The Quick Boat Men, page 17
Khamlukin, on the other hand, was as good as his word and, one hazy afternoon, turned up for a race that was a foregone conclusion. The Bourdillon raced ahead without them even advancing to full throttle. Returning to McClumpha’s launch, they waited for the Russian to come alongside. He acknowledged defeat with a graceful smile.
‘You win, Monsieur Bourdillon,’ he said. ‘You have an excellent boat there. May I try her?’
They allowed him to put the boat through its paces and he spent the rest of the day examining the plans and asking questions about spares. Eventually, Khamlukin threw down his pencil. ‘I could persuade the Imperial Navy to take a flotilla of these boats,’ he said. ‘Let’s say six for a start, of which these are the first two. What are your terms?’
From the Russian government he would be able to accept the price in two stages, Edward said.
‘There would be no need for that. The money would be paid at once. I receive it from the Treasury via the navy. I pass it on to you in the form of a bank draft. The boats to be handed over as soon as the draft is acknowledged.’ Khamlukin paused for a moment. ‘There is, of course, another question. It is normal to reward the agent for his services.’
‘What had you in mind?’
‘Fifteen per cent.’
‘That’s a bit steep.’
‘Nonsense.’ Khamlukin beamed. ‘I know you businessmen. You’re like the Chinese. You ask a price that’s high enough for you to come down and still leave a good profit margin. Neimhoff always gives fifteen per cent.’
The deal was agreed in principle, with no mention of the commission to be made in the contract.
The next day a message arrived via McClumpha that the officer in command of the naval base at Varna wished to see them.
He was a handsome young man with a moustache and a little too much flesh round his middle. His blue uniform was beautifully pressed and he wore white gloves, but the gold stripes on his sleeves looked a little frayed.
‘Welcome, welcome, dearest sirs,’ he said in careful English. ‘I am the Lieutenant Roboshva. I have arranged to confront you. We have everything that is desired for you. The King’s own basin and slip are prepared. I will inform Sofia that you are on tiptoe to receive the King.’
‘Now what are we going to do, master?’ Sam asked afterwards. ‘You’ve already sold the bloody boats.’
‘Not yet, Sam,’ Edward said. ‘Nothing’s been signed. We haven’t even shaken hands on it. Let’s wait and see what happens.’
Two days later, Lieutenant Roboshva informed them that the King was due to arrive the following morning. With the Lieutenant was a small man called Drimic, the lawyer who acted for the King. He wore pince-nez, a tight frock coat, a shiny silk hat and immaculate spats.
‘Monsieur Drimic is the man who acquired the King’s seaside villa here,’ Lieutenant Roboshva pointed out. ‘He acts in the King’s name. If the King decides to take your boats, it will be Drimic who will see that you receive a draft on the royal bank. It is a private transaction, of course. The King will arrive incognito as Monsieur Lazlo Ribovic.’
Whatever Ferdinand’s views about anonymity, he arrived wearing a long brilliant yellow coat. He was about fifty, round-faced with greying hair, and he reeked of perfume. He had a moustache and pointed beard that made him look not unlike Edward VII, especially as his shape was roughly as rotund. But his nose looked like the foreshortened trunk of an elephant.
‘The bugger’s wearing make-up,’ Sam murmured, after they had been introduced.
Looking at the boats, the King gestured with a heavily ringed hand and began to pick his huge nose thoughtfully. ‘How fast are they?’ he asked in English.
‘Very fast, sir,’ Edward said.
‘Show me.’
‘You wish me to take the boat out, sir, and put it through its paces?’
‘No. I wish you to take me out in the boat and allow me to put it through its paces.’
He waved aside the offer of an oilskin. ‘It’s a fine day,’ Ferdinand said airily. ‘And the sea’s calm. And if the spray damages my suit, I do have another one.’
As the boat almost leapt out of the water, the King’s curly-brimmed homburg blew off, leaving two wisps of greying hair fluttering in the breeze over his bald dome. But he was engrossed with the Bourdillon’s performance.
