the occasion of the sale of the five hundredth Sea Rover and as a token of the admiration, affection and esteem in which he is held by the staff and his fellow directors of Haldane Marine Limited.

  Still staring at the model, Haldane weighed it in his hand, as if to put a price on it. He sighed. And then, shaking his head and smiling a faint and bitter smile, he put the boat back on the shelf.

  An hour later when he heard his brother's car pulls up outside the house he was a long way away and in another time. And he had seen Melina again.

  Haldane had come across the photograph album in a drawer in his desk while searching for an old address book. He had intended to check on the name of a hotel in the Austrian Tyrol once recommended by a friend and which he had noted down but now forgotten. The album was in the bottom of the drawer lying under the case which contained his Distinguished Conduct Medal. He had not looked through it for years and, on a sudden impulse he had taken it out of the drawer sat down at his desk and opened it.

  The first photographs, neatly mounted, had all been taken during his basic infantry training; a gallery of faces to many of which, to his surprise, he could no longer give a name. And there he was, in an ill-fitting uniform, holding a rifle and trying to look like a soldier. And, in another snap, posing on a football pitch with his arms around the shoulders of his best friends of the moment, both-soon to die; one in the Western Desert, the other on the beaches of Normandy.

  My God, he thought, was I ever that young? Were any of us? And then he had turned the page. More snapshots, on and off duty; drinking beer, learning to kill and clutching giggling, teasing girls. And then, pressed like wild flowers between official photographs of the Lofoten Islands raid of 1941, a commando shoulder flash and a faded set of sergeant's stripes.

  Brushing aside the shoulder flash and the chevrons, Haldane had studied the battle-blackened face which had been his thirty-six years ago, gazed into his eyes and saw again and remembered how quickly and how brutally the adolescent on the footbal
l pitch had grown into a man.

  Egypt next; in shorts, bare-chested on a beach somewhere, riding a camel, outside a mosque and trying it on with other girls and laughing.

  And after Egypt, nothing, just blank, grey pages. No glossy, monochrome records of the landing in Crete or of the hell of the straggling retreat and the bloody hand-to hand rearguard actions. And no pictures taken during the years he had spent on the island with the Andarte. But then the partisans and those who had fought with them had tended to be camera shy. And with good reason. So no photographs, only the sights and sounds of memory which had come flooding back to him as he sat there at his desk for so long, lost in thought. Then he sighed deeply. So much and so many remembered, so much and so many forgotten.

  It was as he was closing the album, the empty pages flicking through his fingers, that he had found the loose photograph tucked in between two of them. He had reacted to it with a start and a faint stab of pain. He'd taken the picture out and studied it. Why had he kept it, he asked himself, why? But then that was a bloody silly question, he thought. He knew why. The girl smiling up at him from the old snapshot was Melina. And whatever else Haldane might have forgotten he would always remember her.

  The doorbell rang. Haldane slipped the photograph of Melina, face down, under a corner of the leather desk blotter, stood up and crossed the room.

  David Haldane smiled nervously as his brother opened the front door. Although two years younger than Alan, with his plump body, thinning hair and stooped shoulders, he looked the older of the two men.

  'Hello, Alan,' he said quietly.

  Haldane nodded to him but did not return his smile.

  Gazing past David, he was aware that it had stopped raining but the heavy, grey sky held a promise of more.

  'May I come in?'

  Haldane hesitated for only a second or two. 'Of course,' he replied and stepped to one side.

  David moved diffidently past him. Haldane closed the front door and led the way into the study. While his brother hovered just inside the room, he strolled over to the fireplace, cleaned out his pipe and then refilled it and lit it with a taper. Only then did he turn to David who gave him another nervous, discomforted smile.

  'We're still speaking then.'

  'What made you think otherwise?'

  Faintly relieved but not entirely reassured, David moved further into the room. 'Well, you haven't been exactly communicative since the take-over. Not a word from you. And just before that there were moments when I thought you were going to hit me.'

  Haldane studied him and realised that he had not even offered to take his coat. Still, no point really, he thought, I don't suppose he will be stopping long 'I was angry then,’ he replied.

  'And now?'

  Haldane shrugged. 'Well I'm not sulking anyway. Looking for a small victory somewhere.'

  David gave him a puzzled, questioning look.

  'That's what life's made up of, isn't it?' continued Haldane. 'Small victories and big defeats.'

  David moved in closer to him. 'You put up a hell of a fight,' he said, managing a grin which could just have passed as an expression of admiration. 'But there really was no other course, Alan. We had to accept Aqua Plastics' offer.'

  'My mistake when we set up the company was not insisting on a majority shareholding. But then, of course, the one person I thought I could always count on for support was my brother.' Haldane laughed hollowly and shook his head. 'God knows why though,' he continued. 'Cain and Abel. There's a precedent for you.'

  David flushed angrily. 'That's damned unfair!'

  'Is it?' Haldane nodded. 'A bit extreme perhaps. Jacob and his brothers then. You sold me out.'

  'And you said you weren't sulking.'

  'I'm not. But that's the truth. A matter of record.'

  'I didn't sell you out. Not just me anyway. Jack Hedges was in agreement. You were outvoted. That's business. There was nothing personal in it.'

  Haldane gave him a hard look. 'No,' he said sharply. 'There was nothing personal in it. That's exactly my point.'

