A Good Catch Part 26

July 2009 Jesse Behenna, managing director of Behenna and Clovelly Fish Company, surveyed the a.s.sembled faces of his staff as they lined up in the bar of the Golden Hind and waited for him to say a few words. Spencer was finally retiring after a lifetime spent working on the boats with three generations of Behenna men. There would be a retirement luncheon later on, which Jesse would be too busy to attend. But his father would be there, along with plenty of Trevay's salty old seadogs, who would regale each other with tales told a thousand times before. Scanning the expectant faces, Jesse noted that Bryn Clovelly wasn't there. Both he and Edward still held their seats on the board, in non-executive roles, but Bryn was more likely to be seen on the golf course these days, though he still enjoyed bl.u.s.tering pointlessly at the annual shareholder meetings.

Three years ago, Jesse had bought another stretch of the harbour, at least the length of a football pitch, and had demolished the ramshackle buildings that had been there for as long as anyone could remember. The old chandler's, the boat engine workshop, the damp and worm-riddled sail loft. All gone, to be replaced with a twenty-first-century, three-storey building made from gla.s.s and metal, with an atrium and balconies overlooking the estuary. The old fish market next door had been given a revamp and was still the money-making heart of the business, even more so now that it had its own adjoining restaurant, which had become a destination in itself and attracted wealthy holiday-makers and locals alike.

Jesse looked like the epitome of the relaxed modern executive. His open-necked shirt was Paul Smith and his tan leather brogues were Church's, but his full head of blond hair still fell in boyish waves and, even though he was often stuck behind his desk, driving deals stretching from London to Madrid, he still liked nothing better than going out with the boats and crewing with Mickey. Creeping crow's feet around his eyes were the only indicators of the stresses and strains that came with Behenna and Clovelly.

'And so, let's raise a toast to the man who has been the beating heart and soul of Behenna and Clovelly for longer than anyone else Spence! It won't be the same without you, but luckily we'll still get a chance to see your ugly mug every lunchtime here at the Hind, which is where I imagine you'll be spending most of your retirement.'

There was a round of cheers as Jesse gave Spencer and his wife two all-expenses-paid tickets for dinner and a show in London. Spencer's wife wiped away a tear, and Spencer, embarra.s.sed at all the attention, looked awkward.

As the group clapped and crowded around Spencer, oohing and aahing at his gift, Lauren, Jesse's a.s.sistant, touched him on the arm to get his attention.

'Houston, we have a problem.'

Jesse was on immediate alert. 'What's up?'

'Just got a call from Bob. A lorry jack-knifed on the A30 and there's been a pile-up. His van is totalled.'

'Is Bob all right?' Jesse's brow was creased with concern.

'He is totally fine, but he won't be able to get that consignment of John Dory and sea ba.s.s where it's supposed to be.'

'They were destined for the River Cafe and the Dorchester, weren't they?'

'Correct.'

Jesse thought quickly. 'Has Phil left with that order for Rick in Padstow yet?'

'I think he's just loading up.'

'Right.' Jesse fished in his trousers and pulled out a pile of notes. He quickly counted out 200 and pushed it into her hand. 'Tell him change of plan. He's to take his delivery to London instead. Give him a new manifest, and I'll give Rick a call and square things with him.'

'What will you do?'

'I'll find him something even better and drive it there myself.' He took his BlackBerry out of his pocket to make a call just as Greer's number popped up on his screen. He hesitated a moment before answering.

'Hi.'

'How's Spencer's send-off going?'

'Fine, but I've got a work crisis so won't be back until later ...'

'Jesse I was counting on you to take Freddie to his maths tutor tonight.'

'Can't you do it?'

'No! I told you, I'm visiting clients in St Just this afternoon that new restaurant that looks out over the headland. It's a really important commission as they're refurbishing the whole place. It needs my complete attention. I did tell you all of this already.'

'Well, it's tough, Greer. He'll just have to get on his bike and take himself there. Where is he now, anyway?

