“You’ll be fine from here?” she asked. “Remember, no swimming. Very bad idea.”
“Got it,” Alex said, his drunk focus looking back up the cliff. “Will you be okay getting back?”
She laughed. “I’ve walked this track so many times. And don’t worry, the ghost never bothers me.”
“How long’s Helmut been watching her?”
“I’ve only been here ten years, but all that time, and probably another ten or twenty before.”
Alex whistled. “That’s quite an obsession.”
“She’s the mistress of the storm.” Resignation in her voice, and fondness too.
Alex stuffed his hands in his pockets, not knowing whether he should hug her goodbye or not.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, drawing out his earlier purchase and handing her a small oblong bag. “Sunglasses for Helmet. Tell him it helps with the radiation, for his eyes.”
“Ah, yes. Thankyou Dr Alex.” She gave him a grin, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
As Alex stumbled back along the sand, he turned to wave and saw Stella climbing the path, her form disappearing and reappearing between the tree trunks, her pale hair and kaftan flowing colourless behind her. And he had to blink, and tell himself that she was a woman flesh and blood, and not an apparition. Time to go home and sleep it off.
Chapter 10
Three days later, Erin had spent most of her time scrambling to keep up in meetings by day, and hastily rejigging Fair Winds’ hardware by night. Finally ready, she turned up unannounced at her sister’s door at six in the morning.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Skye said for the tenth time, as they creaked onto the wooden jetty boards five minutes later.
“You’ll see when we get to the boat.”
“I have a class in three hours. However important you think this is, it can wait. I have important things to do, too.”
Erin paused, hearing the hurt in Skye’s voice. It was plain that Skye wasn’t happy about Erin working for Tristan. Whether that was because of jealousy, or general resentment of Erin, Erin couldn’t pick apart. But she needed Skye. The biggest problem Tristan had in his regatta plan was attracting more entries, and bringing on a major sponsor for the future regatta. Erin had called ex-crew mates and captains, and hadn’t gotten anywhere. Everyone was in the thick of training for the Sydney to Hobart. At least, that’s what she told Tristan. She didn’t mention the number who had hung up on her. She hadn’t made many friends in the last year. So if she was going to deliver, she would need another reason to convince them to stop over in Great Haven for the pilot race on their way north to the Hamilton Race Week. Erin could only think of one thing to do, and she needed Skye.
“This is getting-the-island-back-on-its-feet important,” Erin said, forcing herself to keep walking.
Skye muttered, but followed, until they reached the Fair Winds and Travers stuck his head out of the hatch.
“About time you came back,” he said. “Hey, where’s my pie?”
“What the hell is this?” said Skye, eyeing Travers. Then, her gaze fell on the yacht. “Wait a minute …”
Skye ran her eye suspiciously over the rigging. “You’re set up for racing,” she said. “And not one-handed anymore.”
“Look,” Erin said, knowing she’d have to talk fast. “The pilot races are coming up in two weeks, and Tristan agreed we can enter.”
“We?’
“Three is the best number of crew on Fair Winds for the handicap class. Travers is on bow. I need you on mast and winches.”
“You can’t be serious.” Skye spun in a circle, her arms over her head, as if appealing to some unseen gods. “Erin, I haven’t crewed a boat in five years. And you know I hate it. Ask that new doctor with his muscles and suntanned legs, and leave me out of it.”
“He’s not here half the time, and he’ll have to be on-call on race day,” Erin argued, although not without a fizz of nerves at the mere mention of Alex. The longer that went since she’d last seen him, the worse it got.
Skye folded her arms. “And what, pray, does this have to do with helping the island.”
“It’s … promotion. Come on, Skye. It’s one race.”
“Plus training.”
“Of course plus training. We’ve only got two weeks, and I’m working, too.”
“Oh, you’re working. Well, I have a class to run. I have responsibilities to fifteen kids that I can’t just push off onto someone else. I can’t just come in and out like you can, or him who just goes diving all day.”
