Sharing Sunrise (6 page)

He had to get off this floor. He strained to see if their main course was by any chance being delivered to their table, but knew it would not be as long as they and their guests remained on the floor.

“Looking for someone?”

Her smile stilled his breath in his chest. Every time she smiled at him like that, it was as if he were suddenly in free-fall. Her eyes were so big and deep he wanted to drift away in them. Her voice, humming the tune the band was playing, vibrated in his blood. Oh, hell, what was he going to do? Marian’s delicate, soft fingers lay lightly in his hand. He wanted to tuck them up under his chin. Her other hand rested on the center of his shoulder. He wanted to draw her into him so she would wrap her arm higher around him, maybe touch the hair at the nape of his neck, run her fingers into it …

“Wondering about dinner,” he said. “We old folks need sustenance.”

“You?” she blinked at him. “You’re not old.”

He swallowed, let go of her hand for just an instant to tug at the knot of his tie, and said, “Compared to you I am.” With her hand set free, she stole that opportunity to place it on his shoulder then link it with its mate behind his neck, leaning back from him, bringing their hips into alignment, letting their thighs touch again, smiling up at him, innocent and carefree. “I’m thirty-six, and you’re twenty-eight, though I find it hard to remember that,” he said. “I tend to think of you as just barely out of your teens.”

Her subtle movement against him snatched the breath from his lungs. “I’ll just have to find ways to remind you, then, won’t I?”

He stared at her. Had she meant to move like that? She did it again. He swallowed a pained gasp. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Marian?”

She laughed. “Now, really, Rolph, why would I do a thing like that?”

“How do I know? How does anybody ever know why you might do anything? You’re a law unto yourself, a free spirit, a butterfly touching the edges of life. I don’t ask
why
about you anymore.”

“Maybe you should,” she said, looking suddenly serious and very unlike the laughing girl she’d been only moments before. “And maybe you should try flirting back. Didn’t you say you wanted to learn how to get along with women?”

At that point, the band played a fanfare and set their instruments aside. Marian led the way off the floor and Rolph followed, telling himself it was stupid to feel so disappointed that she’d only been offering him a lesson in casual flirtation. He wasn’t looking for anything else. Not from her.

“That,” said Slim Masterson, leaning back in his chair, “was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.”

“Amen,” said Ethel, his wife, dabbing at her lips with a pink linen napkin. As a server whisked away their plates while another brought the coffee and brandy Rolph had ordered, she leaned forward eagerly. “Now can we talk about boats?”

“That’s my girl,” said Slim, shaking his head. “If she’d had her way, we’d have spent the evening on our hands and knees with flashlights inspecting decks, rigging, and electronics, instead of enjoying this place and pleasant company.”

Ethel patted his hand indulgently. “Somebody has to take care of business.” She shared a sharp look between Marian and Rolph, then fixed it on Marian. “Well? Are we going to sit and sip brandy like these two, or are we going to start talking turkey?”

Marian smiled and said, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.” Reaching under the table, she pulled out the briefcase Rolph had brought in, glanced at him and said, “May I?”

With a smile in his eyes, sipping his brandy, he nodded.

“Starting with
Windrider
,” she said, “we have a fifty-foot cutter, John Alden design built in l965 by Cooper-Westhall. She’s fiberglass, built to Lloyds specs, and is ideal for charter work in that she sleeps ten comfortably.”

She went on to discuss
Windrider
’s excellent long-range fuel and freshwater capacity and her electronics. When she was finished, she handed each of the clients a sheaf of papers. “You can go over these at your leisure before we see the boat in the morning. From what Rolph tells me,
Windrider
is more the boat for you than
Cleo
, though with her extra three feet in length,
Cleo
has more below-decks space.”

“That’s right,” said Rolph. “And she’s a ketch, while
Windrider
’s a cutter. I know you’ve expressed interest in a three-master, but there aren’t many of those on the market just now as I’m sure you’ve discovered. But either one of these will make you a fine charter boat.”

The conversation swung into a spirited discussion of the relative merits of the two boats Sunrise Brokerage was offering the couple and others they’d seen in a buying tour that had taken them from Norway to Hawaii and points between.

“Of course, what we really want, we can’t have,” said Ethel wistfully.