'He's managed to twist my arm to let him out on the boat with Hal, even though he should be revising.'

'You're too soft.'

'And you're not?'

'Listen, I've got to go. I'll text you later.' He sighed and rang off, running his hands irritably through his hair before heading back to his office.

Hal was feeding a mackerel line off the side of Freddie's solid wooden rowing boat. His hair was flame red like his mother's but, unlike her, he was as brown as a nut; he always went a deep golden brown like his dad. Freddie was pulling at the oars, his blond hair now almost bleached white in the intense heat of the Cornish summer.

The sun was hot and the sea smooth and both boys were stripped to their waists. Hal was wearing a pair of battered Converse and an old pair of cut-off jeans. Freddie, by contrast, looked as if he was out of a Ralph Lauren advert, in his tailored shorts and expensive deck shoes.

The only sound was that of the oars in the rowlocks as Freddie pulled them in and out of the water, backwards and forwards.

'I've got another,' Hal said, pulling a flapping gleam of mackerel out of the water and into a bucket that held two others. 'I'm a mackerel magnet!' He thumped his chest, Tarzan-style. 'Can't wait to get these babies over a fire.'

'Do you always think about your stomach?' Freddie laughed.

'Oh, yes,' said Hal, putting his baited line over the side again. 'That and the gorgeous Kelly Brook. Keeps me busy.'

'You're always busy, ain't yer!' and Freddie made the universal sign for w.a.n.ker at his best mate.

'Oh, f.u.c.k off,' Hal replied genially. 'What you doing later?'

Freddie pulled a face. 'Mum's got me a maths tutor for the summer. Says I've got to buck up.'

'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. Can't you duck out? Dad's getting the barbecue out later and Mum will be doing some of her Chinese pork ribs.'

The idea sounded a lot more appealing to Freddie than swotting over his maths books. Didn't his mum know that it was summer?

'What's the point in maths anyway? Ain't you going out on the boats when school's finished?'

'Not if Mum has her way. Stick me in a suit and call me an accountant, she would.' Freddie frowned at the thought, but then something in the distance caught his attention. He stopped sculling and laid the oars inside the boat. 'What's that bloke doing up there?' He pointed to the headland above Tide Cove.

Hal followed his gaze and saw the outline of a man struggling to stand up straight. As the two boys watched, the man staggered, fell over, got up again and then tottered to the edge of the cliff. Trying to find his balance, he staggered forward again and then, missing his step completely, fell and slid over the side of the cliff onto a narrow shale ledge, which began to crumble at its edge.

'What the f.u.c.k's he doing?' said Freddie.

'Oh s.h.i.t,' shouted Hal, and the two friends watched, horrified, as the man tried to stand again but slipped, breaking the shale beneath him. They heard his scream as he fell the one hundred metres headfirst into the sea below.

The boys remained shocked for a split second, then Hal pulled out his mobile phone and started to dial 999.

's.h.i.t. I haven't got a f.u.c.king signal.' He shook the phone violently, hoping that it would catch some radio waves, however small. Nothing.

Freddie had already turned the small boat round and was heading towards the spot where he thought the man had fallen.

'Can you see him?' he asked breathlessly.

'Nothing.' Hal was still waving his phone about. 'Got it. Got a signal.'

Freddie pulled with all his might on his oars as he heard Hal speaking down the phone. 'h.e.l.lo? Yeah, there's a man just fallen off the cliff at Tide Cove ... I'm in a boat ... no, it's a rowing boat ... about two minutes ago he fell. We're on our way to see if we can find him but I think we'll need the lifeboat ... yeah, I'll hang on but I might lose the signal ... h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo?' He looked at the phone. 's.h.i.t. Lost signal.'

'Are they coming?' asked Freddie breathlessly.

'She said she was going to put me through but-' His phone rang. 'h.e.l.lo? Yes it was me who rang you ... we need the lifeboat and an ambulance ... I'm Hal Chandler ... my dad's the mechanic on the Trevay lifeboat ... h.e.l.lo ? h.e.l.lo?'