“I’m hurt,” Travers said, now lounging against the cabin. But Erin saw how much he was enjoying watching Skye’s fireworks.
Erin drew Skye aside and dropped her voice. “Four afternoons of training,” Erin said. “Then the race and we’re done. And I’m not pushing anything onto someone else.”
Skye heaved a sigh, and looked out to sea. Erin suddenly saw her eyes shining, and realised her sister was trying to hold back tears.
“How do I know this isn’t just your way of ducking out on Tristan?” Skye asked. “You said you’d do this important job for him, for all of us, and now you’re just finding a way to do what you want.”
“It’s not like that,” Erin said quickly, wounded. “This is trying to help the races succeed. Skye, please. I know you’re good, even if you hate it. I don’t want anyone else on my boat.”
“What about him?” she said, jerking her chin towards Travers.
Erin made a so-so motion with her hand.
“Hey, I’m right here,” Travers said.
Skye unfolded her arms, scratched her forehead, and folded them again. But Erin had seen a ghost of a smile. “Fine. Four training runs and one race, and that’s it. I’m only doing this because you’re going to need someone to teach him.”
Travers gave Erin a mutinous eye. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
But he was whistling as Erin started the motor and he went to release the bow line. Soon, they were motoring towards the mouth of the bay, the breeze picking up as they approached the headland.
“Listen up,” Erin said, calling both of them to order. “I’m not even going to touch the spinnaker today. Main and jib only. Tacks and gybes only. We’ll run down to half-mile island and back. Yeah?”
Skye gave a curt nod, then gave Travers her attention for the first time. “You worked bow before?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then,” she said brightly. “Be prepared to take a few hits to the head. Fortunately it looks like your skull can handle it. Come on, I’ll run through hoisting the mainsail.”
Erin breathed out. This was why she wanted Skye. Her sister might claim not to enjoy sailing, but she was a gifted teacher, and Travers would need that to come up to speed.
“Skye,” she called, then dropped her voice as her sister padded back, sure-footed despite the rolling deck. “You look good together.”
“Gimme a break.”
“Skye, just remember he’s got a busted shoulder, okay?”
“Scraping the barrel for crew here, Erin.”
But she went off with her teacher’s zeal, and ten minutes later, the main was hoisted and Erin killed the motor. The only sound then was the tinking of the rigging, and the rush of the water under the hull. She turned them out of the wind, and the breeze filled the mainsail. Fair Winds tugged at her hands, and then the yacht was leaning over, grabbing the wind and hauling them south.
Erin’s whole body lifted. The breeze was in her hair and inside her veins as Skye and Travers came back to the cabin winches.
“Right, unfurl the jib,” she called. The foresail spun out, and then they were really moving, sleek and sure. Travers and Skye sat with their legs hanging over the side, adding their weight to keep them more level, Skye earnestly pointing and talking. Then Erin would see her pause, making Travers repeat something she’d said. From the rapt expression on Travers’ face, he was in real trouble when it came to Skye.
Erin leaned back and flicked on the camera she’d mounted to the rear railing, and prayed this plan was going to work.
“Okay, let’s get ready to tack,” she called.
“Erin, where are you going?” Skye said a moment later. Erin glanced over to see her sister examining their heading, suspicion pinching her eyes.
“Just a little training run,” Erin said.
“You are not going where I think you’re going.”
“Ready to tack, please,” Erin yelled, her eyes trained on the narrow rocky mouth off the port side.
Two hours later, when they motored back into port, Skye looked even more thunderous than when they’d gone out. She barely said a word as they deployed the fenders and re-docked at the jetty.
Travers climbed down as though someone had been beating him for an hour with a wooden plank.
“What the hell were you playing at?” Skye hissed, once he was out of earshot. “You didn’t say you were taking us down The Gauntlet. On the first ever run! How stupid are you?”
