Daring Dooz (The Implosion Trilogy (Book 2)) (16 page)

Chapter 34

On the morning of their departure, Mrs Hathaway and
Aubrey looked very professional as they walked down the floating pontoon to the
yacht. Mrs Hathaway seemed fresh and alert, as though undertaking a 4,000-mile
ocean voyage was the most natural thing in the world.

Aubrey followed. Someone looking through powerful
binoculars from the Hampshire coastline might have said he looked confident.
But it wasn’t confidence; it was an expressionless contemplation of the
intestinal turmoil wreaked by his trademark overindulgence at Balti Towers.
Still, he stepped aboard with Mrs Hathaway and put on a brave, though rather
green, face.

Giles looked very sharp in another five grands’ worth
of the tailors’ art. A freelance video cameraman and stills photographer were
there to record the departure. Like many visual media professionals, hardened
by years working for the tabloids, they lacked a fair few social niceties.

‘Can we get rid of the repulsive?’ said the
photographer, dropping more cigarette ash down his bulging, gravy-stained
waistcoat.

‘Of course,’ said Giles. ‘Aubrey, would you mind going
downstairs, while we take a few pictures.’

‘Please, yourself,’ mumbled Aubrey, and disappeared
into the cabin.

‘Any chance she could show a bit of leg?’ said the
video cameraman, who had managed to fit this yacht job in between filming an
independent Bulgarian production of
Chitty
Chitty Gang Bang
.

Mrs Hathaway, looked daggers at the cameraman, who
caught the impact of her steely blue eyes for the first time and backed off, at
least a thousand miles.

‘Whatever you want, lady. Just say, and I’ll be happy
to oblige.’

The cameraman then shot forward a thousand miles.

‘’Ere, aren’t you that old dear who trashed the bank
robber?’

He turned to Giles.

‘Look, Mr
Montagu-Scott - if she’s who I
think
she is, you’re sittin’ on a fortune. Just wait ‘til I tell my
mates.’

Giles drew him close and
indicated to the stills guy to join the huddle.

‘This goes
no
further,’ he hissed. ‘As you know, I
have interests in television production and I’ve slotted both of you in for a
13-week series, working title,
The
world’s most sexually active women reveal their intimate secrets.
If one
word of this leaks out, you’re off the case. Understand?

They understood.

However, there was a delay, because the skies suddenly
went dark and the photographer suggested they wait in the cabin until the sheet
lightning had blown over.

‘Plays havoc, with me f-stops,’ he explained.

The lightning storm was over in minutes, and blue
skies returned.

The photographs and video were taken to everyone’s
satisfaction.

As Giles stepped back onto the pontoon, it dawned on
him that
The world’s most sexually active women
reveal their intimate secrets
was a hot title for a TV series. Maybe he’d get
around to making it some day.

‘Right, Tallulah,’ said Giles, ‘this is it.’

The cameraman moved in for a close up. Giles looked
directly into the lens and put on his CEO voice.

‘On behalf of
Daring
Dooz
and its international readership, may I wish you all the best on your
courageous voyage and the many death-defying feats you will be undertaking in
the future.’

‘God bless...’ he leaned over to check the yacht’s
name.

‘Shit!’

‘Cut that,’ he said to the cameraman. ‘OK,’ said the
cameraman, ‘going again, up to speed, action!’ Giles continued.

‘God bless the
Titanic,
and all who sail in her.’ Giles made a mental note to give the give the shipyard
a good bollocking.

‘Cut!’ said Giles.

He stepped back on board.

‘All the best Tallulah, your next challenge will be
waiting for you at St Bernards. Oh, and can I give you this - a little present,
which you might find useful.’

He handed her a small box with yellow polka dot
wrapping paper, tied up with a yellow polka dot silk ribbon.

Mrs Hathaway thanked him, politely, waved and turned
to the business at hand.

There was no return of the sheet lightning returning,
it was a bright clear day with a gentle offshore wind. Apart from Aubrey
shouting ‘Jesus Christ, what was that!’ when the Volvo D2-55 fired up, the
Titanic
slipped her mooring and steered
confidently for the open sea.

*

There was no denying the
Titanic
was a fine sight. She had been given a complete overhaul
and, apart from the fact that the shipyard had forgotten to change her name to
Daring Dooz
, she was as near perfect as
could be. However, that description certainly didn't apply to not-very-able
seaman Aubrey Brown, as he lay on a bunk coping with the vindaloo’s rumblings
of discontent.