Hal threw the handset into the bottom of the boat in frustration. 'The signal keeps going.'

'They'll get here,' said Freddie, his arms straining with effort. 'I know they will.'

For the next few minutes, neither boy spoke to the other. Freddie was trying to ignore the pain in his shoulders in an effort to keep the boat moving forwards, and Hal was kneeling in the prow of the boat, scanning the rolling sea.

'I see him,' he shouted suddenly.

Freddie drew the boat alongside the man, not knowing whether he wanted to see what lay there. 'Is he breathing?' he asked Hal.

'He's face up, anyway,' said Hal.

Bravely he put his hand in the water and pulled at the man's jacket, bringing him closer to the boat. 'All right, mate?' he said fearfully. 'We got you.'

There was no response.

Freddie turned and looked over his shoulder at the man's face. It was pallid, the eyelids puffy and closed. A good week's worth of grey stubble covered his jowls and a frond of red seaweed had caught in it. 'Is he dead?'

'I don't know,' said Hal shakily.

'Keep his head out of the water until the lifeboat comes,' Freddie ordered.

'I'm trying.' But Hal didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

Jesse was just a minute away from the office when he felt his pager vibrate in his pocket just as he saw Mickey dashing towards him.

His face was etched with anxiety.

'We got a shout on the lifeboat, Jesse.'

'Not a boat in trouble, not in this weather the water's as still as anything.'

'There's a body in the water. But, Jesse, it's the boys.'

Jesse's heart froze. 'What do you mean?'

'They made the call.'

All thoughts of lorries, John Dory and maths tutors fled his mind.

He and Mickey raced to the lifeboat station.

Freddie thought he could hear something. An engine coming fast from around the corner of the headland. He looked over his shoulder and, with a shout, said, 'It's them. They're here.' In crazy relief he stood up and started to wave and shout. 'We're over here! Dad, we're over here!'

'Sit down,' shouted Hal. 'You're tipping the boat, I can't keep hold of him.'

The Spirit of Trevay in its orange and blue livery, had never looked more wonderful as it approached the boys and the drowned man. At the helm was Jesse. 'There they are,' He slowed the powerful engines and expertly brought the boat alongside the small rowing boat.

Leaving the engines idling, and shouting orders to the crew, Jesse climbed up on deck and leant over the side. He saw the white faces of Freddie and Hal staring up from the little boat.

'Are you boys all right?' he called.

'We're fine, Dad,' said Freddie with a sob of relief. 'It's this bloke, he fell off the cliff.'

Hal was still hanging on to the man's jacket and valiantly keeping his head out of the water.

Jesse, thanking a G.o.d he wasn't sure existed that the two boys weren't harmed, took a look at the casualty. His heart skipped a beat and he involuntarily swore.

Mickey was up on deck now and scanning the rowing boat for Hal.

'Hal!' he called. 'You're OK?'

'Yes, Dad.'

'What you got there?'

'This man just fell off the cliff,' Hal called back, tears coming in shock and in the relief of seeing his father. 'I've been holding him. I don't know if he's dead.'

Mickey was first to clamber down into the wooden boat and take the weight of the man from Hal. 'It's all right. I've got 'im. You can let go now.'

When Mickey could see the man's face he frowned. 'Jesse,' he shouted. 'It's your'n brother. 'Tis Grant.'

Jesse was feeling an old sickness in his stomach, a sixth sense that the past was about to collide with the present. 'Are you sure?' he asked.

'Yeah, I'm sure.'

Mickey had a toughness that his wiry frame belied. Swinging Grant's body round in the water, he managed to get his hands under his arms and haul his dead weight into the bottom of the little boat.

'Is he dead?' asked Jesse, who as c.o.xswain would never leave the lifeboat.

'Give me a minute,' said Mickey. He put his ear to the man's nose to see if he could hear or feel any breath. It was hard to tell with the soft breeze playing around the two boats. He put a hand inside the collar of Grant's camouflage jacket and felt the cold neck for a pulse.

Jesse and the boys waited.