The Gauntlet was the narrow strip of water between half-way island and its sister to the north, which funnelled air currents, requiring sharp precise tacks to navigate up, and careful down-wind running to come back. Erin had proposed it as part of the pilot race course, and it was the only part Tristan’s team were still arguing about.
“You both managed just fine, and you know I’ve done it dozens of times. I did it two days ago to be sure, and that was when the storm was coming in.”
“Yeah, but he hasn’t. You put him off the first time you go out, he might not come back.”
Erin glanced over to where Travers was stiffly bending to wind the bow line onto a cleat. He’d done a heap of work, winding winches, trimming sails. He’d probably run several k’s up and down the deck. But despite the exhaustion, he kept working now, whistling again as he went to fetch the hose for the water tanks.
“He look like a man who gets scared off easily?” Erin asked.
Skye narrowed her eyes. “He did seem to be taking perverse pleasure in the hard stuff. Thought it might be a put-on.”
“He’s ex-military, Skye. Maybe he’s just like that.”
Skye grunted. “All right. I’m leaving for class. And you,” she called to Travers. “You come to the classroom at three-thirty when the kids are gone. I’m going to run you through some theory.”
“Skye,” Erin said, stopping her sister before she took off. “Thanks.”
“You owe me a massive favour, you do realise that?”
“I do,” Erin said, even as she felt a qualm about what Skye might ask. “But actually … I also need one more thing.”
“Oh, god, what now?”
“I need to use your computer.”
As the sea was sinking into its final indigo later that night, Alex sat on the porch of Travers’ cabin, downing the last of a beer and listening to the muttered complaints as Travers fetched another round from the fridge.
“You right there?” he asked, as the big man emerged and creaked down onto the cabin steps.
“Nothing alcohol can’t fix,” Travers said, knocking the head off the new beer and passing it over. “I’m sore from hair to heels. The woman’s a slavedriver.”
“Erin?”
“Skye. Oh, you think she’ll be sweet with all that petite teacher stuff, and next thing you’re following orders. She would have done well in the army.”
Alex scrutinised Travers. “I’d never have picked her for sweet – she’s more a crusader. Do you remember how many raffle tickets she sold me? But I think you knew that. And you like her for it.”
“Well, shit,” Travers muttered, drawing the beer. “Can’t be a good thing, though.”
“How so?”
“Been on a bad run with women these last years. I used to have my head together. Then one woman gets around the fence, suddenly I’m the one being walked out on.”
“That’s rough. How long are you planning on crewing for Erin, then?”
“As long as she wants I guess. It’s good, you know? Never interested in sailing before – I just liked boats with big engines. Now I understand why people do it. Lot more work though. Haven’t used some of these muscles in a long time. You should come out on the weekend run with us, maybe, if Erin’s cool with that.”
Alex swallowed the panic that rose in him at the idea, focusing his attention on the tiny waves breaking on the low-tide shore. “Can’t. I’m back to the mainland tomorrow morning. It’s my fortnightly four nights straight in emergency.”
“Commiserations,” Travers said. “That’s something I don’t miss – all the ED chaos. Most of the time, it was nothing cases – guys looking for a chit because they had a runny nose. Then there’d be one come out of nowhere that sent you scrambling. Much like being a soldier, really.”
“Ninety-nine percent boredom, one percent pure terror?” Alex said.
“Exactly.”
Talking about the hospital shifts reminded Alex of the last one, when Tristan Drummond had showed up with his offer. Now that Erin was working for him, Alex was wondering what to do about it.
“Travers, what do you know about Erin and Tristan Drummond? Any history there?”
“That cocksucker?” Travers asked.
Alex raised his eyebrows. “Not a fan, huh?”
“I’m not a local, I don’t have to like him. You know, he nearly ran me over once in that stupid super yacht of his, when I was out on a dive,” Travers said, scratching the back of his neck. “But yeah, I heard they used to be a thing, years back. Don’t know any details though.”
