Harbinger of Spring

by Hilda Pressley

  Men, she decided, were all insufferable egoists. Take Des, planning the future with little or no regard for her wishes, and with her money, spoiling an evening out just because he had not bothered to learn another style of dancing. Then instead of ringing an hotel, finding out the time of the last train back to London without even mentioning it except casually, later.

  Impatiently she flung the paper aside and went to the window. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was a leaden inverted bowl which seemed to press down on a dead-white earth. Sara hesitated, then went to get her heavy shoes, her jacket and a scarf for her head. The moment she stepped out of doors she felt how bitingly cold it was, but she crossed the back garden and used the same break in the undergrowth she had used before. Cracking sounds came from beneath her feet, but deliberately she forced a path away from what had once been a roadway and into the thicket at the side of it. After a few yards she found the going easier as it made rough paths between fairly large trees. A wood, she thought. Her wood. Then she half tripped over an unseen bramble shoot and was reminded to tread carefully. A few minutes later a rabbit shot across her path, leaving her at least as startled as he must have been. Later, she came to what was almost a clearing with a mighty, low-branched tree in the centre of it. The covering of snow on the ground was thin here, but on the gnarled branches above her head it humped like soft pillows.

  Sara stopped and the absolute silence and stillness of the place gripped her with an emotion she had never felt before. She did not quite know whether she wanted to laugh or weep a little.

  It was a few moments before she could analyse the feeling. Then she knew it for pure but fleeting oneness with the beauties of nature. Beauty of nature? With feet that were beginning to feel numb and a nose that was tingling with cold? Crazy, but there it was.

  Suddenly the truth of the matter became startlingly clear. She had fallen in love with Fenchurch Mill and did not wish to part with it. Was it possible to keep it? She could, of course, end her partnership with Desmond. In fact she would probably have to do that if she wanted to live here. What then? Find some kind of a job in Norwich until she could open a business there—a boutique?

  She gave a wry smile. Opening in Norwich had been Des’s suggestion and she had turned the idea down flat. Now she was thinking of doing it without his co-operation.

  She began to retrace her steps. The fact was, she no longer wanted to work with Des. The loose link there had been between them had been broken by his visit here and she did not wish to mend it. The best thing she could do was make a generous settlement with him, but—and here she stopped walking. Hadn’t she said to herself that she would not use any of her aunt’s money for her business? Wasn’t she going to use it to help some good cause?

  She kicked at a hump of snow and walked on. It was a pity she had ever seen this house. She had tried not to become too attached to it. Now she had grown to love it and would have to let a stranger live in it. She couldn’t go back on her decision about Aunt Esther’s money. She agreed with Hugh in that respect. Her great-aunt would ‘turn in her grave’, Sara was convinced of it. And she knew enough about rates and taxes to be able to say that her wages would never pay for the running and upkeep of Fenchurch Mill. There was nothing for it but London and the boutique once she had fulfilled the residential qualification. The only thing was she would never again have the same zest for buying or selling trendy clothes to teenagers. That tawdry business, as Hugh had called it.

  Back at the house she made and ate a lunch that seemed a miserable failure. Then she tried to interest herself in the newspapers again, each of which reported the function Hugh had attended.

  He must be quite a famous man, she concluded. Perhaps if she had not been so preoccupied with her business—

  She walked disconsolately about the house. On a bookcase was a pair of field-glasses. She picked them up and focussed through the window. Snow-draped reeds and other growth on the opposite bank came into close view, but there was nothing of any great interest. Then it occurred to her that the view from the top of the Mill might be worth looking at. At least it would fill in a little time. She put her jacket on and took the key.

  It was deadly cold in the Mill tower, but she was warm enough by the time she had climbed the steps to the top floor, and there was an unexpected interest there. Hugh had left an easel on which rested a partly finished charcoal sketch. She looked at it closely, admiring the sweep of the river and the lacework of the bare branches lining the bank. Then picking on a particular tree she saw how accurately it was depicted and thought how marvellous Hugh’s eye was for detail. Knowing nothing about this kind of work, she wondered if he would eventually colour in some way the stark black and white.

  Seeing Hugh’s sketch, she could have kicked herself. Why on earth hadn’t she bought herself a sketchbook? She could have tried some new designs. An occupation was something she was much in need of at the present moment. She went to the little window and looked out. In the distance where the river curved away out of sight was something she could not make out against the snow-covered bank. Something that was white, but not the pure white of the snow.

  Raising the field-glasses, she focussed on the object, then gasped and ran down the stairs. Heeled-over at what seemed a perilous angle was a cabin cruiser. Against the cabin top two figures were braced as if they feared they were about to slide off the deck.

  Sara was almost out of breath as she reached her telephone. She dialled Ted Barker’s home number and tapped her fingers on the table impatiently as she waited for someone to reply, then her words came in a rush.

  ‘Ted, there’s a cruiser near the bend past the Mill that looks as if it’s going to turn over. I thought as you were nearest I’d ring you.’

  ‘You did quite right. It could be mine, I have got one out—a honeymoon couple. It’ll take me about fifteen minutes to get there.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes! I’ll be there in less than that.’

