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‘It’s not weapons I’m lookin’ fer. Unbutton your shirt.’
The younger one catches sight of my tattoos and whistles through his teeth. ‘Is that a hobby or an illness?’
‘Both.’
I tuck in my shirt and step on board, descending three steps into a luxurious cabin decorated in polished wood and marble. It has a circular lounge, a dining table and a galley area with an oven and cooktop. An older man is sitting at the table. A newspaper is spread out in front of him and reading glasses are perched on the end of his nose. He gets up and carefully folds the paper.
‘Thank you for coming, Dr Haven.’
He has thick, wavy grey hair, and trousers that are notched too tightly into his waist. The air smells of scented oil and aftershave.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, sir.’
‘It’s nae important.’
‘Maybe so, but it would help to call you something.’
There is a pause. The old man is deaf in one ear and cocks his head to one side, presenting his good ear.
‘Mah name is William Radford. Mah friends call me Willie. You can call me Mr Radford.’
A woman appears from an adjoining cabin. I recognise her bottle-blonde hair and the tight grey dress. It’s Kellie from the pub.
‘Is this him?’ asks Radford.
‘Yeah. Can I go now?’
Radford nods and Kellie stumbles up the stairs, eager to get away.
A bottle of whisky is produced from a mahogany drinks cabinet. Two glasses. A jug of water. I notice scars on the back of Radford’s hands and the deep lines around his eyes, created by squinting into sun and wind.
He pours a whisky and pushes it towards me.
‘Nothing for me.’
‘This is a fifty-year-old Macallan, single malt, worth sixty grand a bottle. The least you can do is try it.’
I sniff the glass and let the whisky pass my lips, tasting the peat and the moss and woodsmoke.
Mr Radford does the same, sipping more liberally, smacking his lips. ‘What do you think?’
‘Very smooth.’
‘It’s the juice of angels copulating in flight.’
‘Not the metaphor I had in mind.’
He smiles. ‘Why are you so interested in the Arianna II?’
‘Your note said you had the answers.’
‘Ah’m more interested in why ye’re askin’ the questions.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Aye, because ye’re making a nuisance of yerself. Bothering good people.’
‘Are you bothered?’
