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

to make, all washed down with pints of Watney’s Red Barrel. Seedy though the scene was, Morweena loved the Mediterranean feel of the place. The warm evening breeze and the strident voices of the young Italians setting off to woo the local or foreign senoritas all represented summer and easy living to her mind. They glanced into the shop windows on the Via San Cesareo wondering how the normal Italian could possibly afford the ridiculously inflated prices.

They continued into the Piazza Tasso where the whole of Sorrento seemed to be congregated in the outdoor cafés. Groups of gaily dressed teenagers stood on every available square inch of pathway taking the first steps in the courtship ritual.

Morweena looked at the corner of the piazza where a queue had formed under the canopy bearing the legend ‘Nite-Klub’. Her eyes were drawn to a group which was being admitted by a large dress-suited bouncer. One of the figures was more than familiar.

“That bastard.”

David followed his daughter’s gaze and saw Kane disappearing down the steps into the basement with Doug Jackson’s clipboard girl in tow.

“That rotten bloody bastard.” Disappointment formed like a lump in Morweena’s stomach.

Kane and the red-haired girl had disappeared but she still stared at the edge of the stairway where they had been standing moments before.

“I didn’t realise that you had an arrangement with Mark,” David said in a mock surprise tone.

“Arrangement!” She spat the word out as though there was something dirty in her mouth. “I wouldn’t give that bastard the time of day.”

“Perhaps you should join Mark and his new friend. After all, it’s much too early for a young girl like yourself to be going home to bed.”

She caught the tone in her father’s voice and realised she was wearing her emotions on her sleeve. “I would normally, but I’m really quite bushed.” She worked to keep the anger out of her voice.

David took her arm and felt the slight tremble. He led her out of the crowded piazza and up the hill towards the Sorrento Palace.

Chapter Nineteen

The weather on the day before the race was not typical for Southern Italy. An overnight shower had dumped a considerable quantity of rain on the town and pools of dirty brown liquid lay in the badly rutted streets. From his room on the fifth floor of the hotel, Kane could see ripples on the four swimming pools beneath him while out to sea small whitecaps ran along the blue-grey surface of the Bay of Naples. The scene would never be captured for a picture postcard of Sorrento but it augured well for the race. Rough water would militate strongly against the catamarans. He’d only had a few hours’ sleep. The TV crew following Jackson certainly knew how to party. They’d left the night club at four o’clock and he had partied with his red-haired friend in her room for a further two hours. He hadn’t realised that he’d been so badly in need of sex. But good as it was it didn’t come close to driving what he was coming to regard as ‘his’ boat. He immediately thought of Morweena. She was the one who had made the remark about driving and sex. He hadn’t been so gauche as to cry out her name at the crucial moment but the thought had been there. He showered for more than fifteen minutes until he was completely awake, dispensed with breakfast, and caught one of the minibuses provided by the race organisers to ferry team members between the hotel and the Piccolo Porto where the powerboats were moored. The Penhalion team was already assembled around their boat which was tied up at a specially constructed wooden marina. The tiny port was crammed with sightseers most of whom had arrived to take the hydrofoils to either Capri or Naples but had stayed on to watch the preparations for the race.

“Hello, folks,” he called from the walkway. “How does it look, Reg?”

“So far so good.” Reg looked up from the laptop computer which sat on the pilot’s table. The engine covers were fully open and Bill and Doc were perched precariously on the back of the floating hull. “We’ve nearly finished the final engine checks.”

“I’m glad to see that you’re still in the land of the living,” Doc called from beneath the open canopy.

“Didn’t you hear that the qualifying race isn’t until this afternoon?” Kane said. The port authorities had agreed to prohibit traffic across the bay between the hours of three and five in the afternoon to allow the drivers to qualify.

“Late night?” David asked.

Something in David’s tone alerted Kane. “You could say that,” he said smiling. He wondered whether David knew. The marina was a hive of activity. Groups of mechanics laboured under the open canopies to ensure that on race day every moving part would be in perfect working order. Nobody wanted to end the race bobbing helplessly about in the centre of the course. Kane recognised Graham Barrett’s blond head sticking out from the cockpit of a yellow catamaran.

“How are tricks, Mark?” Doug Jackson slapped Kane on the back. “I hear tell you raised some hell last night.”

Before Kane could reply, Jackson was halfway along the walkway pursued by the omnipresent television crew. He wondered how the poor man ever got to take a leak.

“What’s all this about raising hell?” Morweena had come up silently behind him.

Kane detected a sharp edge to her question. He’d been sure that he’d seen her and David crossing the piazza the previous evening and he had been equally sure that she had seen him.

“I have no idea,” he replied calmly. “Maybe it’s your friend Jackson’s idea of a joke.”

“Yes, a joke I’m sure.” She made no attempt to keep the coolness out of her tone.

The marina was developing into a scene straight out of Bedlam with thirty powerboat crews working feverishly to complete work on the boats and engines. Kane smiled when Reg give the thumbs up as he gunned the engines. Reg