Rolph tilted his head questioningly. “What is that?”

It was Slim who replied. “
Catriona
. We spent our honeymoon aboard her on a three month cruise around the Great Barrier Reef thirty-six years ago. We fell in love with her, and with the life. That was when we decided that on retirement, we’d buy
Catriona
and go into the charter business ourselves. Living in the Bahamas, we have the ideal base for such an operation.”

Ethel leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright as if she were seeing the ship of her dreams. “She was sixty feet overall, schooner-rigged, Burmese teak decks, slept twelve in comfort and handled like a real lady with a minimum of crew,” she said, then looked indignant. “We heard ten or twelve years back that she’d been sold, renamed
Felicity
and was being used to haul freight in the Seychelles.”

Marian could see the older woman took that as a personal affront. “It’s sad when things like that are done to beautiful boats.”

“And she was a beauty,” said Slim. “The workmanship that went into her construction was superb. She was built in Glasgow in the fifties, a wooden boat, of course, but built to last. The detailing was exquisite. Why, there was an inlayed compass rose three feet across the walnut headboard of the berth in the captain’s cabin and a smaller one in each of the others. Every porthole had a hand-carved rim of the finest walrus ivory and each berth was gimbaled to reduce sway in heavy seas.”

Compass roses? Ivory porthole rims? Marian felt goose-bumps rise on her arms and rubbed them quickly. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, bit her lip and closed her mouth again, listening while Slim and Ethel went on talking about the beautiful
Catriona
.

“Do you know where she is now?” she asked moments later when she had her excitement under control.

Slim shrugged. “We have no idea. She disappeared from the Seychelles several years ago and we haven’t been able to trace her. She must have gone down somewhere. A boat like that wouldn’t just disappear. If she were still under sail, someone would know where she was. If we could find her, no matter what her condition, we’d buy her, partly out of sentiment, but mostly because we believe in her and know she’s the right ship for us.”

Ethel sighed. “Of course, we’ll settle for something else, but there will never be another ship like
Catriona
.”

“Never mind.” Slim stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s not waste that great band. Come and dance a bit before we go back to the hotel.”

“Rolph!” said Marian excitedly when the clients were out of range. “I know where
Catriona
is! But if we tell them, they’ll be able to buy her for a song and we’ll be out a sale. What should I do?”

He cocked an eyebrow, not really believing her. “Take it easy. What makes you so sure you know where
Catriona
is? Honey, they’ve been searching for the right boat, and I assume that means her, for over a year. If they couldn’t find her, either as
Catriona
or
Felicity
, what makes you think you can?”

She gripped his hand in both of hers. “Because I know where she is, I tell you. Her present name is
Portside Queen
and she’s tied up to a dock in a little tourist town outside Adelaide, Australia. She’s being used as a gift-shop and museum, Rolph. I know that because I worked aboard her for two months while looking for a crew berth on a boat headed back this way. That was four or five years ago, but what if she’s still there?”

“If she’s called the
Portside Queen
, how do you know she’s the right one?”

“Because of the carved compass roses. Rolph, believe me. She’s the one! And the Mastersons want her.”

“Sweetheart, that was sentiment talking. She’s a wooden boat. If she’s been sitting tied up to a dock for God knows how many years, she’s probably rotten right through.”

“No. I don’t think so. Sandy, the man who owned her, hauled her out every year and had her scraped and painted. He didn’t want his museum sinking under him, for heaven’s sake.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want his museum sold out from under him, either.”

“But we could try. What would it hurt to go have a look? Rolph, she must have been a beauty in her day. Very beamy, with pure, graceful lines. I used to think what a shame it was to see her so … trapped, growing shabbier and shabbier. But I could see that she’d been built to last, just like Slim said. She was a strong ship, a sound one, and I’d stand on her bows picturing her under full sail, set free to fly. Maybe she still could. Listen, why don’t we buy her, do a refit and then sell her to the Mastersons? You heard Slim. He said they’d buy her no matter what. And Rolph, think what a coup finding her would be for the business!”

He laughed at her then tapped her nose with the tip of a finger. “I’m thinking, but you’re not. Okay, I agree, it’s worth a try. It’s worth investigating. But we don’t buy her and do the refit then tell the Mastersons. Use your head, Marian. We don’t own either of the boats we’ve been offering to them tonight, do we?”