  Things weren't going at all the way David had planned. He had seen this meeting as a reconciliation, a salve to his conscience with his brother all forgiveness and understanding. But here he was still on the defensive and with apparently no way out of the position. No point in getting angry though, he thought. Reason. I'll try reason.

  'We couldn't have gone on the way we were going,' he said.

  'We had a name. A reputation.'

  'But too few customers. And debts. We'd priced ourselves out of the market.'

  Haldane studied him closely. 'What you mean is that I'd priced us out of the market, don't you?'

  David shrugged. 'If only you'd compromised on materials', he countered.

  'I designed those boats to be carvel-built of wood. Mahogany on oak, The way a real boat should be built. I wasn't about to see them mass produced in ferro-concrete or fibreglass.'

  'Ah, well!' sighed David. 'Water under the bridge. And you have to admit that Aqua Plastics' bid was a good one.'

  'You and Hedges thought so,' growled Haldane.

  'Oh come on, Alan! You've done very nicely out of the deal cash wise. And you didn't have to sell. You could've held onto your shares.'

  'A minority interest in a company I was once Managing Director of!' Haldane's tone was scathing. 'And see the yard where we once built class boats used to turn out plastic, car top dinghies. No thank you.'

  He moved wearily over to his desk and sat down at it, his head lowered, his eyes on the blotter.

  David watched him for a while and then turned to the mantelpiece and, to cover the lull in the conversation, picked up Ruth's photograph and studied it. He smiled. He'd always liked Ruth. She would have understood, she would've been on his side. Ruth had been practical. Especially about making money. Extravagant though when it came to spending it. Three hundred and eighty thousand pounds for Alan's shares in the company! That would've pleased her. I wonder what she was like in bed, he mused.

  'So what are you going to do?' he asked absently, more to break the silence than out of any real curiosity.

  Haldane raised his head and looked across at him. 'I'm not sure. Haldane Marine was only ever a sideline for you. You still have your estate agency. I'm pretty much out on a limb. And at my age that's not really the ideal time to start all over again.'

  'Retire. You can afford it. You've only got yourself to consider. You've no ties.'

  Haldane frowned. 'That's true,' he said quietly.

  David looked up from the photograph, saw the expression on his brother's face, and realised his mistake. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled. 'That was stupid of me. I wasn't thinking.'

  'Forget it.'

  Putting the photograph back on the mantelpiece, David walked over to the window to gaze proudly out at his new Rover parked in the drive. He frowned 'Damn!' he exclaimed, piqued. 'It's raining again.'

  'Is it?' said his brother disinterestedly.

  David turned to him. Now you're on the defensive, laddie, he thought with satisfaction. And vulnerable too you obstinate bastard. Time for magnanimity. Better get in quick. .

  'By the way, Barbara and I are giving a dinner party next Thursday. Nothing special. Just a few friends. Why don't you come along?'

  Haldane shook his head. 'Good of you to ask. But I don't think so all the same.'

  'Lorna Matthews will be there,' David said, smiling archly. 'On her own.'

  Haldane had a momentary mental picture of Lorna lying naked on crumpled sheets and looking up at him and laughing. Dear, generous, understanding Lorna who had wanted to give him so much but who had been able to give him so little. Except her body. And that had never been enough. Of course she'll be on her own. Dear God! Why can't she just let go?

  'Matchmaking?' he asked.

  David laughed. 'Well maybe you should get married again. I'm told that can be a full time occupation.'

  Haldane drew on his pipe. It had gone out. He laid it in the ashtray on
the desk. 'Give Lorna my best and Barbara my regrets,' he said.

  'Well, if you're sure. But if you change your mind just turn up.' David glanced at his watch. 'Got to go. Got a meeting at five. Looks like I've found a buyer for the old Hammond place.'

  'Good for you,' murmured Haldane flatly. And then, as David crossed to the door, he reached out and picked up the snapshot of Melina from the edge of the blotter, turned it over and gazed at it.

  In the doorway David paused. 'I'm glad there's no hard. feelings,' he said cheerily.

  Haldane looked up at him. 'I didn't say that. Just that I'm not sulking.'

  'I see,' said David, subdued once more. 'So that's why you won't come to dinner.'

  Haldane shook his head. 'No. The fact is I'm going away for a while. I won't be here.'

  'Oh , I see.' David felt better again. He smiled.

  'Holiday?'

  'Not really. Stocktaking. For a week or two.' .

  David didn't understand. But what the hell? He didn't really want to know what his brother meant. Each to his own, he thought. .

  'Where are you going?' he asked. And he made it sound as if he cared.

  Haldane looked at the picture of Melina again. Up until that very second he had had no idea where he was going.

  But he had now. .

  'Back,' he said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Boeing 727 came in out of a clear, blue sky and touched down at Heraklion Airport. The aircraft, on Olympic Airways flight 504 from Athens, taxied to dispersal and Alan Haldane was among the first passengers to disembark.

  He paused in the doorway and looked across at the snow capped peaks of the Psiloritis Mountains, felt the gentle warmth of the January sun on his face, savoured the pungent scent of wild herbs which penetrated even the airport stench of kerosene and experienced an almost overwhelming sense of homecoming. He smiled and nodded to the doll-like stewardess standing just inside the door and then moved quickly down the steps and across to the terminal building.