Isvik (45 page)

Authors: Hammond; Innes

It took us eleven days to reach Port Stanley, eleven exhausting days of extreme discomfort. Once past the South Orkneys, we felt the full impact of the great Southern Ocean waves that circle the globe and at Lat. 60Â° S have to squeeze themselves through the narrow gap between the Horn and Graham Land that is named Drake Strait. It was against a dawn sky of incredible clarity that I got my first glimpse of the Falkland Islands. Nils had called me up to identify a small pyramid of rock just lifting above the north-western horizon. It was Mount Kent, fifteen hundred feet high and almost fifty miles away.

Once under the lee of East Falkland, we were able to motor-sail, and something I shall always remember is the sudden transition to peace as we passed the lighthouse on Cape Pembroke and entered calm water, with the wired enclosures of old Argentine minefields on the slopes above us. We dropped anchor for the night close to an old dredger, with the steeple of Port Stanley's red brick cathedral bearing due south, and went straight to our bunks.

We had reported in by VHF, of course, and they let us sleep through till midday before coming out in a launch to deal with the formalities of entry. The media came out to us, too â the
Penguin News
, the little
Tea-Berry
paper, the local and forces radio stations. They knew by then we had located the wreck of a wooden sailing vessel down at the southern end of the Weddell Sea, but islands that boasted more wrecks and hulks of old square-riggers than any other place in the world were less interested in the discovery of another than in personal accounts of our voyage and the ice conditions we had experienced. They knew nothing about the deaths of Carlos and Ãngel Borgalini, so there was no necessity to parry questions.

Customs had already told us the vessel that plies the triangular route, Stanley-Montevideo-Punta Arenas, was leaving that evening. Since it would be over a week before they would have another opportunity, Andy and Go-Go decided to take it. They got a lift ashore with some local people who had come out to us with cans of beer and kind offers of hospitality. Then, just as it was getting dark, a police launch came alongside with a note from Government House requesting Mrs Sunderby's presence at 4 p.m. next day.

There were now just the three of us left, and after we had fed, Nils produced a bottle of vodka he had secreted against the moment of our return to civilisation. We toasted the boat over our coffee, then each other, finally Iris raised her glass to absent friends. No mention of Eduardo's name, nor of Iain's, just absent friends. And after that, Nils went off to his bunk muttering something about being too old âfor gallivanteering around the Veddell'.

Iris got up at the same time and went aft. I started to say goodnight, but she waved me to stay put. âNo, please. Stay there. I won't be a moment.'

I sat down again and poured myself another drink. I thought perhaps she was going to the heads, but she was back almost immediately, a large brown envelope in her hand. âMore coffee?' She put the envelope down on the table and reached across for my mug. âWe have to talk, about money.'

She poured the coffee, sat down again and helped herself to another vodka. She had on an emerald green shirt that was cut low and had a very silky sheen. The top button was undone. I don't think that was intentional, for her mind was on the envelope, which she kept on fingering. âHow much money have you got? I am sorry. It is not a proper question, but I need to know.'

I told her and she gave a little half-smile. âNot enough even to get you back to the UK.'

âNo.'

She pushed the envelope over to me. Scrawled across it was the one word
Yours
. No signature. No address. Nothing.

I looked across at her. âIain?'

She nodded. âAfter he is gone I find it lying on my bunk. Have a look inside. No letter â nothing personal. Not even a note.'

The envelope contained a thick wadge of traveller's cheques, all countersigned with an illegible signature and ready for encashment. Also
Isvik
's registration certificate, together with deed of ownership, both in the name of Iris Sunderby. âYou own the boat then.' I was staring at her, all sorts of possibilities rushing through my mind. âYou own all sixty-four shares in
Isvik
'

âYes.' She shook her head slightly, still with that little half-smile. âI didn't like it, but he insist.' She hesitated, then leaned forward suddenly. âPete. Who is he? Why doesn't he want his name on that certificate? And the traveller's cheques â¦ That is not his name.' She shook her head again and reached for my hand. âWhat do I do now? I have this boat. But what to do with it? And he won't come back. I know that. He is out of my life altogether.' She stared at me a moment, then picked up the ship's papers and put them back in the envelope. âAnd these.' She waved the traveller's cheques at me. âI suppose I cash them?'

âOf course.' There was Nils to pay, work to be done on
Isvik
, repairs, replacements, stores, all the incidentals that go with the running of a boat. And there was her brother. âYou'll be going to England, will you?'

She nodded. âYes, I must see that Eduardo is all right.' All we knew was that he had been airlifted out on the first available Tristar flight to RAF Brize Norton, and Iain had gone with him. âWill you stay here till I get back?'

I hesitated, my mind switching to the house in Cley, to my mother and her flower festival, to the search for a job and the struggle to set up on my own. I think it was then that I realised I had changed. I was a different person. And here was a whole new world, over three hundred islands full of sheep and rock runs, penguins, upland geese and albatross, a land spun off from the bottom of Africa that I would certainly never get the chance to see again once I returned to Norfolk.

âYes,' I said. âI'll be here.'

She reached out and touched my hand, at the same time raising her glass. âTo
Isvik
then!'

Forgotten now was the horror trapped in that icebound wooden frigate, my thoughts reaching out into the future. âTo
Isvik
!' I said.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hammond Innes (1913â1998) was the British author of over thirty novels, as well as children's and travel books. Born Ralph Hammond Innes in Horsham, Sussex, he was educated at the Cranbrook School in Kent. He left in 1931 to work as a journalist at the
Financial News
.
The Doppelganger
, his first novel, was published in 1937. Innes served in the Royal Artillery in World War II, eventually rising to the rank of major. A number of his books were published during the war, including
Wreckers Must Breathe
(1940),
The Trojan Horse
(1940), and
Attack Alarm
(1941), which was based on his experiences as an anti-aircraft gunner during the Battle of Britain.

Following his demobilization in 1946, Innes worked full-time as a writer, achieving a number of early successes. His novels are notable for their fine attention to accurate detail in descriptions of place, such as
Air Bridge
(1951), which is set at RAF stations during the Berlin Airlift. Innes's protagonists were often not heroes in the typical sense, but ordinary men suddenly thrust into extreme situations by circumstance. Often, this involved being placed in a hostile environmentâfor example, the Arctic, the open sea, desertsâor unwittingly becoming involved in a larger conflict or conspiracy. Innes's protagonists are forced to rely on their own wits rather than the weapons and gadgetry commonly used by thriller writers. An experienced yachtsman, his great love and understanding of the sea was reflected in many of his novels.

Innes went on to produce books on a regular schedule of six months for travel and research followed by six months of writing. He continued to write until just before his death, his final novel being
Delta Connection
(1996). At his death, he left the bulk of his estate to the Association of Sea Training Organisations to enable others to experience sailing in the element he loved.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-5040-4012-9

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

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