She shook her head. “No. Of course not. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. We’ll get a finder’s fee, though. I’ll—”

“We’re going to head back to our hotel now, old boy,” said Slim, returning to the table with his arm around Ethel’s waist. “You intend to pick us up there in the morning, I understand?”

“That’s right,” said Rolph. Then, “Would you mind sitting down again, both of you? There’s something I think you need to know. Marian thinks she might have a line on
Catriona
.”

The Mastersons both sat, abruptly, their faces expressing combined disbelief and hope.

“You do? But how? Where?”

Marian explained briefly.

“Call him,” said Ethel decisively. “Can we get a phone to the table?”

“There’s a courtesy office in the back,” said Rolph. “I’m sure we can be accommodated there.”

Rolph seated Marian at a large oak desk and slid the phone closer to her. “Go for it,” he murmured.

“Yes,” said Slim. “Get
Catriona
for us, my dear, and you’ll have earned yourself a healthy commission.”

“Not me. That belongs to Sunrise Brokerage.”

“The finder’s fee does,” said Rolph, touching the back of her neck with a fingertip. “But the standard commission is all yours.”

When the connection was made, and Marian had identified herself to an astounded Australian who said that yes, his boat had once been named
Catriona
, was in decent, if not Bristol shape, and he would certainly consider selling if the price were right, a deal was struck in principle in very few minutes. Pending the outcome of a marine surveyor’s report and a personal inspection by the Mastersons,
Portside Queen
, formerly
Felicity
and
Catriona
, would change hands. Hopefully for the last time.

Beaming, Slim hugged his wife, spun her around and declared a celebration. Back at their table, he continued effusively, “We’ll dance until dawn, drink champagne, and dream of the day
Catriona
sails again. You, my dear Marian, are going to be one of our first guests.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t wait! What a life you two are going to have.” A dreamy expression flooded her eyes. “
Faraway places with strange-sounding names
…”

Smiling, Ethel finished the snippet of song. “ ‘
Calling, calling me …
’ ”

Leaning sideways, Slim nudged Rolph with an elbow. “You too, of course,” he murmured. “A honeymoon trip, maybe, like Ethel and I had? I tell you, boy, there’s nothing better than making love in a gimbaled berth.”

Rolph closed his eyes briefly. “No,” he said. “I’m afraid that’s not in the cards.” Faraway places … He looked at Marian. She still had that dreamy smile on her face. “But you might offer Marian a job as crew. By the time your refit’s finished, she’ll be ready to move on.”

Marian tapped Rolph’s hand with one fingernail. “I heard that,” she said softly. “And I’ll thank you to let me find my own future employment. Don’t forget you promised me three months training here. Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?”

Rolph picked up his champagne glass and sipped. “I’m a realist,” he said, shrugging. “I know you of old. You’ll be on your way again soon.”

“We’ll see.” Marian glanced at the dance floor. “Shouldn’t we join our guests in their celebrations?”

Rolph sipped again. “I thought we were.”

Marian grinned cheekily. “Slim mentioned dancing till dawn along with the champagne. We can’t disappoint him, now can we?”

Rolph hesitated, thinking of the way it had been holding her in his arms, wondering if he could stand even ten more minutes of it. He wondered, too, if he could stand to meet Marian’s entreating gaze for another ten seconds without giving in. It wasn’t the Mastersons he hated to disappoint. Dammit, Marian had always been able to get her own way simply by looking at him like that. He slid one hand up her arm to her shoulder, palm tingling as it stroked over her smooth skin.

“Come on, then,” he said gruffly. “If I must, I must.”

“Poor Rolph,” Marian sympathized. “The sacrifices you make in the name of business.”

“It really is criminal,” he said, and smiled down at her. “Should be looked into.” He looked into her eyes.

“Absolutely,” she agreed, her breath caught in her throat, her gaze locked with his, her heart beating high and hard and irregularly. She and he were momentarily encapsulated, isolated from the music, from the crowd, from everything but that silent, aching communication between them. So immersed was she in Rolph’s eyes, that when someone touched her arm, she jumped in genuine fear.