Returning to the quayside, the engine popping and rumbling and surrounded by exhaust smoke and steam, they made fast and helped him ashore. For a while he stood contemplatively on the quayside, surrounded by soldiers, policemen and sycophantic officials.
‘Could they be used as naval vessels?’ he asked.
‘The Italian Navy has a flotilla of them, sir.’
‘Can they carry torpedoes?’
‘They have done, sir.’
‘I will have them,’ he said without any further questioning.
‘Both of them, sir?’
‘Of course. There will also be others, no doubt. I will build my inshore fleet around them. But I will wish you to remain here for a few weeks to iron out any problems and familiarise my officers with them. That will be satisfactory?’
It wasn’t satisfactory at all, Edward thought, and would be most unsatisfactory to Augusta. But he had no option. Doing business with a King, even the King of a third-rate little kingdom, could do Bourdillons’ reputation no harm at all.
As the King turned away, the little cat from the restaurant crossed his path. Ferdinand halted, and snapped a command to one of the officials who was scuttling along behind him. The cat stopped as the man approached, and, tail in the air, it made to rub itself against his pin-striped leg. Instead, the official raised his silver-topped cane and brought it down with a thwack on the animal’s back. As it lay in the gutter, blood trickling from its nose, a policeman stepped forward and finished it off with a kick to the head. Picking the body up by the tail, the policeman tossed the cat into the sea.
‘My officials will call on you tomorrow,’ the King said. ‘Contracts will be drawn up and, as soon as everything is in order, you will be paid. How do you wish your money? In one or two instalments?’
Edward swallowed. ‘I have no instructions, sir,’ he said. ‘Except that in pre-contract letters I was informed I was to receive the money immediately the boats were made available.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘In full.’
Ferdinand scratched his nose. ‘Oh ye of little faith,’ he said gloomily. ‘Very well. You shall have your money. In full. Drimic will attend to it.’
As the cars drove away, Sam said ‘I suppose it doesn’t bother you that you’ve now sold the bloody boats twice.’
Twenty-five
However confident he might appear to Sam, Edward was worried about his double-dealing, and resolved to see Khamlukin.
The Russian was staying in the only decent hotel in the town, and having dinner with a beautiful blonde woman. When he spotted them together, Edward slipped away to a nearby flower shop and bought an armful of roses.
‘Monsieur Bourdillon. How nice to see you.’ Khamlukin rose as he arrived at their table. ‘This is my wife, Ilona Dimitrovna, the Countess Khamlukina.’
Edward laid on a little bow to go with the roses. But there was no mention that they had seen each other before in Constantinople.
‘The flowers are lovely,’ the Countess said. ‘How kind.’ And extended her hand. Edward managed to kiss it without falling over his feet.
Khamlukin asked him to join them at their table, where Edward trotted out some story about having to be in touch with England about the boats, and also having to go away for a day or two. Then he beat a hasty but polite retreat.
Sam was instructed to make sure that baskets of roses were sent daily to the Khamlukins’ apartment, while Edward juggled with delivery dates and shipping movements. Then, to their surprise, Ferdinand’s officials arrived to discuss payments and contracts and plans. Edward hadn’t expected them so soon and had to think fast. In his capacity as British Consul, McClumpha was invited to oversee things and act as interpreter. Champagne and caviare were ordered, and a meeting was organised with Roboshva and several other shifty-looking men in a small private room set aside for them by the hotel manager.
There was a lot of arguing before signatures were put on paper, and after a while it dawned on Edward that, for all the detailed discussion, nobody was offering money. He took a new tack himself, and asked a question about the use to which the boats were to be put. Edward didn’t think for a moment Ferdinand was the sort of man to enjoy tearing round the Bay of Varna simply for the fun of it. And Roboshva eventually conceded that the boats were to be taken to a place beyond Cape Igneada just inside Turkish territory which at that moment happened to be occupied by Bulgarian troops. Edward replied that the boats were not paid for and he had no intention of letting them go until they were. He was beginning to regret not letting Khamlukin have them.
