“I wasn’t sneaking home,” Travers argued. “Just someone here – not mentioning names – won’t do a field dressing. I’ve got all the kit at home. I don’t need to trouble Alex.”
Erin rolled her eyes. Alex grinned, feeling an intense relief after the Spencer drama, and more than a little jubilation. Erin was the best thing that could have walked in the door. He knew he was staring, but after admiring her on the screens during the race, having her standing here in front of him was shorting something in his brain. All that was in his mind was kissing her on the roof top. He had to focus on the blood to remember his job.
“In there, big guy,” he said finally.
Travers hauled himself onto the exam couch, muttering.
“Busy day in here?” Erin asked, stopping to look at the mess through the doorway of the second room, which Alex hadn’t yet cleaned up.
“Someone was just evacced. Had an argument with a winch block in the race,” he said, sounding more casual about it than he felt.
Erin winced. “That’s awful. Is he going to be okay? Which team?”
Alex told her, and that it might be a long recovery. Erin said she’d make sure the race committee followed up on it.
Then she said, “Listen, I have to head back. There’s the awards presentation and stupid official stuff.” But she hesitated. “Sandy said you’re not heading back to the mainland until tomorrow.”
Her smile hit him like an electric shock. “My usual shifts got pushed back a day, because of the race,” he said.
“Well, I might see you later, then.”
Chapter 12
Tristan caught Erin in a bear hug the moment she reappeared at the race headquarters.
“There you are, woman of the moment!” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. He drew her across to the stairs up to the TV crew’s area. There, he dropped his voice to an insistent whisper. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Travers needed his head stitched.”
“They’ve been waiting for you. Come on, you can’t just dive off into the small stuff.” Affectionately, he plonked a cap embroidered with Great Haven Regatta on her head.
Five minutes later, Erin was sitting in an interview chair. The cable sports anchors had both shaken her hand and congratulated her, and they were just waiting for the count-down to the live cross. Both of them were in network polo shirts and smart trousers. Erin pulled off the cap and stuck it across her knee instead. She tried to stop her foot from jogging on the floor. She’d been expecting any interviews to be outside, on the sand, or on the boat. Not here under glaring lights where she could feel the sand on her legs falling onto the carpet.
“Welcome back to the Great Haven Pilot Race,” the first anchor began. “Where it’s been a day of high excitement and spills to keep any armchair sports fan on the edge of their seat. We’ve already heard glowing reports from the supermaxis and with us now in the studio is the winner of the handicap division, and local island girl, Erin Jacobs. Welcome, Erin.”
Both the anchors grinned at her. Erin found she couldn’t look at the camera, so she tried looking over the anchor’s shoulder. “Thanks for having me,” she managed over her thundering heart.
Across the floor, she saw Tristan give her a thumbs-up.
“We all saw that fantastic finish in the final legs today,” said the anchor. “That decision to change sails – was that always the plan?”
Erin relaxed, and smiled. Easy question. She could do this. “It was a little on the fly, seeing the conditions coming off the point. It’s a challenging place to sail and you have to be ready to make changes.”
“And didn’t it pay off! We’re just playing the footage again for our viewers. Will you take us through it step by step?” One of them pointed to a monitor so she could follow.
So Erin took them through it, haltingly at first, but then with the excitement she’d felt out on the course. The two anchors nodded along, encouraging.
“That’s amazing stuff. But as you say, it’s a challenging place and two boats came to grief through The Gauntlet. Do you have any regrets including it in the course?”
Erin could see the cloud descend on Tristan’s face, but they’d gone over it so often in the meetings, she was ready.
“Not at all. Yacht racing is a game of high skills, and Great Haven’s well known for difficult sailing. I’ve sailed all over the world and this is a test only the best are worthy of.”
The anchors chuckled indulgently, as if enjoying her moxie. “Of course, we understand you’ve spent several years crewing in races from the Caribbean to the Seychelles. How does that experience compare to Great Haven?”
