A low partition divided the dining area from the galley which Sara thought was very well equipped. There was gaily-patterned crockery, cooking utensils of all kinds and a good supply of cutlery. Leading off a narrow passage were two toilets, a shower compartment and a two-berth cabin. At the end of the passage was a door to another twin cabin and she found the cupboard and drawer space in this more than ample. She went back to the galley again and had a closer look at the stock of cooking equipment and cutlery. Then she gave a little smile. In spite of his efforts Ted had fallen down over one small item.
The tin opener was one of the old-fashioned kind which also did duty as a bottle-opener and corkscrew. Sara had cut her hands on a similar implement more than once.
She mounted the short flight of steps up to the wheel-house. A carpet covered the deck which matched the ones below and she wondered about keeping it clean, but decided that on all counts it was preferable to other floor coverings. Glancing without any great interest at the mahogany and chrome steering wheel and the few instruments set on a panel before it, she decided they were not her province. She turned about and approved a settee which would seat four and also the four separate chairs of a weave which looked like wicker, but was something much more modern.
Yes, she decided. On this beautiful white and blue trimmed cruiser, you could have a very nice, comfortable, away-from-it-all holiday.
She stepped through a sliding door out on to the narrow deck and went for’ard. There was ample sunbathing space and an absence of things to fall over or stub a bare toe against.
It had everything. No ‘roughing it ‘here. Not for her, of course. She’d want—What did she want of a holiday? She gave a mental shrug. So far, no holiday had received her full approval. She must be hard to please.
Ted appearing at the wheelhouse window stopped her introspection. She joined him, closing the door behind her.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘It all looks absolutely super. But I’d never be able to work those controls.’
‘It’s no more difficult than driving a car,’ he told her.
‘But no other criticisms?’
She smiled. ‘Since you’re pressing me there was one small item. You’ve got one of those simply terrible, all-purpose tin and bottle-openers.’
He slapped his thigh. ‘I knew it! My wife checked all the galley stuff over, but I knew it’d take a city girl to see a thing like that. I’ll have a wall can-opener fixed before morning and put a decent bottle-opener and corkscrew on board. Thanks for telling me.’
‘I’m delighted to be of service. Will there be anything else?’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Yes. Take her out on a trial run.’]
‘Me?’ Sara was genuinely shocked. ‘I wouldn’t even know how to begin.’
‘Neither will fifty per cent of the holidaymakers who step aboard her. Look, I own twelve cruisers of different
sizes and in the height of the holiday season there’s about six hours to check them over, have them thoroughly cleaned and hand them over to new arrivals after a little advice and tuition. So you can see how simple everything has to be. Will you let me give you as much instruction as I give to anyone else, then tell me flatly if you don’t understand anything or if it seems complicated?’
‘Of course I will, if it’s any help to you.’
‘Right. We’ll begin with the galley and the calor gas equipment.’
Sara followed him down to the saloon. She listened to his instructions in the use of gas appliances, then was a little surprised when he took her to the shower room, raised a floor trap there and gave her some information about the engine and the pump for emptying the bilges. Then he took her on deck and showed her the filler caps for the fuel and fresh water tanks.
‘This is something one must not make a mistake over,’ he said. ‘You can realize what an amount of trouble it would cause if .fuel went into the water tank or water into the fuel tank.’
‘Surely no one could be quite that stupid.’
‘H’m, I think I won’t answer that one. Now your mooring lines and anchors.’
Sara satisfied herself that she knew how to use them, then went back with him to the wheelhouse. He showed her how to start and stop the engine and to use the single lever which controlled both the speed and the direction of the propeller.
‘Is all clear to you?’ he asked.
‘I think so.’
‘Good. Start the engine and I’ll cast off.’
He left her for a few seconds, then came back to her side. ‘Slow ahead, please, and right hand down a little.’ Sara did as she was told, feeling the same kind of anxious thrill she always had when driving a strange car. But this was more like a bus, even if it wasn’t going so fast. Soon, however, she became aware of the cruiser’s almost silent, seemingly effortless progress and she relaxed and began to enjoy the trip. A holiday on one of these wouldn’t be so bad, after all. In fact with the right kind of company it could be super.
Ted showed her how to use the reverse gear as a brake, and instructed her in different methods of making an about-turn where a river was too narrow to allow a half circle movement. Then he looked at his watch.
‘It’s almost lunch time. Back to the yard, please.’
She set the engine to half speed and in less than ten minutes the boatyard came in view. She glanced sideways, half expecting Ted either to take control or give her some further instruction, but he was not even in the wheelhouse.
Sara lowered the speed of the engine. Surely he would come to her assistance? It would be terrible to cause even minor damage to this spanking new boat. She called out to him, but concluded that he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the engine. There was nothing for it but to carry on until he did appear.