‘There is also,’ he said ‘a little more work to be done.’
‘The boats were working perfectly the other day,’ Drimic protested sharply.
‘High-speed marine engines require the most scrupulous attention,’ Edward insisted. ‘The craft are highly tuned. We must be absolutely certain that nothing will go wrong when we go home.’
The meeting broke up without resolving delivery or payment.
‘The buggers want to use them against Turkish shipping round the Bosporus,’ Sam said. ‘And before they’ve bloody paid for ’em.’
Apparently, peace negotiations had come to nothing, fighting had not halted, and Bulgaria was getting the worst of it. Edward had sent letters off to Augusta, as Sam had to Rosina, but there had been no replies. War was not good for any postal service. Even a wire to Egg produced no response. And what on earth were Ferdinand’s intentions?
‘Dinnae trust him lad. He’ll welsh on ye,’ said McClumpha, over a delicious glass or two of single malt.
‘My advice,’ the Consul said, ‘is to move y’r boats further doon the coast. The King willnae give a damn. He’ll have forgotten all aboot the bluidy things by now. Tell Drimic the sea is better there. Flatter. Calmer. Doesnae rust the boats so much.’ McClumpha grinned. ‘I reckon ye can think up somethin’.’
He fished out a grubby map. ‘Burgas,’ he said. ‘That’s the place. It’s no’ far north o’ the Bosporus. I’ve got copper mining interests there, and a shipyard. I’ll gi’e ye a letter o’ introduction, and telegraph ma manager tae expect ye. Ye can moor at ma quay. The boats’ll be safe there. The only problem is it’s eighty miles away.’
‘That’s not a problem,’ Edward said. ‘We can follow one of your ships with drums of petrol aboard and top up when necessary.’
‘There’s plenty of little ports you can slip into if the weather shuts doon on the way. I’ll supply the petrol an’ oil and charts o’ the coast, and I’ll see ye have food an’ a bottle o’ this stuff. That should see ye through.’
‘Where would I be without you?’ said Edward.
‘Up the creek, I reckon, laddie, without a paddle.’
When Edward next saw Khamlukin, he had heard all about Ferdinand.
‘Has he changed his mind?’ Khamlukin asked.
‘Unhappily, no,’ Edward admitted. ‘On the other hand he doesn’t seem prepared to pay. It looks as though the boats are yours.’
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘I have been advised to hand you a bank draft as confirmation and down payment on the first two boats, with an option for four more.’
‘And my cheque for the agent’s fee will be in your hands immediately I receive the bank draft.’
Edward spent the rest of the evening with the Khamlukins, and drank rather more champagne than he intended. Several other Russians joined them, all accompanied by women friends and the evening got noisier and noisier, with many toasts and glasses smashed in the fireplace.
In a vain attempt to keep his head clear, he slipped away and drank three cups of black coffee. On his return, Ilona Khamlukina promptly filled his glass again, and made him drink Russian fashion with arms linked.
She also insisted on dancing. The orchestra consisted of half a dozen elderly men in rusty evening dress. The music was Viennese, and Ilona Khamlukina moved like an angel – an angel with the most seductive perfume and voluptuous body. It was hot and stuffy on the dance floor, particularly when they were dancing so close. The Countess whispered in Edward’s ear that it might be cooler in the conservatory.
‘Pavel Ivanovitch is a dull dog when he’s been drinking,’ she said as they sat down among the exotic potted plants. She placed her hand in Edward’s and he felt something hard pressed against his palm. It was a key.
‘My husband leaves tonight for Sofia,’ she said softly. ‘I have told him I don’t wish to be alone at the apartment while he is away so I am staying at the hotel. The number of my room is on the key.’
She kissed Edward on the lips. ‘You are a very attractive man, Edward Bourdillon,’ she whispered. ‘All Pavel Ivanovitch thinks about is money. His debts are enormous and his father refuses any longer to pay his bills.’
They saw Khamlukin off in a carriage.
‘Goodbye, darling,’ she murmured, as they waved him off. But her eyes were on Edward.