  ‘Sara, you be care—’

  Sara put the phone down in the middle of his sentence and ran out of the house. She struggled with the half-frozen mooring lines, then jumped into the launch and started the engine. Wafer-thin ice broke up in front of her as she went down the narrow dyke, and the bow wave she set up hissed and creamed among the frozen reed stems.

  In the open river she put the engine to full speed and within a few minutes she was slowing down to come alongside the cruiser. But now there was no sign of anyone on the steeply canted deck. Sara knew a feeling of panic. Suppose—her voice trembled as she raised a loud shout,

  ‘Is there anyone on board?’

  To her relief a girl of about her own age came sideways out of the cabin, clinging to keep herself upright.

  ‘Thank goodness someone’s come! There’s a sort of chalet further along the bank which looks as though it’s occupied, and my husband’s gone to see if he can get help.’

  ‘Help is on its way,’ Sara said. ‘I telephoned the boatyard before I set out. How on earth did your husband manage to get ashore? You seem an awful long way out from the bank.’

  ‘Tom’s a wizard jumper. I had my heart in my mouth when he did it, though.’

  Sara noticed the very shiny wedding ring on the other girl’s finger and from the pride with which she spoke of her husband, concluded that they were indeed Ted’s honeymoon couple.

  A few seconds passed during which both girls shivered from the cold. Sara beat her hands together and wished she was wearing gloves. She looked up at the other girl. ‘You’d best wait inside where it’s warmer.’

  ‘Couldn’t you—’

  ‘I’d better not try. It’s quite an awkward climb. You go. There’s no sense in both of us being cold.’ Sara noticed that her launch was beginning to drift downstream. She started the engine and went ahead for a few yards and was able to guess what had happened to the cruiser. The bow mooring rope was made fast to a large tree and was strained so tightly it seemed almost at breaking point. Probably the couple had
moored when the tide was full and now the receding water had left them high and dry. As far as she could see they would have to remain in that uncomfortable position until the tide rose again. Then she had another thought. When Ted Barker arrived, couldn’t she take them off the cruiser and put them up at the Mill house? At any rate she would make the offer.

  The sound of a boat engine came to her, but not from the direction she expected. A few seconds later the bow of a cabin-sloop with a very tall mast appeared. It carried no sails, but came on fast under engine power, and at the tiller was Hugh. Another man, presumably the girl’s husband, stood at his side.

  Hugh’s hand went up in recognition. Then he waved her on with a deliberate sweep away from the cruiser. She made a wide half circle in obedience and watched him come alongside the cruiser and hold to it with a boat-hook while the girl’s husband clambered aboard. Then Hugh called to her.

  ‘Come alongside me, will you, Sara?’

  She came and held on to his side rail. ‘I telephoned Ted Barker and he should be along at any minute.’

  ‘Good. Between us we might get her off without waiting for the tide to rise.’ He looked at her critically. ‘You look very cold. You’d better duck into my cabin. Just a moment, I’ll make fast and get you aboard.’

  ‘I’m all right, really.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  He made the yacht fast to the cruiser, then took Sara’s line and helped her aboard. He indicated the low cabin.

  ‘In you go and sit on the bunk. I’ll follow and light the calor-gas oven.’

  Sara stooped low and stepped inside. As she sat down he struck a match and put it to the tiny oven, then set a kettle to boil on one of the rings.

  ‘Tea or instant coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘Have we time? Ted said in about a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘It takes him at least that time to get from his house to the boatyard. Then he has to take the covers off his towing launch and start the engine. We’ll have time, and we can’t do anything until he gets here.’

  ‘Tea, then, please.’

  As he stooped to a locker she wondered if there ought not to be some form of apology from one to the other of them, in view of their quarrel, but he merely produced a tube of condensed milk and said: ‘I hope you don’t mind this.’

  ‘Mind it! I think you’re very provident to have any stores aboard at all at this time of the year.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m not so good as it might appear. I sleep on board most nights. That so-called holiday chalet I’ve rented would freeze a polar bear. Would you like a biscuit or so with your tea?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  Sara felt warmer and began to look about her. This small cabin she was in with its pale blue and white paintwork was evidently a saloon-galley and everything was spotless. A door just to one side of her probably led to a sleeping cabin and she felt sure it would be in the same apple-pie order.

  ‘I’ve never been on a yacht before,’ she said. ‘It’s not at all what I expected.’

  ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘Well, I hardly know, but lots of ropes and things, bundles of canvas. And shouldn’t there be a smell of tar and oakum? Whatever that is.’

  ‘Old ropes shredded down to their fibres and soaked in oil,’ he informed her. ‘I have a sail locker right for’ard and the sails and all the ropes are kept in there. The sails are terylene and most of the ropes nylon, but I do have a preference for good old-fashioned cotton for my sheets. It’s easier on the hands. Is something puzzling you?’

  ‘Yes. Cotton sheets being easier on the hands?’

  He laughed. ‘Sorry. A sheet is a rope-and-pulley arrangement for controlling the set of a sail. On these comparatively narrow rivers you need to have the end of the rope continually in one hand, so a soft rope is preferable.’

