Free Gently Floating by Alan Hunter Page A

people,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘Only I can’t go into the boats with other people, you have to go somewhere with them alone.’
    ‘How about somebody else’s boat?’ Gently said.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Then I wouldn’t have an excuse. It’s very complicated, really it is. If you don’t know the rules you can’t do it.’
    ‘Did you use to attract Mr French?’ Gently said.
    Vera Spelton’s eyes smiled an inquiry. ‘Who is that?’ she said. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’
    ‘Your neighbour,’ Gently said. ‘The man who kept the yard across the road.’
    Vera Spelton shook her head. ‘Don’t go there for a boat,’ she said. ‘Their boats are no good, they’re all rubbish. Nobody goes to them twice. Did you just want a boat for yourself, or is it a party you want it for?’
    ‘You’ll know his son, John French,’ Gently said. ‘Harry French the father, John French the son. French’s boat-yard. Harry French. You’d have known Harry French?’
    ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘All our boats are out in any case. We’re Speltons, of course, we’re always booked up. I don’t think we can do anything for you.’
    ‘Harry French,’ Gently said, ‘in his launch.’
    ‘We don’t cater for launch-hirers,’ Vera Spelton said.
    ‘A big man in a launch,’ Gently said.
    ‘We don’t like launch-parties here,’ Vera Spelton said. Suddenly she picked up the calendar, held it out to Gently. ‘You didn’t know I did fretwork, did you?’ she said. ‘I’ve done all this in here.’
    ‘Harry French, who made your brothers angry,’ Gently said.
    ‘Yes, I’m very good at it,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘They won’t let me work on the boats, though I’m just as clever as they are, so this is what I do. I could sell it for money if I wanted. Do you do fretwork?’
    Gently said nothing.
    ‘I really could sell it,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘All sorts of things. Even furniture. I’m just as clever as they are.’
    She smiled at Gently without meeting his eyes, smiled at the calendar, the writing-table. A flashing smile. She had small brown hands with mobile, flat-tipped fingers. The fingers moved about the calendar, feeling the outline of the design. She breathed quickly. The smile lighted every part of her sunned face. Gently’s shoulders lifted.
    ‘Where can I find your brothers?’ he said.
    ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Dave and Jackie. I don’t know. They’re not here.’
    ‘Aren’t they in the yard?’ Gently said.
    ‘I couldn’t say where they are,’ she said. ‘But it’s no use going to them. I’m afraid you must come back some other week.’
    Gently nodded. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said. He rose, turned towards the door. He met a man coming in through the door. The man had approached the door on tiptoe.
    The man was nearly as tall as Gently and he had angry yellowish-grey eyes. He had a hard, broad frame with flat shoulders and large but well-formed hands. He was in his late thirties. He had a small moustache. He had Vera Spelton’s blunt nose. He had Vera Spelton’s wide mouth, but without Vera Spelton’s smile. His mouth and face and body were taut and his eyes were fastened on Gently’s. He wore an old dragged tweed jacket and a faded red cotton shirt and dungaree trousers and ragged plimsolls. He went flat-footed very slowly. In a tight, low-pitched voice he said:
    ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘Routine inquiries,’ Gently said.
    ‘Oh, and who are you supposed to be?’ the man said. Gently told him.
    ‘I get it,’ the man said. ‘Getting V on her own. Seeing what you could make her spill. A copper. A screw. A human ferret.’
    ‘Oh, don’t take on, Dave,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘It’s only a policeman about a boat. I’ve told him that our boats are always booked up and he’s just going and he wasn’t naughty. You shouldn’t’ve come interfering.’
    ‘V,’ David Spelton said, ‘go and set the table.’
    ‘But I’ve set the table,’ Vera Spelton