Read Online The Lighthearted Quest by Ann Bridge - Free Book Online

so—what is it?”
    â€œAll this fuzz of little white dots round the ship herself, just like the Milky Way.”
    Reeder laughed shortly.
    â€œThat’s what we call the clutter—it’s the ship’s own disturbance in the water.”
    â€œOh—oh, how funny.”
    â€œWhy funny?”
    â€œBecause all the other things it shows, like ships and land, are solid—this is only bubbles in the water, like you see over the side. And talking of that, did you notice that there’s phosphorescence in the water tonight?—not a lot, just an odd spark, but it’s there all right.”
    â€œYes. The beginning of southern waters. Lovely,” said Mr. Reeder. He glanced rather keenly at her. “You’re fairly observant.”
    â€œNot really, a bit—madly vague, in fact. Thanks”—as he gave her a cigarette, and lit one for himself. “Do you like southern waters?” she asked then—Mr. Reeder seemed in a more unbending mood than his usual abrupt aloofness, tonight.
    â€œYes, adore them—sub-southern, that is; I loathe the tropics. That’s why I stick to this run—Spanish ports, Moroccan ports!”
    When he spoke of sticking to the
Vidago’s
run Julia recalled how Captain Blyth had said of him, over one of their nightly drinks, that Reeder was ‘one of the most efficient officers in the merchant navy. He could have had his master’s ticket any time these last eight years, but he won’t go up for it. Can’t understand the fella.’ With this in mind—
    â€œWhy do you like the Spanish and Moroccan ports so much?” she asked.
    â€œThe sun—and the girls! Anything with black hair drives me wild!” said Reeder frankly. “Can’t abide blondes—funny, isn’t it?”
    Julia laughed. But suddenly an idea struck her. “Do youget to know about other ships in all these ports?—yachts and things like that?’
    â€œDon’t know what you mean by ‘things’—one hears about some of the yachts, of course. Why? Do you want a yacht?”
    â€œNo, but I’m looking for one.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œThe lunatic part is that I don’t even know that,” said Julia, more slowly than usual.
    â€œThen I don’t see how you are going to find her, unless you know the owner’s name. What sort of yacht is she?—steam or sail?”
    â€œSome sail and some engine, I think—I’ve no idea how big, either. It’s all quite mad, but I absolutely must find her. I do know one of the owner’s names, but not whether it’s registered under that.”
    â€œShe’s
registered,” Reeder corrected. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then said—“Why have you got to find her? None of my business, of course.”
    Julia now plumped for telling this abrupt, rather cranky, man the reason for her quest—after all she needed any help she could get, and the Captain’s unsolicited testimonial caused her to regard Reeder as a trustworthy person. In her near-drawling tones she related the whole story: Uncle John’s death, and the consequent crisis at Glentoran; Aunt Ellen’s distress, Edina’s frustration at being stuck in Argyll, and her anxiety to get back to her rich job—finally, Colin’s alleged orange-selling, and his failure to write for the last nine months. Reeder listened in silence; at the end he spoke.
    â€œOf course they aren’t selling oranges at all—you realise that?”
    â€œNo, I don’t. I don’t realise anything. What would they be doing, if not that?”
    â€œSmuggling, of course.”
    â€œSmuggling!”
said Julia in astonishment, raising her delicate eyebrows. “Smuggling
what,
for goodness sake?”
    â€œAlmost certainly currency out of Tangier; watches and cameras, probably, out of Gibraltar. Watches and cameras are duty-free