  ‘I see.’

  Sara took the cup of tea he handed to her and stirred it thoughtfully. Why couldn’t he be always this way, friendly and easy instead of criticising and being domineering? She sipped a little tea, then said,

  ‘I saw the sketch you were working on from the top of the Mill. In fact I was comparing it with the view from the window when I saw this cruiser. When will you finish it?’

  ‘That’s rather up to you.’

  ‘Heavens, I’m not as touchy as all that! Have the key whenever you want it. Look, whatever you think about the danger of leaving keys hidden I’m going to leave it somewhere for you. After all, I might be out when you needed it. When I get back I’m going to hang it on a nail inside the toolshed door.’

  Sara saw the change in his expression and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse to have anything to do with the idea, but he answered in a rather stiff voice, ‘That’s kind of you. I would like to finish the sketch.’ At that moment they both heard the sound of a boat’s engine. He stepped into the yacht’s well. Sara followed him and watched Ted Barker turn a big open launch in the middle of the river, stopping under the cruiser’s stern. He hitched to it, then spoke to Hugh.

  ‘We might haul her off, Hugh, if we work in tandem, but we’d be better if we had a couple of men on the cruiser with a quant as well.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll go aboard the cruiser. I think Sara won’t mind handling my yacht.’

  ‘Me!’ Sara said in some alarm.

  ‘Yes. There’s nothing to it. I’ll make the tow rope fast. All you have to do is go slow ahead and work up to full speed when Ted tells you to. I’m sure you can do that.’

  The couple who had hired the cruiser were on deck now. Ted scrambled to them with the end of a very thick rope in one hand. Hugh smiled at Sara.

  ‘Come along, sailor, let’s see what you’re made of. This button starts the engine and this one stops it. Push this lever to go ahead and pull it the other way to go astern. Try them.’

  A little nervously, Sara started the engine and went through the motions of going ahead and astern.

  ‘That’s the ticket,’ Hugh said approvingly. ‘Now I’ll get Ted’s other towing line.’

  A minute later Sara had the yacht in the middle of the river and the towing line was stretched fairly tightly to the bow of Ted’s big launch. From his stern another line went to the stern of the cruiser where Hugh and the other man stood ready with a long quant pole to push against the tree to which the cruiser was moored.

  Ted gave the signal and Sara went slow ahead, drawing the towing launch after her. The yacht’s propeller and that of the launch brought mud right from the bottom. Her hand on the ‘tiller, Sara was able to turn about and watch the rope vibrating thousands of droplets under the strain, and Hugh and the other men bending the heavy quant pole under the combined weight. Hugh had his duffle coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled up and Sara could not help noticing how strong his muscles were.

  Suddenly there was a shout from Hugh: ‘She’s moving, Ted. She’s moving!’

  Dark mud spread out from the bank, and inch by inch the cruiser floated into the water.

  Two or three minutes later Sara was alongside the cruiser with the yacht’s engine stopped. The couple on board the larger vessel were looking pleased and excited and as Ted climbed out of his launch and went into their wheelhouse they followed him. Sara could not hear what he said, but knew something was wrong from their changed expressions. Next, Hugh came along the cruiser’s deck and dropped into the yacht’s well at Sara’s side.

  ‘Their steering gear’s jammed,’ he told her.

  ‘Is that serious? Will it ruin their holiday?’

  ‘It’s more of a nuisance to Ted than anything else. He’ll have to lift the traps in the wheelhouse and cabin floors to see exactly what’s happened. The whole business is likely to take two or three hours and during that time Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers will be very much in his way. It isn’t as if it was summer time.’

  ‘By no means, and it looks as if it’s going to snow again at any minute. I wonder if they’d like to stay overnight at the Mill house? If they did that Ted might be abl
e to leave the job until the morning.’

  ‘Why not ask them? I’m sure Ted, at any rate, would be delighted with the idea.’

  ‘I will.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you mind giving me a hoist up on to their deck?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He sprang up on to the cruiser and stretched a hand to her. Sara felt herself whisked up as if she was a featherweight. She went to the wheelhouse and put her proposition.

  ‘Are you sure we won’t be any trouble to you?’ Mr. Rodgers asked.

  ‘None at all. In fact I was getting bored with my own company.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Quite, quite sure.’

  She laughed. ‘Come along, Tom. Help me put a few things into a bag.’

  As they went into the saloon Ted grinned at Sara.

  ‘You’re doing me a favour too, getting them out of my hair while I get the cabin floor up. Shall I come up to the house in the morning to take them off your hands?’

  ‘I’ll be glad to see you at any time, of course, but you don’t need to come especially for them. Ferrying them back again will give me something to do.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll tow her back to the yard and it’ll be ready for them any time after nine in the morning. Thanks for the rescue service.’

  Sara laughed, ‘Perhaps I ought to set up a water-guard station in the Mill tower.’

  Hugh had brought her launch alongside. ‘All set?’

  ‘Yes. They’re putting some things into a bag.’