She cut the speed until she could hardly hear the beat of the engine, but no matter what she did with the rudder the cruiser had a tendency to swing sideways. A little more speed corrected that, but the quay seemed to come towards her with alarming rapidity. Then she realized she was going against a current and that what she had to do was go forward at a good pace and use the reverse at the right moment to prevent a heavy bump against the timber.
She bit her lip and tried the manoeuvre and quite suddenly the cruiser was alongside the quay and Ted was jumping on to it, a mooring rope in his hand. Sara stopped the engine and followed him on to the quay.
‘You must have nerves of steel,’ she told him. ‘How could you bear to trust someone like me to bring in your new boat without causing damage?’
‘I would have been disappointed if you had bashed her, of course, but I didn’t think you would. In any case, that’s one of the hazards of the business—entrusting our boats to the hands of strangers. The boats are insured, naturally. However, although we get a lot of paint scraped off during the season it’s surprising how little real damage is done. Well, I’d better get along home to lunch, or else my wife will tell me off for being late. The keys are in the car and if you take it into Wroxham to get that spare tyre fixed, turn left at the crossroads and you’ll see a big garage on the right.’ Sara thanked him and went to get the car out. She found the garage easily enough and left the car there while she had lunch. After lunch she wandered about the shops, conscious that a long afternoon was before her and that she had no plans for filling the time. She thought of going to Norwich again, but did not really like the idea of still more shop window gazing. She came back to the crossroads and looked at the signpost. Yarmouth, North Walsham, Cromer.
Cromer. Wasn’t there a lifeboat station there? She had never seen a lifeboat.
The car was ready for her when she got back to the garage and after a little conversation with the mechanic, she took the Yarmouth road. A few miles further on she turned towards North Walsham by a road which twisted and turned as if it had been laid out by a drunken man. A few miles from North Walsham she passed a signpost which read W or stead, and she wondered if the place had any connection with the cloth of that name.
Really, except for a somewhat faulty memory of the list of Kings and Queens of England and the wars they had fought she was terribly ignorant about history.
She reached North Walsham and parked for a few minutes in its market square while she had a brief look at the ancient church, then she drove on past the market cross and by twisting, narrow streets out of the town. Half an hour later she came to Cromer and parked on the almost deserted sea-front. The sky was a deceptively clear blue, but the grey-green rollers of the North Sea flung their wave tops high as they dashed against the stone of the cliffs and she could feel the car shudder as gusts of wind struck the side. Far out she could see a small ship lifting its bows high out of the water, then wallowing so deeply that only its masts and funnel were visible.
Sara watched the ship for a while, then got out of the car, thinking to stretch her legs by a walk along the pier to the lifeboat station, but the force of the wind caused her to bend nearly double while her hair streamed out and her dress flapped around her slim legs.
But now for some reason she was determined to see the lifeboat, and as blown spray whipped her cheeks pink she struggled towards the building. She entered it by a small door and found the interior dim after the bright sunlight of the outside. A man wearing a thick blue jersey greeted her.
‘Good afternoon, miss. A rough old day for sightseeing.’
‘Especially if you’re not dressed for the part,’ someone else put in. Sara turned to the sound of the more familiar voice.
‘Hugh! We seem to be following each other around.’
‘Yes.’ He looked at her critically. ‘You know you really ought to wear more suitable clothing.’
‘Oh, I won’t be doing any bird-watching.’
‘Even so, five minutes in these easterly gales is enough to give you pneumonia if you’re not wearing the right sort of gear. I’ll wait for you while Harry shows you around the lifeboat. You’ll find it quite interesting.’ Sara followed the lifeboatman and tried to absorb the information he gave her. But although it was fascinating and she had every admiration for the crew and their work, a part of her mind was on Hugh. She was almost beginning to enjoy being bossed about by him. There was a hint of caring which she found satisfying and which she welcomed.
When she rejoined him he took hold of her arm and marched her at once to a hotel facing the sea.
‘Tea, that’s what you need, my girl. You’re really not fit to be allowed out on your own.’
Sara laughed. ‘You’re sounding more like my father every minute!’
‘Thanks,’ he said tartly.
She looked at his expression and knew she had said the wrong thing.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘No need to apologize. A few more years either side and I suppose I could be.’
But something had gone wrong. She didn’t want to widen the gap in their years, she would rather close it.
‘How old do you think I am?’ she demanded.
He gave her a hard look. ‘I’m no good at guessing. Most of you girls look much younger than you really are—and I suppose you’re no exception.’
‘I’m twenty-one,’ she informed him, and waited for his reaction.
There was a slight raising of his eyebrows. ‘That proves my point.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ she said quietly.
A waiter came and asked what they would like.