As the yacht left the protection of the Medina and
moved into more open, choppier waters, the rumblings of discontent were
replaced by a more virulent scenario, as the vindaloo decided to slake its
thirst for revenge.

Cowes is an up-market place. And the most up-market
restaurant in Cowes was the new
Le
Navigateur
é
picurien
-
architect designed, right on the Solent shoreline, with lots of white canvas,
ropes, steel cables, chromium struts and prices to match.

 
The restaurant
had a huge panoramic, fully UV protected, floor-to-ceiling window, where the
great and good could enjoy quality
nouvelle
cuisine
while taking in the beautiful views across the water. It was
lunchtime and it was packed.

Mrs Hathaway was thrilled to be in charge of such a magnificent
boat. She manoeuvred closer to the restaurant, to give the diners a better
view. She waved. They waved back. It was a charming moment.

Suddenly, there was a dreadful cry as Aubrey raced on
deck, hung over the yacht’s rail and splattered last night’s vindaloo, chana
bhuna and garlic naan bread mix down the side of the yacht. The diners stopped
waving.

Mrs Hathaway ran to Aubrey’s side, turned on the
hosepipe and with one swift action hosed down his face, clothes and the side of
yacht.

One minute later, apart from the fact that Aubrey lay
in a soggy heap on the deck, nothing had changed.

One hour later, in
Le Navigateur
é
picurien,
the
manager and the chef sat down and wondered while there had been absolutely no
take-up on the sweets at lunchtime, particularly as the choice had included two
of their best sellers - slippery chocolate rice pudding and semolina with
caramelised banana chunks.

But all that was behind Mrs Hathaway now - the wind
was getting up, the deck was starting to roll a little, and there was salt
spray in the air. With her eyes on the horizon, her hands on the wheel and her
left foot on Aubrey’s moaning body, only one thing mattered - the great
adventure was finally underway.

Chapter 35

Jim woke up and the world was completely blue.
Naturally, he panicked. What the
hell
was going on? Maybe he was experiencing a totally new and devastating sort of
hangover. He felt his face. It was curved, hard and completely smooth. His
nose, mouth, ears and hair had disappeared. And the top of his head was round
and flat. But when he tapped the top of his head with his knuckles, it made a
strange hollow sound.

‘Oh, so you’re back with us,’ said a woman’s voice.

It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. All he
knew is that it made him want to check his tie was straight.

A few scissor snips and the duct tape fell away,
allowing Mrs Hathaway to lift the bucket off Jim’s head.

He looked up in amazement, squinting in the bright
sunlight, licking his dry lips with his dry tongue.

‘Hello James, it’s Mrs Hathaway,’ said Mrs Hathaway.

Jim was extremely confused, to say the least. There
was a pounding in his head, and he was struggling to find the right words. In
fact, he was struggling to find
any
words.

At last, he overcame whatever he was struggling
against, and managed to blurt out a sentence.

‘Where’s your pinny?’

‘I’m afraid my pinny days are over, James.’

‘I can see that,’ said Jim.

All those years, they’d looked on Mrs Hathaway as a
tidy-upper and general stale curry and vomit-remover, and here she was in a
yellow polka-dot bikini looking like a million suntanned dollars, only better.
How could they have missed
that!

‘Would you like a drink of water?’

‘Yes please,’ said Jim and rolled onto his side in a
vain attempt to stand up.

It was then that he caught sight of Aubrey’s
sepulchral features.

Jesus! Thought Jim. This was a hangover two bridges
too far. Talk about hallucinations - first old Mrs H in a bikini, then that
toe-rag Aubrey ‘Vlad and Vic will be round in 10 minutes’ Brown propped up
against the beach bar. He
had
to cut
back on the Bollinger. The most sensible course of action would be to return to
where he had been. So Jim picked up the bucket, put it back on his head, lay
down and waited to wake up properly.

*

Two Alka-Seltzers and four paracetamols later, Jim sat
opposite Mrs Hathaway leaning heavily on the beach bar counter, trying to make
sense of it all.

Her story was long and complex. Jim was conscious
enough to realise he was in a conversation and, despite the fact she was moving
relentlessly in and out of focus, he was doing his best to take part.

He even tried an extremely potted history - sometimes
featuring verbs - of how he and Mick came to be on St Bernards.

But the truth was, he couldn’t remember what he’d been
told, or what he had said. However, he
did
remember that, in a conversation, etiquette demands new topics are introduced
from time to time. So that’s exactly what he did.

He raised one arm and brought it down slowly to point
in the vague direction of Mrs Hathaway’s bikini top.