Trudging upstairs to bed, he realised that Ilona Khamlukina reminded him of Georgina. The thought of it suddenly made his collar feel tight. Gently blown on, he felt he might easily burst into flames.
Next morning Edward send a basket of red roses to Ilona Khamlukina’s room, together with his card, her key, apologies and an excuse.
‘There you are, you see, Sam. Everything open and above board.’
‘She’s a tart,’ was Sam’s only response.
‘She’s one of the hazards of doing business.’
But Sam was impressed by the size of the bank draft when it arrived. It was stamped all over with the seal of the Russian Ministry of Marine and signed by three different officials.
‘Looks good,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did Khamlukin get his commission?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he want it in gold?’
Edward laughed. ‘I sent a basket of flowers to his wife.’ Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘The cheque was in a brand new wallet in the middle.’
‘Time to go home,’ said Sam.
‘I hear you pulled it off, lad,’ McClumpha said next morning. ‘By the way, dinna pay your bank draft through a Bulgarian bank. Use a Swiss one, preferably in Sofia.’
Edward didn’t argue. The next morning he took the bank draft to the Swiss Banking Corporation building and saw it safely deposited. The manager was impressed by its size and Edward’s sense of urgency. In the expectation of further good business, he offered Edward a list of other branches in the country.
Twenty-six
The whole McClumpha clan saw them off, Fiona and Rhadka in floods of tears. The sea was calm and the day full of sunshine as they headed south at half-throttle, Edward leading, Sam just behind on the starboard quarter. They reached Denipopoulis during the afternoon. It was nothing more than a fishing village with a stone quay, and, when they moored alongside, the whole village came down to stare at them.
McClumpha’s friend, Savoff, was waiting for them and, by the grace of God, he spoke Italian because he had once conducted trade between Montenegrin ports and Bari. He placed two of his men on the quay to protect the boats from enthusiastic spectators, then he took Sam and Edward to his home and fed them some Bulgarian dish they couldn’t identify but which tasted delicious. He had some recreationary suggestions.
‘Cotel,’ he said. ‘Fifty kilometres south. A fishing village. The following day you should reach Burgas.’
He gave them the names of men who could help and they set off the next morning with the whole of Denipopoulis watching. By the grace of God the weather remained good, the sea calm and the boats behaved perfectly.
‘It’d be a good advert,’ Sam said, ‘if only somebody could see us.’
They made Burgas in the expected time. A friend of Savoff called Boris Enescu was expecting them and sent out a launch to guide them into McClumpha’s little basin. It was just big enough for one small coaster, and the two boats were safely hidden by tall buildings of brick and corrugated iron. As soon as they stepped ashore they were handed a telegram from McClumpha.
‘Oh, Christ,’ Edward said.
Ferdinand’s officials were looking for them and were on the point of paying up. It was important for them to return to Varna at once. Ferdinand had decided he needed the boats for his new war and was even prepared to pay for them from his own pocket.
McClumpha was at Varna station to meet them.
‘Roboshva wants to know where you wish to receive the draft,’ he said. ‘They’re suggestin’ ye go tae Sofia. I’m suggestin’ ye don’t. No’ in a million years. They’ll probably wait for you and have it off ye before ye reach the station. Yon Drimic’s as fishy as a barrow-load of rotten herrings. Make him come here. You can have my people tae look after ye. When ye’ve got it, beat it. There’s a Swiss bank in Burgas. Stick it in there. The Swiss won’t let ’em get away wi’ anythin’.’
He offered his office for the signing, and Russian champagne with small Russian pancakes called blinochki were laid on. Roboshva was the first to arrive, and didn’t waste time confirming that the King’s representatives were ready to pay.
Drimic turned up soon afterwards in a big green Fiat. ‘I will arrange for the money to be paid into your bank in London at once,’ he said.
‘That wasn’t the arrangement,’ Edward said stubbornly. ‘Payment was to be here. To me.’
Eventually smiles returned, everybody shook hands and Roboshva insisted on kissing Edward on both cheeks.
‘And the boats?’ he said.
