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

him about your smuggling cousin. He might know or he might not; my bet is that he
would
know, but whether he tells you or not is anybody’s guess.”
    â€œMy guess is that he might—people do tell one things,” said Julia. “But I’ll go very slowly, I promise you. Thanks.”
    At that point Mr. Freeman came stumping up the ladder and walked into the chart-room—he checked at the sight of Julia.
    â€œOh, hullo,” he said—“I didn’t expect to find you here.”
    â€œStudying radar,” said Julia. She turned again to the screen. Up in the top left-hand corner the chrysanthemum-petals were now quite clear and strong, and spread much further down towards the ship. “Oh, look, Mr. Reeder—Spain’s showing up beautifully now.”
    Reeder however did not look; instead he went out onto the bridge, glanced at the binnacle, at his wrist-watch, and then came back and did things on the chart with the protractors, as Captain Blyth, had done making a pencil X and writing ‘23.59 hours’ below it.
    â€œThere you are,” he said to Freeman. “Over to you now. Wish you joy of your trick”—and he strode out; his heavy steps could be heard clattering down the ladder.
    â€œI think I shall say Goodnight too,” said Julia and betook herself to her cabin. In bed, sipping her coffee and smoking a last cigarette, she meditated on what Reeder had told her. It was quite a new idea that Colin might be smuggling—and would probably make him harder to trace, she thought; he might even be using a false name. But then—if so, why in the world should the Bank of England allow him to transfer his account to Casablanca? Smuggling currency was about the last thing that the Bank would either smile upon or promote. All very queer—and still thinking how queer it was, and what fun to be trying to unravel so odd a mystery, she fell asleep.
    Casablanca, where the
Vidago
eventually tied up at aboutnine one morning, gives a rather false first impression of North Africa. What one sees—what Julia saw—as the ship moves along the coast to slip in behind the long long mole which protects the harbour is first the hideous factory zone to the north of the city, and then a conglomeration of high, featureless, cream-coloured modern blocks, near-sky-scrapers, which constitute the town itself. This is very disillusioning. It might be a lesser New York; lesser, and less ugly than the fantastic Manhattan skyline, but not in the least anyone’s idea of Africa, or any part of the Old World. From the deck Julia observed it all—as they approached the dockside she noticed that the local workers, at least, looked very different to Mr. Murphy’s friends at the London Docks: not only had they very dark skins, some indeed being obvious negroes, but many of them wore long-skirted garments, and on their heads small brightly-coloured skullcaps, knitted or crocheted in patterns resembling Fair-Isle, and very dirty.
    â€œGood gracious me, what an extraordinary place,” she muttered to herself. “Not at all what I expected.”

Chapter 4
    The Arab dockers, in their curious garb, were considerably quicker off the mark than their
confréres
in London. The hatch-covers had been got off while the
Vidago
was idling along inside the mole, awaiting the signal to berth, and in no time at all crane-drivers in fancy dress were slinging tractors, endless tractors, out of one end of the ship and small saloon cars, mostly painted a pale green, out of the other; the moment these last touched solid ground swarms of Moors ran them off the rope nets which held the wheels, manhandled them across the wide quayside, and parked them in neat rows between the warehouse sheds. It was a pleasant lively sight, in the bright southern sunlight, and Julia stood watching it with satisfaction—this might make a nice tail-piece to “Dockside Diversions”, she