‘This young lady is new to Norfolk and this is her first ever visit to Cromer. I think she should have a taste of Cromer crab, don’t you?’
‘I quite agree, sir.’
‘Crab!’ The only crab Sara had ever tasted was from a tin and she had thought it grossly overrated.
‘Shellfish doesn’t upset your digestion, does it?’ Hugh enquired.
‘Heavens, no!’
‘Then try it. It’s out of this world.’
He was right, it was. But Sara’s attention was only half on what she was eating. She was now beginning to feel like a schoolgirl being given a treat, and she wished she had not made that stupid remark about her father. She supposed her hair-style and her clothes made her look younger than she was. But she had to look young and dress this way because of her business. She knew in her heart, though, that this was not strictly true. All her friends dressed in the same trendy fashion, and until now she had never even thought about it.
Hugh began to tell her of places further along the coast. A place called Blakeney, he said, which was a paradise for birds and bird-watchers, and he again made a reference to being suitably dressed. With an effort she held her tongue in check. She had no wish to be rude to him or make him look silly—if that were possible—by telling him that clothes were her business, and that had she planned a trip like this she would naturally have worn jeans and a sweater. Neither could she tell him that the dress she had worn that morning was put on for his benefit.
What sort of girl—or woman—did he like? she wondered.
CHAPTER III
It was shortly before seven when Sara arrived at what she was now thinking of as home and put her key in the door. It had been a very full day one way and another. She had never dreamed of seeing Hugh again in Cromer. But how easy it would be to quarrel with the man. He was so sure of himself, so assertive. She supposed she really ought to have told him about her business in London. She was not usually so reticent. What would he think of her boutique? she wondered. She had a strong feeling he would be slightly contemptuous. Then she shrugged. At the end of thirteen weeks they would probably never see each other again, so what did it matter whether he approved or not?
She was surprised by the ringing of the telephone, and even more surprised when Desmond spoke.
‘How’s my Sara doing? Still marooned?’
‘Not quite.’
‘Good. What’s the info, for coming to see you? Do I hire a horse and buggy?’
‘It’s not as bad as that. There are good trains from Liverpool Street and I would pick you up at Norwich. When were you thinking of making the trip?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘But the shop—’
‘Not to worry about it. I’ve had a nice little chick working here for the last four days and she’s quite capable of taking charge of things for one day. What’s the night life there?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve not had a chance to try it.’
‘We’ll put that right on Saturday night.’
Sara thought for a moment. ‘That’ll be fine. There’s a train out of Liverpool Street about nine-thirty, but check on it, will you, and I’ll meet you in Norwich.’
‘Sure, sure, leave it to your Uncle Des. Be seeing you!’
Sara put the phone down smiling to herself. Des coming to Norfolk for the weekend was something she could hardly believe. To his way of thinking any place which did not have an underground railway station a few yards away was the back of beyond. She would just have to find an exciting place for them to spend the evening.
She picked up the local paper she had bought, and found a whole page given to advertisements of places to wine, dine and dance. She decided that what she needed was some place on, or close to, a main road. Country clubs were fine if you knew just where they were, but she had seen enough of the tangle of minor roads in the area to know how easy it was to get lost.
Then a name she knew well seemed to jump from the pages at her and she went quickly to the phone. Within a few seconds she had booked a table for two.
Aware of how vastly her spirits had lifted within the last ten minutes, she realized for the first time how dependent she was on other people to give zest to life. This place had great charm, and in the spring and summer it would undoubtedly be very beautiful. But she was a born and bred Londoner and hardly existed away from the bright lights, the crowds and the sounds of traffic. Tomorrow evening could not come too soon, she told herself.
Saturday morning was clear and bright with hardly any wind. Sara breakfasted, then telephoned hairdressing salons for an appo
intment. She was lucky enough to get one for ten o’clock and hurried to be in time for it. At the boatyard Ted walked towards her in his unhurried manner, but she called to him,
‘Morning, Ted. In a hurry—hair-do in Norwich.’
He laughed and waved to her. ‘Mind how you go, then.’
As she reached the main road she remembered about his and Martha’s invitation to lunch on Sunday. She would have to ring up when she returned and ask to be excused; although perhaps Martha might not mind the extra guest, Sara could not bring herself to ask the favour. She put the matter at the back of her mind and concentrated on driving. She would need to keep up a good pace if she was to be on time for her appointment.
The city was crowded when she reached it and she had a little difficulty in finding a parking place. However, she reached the hairdresser’s on time and going from there to the station she had two or three minutes in hand.
The train was punctual and Desmond came through the barrier resplendent in lavender-coloured slacks, a rainbow-hued shirt and a very broad gold necktie, his blond shoulder-length hair looking newly rinsed and waved.
‘How was the trip?’ Sara asked.
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