“International experience is the reality of professional sailing and I’ve loved seeing and racing in all those places.” Erin paused as unexpected memories flooded through her – the blue sea of the beaches in Bermuda, a sunset in the Canaries, the smell of rum and salt. “But Great Haven’s challenges are right up there with the world’s best – and we’re running new technologies to make it a better experience for viewers too – that all makes winning sweeter.” She gave them a dazzling smile, beginning to enjoy herself. The anchors smiled back with their very white teeth.
“Well, you’re certainly in that sweet spot today. Of course, your own father was a great yachtsman and tragically killed four years ago. Did you feel he was with you today, racing in your home territory?”
A silence fell as Erin blinked, the question cutting her voice from her throat. She knew they were waiting for an answer, but all she could hear was the rush of waves in her ears. Tristan was making some gesture, but she couldn’t focus on him. She shook herself, feeling stripped to her skin.
“Uh, sorry I didn’t catch that,” she managed, kneading the cap in her hands.
“Were you thinking of your father today?”
“He was a great sailor,” she said softly, and glanced away, wrestling for control. Please, no, she was not going to cry on television.
“Well, we wish you the best with the regatta next year,” said the anchor smoothly, as some flurry went through the crew, and the monitor showed them cutting the camera angle. “Will you be celebrating?”
“Oh yes,” Erin said, forcing a smile over the hollow feeling in her heart. Her voice was flat. “We know how to party on Great Haven.”
When the light blinked red, the anchor leaned over. “Well done, that was great. Sorry about that last question. Producer put it in the mix.”
Erin smiled weakly, jamming the cap back on to hide her eyes. The interview might be over, but she couldn’t help feeling her guilt had been broadcast. She wondered how long it would be before someone else would ask the same questions. Tristan was pulling her up into a hug, his face jubilant.
“Well done, E. You are brilliant.” He kissed her cheek, smelling strongly of another expensive cologne she associated with a wealthy owner from Florida. “Let’s keep moving, lots more to do.”
On the stairs, Erin shook him off. “Tristan, I don’t feel like it. I’m just going to skip out.”
“What’s wrong?” Unexpected tenderness.
She couldn’t say the words.
“This about the last question?” Tristan asked, and when she nodded, he took her gently by the shoulders. “Erin, I know it must have come out of the blue, but it added dimensions.”
“I don’t want more dimensions. It ... still hurts.”
“There won’t be any more questions. No one’s going to care today except about that magic last turn. Now, we’ve got interviews with the local news downstairs, then the sponsor’s party. I’ll be beside you the whole time. You’ll be safe – trust me. And we’ve landed that dinner with the potential big fish sponsor. We’ve done the hard part, now we have to follow through – show these guys we mean business. Get the main regatta off the ground.”
So Erin went. The local interviews were easy, Tristan standing by her shoulder, and then the sponsors all shook her hand in the big party marquee, and she held her own
through the talks about the next race, about the big regatta, what events could be added. Then later, after she’d had a few rums, someone put a phone in her hand.
“Miss Erin, I see you on the television,” said a familiar man on the line.
Erin paused, trying to place the accented voice. “Ivan?”
“That’s right. The owner you left without his best tactician. Now, I see where you ended up! Well done, my friend. When you have finished the party, you call me back, yes?”
Quickly, he was gone. Erin shook her head. Ivan was a shipping billionaire whose boat she’d crewed for six months, the only owner she’d considered calling for work and hadn’t. He’d been generous with his time and the crew had loved him, but she’d found him difficult – always wanting to get too close. He’d been trying to hire her again ever since, but so far, she had kept clear. Something in her just couldn’t settle in that team.
