Authors: Caroline Anderson
‘I don’t think so.’ Heavens, she didn’t sound much better!
‘Let’s just go—they won’t miss us. We’ll thank them next week.’
Her wrap was still in the car, so they were able to make their way around the side of the house and leave without drawing attention to themselves.
All the way back to his cottage her heart was pounding with nerves, and as they pulled up outside, she took a deep, steadying breath before climbing out of the car.
Michael unlocked the front door and ushered her inside, then, leaning on the door, he pulled her gently but firmly back into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t be. I won’t do anything to hurt you, or
anything you don’t want me to do. I just had to be alone with you, without an audience of interested spectators making notes on our every move.’
He let her go, and she stood trembling by the door as he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, sticking his head back round the door, and then came towards her, a serious but tender expression on his face.
‘Clare, it’s OK. Do you want to go home?’
She shook her head numbly.
‘Just hold me,’ she said unsteadily, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her hard against his chest.
After a minute she relaxed, and he eased away from her, dropping a light kiss on her brow. ‘Go and sit down, and I’ll bring the coffee through. How do you take yours?’
‘White, no sugar,’ she told him, and moved mechanically into the sitting-room.
He joined her a few minutes later, sat down on the settee and patted the cushion beside him.
‘Come and sit with me.’
His tone was gentle, persuasive, and quite unthreatening. Clare did as she was told, perching on the edge, longing to lean back against his side and at the same time ready to run if necessary.
His hand reached out and brushed the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
‘Please don’t be afraid of me,’ he murmured.
‘I—I’m not. I think I’m afraid of myself.’
‘Don’t be. I’ll take care of you. Come here.’
He took her shoulders in his hands and eased her slowly back against him, so that she half sat, half lay across his lap. Then with one arm under her shoulders,
he cradled her against his chest and sighed with contentment.
After a moment, in which she realised he was not about to make any demands of her, she slipped off her shoes and lifted her feet up on to the settee, snuggling closer to him.
‘OK?’
‘Mmm.’ She moved her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating steadily, slowly and evenly.
‘You must be very fit,’ she murmured.
He chuckled. ‘Why?’
‘Your heart beats very slowly—about fifty-five a minute—like an athlete’s.’
‘I jog some mornings, and windsurf, and I also play squash three times a week and tennis in the summer. When I’m not doing any of those things, I’m sailing. I suppose that keeps me fit. What about you?’
‘Me? I’m lazy,’ she said with a sigh of contentment.
‘Like the cat.’
‘Where is your cat?’
‘Around. He’s having a fantastic time exploring. He’ll be in in a while for a bit of TLC, then off out again hunting. He’s a bit of an alley cat, really, but he’s an old softie underneath. His name’s O’Malley, from the cat in
The Aristocats.’
Right on cue, she heard a loud miaow and something heavy landed on her stomach. Her lids flew up and she peered, startled, straight into pair of bright blue eyes.
‘He’s a Siamese!’
‘Oh, yes. Didn’t I tell you that?’
O’Malley squawked and stepped delicately over her shoulder, taking up residence around Michael’s neck.
‘He thinks he’s a collar,’ Michael said in resignation.
Clare laughed and swivelled round so that her feet were back on the floor. ‘He’s very beautiful.’
‘He’s a rogue,’ Michael said affectionately, and scratched his ears. The cat squawked again, and began to purr loudly.
They drank their coffee in companionable silence, broken only by the sound of O’Malley’s tongue rasping over his paws. After a while he detached himself from Michael’s neck and stalked out of the door, tail held high.
‘He’s off on the razzle again. More coffee?’
She shook her head. Somehow, without O’Malley’s unwitting guardianship, she felt much more alone with Michael again.
‘Do you want me to take you home?’ he asked with gentle insight.
She looked up, startled. ‘But I thought …’
‘What?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
His fingers traced the outline of her jaw, and threaded under her hair to knead the tense muscles of her neck.
‘I want to make love to you, Clare, but there’s more than that with us, isn’t there?’
She met his eyes, surprised by his admission. ‘Is there? For you, I mean?’