‘Who?’ he said slowly and deliberately.

He paused for thought, but no thoughts came. He rolled
his eyes up to look at the beach bar roof, and took a deep breath in an attempt
to get more oxygen to his brain.

‘Go on,
who
?’
encouraged Mrs Hathaway.

‘Yeah!’ said Jim, leaning on his glass of water and
spilling it all over the counter.

‘
Who?’
he
repeated
.

He began to pat the water with the flat of his hand.
This tactile therapy and the little splashes he made seemed to bring him back
into the real world. He smiled and opened his mouth.

 
‘Who -
are
all those dead blokes propped up against the bar?’

His elbow skidded on the wet counter and his head hit
the bar top. His eyes closed and his mouth started to blow little bubbles in
the thin film of liquid.

It was at this point, Mrs Hathaway realised what she
was dealing with. She picked Jim up, laid him down gently with the others,
slipped the bucket back over his head and waited for a more opportune moment.

Chapter 36

While the amassed avengers of Big Dick’s
Half-Way Inn were unconsciously recovering from their various excesses, Mrs
Hathaway busied herself by fetching the medical kit from the yacht. With the
help of a First Aid manual, she administered a little local anaesthetic and
stitched up the gash in the police chief’s head.

She then strolled back along the pier
and, in the cool of the yacht’s cabin, picked up her sat phone and dialled
Giles’ number.

Back in the Shard, Giles grabbed his
office phone with the grip of a man possessed.

‘Tallulah! Where are you? I’ve been
worried sick!’

‘We’re in St Bernards and everything’s
fine.’

 
‘What happened?’ said Giles. ‘For two weeks,
everything was great, then nothing. No communication. No calls. No nothing.’

 
‘Ah well, I’m afraid it all went wrong when
Aubrey decided to adjust the satellite television set,’ she said, helping
herself to a bottle of water from the fridge.

‘He’d seen me sorting things out using
manuals, and thought he’d have a go at setting his favourite channels - none of
which I’d be happy to list in public - as preferred options.’

‘I was on deck when the explosion
happened. As you can imagine, I went below immediately. His screwdriver was
just a blob, and I had to use the extinguisher, you so kindly provided, to put
him out.’

‘Virtually all the communication
equipment was destroyed. There was smoke and flames everywhere. I was so
worried, I mean, I knew that as soon as you lost touch with us, you’d be paying
for an expensive air-sea rescue search.’

‘Cost didn’t come into it,’ said Giles.
‘I commissioned a thorough search immediately, but they found nothing. That’s
why I was
so
worried.’

Giles of course, had never even
considered commissioning an air-sea rescue. Once the international media got
hold of the story, he’d lose the element of surprise. Everyone would want a
piece of her - and he hadn’t invested 2 million quid, plus mind-boggling
expenses, just to hand it to the wolves on a plate.

He felt guilty about leaving her and
Skipper Brown to the elements - but managed to successfully assuage his guilt.
He convinced himself that someone with Mrs Hathaway’s phenomenal all-round
abilities would be bound to pull through.

The first two weeks of the voyage had
been pretty uneventful, so Giles was anxious to know if there was going to be
anything sensational for his readers.

Mrs Hathaway gave him a long, involved
answer. She started by showing a creative side, which he hadn’t expected. She
suggested Aubrey could feature in the story as a stowaway she discovered in a
cupboard 100 miles west of the Scilly Isles. That way, she didn’t have to worry
about him appearing on the automatic video cameras. She suggested the story
involved her subduing Aubrey
à la
Enfield - then befriending him as they fought the mighty ocean together.

‘Sounds great,’ said Giles, ‘but, er,
how mighty
was
the ocean, exactly. I
seem to remember it was a bit of a millpond, up to when we lost contact.’

‘It was, but it gave me lots of time to
read the
Sweden Yacht 42
handbooks and check through my DVD -
The Gulf Stream
- tips,
tricks and cheats
- all of which came
in very useful.

‘How?’

‘We’d picked up a Met Office warning of
a violent tropical storm with hurricane-force winds and 40-foot waves, about
600 miles south of where we were. So I thought, your Daring Doozers won’t want
a story about a silky smooth trip, with pictures of me happily feeding
seagulls. So I set a course for the storm.’

Giles started to dribble.

‘We’d been on the new course for about
an hour, when Aubrey blew the electrics - I got some great photographs of the
damage,
and
some pictures of the
burnt equipment. I took him on deck and got good video, what’s the word -
footage - of me applying artificial respiration and bandaging up the more burnt
bits.’