Then Tristan was introducing her to the local member, who’d come over for the day. Evidentially ecstatic that the island’s prospects had made an abrupt upswing, the member was keen to hear all the details for the new development – how plans and permissions were progressing, when the construction would start. How she could help. Tristan answered most of the questions, and Erin paid as much attention as she could through the haze of rum and cheering. As the sun was going down, someone got the finish feed back on the TV inside the tent, and made a bunch of noisy toasts to everyone. Erin looked around; even the crews of the supermaxis had stayed for the party – unusual at a small event. They would often have pushed on from here, leaving the organisers to post their trophies. It seemed a great success.
Sometime after dark, Erin escaped outside the tent and stumbled down to the ocean. A glassy expanse now, under a clear sky. None of the fabled Great Haven storms were brewing tonight. Bella’s Leap was a slap of darkness against the indigo sky.
And all she could think of was her father, a memory brighter than her others, like the evening star.
As the heavens made full dark, Alex scrutinised the same sky from the front steps of Travers’ cabin, following a blipping marker on his phone screen.
“What are you doing with that anyway?” asked Travers, who was propped in a newly acquired lounge chair, an ice pack on his head.
“Satellite tracking,” Alex answered, finding the point, down in the west, probably too low to see with the island in the way. Using his vantage in the old resort was out of the question with all the people still hanging around.
“Into that sort of stuff, then?”
“Not in a serious way,” Alex said, sliding the phone away. “But it passes the time. Always liked the night sky. But speaking of seeing stars, how’s the pain?”
“Better, I think,” Travers said, scowling at the lemonade in his hand. “I’ll be fine you know, you don’t have to hang out here.”
“When you were a medic, did you ever see anyone who took a head injury and then came back later with a bad bleed?”
“No.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen a few. We don’t have CT scanners here. I don’t anticipate with your thick skull you’ll have a problem,” he said. “But if you do, the only signs will be neurological deficits. That’s why I don’t want you drinking. And why I’m quite happy to sit here a few more hours. Beats you sitting in the surgery.”
Travers grunted. “Fair enough. So, show me this satellite thing.”
Alex chucked his phone over and let the big man play around with the app for a while. Without the distraction, Alex found himself thinking of Erin, and then sometimes, less pleasantly, of Erin and Tristan on the TV screens earlier in the day. He knew she was still at the sponsors party.
“So, you used to sail, right?” Travers asked eventually.
“Who said that?”
“Gathered as much from something Erin said.”
Alex leaned back against the stair railing. “Yeah. Used to. Past tense.”
“You enjoy it?”
“Absolutely.”
“But you don’t go out on the water now. I’m not trying to be nosy, Doc. Just you’ve been here a couple of weeks, and most people – they do something. Take out a kayak, a surf ski, something like that. Not you.”
“Maybe I did and didn’t tell you.” Alex leaned back and glanced in Travers’ direction. “No, haven’t been out. Haven’t sailed in a few years now. Work’s been busy.”
Travers made a considering face, and handed the phone back. “Well, when you want to go out on the water again, you let me know. Just don’t go with Skye, for Chrissakes.”
Alex grinned. “And where is the fair Skye tonight? I’d thought she’d be here, tending your wounds.”
“Hardly,” said Travers, rolling his eyes. Then he winced. “Ow, shit. I have to remember not to do that. Anyway. She’s at the backpacker shindig. They were full to capacity in all the accommodation tonight, so they were putting on a big communal dinner. Something about community – I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Too enraptured?”
“Hey, what do you want from me? I’ve got a head wound here.”
Alex laughed.
Travers’ eye shifted sideways. “Someone’s coming.”
Alex followed his gaze and saw a shadow coming up the path, a little unsteady. But even with the small stumble, his heart beat double-time in his chest. A second later, Erin came in reach of the porch light.
“Well, well. Here she is,” said Travers, in mock disdain. “All over the news taking credit. How come us crew weren’t in on the interviews?”
“Mostly because you need to learn to duck,” she said.
Travers grinned. “I’m hurt.”
“I came to make sure you weren’t passed out or dead or something.”