‘Oh, yes …’ His fingers closed around her shoulder and eased her gently back against him. ‘Oh, yes, my love, there’s much more. I think we could have something really special, and I think it deserves to be given time to flourish.’ His lips brushed hers briefly, and with a sigh he hugged her and then let her go.
‘Come on, I’d better take you home before you
undermine my good intentions and I do something unspeakably wicked to you on the carpet.’
Clare giggled. ‘You wouldn’t!’
‘Is that a dare?’
She shook her head, suddenly breathless, because for all the lightness of his tone his eyes were deadly serious. ‘No. Take me home, Michael.’
With a wry grin, he helped her to her feet and led her to the car.
Once they had set off he found her hand in the darkness and rested it on his thigh, holding it there except when he needed to change gear. When they reached the hospital, he pulled up in the car park outside the nurses’ residence and turned to face her.
‘How about spending the day with me tomorrow on the boat?’
‘I might be working,’ she teased.
‘But you’re not—I checked the rota. If you don’t want to, you can always say no, Clare.’
She was struck by the uncertainty in his voice, and squeezed his hand. ‘Of course I want to. It would be lovely.’
‘Can you be ready by eight?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. What shall I wear?’
‘Something scruffy and fairly warm, and bring shorts and a swimsuit.’ He leant over and kissed her firmly but briefly, then pushed open the door. ‘I won’t come in with you—I’m not sure I could resist the temptation. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, my love.’
‘You too. Thanks for a lovely evening.’
She touched his cheek with her hand, and then climbed out of the car and shut the door, watching until his tail-lights disappeared from view.
Then she let herself back inside and prepared for
bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. So he thought they could have something really special, something that deserved time to flourish. She wondered where it would lead—to heartache, or to a lifetime of happiness? Maybe neither. Only time would tell.
She snuggled down in bed, her head crowded with images of Michael, and fell asleep in seconds.
Oh, Michael, she’s lovely!’
Clare stood on the quayside and gazed in admiration at the little sloop. Built on traditional, classic lines, she was sleek and graceful, and Clare fell in love on the spot.
Michael slammed the boot of the Volvo and strolled to her side, a confident, cocky grin on his face. ‘Isn’t she great? I know every inch of her, inside and out—I helped my grandfather build her the year I was ten. She handles beautifully—he really knew what he was doing. Come on, let’s get all this stuff stowed and take her out.’
He led Clare on to the pontoon that ran out like a finger into the marina, with little branches off it at intervals to which boats were moored in orderly profusion.
‘I may be biased, but I think she’s the prettiest,’ Clare told him as they arrived at the
Henrietta
and she got her first close look at the boat.
‘I’m biased too, but I happen to agree with you!’ He shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Here, hold this lot.’ He handed her some bags and hopped nimbly aboard, uncovering the cockpit and stowing the cover neatly under the seat in the stern.
Then he took the bags from her, dropped them into
the cockpit and held out his hands. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said, and as she leapt forward he caught her under her arms and swung her on to the deck.
She fell against him, laughing, and as she straightened his head came down and he kissed her lingeringly.
‘Good morning,’ he said huskily.
‘Good morning yourself,’ she replied, suddenly breathless. ‘What can I do?’
He waved a hand at the bags. ‘Get all this lot stowed away in the cabin and come back and keep me company.’
She scrambled somewhat inelegantly over the high step of the hatchway, down the two rungs of the companionway into the main cabin, and took a deep breath.
Oh, yes. Varnish, and seawater, and diesel, and the unmistakable smell of the bilges. Clare hadn’t realised how much she had missed messing about in boats until she had caught that evocative smell. Heavens, it took her right back to her childhood! Suddenly light-hearted, she looked around her.
On her right was a desk next to a bank of navigational equipment, charts, radio and so on, and on her left a little galley, with a gimballed stove designed to remain stable as the boat tilted from side to side. In front of her was the main seating area, with two long benches down either side that would convert to berths, one L-shaped, with a fixed table in front of it that would collapse to make a double berth.
