Read Online Dangerous Sea by David Roberts - Free Book Online

home, he had been secretly quite relieved. He would never admit it but Spain had been frightening in a way he had never imagined. His uncle had been tactful – he had not dressed him down or patronized him – and even the Duke, his father, had not berated him as he had anticipated. His mother had been so delighted to have him back in one piece that she said not a word to him of the anxiety she had felt. All this restraint had the desired effect: Frank felt guilty – ashamed – angry with himself and the world in general.
    This trip with Lord Benyon was a godsend. He had longed to go to America. He instinctively loved all things American and, though he had felt a little bored at being made a baggage handler, he had had, in the event, an exciting time of it. Within two days of meeting his employer he had been shot at and, though he was able to pretend – after Spain – that he was ‘used to it’, it had given him quite a jolt. It was all very well dodging bullets in a country at war but in the Hampshire countryside . . .? That was unsettling. He had been impressed by Benyon’s behaviour under fire. He might not look ‘a man’s man’, as they said in the body-building advertisements in the newspapers, but he had been coolness itself.
    Mr Fern, too, had seemed unmoved by the experience but, when Frank looked at the papers he had in his hand which he had been discussing with Benyon, he was surprised to see that Fern had, quite unconsciously, crumpled them into a ball. Barrett had taken charge and no one had questioned his authority. He had been sitting in front with the chauffeur and, even before the car had come to a halt, he had smashed a hole in the fractured windscreen with his gloved hand. Once he had ascertained nobody had been hurt, he had ordered the chauffeur to continue to Southampton.
    ‘That was a bullet, Lord Benyon, not a stone. We’re lucky to be alive and we should get away before whoever it is takes another shot at us. If we lose a tyre, we’ll be sitting ducks.’
    ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’
    ‘There’s nothing to be gained by waiting here for the local police,’ Barrett said decisively. ‘They won’t know how to deal with the situation. For all we know, the gunman may be repositioning himself as we speak. From the position of the hole in the windscreen, I would say he’s somewhere over there.’ He pointed a hundred yards ahead of them where several trees lined the road.
    Everyone had looked nervous and the chauffeur started the engine so clumsily that it stalled and they had to wait a few moments before he could try again. This time it started, to the relief of all concerned. The chauffeur swung the car into the road and they sped off.
    ‘Did you see anyone?’ Frank asked Barrett.
    ‘No, nor did I expect to. We’re not dealing with amateurs.’
    Frank had wondered just who they were dealing with but decided not to ask. In their heavy ulsters, Barrett and the chauffeur were reasonably well protected against the wind but they must have been cold, Frank thought. The rest of them in the back were protected by the glass partition. When they stopped for petrol half an hour later, Frank saw Barrett probing a hole in the upholstery with a knife. ‘Ah, got it! I thought so.’ He had handed the spent bullet to Frank. ‘Keep it as a souvenir, if you like. It’s no use to me. Let’s hope it’s the last of its kind we see. It must have missed my head by an inch, damn it.’
    After their game they showered and, at Perry’s suggestion, repaired to the bar. Frank would have liked to talk about being shot at with his new American friend but he stopped himself. Perry seemed ‘a good chap’ and was travelling First Class but, even so, he really knew nothing about him.
    ‘You’re related to the President?’ he asked.
    The direct question seemed to fluster Perry a little. ‘I’m only a cousin . . . a distant cousin. It’s a huge clan. My sister and I hardly ever get to see the great