High Water (1959) by Douglas Reeman

interest at a lone yacht proceeding to sea in the middle of a raging storm.
    The hours slid rapidly by, and the motion of the short, steep wavelets became more pronounced, as Vivian altered course to turn round the North Foreland, making
Seafox
roll more heavily in the beam sea. He cursed silently, wishing that he could push on without his unwelcome passengers, and for a moment he toyed with the idea of leaving them behind in Ramsgate. No doubt Cooper would take a poor view of that, he chuckled.
    Lifting his glasses, he examined the sun-swept coastline, letting his glance linger on the tiny catwalk around the top of the lofty North Foreland lighthouse, and he wondered if he too was under their scrutiny.
    He checked the compass, and altered course again, to pass closer inshore, it was getting near time for the rendezvous, and a feeling of tension held him in its grip.
    The grey breakwater of Ramsgate harbour loomed ahead, and he began to think that the arrangements had gone astray, when all of a sudden he saw two small fishing dories wallowing and pitching about half a mile away on the port bow. There were no other vessels in sight, so with the engines at dead slow, he headed towards them.
    When he drew near, he quickly recognized, with a feeling of repugnance, the rakish panama hat that perched on one of the occupants of the nearest boat.
    As he let the yacht idle alongside, Cooper grinned up at him, and raised a hand in mocking salute, showing his teeth in an insincere smile.
    ‘Hiya there, Captain, right on the button, I see!’ And he reached up awkwardly for the rail.
    The man in the bows of the dory turned his face towards Vivian, and he saw again the dull, impassive manservant from Mason’s flat, Morrie. He merely nodded, and began to wind up a fishing line.
    With a scornful laugh, Cooper turned, and kicked the winder from the big man’s grasp, sending it spinning into the sea. Morrie stared at the water impassively, as if he couldn’t understand what had happened, and then with a heavy shrug, clambered up on to the yacht’s deck.
    Cooper joined him, and waved to the small, dark man in the other dory. ‘Okay, pal, go on back now, we’re going on to Cornwall, to do a bit of real fishing. I’m fed up with this rod-and-line racket, it’s kid’s stuff!’
    ‘What’s the idea of the two boats?’ queried Vivian, as he joined the other two.
    ‘If we’d just sat around in one boat after planning a day fishing, it would have looked as if we had been waiting to hitch a ride. You’ve gotta do these things right,’ added Cooper importantly.
    Vivian smiled to himself, it was as Lang had predicted, Cooper had to dramatize everything.
    They waited until the boatman had taken the other boat in tow, and then Vivian got under way once more, steering parallel with the shore. Destination Cornwall, if anyone’s watching, he thought wryly.
    Through narrowed eyes, he watched Morrie, as he moved heavily about the deck, his broad shoulders bent, as if with the weight of his huge frame. A nasty customer in a fight, he decided.
    After a while, the big man entered the wheelhouse, and stood silently watching Vivian’s actions.
    ‘Here, take a trick at the wheel,’ said Vivian suddenly. ‘Ever done any before?’
    Cooper’s laugh drifted up from the saloon. ‘Sure, let him steer, the big dope’ll go to sleep otherwise!’
    Vivian darted a glance at Morrie, but the dull, brooding expression was unaltered, until, as he took the spokes in his square hands, a brief glimmer of pleasure crossed his face. He gripped the wheel with confidence, making it look like a toy, and said softly: ‘Yes, I’ve done this before. Many times,’ and he nodded his bullet head slowly.
    He didn’t elaborate, so Vivian left him to it, and joined Cooper, who lay back on the settee in the saloon, humming a dance tune, and beating time with one of his pointed shoes.
    ‘All set?’ he cocked a sharp eye in Vivian’s direction. ‘Got the stuff all