There was a door directly opposite her that led, she imagined, to another little cabin in the bows, and the ‘head’, that ghastly contraption that passed for a loo on board small boats.
She looked around her at the cabin, and a little smile touched her mouth. This was Michael.
There were a few books—Nicholas Monsarrat, Neville Shute, Hammond Innes—a couple of bottles of wine and one of brandy, two jars of coffee and some powdered milk, a few tins of staples—everything a man like him would need for a quick getaway.
She heard his light tread behind her and turned.
‘Are you a loner?’
He looked startled for a second, and then smiled. ‘No, not really, but I do need to escape every now and again and top up. Will that worry you?’
There he goes again, talking as if we have a future, she thought with a soaring heart.
‘No, it won’t worry me at all. We all need solitude periodically.’
He gave her a brief hug. ‘What do you think of her?’
‘Oh, she’s lovely—just right. All wooden fittings and personal touches—not at all like a modern boat.’
He laughed. ‘You don’t sound as if you approve of modern boats!’
‘Well, they have their place, I suppose, but they’re characterless by comparison.’
‘Thank you,’ he said simply, and hugged her again. After a moment he eased away from her with a reluctant sigh and headed for the hatch. ‘We need to get under way if we’re going to catch the tide up the Deben. There’s a sand-spit across the mouth of the river that closes it off at low tide, but if we go now we should make it just about right.’
She found a picnic in one of the bags and wedged it in the corner of the galley, and dropped the other bag, full of towels and sweaters, on the quarter bunk under
the cockpit. Then she clambered back over the hatch to join Michael.
There’s a light breeze picking up—just do us nicely,’ he said, and pressed the starter button. The engine turned, coughed, and fired immediately. He cast off, jumped nimbly back on board and steered her carefully over to the lock. The top gates were open, and the lads working the lock made her fast and stood by to steady the boat as she lowered.
Tide’s only just coming in now, so we’ve got quite a long way to go. Will it worry you?’
Clare shook her head. ‘Must make it tricky if you get back too late,’ she said. ‘Do you have to find another mooring outside overnight?’
‘Oh, no—they have a motto here, “Lock around the Clock”—you can come and go whenever you please. Just as well—when I got her here from the Scillies it was nearly midnight.’
‘Isn’t that a bit hair-raising in the dark, in strange waters?’
He laughed. ‘Hardly strange! She’s been moored near here for fifteen years—my grandfather lives in Holbrook. I know this coast like the back of my hand.’
As the lock gates opened and Michael manoeuvred the boat out into the estuary, Clare sat back and relaxed. There was nothing she could usefully do, and Michael was clearly competent. She might as well give herself a treat and watch him at work.
And it was a treat, she admitted to herself some time later. He had changed into ragged cut-off jeans and abandoned his T-shirt, and she watched the smooth play of muscle in his back as he hoisted the mainsail and unfurled the foresail, tightening the sheets and bringing the head round into the wind.
‘OK?’
She nodded. ‘Super. I’d forgotten how much I love it!’
He laughed in sheer enjoyment. ‘Great, isn’t it? I’d die if I couldn’t do this!’
After a while he offered her the helm, and stood behind her, his hands steady on hers, his chest brushing lightly against her back. She leant back against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and made a small sound of contentment in her throat.
‘Happy?’
‘Oh, Michael, you have no idea …’
His lips nuzzled her neck. ‘You taste wonderful—fresh and clean and delicious. Mind the ferry.’
‘What ferry?’
He laughed. ‘Just testing. Want to take her round the point?’
She let out a breath. ‘I’ll try—just don’t go away.’
‘I won’t. Take your time.’
She took a steadying breath, let out the port sheet, spun the wheel and hauled in the starboard sheet.
Henrietta
yawed wildly for a second or two, then the sails filled with a slap and she settled down on the new course.
‘Well done.’
She laughed breathlessly. ‘It was awful!’
He chuckled, his arms wrapping round her waist to pull her back against him. ‘It wasn’t perfect, but it was fine. You’ll do, with practice.’
‘Hmm. Maybe another time. Over to you, Cap’n Bligh.’