‘Five hours later, we hit the storm, and
I’ve got lots of really nice footage of black clouds, sheet lightning, big
waves breaking over the yacht. I just set the storm sail and let her run. We
took a real battering and several times I thought we’d capsize. Aubrey spent
the whole time sat on the toilet, trying to remember some prayers. The
automatic video cameras worked perfectly, and I got some nice footage. Of the
storm that is, not of Aubrey in the lavatory.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, there was a lightning strike on
the mast, which blew out what was left of the radar. I had to climb up in the
storm to check the damage. Fortunately, with the sheet lightning, it was easy
to see what I was doing. Then I remembered your lovely present of the polka dot
bikini, so I went up again wearing just the bikini, because you mentioned how
your readers like that sort of thing.’

Giles was discovering new depths to this
lady. She was turning from a rather old-fashioned cleaning lady into a
media-savvy diva.

‘Er and...’

‘Yes?’

‘Er, when you were up the mast, did your
bikini, er, you know - er - get wet?’

‘Giles
Montagu-Scott,’ said Mrs Hathaway in disbelief. ‘There was a force 9
gale
blowing. Of
course
it got wet!’

Then the penny
dropped and it didn’t make a nice sound as it hit the bottom of a very rusty bucket.

‘Giles
Montagu-Scott, I’m
ashamed
of you!
This story is about a dangerous assignment to check sophisticated radar
equipment on top of a 50-foot mast in the teeth of a hurricane. It is not a wet
underwear competition at a seafront hotel in Benidorm.’

Giles shelved
the media savvy diva thoughts, but still wondered why she had done the second
take. He decided to move on quickly.

‘Anything
else - you know, that didn’t involve bikinis,’ he added ingratiatingly.

‘Yes,’ she replied somewhat curtly,
‘Aubrey fell overboard.’

‘He
didn’t
?’

‘He did. The silly boy came up on deck
to be sick, and plop, next thing I knew he was over the side. Forgot to clip on
his lifeline, as usual. Fortunately, he was wearing his Stingray inflatable
plastic ring. I grabbed a rope, tied it round my waist, jumped overboard, swam
over, grabbed him and hauled him back.’

Giles’ throat went dry and he could just
manage to squeak out the vital question.

‘And the video cameras worked?’

‘Oh yes, when things calmed down, I
checked, and it’s all there.’

‘But you jumped overboard!’ said Giles,
in admiration.

‘It was straightforward, really. It was
just like a scene in that
Crossing the
Atlantic with useless drunk
video, so I did the same. It was easy, apart
from the shark.’

‘The
shark
!’

‘Just as I was manoeuvring Aubrey up to
the stern, a large shark popped its head up right next to us. I could see right
into its innards - it was most off-putting. I was forced to use Aubrey as a
weapon to beat it off.’

‘All on video?’

‘Of course.’

Giles was on his knees banging the
carpet with his fist, mouthing Yes! Yes! Yes!

But there was more. Apparently, she’d
completed the rest of the journey using a freebie sky chart from some retro
girls’ magazine. Giles was obviously unaware of the impeccable standards and
attention to detail consistently displayed by the research staff and graphic
artists at
Girl
and
Eagle
. The
Girl
sky navigation sheet would have been at least as accurate, if
not more so, than information available at the time, from the Admiralty.

Giles had recorded the call, and Mrs
Hathaway said she’d email over her log, photographs and video as soon as she
could set up an internet connection.

‘Cool,’ said Giles, though he had never
felt so hot in his life.

He picked up the phone and ordered a
couple of bottles of
Krug Clos Du Mesnil 1995, from a girl who said ‘Certainly, Mr
Montagu-Scott.’ That was one of the nice things about being filthy rich. You
could order two £750 bottles of champagne, and not worry about drinking it.

*

That night, Giles swirled off to sleep
thinking about headlines. What should he call Mrs Hathaway? She needed
branding, so little girls could say ‘Mummy, I want a something-something dress,
swimsuit, shorts and t-shirt’ or whatever. He snuggled down and names swam
before his eyes - Nanny Noble, Granny Goforit, Tallulah Tornado, Typhoon
Tallulah, Nanny Nonparail - bit posh that - the Enfield Enigma...

Everything could be sorted out in the
morning. All he knew was that as far as he could see, the first issue - the
first
real
Daring Dooz
ever
- was
well and truly in the bag.

The next thing was to sit back, relax
and enjoy Daring Dooz Challenge Two.

Or so he fondly thought.