waiting for the tide.
Along the walls and quays that surrounded the harbour, and for the length of Marine Boulevard, hundreds of people milled about with an air of pleasurable languor. Beggar-musicians moved amongst them, collecting-bags swinging from the necks of their guitars, and along the part of the Boulevard overlooking the harbour were the licensed stalls and entertainers, the book and magazine stands, Sekker’s Bar, and the store where tide- skimmers could be bought or hired and where the fashionable were always to be seen. It was in this part of town, at this time of day, that the visitors gathered.
The building of the English Regional Commission was situated in one of the sidestreets leading into Marine Boulevard, and it was from this that Donald Mander and Frederick Cro emerged. They walked slowly through the crowd towards the harbour, Cro still wearing his jacket, but Mander carrying his over his arm.’
They walked as far as the end of the quay, where they stopped to buy two citrons pressés at the soft-drinks bar.
From this position it became possible to see under the canopy of one of the yachts, and there, otherwise invisible from the harbour walls, were two young men and a woman. Although the men were dressed in beach-shorts and shirts, the young woman was naked. She sat quietly in a canvas chair, flipping through a magazine.
The Commission men both noticed her at the same time, but neither of them remarked on her. They were habitually guarded in what they said to each other, and by nature discreet with their reactions. Both men were bachelors in their fifties, and although they had worked in adjacent offices at the Regional Commission for more than twenty years they were still not on first-name terms.
When they had finished their drinks they walked slowly back down the quay.
Mander pointed towards the waiting fishing boats, most of which were grouped together in the deeper water about fifty metres from the harbour entrance. Several of the boats were lying low in the water, while their crews sat lazily in the warm sunlight on deck.
‘There’s been a good catch,’ Mander said.
Cro nodded, and Mander smiled to himself. He knew that the other man detested sea-food, and rarely ate in the local restaurants. One of the few facts Mander knew about Cro was that he lived on parcels of provisions, sent over by his parents, who were still alive and lived in relative affluence on the English mainland.
On the far side of the harbour, where the commercial work of the port was done, a steam crane emitted a loud hissing noise accompanied by a white jet of vapour. In a moment it trundled slowly along its rails to the regular berth of the hydrofoil service from the mainland. The boat was late this evening, and the carts of several tradesmen from the town stood waiting by.
Beyond, the bay was calm and blue.
The two men left the quay and walked into the crowd on Marine Boulevard, heading for Sekker’s Bar. They looked out of place in this leisurely part of town, more for their watchful manner than their clothes. The tourists stared as they sauntered in the warm air, caring only to notice and be noticed; Mander and Cro, though, glanced uneasily about them, minor public servants constantly on watch for minor details.
As they came near to the multi-coloured umbrellas over the tables of Sekker’s Bar, Cro pointed towards one of the stalls of merchandise.
‘The people from Maiden Castle,’ he said. ‘They’re still here. I thought you were going to check their licence.’
‘I did. There’s nothing irregular.’
‘Then it must be revoked. How did they get hold of one?’
‘In the usual way,’ Mander said. ‘It was bought in the office.’ ‘We could find an ideological objection ...’
Mander shook his head, but not so the other would see. ‘It’s never as easy as that.’
The stall Cro had indicated would have seemed innocuous enough to eyes less instantly hostile. It was no larger than any of the