spider deck, perhaps a hundred of them, assembled like a lynch mob, many more lining the railing above, watching the boat peacefully carve a return passage across the docile tide, the mast tilted, the mainsail full.
Leona was shaking with rage beside Jenny. Rage, and anxiety.
‘Come on . . . come on,’ she hissed under her breath. ‘Hurry the fuck up.’
Jenny rested a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll deal with him, Leona. I won’t let this happen again.’
Her daughter stared at her silently. Jenny wondered if some of that anger was directed her way. ‘If he’s touched a hair on her—’
Jenny squeezed her arm. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll let you deal with Hannah, though.’
The boat’s return was painfully slow. Although Jenny didn’t say anything, she was nervously wondering if the boat might suddenly swing about and head away as soon as Latoc spotted the reception awaiting him. But it didn’t.
As it entered the loom of shadow cast by the rigs, the mainsail dropped to the foredeck and the yacht slid slowly forward under its own momentum. William Laithwaite’s narrow frame stepped up from the cabin and into view. Eyebrows arched in surprise from behind his glasses as he finally noticed the sea of faces lining the safety railings.
‘What . . . uh . . . what’s the matter?’ he called out.
‘Hannah’s gone missing,’ shouted Jenny. ‘Is she with you?’
William shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Oh, God . . . Mum,’ whispered Leona beside her.
‘Why’d you take the boat out, Bill?’ asked Walter.
The boat softly nudged against one of the support-legs and Kevin emerged from the foredeck hatch, grabbing at the collapsed mainsail and pulling it down through the hatch to store it in the fore cabin.
‘I was changing over the sails, thought, uh . . . thought it would be a good opportunity to give young Kevin some practice. Also, Mr Latoc fancied a ride with—’
‘He’s on there with you?’
‘Yes! I am here!’ Valérie stood up awkwardly in the cockpit, leaning around the boom and the fluttering folds of sail.
‘What the fuck are you doing on there?’ snapped Walter.
Valérie recoiled guiltily. ‘I am sorry . . . I . . . thought it would be—’
Jenny waved impatiently for him to stop. ‘Mr Latoc, you spoke to Hannah last. You were seen—’
‘What has happened to the girl?’
‘She’s gone missing. Hannah’s gone missing,’ she replied. Next to her, she heard Leona’s breath hitch, followed by a quiet keening whimper.
‘You were seen talking with her last, Mr Latoc.’
‘What have you done with her?’ Leona suddenly screamed. ‘You fucking bastard . . . what’ve you—!’
Martha reached for Leona, and held her tightly as her cries diminished to a whimpering.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. I spoke with her after breakfast, yes.’
‘We can’t find her anywhere,’ said Jenny, struggling to keep her own voice even. ‘She knows to be careful near the edges. There’s no sign of her on any of the—’
‘Did you try your generator room?’
Jenny looked around to her left and right. Heads were shaking. She certainly had not thought to look down there.
‘The generator room,’ continued Valérie, ‘your children showed me this the other day. They are very proud of it.’ He shrugged. ‘That is all I can suggest.’
‘She knows not to play down there on her own,’ Walter said defensively. ‘None of the little ones are allowed in there without me or Jenny with them.’
Leona shot an accusing glance at Walter then Jenny before hurriedly turning and pushing her way through the gathered crowd and up the steps. Jenny followed in her wake, wondering what accusation was wrapped up in that look.
You should have had Walter put a lock on that room, Mum.
‘Stay back!’ said Walter to the others outside the generator room. ‘Hannah!’ Walter called as he pushed the door wider and stepped in. His voice bounced back at him off the hard metal walls. The room’s pitch-black darkness was pierced by the fading beam from his hand-trigger flashlight. He pumped the trigger several times, setting the dynamo whirring, the beam brightening once more.
Behind him footsteps echoed noisily along the passageway outside and up the stairs at the end; a procession of the concerned.
Walter turned round and raised a hand. ‘Stop! I don’t want everyone stomping around in here,’ he said. ‘There’re cables, pipes, and all sorts. Not to mention a couple of gas tanks full of highly flammable methane!’
Jenny and the rest of the search party halted in the doorway.
Walter panned his torch around again. ‘Hannah! Hannah, love . . .