“Really,” Alex said.
“Yep.”
“They seemed close at the town meeting,” Alex said, unable to leave the idea alone. “And he came to the hospital last time I was on the mainland. Big boss attitude. Think he was trying to get my measure, though I’ve no idea why.”
“Half the sergeants I worked under were like that. I took comfort in the fact that I was the one with the high-powered rifle. Never seemed to bother me when I remembered that.”
Alex laughed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re a dangerous kind of man, Travers.”
“Only for the right cause, my friend.”
“What the hell you were thinking?”
Erin had barely made it into the planning office on Monday morning before Troy – or was it Benny? – confronted her.
“What do you mean?” she asked sweetly, though one glance at his monitor, currently open to the video clip she’d posted on YouTube, told her exactly what he meant.
“This video. It’s all over the forums, Facebook, Instagram, not to mention YouTube. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mel and Kochie ran it on Sunrise this morning!”
“Well, that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?”
“No, it bloody wouldn’t! It’s unprofessional. It’s amateur! Its completely not in line with the image we are trying to sculpt for this—”
At that moment, Tristan appeared in the office door, unusually casual in a pale blue polo and caramel shorts, which showed his tanned thigh muscles as he stepped into the tension of the meeting. “I hear excitement. Is this good news?”
“No, it’s not,” fumed Troy, returning the monitor and hitting play for Tristan’s benefit.
The video began with the funky opening bars of an indie song, then the video jumped to a view along the deck of the Fair Winds, her sails framing the characteristic cliffs of Great Haven in the distance. Erin was centred in the shot at the helm, giving the camera a cheeky wink and a thumbs-up before the boat roared into The Gauntlet. The music put a pulse in every action, as the camera’s low angle emphasised the proximity of the rocks, the hard tack, and Travers’ muscled arm working the winch. Erin steered one-handed, calling instructions as they made the turn, Skye swearing at Erin without a single bleep. Two more tacks followed in a run time of less than two minutes, all washing machine drama. The action was fantastic. Only now, watching in company,
did Erin realised how much her bare legs were in shot. Or, more to the point, the too-short sawn-off hem of her shorts. And that at the end, when she turned to the camera and said, “I’m getting wet at the Great Haven Race Day – what about you?”, how suggestive it sounded. She bit her lip as the music strummed to a close.
Troy’s head was in his hands. “This is a disaster.”
Tristan’s face was impassive, and Erin’s confidence wobbled for the first time.
“Was that The Gauntlet?” he asked, and when she nodded, he turned to Troy. “What exactly are you objections?”
“It’s completely unprofessional,” he burst out. “There’s no editing, the sound is terrible. Whoever the band is will sue us for copyright. We’re trying to put together a multi-million dollar event and you’ve made us look like hicks with some sleezy promo girl doing our marketing.”
Tristan’s head snapped up. “You watch your mouth. That’s your Racing Director you’re talking about.”
Troy turned away muttering.
“If that’s true, then why have two skippers signed on since last night?” Erin shot back.
“Probably hicks as well!”
“If you want to call Quentin Beaumont and Antonio Ferrua, hicks, then yeah, I suppose so.”
That shut Troy up. Tristan started laughing. “I’ll be damned, I knew I hired the right woman,” he said. “Even if Beaumont is a thorn in my side, I’m happy to take his money. Both of them are A-grade. Serious boats, serious cash.”
“We still have to pull it,” Troy pressed, belligerently.
“Now, Troy,” Tristan said, his voice dangerously soft. “Don’t be dirty you got outflanked here. You might see shaky GoPro footage and low-end production, but the owners see a sexy woman, a little innuendo and a challenging course. Am I right?”
Erin smiled weakly. Her intent had been to show the course challenge for sure. The sexy woman and innuendo part hadn’t been the plan. But the job was done, so she wouldn’t quibble.
On a Starlit Ocean Page 10
