Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll do better than that.”

Chapter Nine

It was after two o’clock in the afternoon when the Rolls finally turned into the narrow streets of Falmouth, a parish town of some twenty-two thousand souls situated on a peninsula in Falmouth Bay in the Duchy of Cornwall. The rain had disappeared as they travelled west and the old town was basking in bright sunlight which glistened over the inner harbour of Carrick Roads. This was the heartland of the great English seafaring tradition. It was from the narrow, cobbled streets of towns like Falmouth that Sir Francis Drake and his successors press-ganged the cream of the British Navy. The old town overlooks the Carrick Roads with its many inlets leading into the broad reaches of Falmouth Bay. Bell’s chauffeur piloted their car through the new town and then through the narrow streets leading to the boatyards which cling to the shore of the bay.

“You’re about to have the great pleasure of meeting my partner, David Penhalion.” Bell pressed the button which wound down his window and sniffed at the sea air. “Best bloody air in the world.”

“I’m a city boy myself.” Kane’s nose twitched at the strong ozone smell.

“David’s the owner and managing director of Penhalion Marine and the brains behind our powerboat. It’s a family business and David took it over after a career in the British Navy. I’m fond of that bloody man. He’s one of nature’s gentlemen. If I weren’t so dead set on exposing those drug-running bastards, I wouldn’t be so happy at using him like I am. Poor bugger thinks that I’m all enthusiastic about his bloody boat but I couldn’t give a damn. David’s got a load of problems. His business is in trouble and I’m enough of a businessman to know that he’d jump at an offer of financing his chance to try out his ideas on powerboats. You know, lad, I’ve done some low and dirty things during my time in business but I don’t think that any of them will rank with lying to David. It would go bloody sore with me if I ended up being the reason, he loses his business.” Bell looked towards the shore to where Penhalion Marine was located. “There’s nothing like seeing something you’ve worked hard to preserve going under. I’ve seen more than one clever man spending his last brass farthing trying to save a family business that should have gone to the wall years before. There’s no law that says because you feel strongly about a business that it must survive and David is putting all his cards into the offshore basket. It’ll make him or break him. If he does go bust, I hope to God that I’m not part of the reason.”

“That’s what Davenport meant when he said that revenge is a cold dish,” Kane said. “You commit yourself to one outcome and whoever gets in the way has to be sacrificed. That’s the way revenge works. Did you ever think that putting me behind the wheel of David’s boat might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back?”

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Bell looked wistful. “But it’s a tough world out there and David’s no boy scout. As I’m sure you’ll find out. He’ll act as team manager himself so it’ll be his responsibility to get you ready for the races. Don’t forget that I’ve pushed you down the man’s throat so he’ll start off hating your guts. And you’ve got to be a right bastard yourself.” He chuckled deep in his throat. “Aye, it should make for some champion fun.”

“For whom?” Mark smiled.

The car had reached the shore and was passing a series of boatyards where yachts sat atop wooden trestles. The area looked a little run down. Corrugated sheds had more than a light covering of rust on their sides, creating the distinct feeling that the boatbuilding era had passed Falmouth by. The Rolls eventually came to a stop before a large cast-iron gate over which hung a white sign which announced ‘Penhalion Marine, est. 1780 Prop. D. Penhalion.’ The driver got out and opened the gates wide then returned to the car and drove them into the yard.

The buildings, where they existed, looked like they had been around since 1780. The bricks of what Mark took to be the main office were so weathered that they had completely lost their colour. The outbuildings surrounding the office looked even older vintage with large stones gaping through cracked and faded plaster. Towards the end of the yard were a series of corrugated sheds which were of more recent construction. However, the edges of the corrugated sheets were rusting and holes appeared at intervals in the sheeting. Two yachts sat on a set of trestles on either side of the yard. Neither showed any sign of activity. Penhalion Marine had all the appearance of a graveyard as far as life was concerned.

“I see what you mean about business falling off,” Mark said, opening his door and exiting the car. Judging by its size, the yard could quite easily have handled twelve or more boats like the ones on the trestles. “I’m no financial genius but from what I can see around me I wouldn’t be rushing to invest a pound in this place.”

“Aye.” Bell climbed out the other side of the car. “And through no fault of David’s I should add. You’ll find that there are no flies on our David. His business may be in a slump but the firm has incredible standing in boat design and building. I’d willingly lay a wager that it’s only a matter of time before things start improving. In the meantime, there are a couple of scalpers waiting for the first chink in his armour. This might not look like much to you but if David were to go bankrupt this place would be taken over within a week