“The Doc’s looking after me. Looks like a long recovery,” he said, stretching out.
Next thing, Erin had pulled herself onto the top step next to Alex. He could smell the faint sweetness of rum on her clothes, the familiar smell of a yacht racing after-party.
“How’s the guy you sent back to the mainland?” she asked.
“In surgery. I called them an hour ago and he’s having a pin put in his leg. I’ll take a while to knit, but he should recover.”
“Good. I’m glad. Well, I suppose I’d better go.”
She was half-way down the path before Alex realised he’d stood, staring after her.
“Go on, then,” Travers said. “I’ll still be injured later.”
Alex caught up with her at the turn where sand-covered stairs led down to the beach. “Erin, wait a sec.”
“Yeah?”
“Great race today,” he said. “I watched the whole thing from the beach. Never seen anything like it.”
“Thanks,” she said, but he heard the tired note in her voice. People must have been congratulating her all day. Or was it that she’d been hoping he’d say something else?
“Well, I’ll let you get back,” he said, feeling the loss of her already. “I’m guessing the party is still going.”
“It’s okay,” she said, surprising him. She pushed herself up onto the flat spot at the top of the stair rail. “I’m not going back to the party. How long do you need to keep tabs on Travers?”
“Just another hour or so, enough to make sure he doesn’t drink tonight.”
She smiled, as though knowing he’d have his work cut out, then she looked down at the sand. “I saw my mother in the clinic today. Did you ask her to come in?”
“She turned up at just the right time when I needed someone to call the evac.”
“I’m glad.” She paused. “I don’t think she’s set foot in the clinic in a long time. We … don’t exactly get along, but she’s just changed. She’s so thin. Skye says she goes walking a lot.”
Alex, who’d seen the interview on the cable channel in the clinic waiting room while waiting on news about Spencer, sensed the connection leading back to Dr Jacob’s death.
“Grief can take a long time to resolve,” he s
aid carefully. “Are you worried?”
“Not exactly, no ...”
“Do you think she would take her old job back?”
Erin looked away. “I don’t know. Sandy said they offered it before and she said no.” She straightened. “I’m going back to the boat, and you’re going back to the mainland.”
“I know,” he said. “And here I was, hoping for another night on a rooftop.”
She ghosted a smile, and he saw again how tired she was.
“How about dinner one night, when I get back next week?”
She paused, and he thought she was going to refuse. Then she said, “You cook?”
“I do, but I don’t have a kitchen. That sink in the back of the surgery doesn’t count. How about the cafe?”
She laughed. “Okay, then. What night?”
“How about Thursday, when I’m back? Not traditional, but displaying all my overeager qualities.”
She groaned. “I can’t. I have to schmooze a sponsor that night. Tristan thinks I can convince them.”
Alex didn’t enjoy the mention of Tristan, but she hadn’t said no. “How about Saturday, then, the classic date night?”
“Saturday it is.”
“Next week, then.” It seemed an age away. But then, she reached a hand to clasp his, and they stood like that for a few heartbeats, fingers laced, the waves softly hissing into the sand. Alex could have lived in that moment.
When she finally disappeared into the dark down the stairs, he was sure he would feel her touch pulling him back here, all the way from across the ocean.
Two hours later, having left Travers watching a beaten VHS copy of Survive the Savage Sea, Alex cleaned up the second consulting room, not wanting to leave a mess for the day he was off-island.
Fortunately, most of the mess was open packets on the floor, and the disposable liners on the bed. It didn’t take too long to put all that into the bin, wipe down with steriliser and run a mop over the floor. Sandy would probably have come in to do it tomorrow, but he didn’t want to go and lie in bed with his thoughts just yet.
When he finished cleaning, he found himself staring at the shelves of patient files in the nook behind reception. The tiny practice had nothing electronic, so everything was old-school, with coloured stickers on the edges of the folders.
On a Starlit Ocean Page 12
