by Anne Weale
More than that, she was nice. In every way, from her age to her background, she was perfect for him.
But did she love him as much as Anny did? Would she go through fire and water for him?
The Mediterranean could be treacherous. Halfway to Port Mahon, with nowhere to run for shelter, Sea Dreams was hit by a squall. It didn’t bother Bart or Anny, and Van had proved himself a good sailor during a spell of rough weather on their way to the Greek islands.
Maddy quickly discovered that she was not. At the first sign of bad weather, Bart gave her an anti-seasickness pill, but it wasn’t effective. As soon as the schooner started rolling, she began to be violently ill. She was also terrified, convinced they were all going to drown.
To leave her alone would have been cruel. Anny stayed with her, trying to convince her that Sea Dreams had weathered much worse ‘blows’ than this and was virtually unsinkable when handled by a skipper of Bart’s experience and with a crew as competent as Van.
Eventually the squall abated and Maddy, exhausted, slept. Glad to get out of the cabin, Anny put on her foul-weather gear and her life-jacket and went on deck, inhaling deep breaths of fresh salt air.
Van was with Bart at the helm.
‘How is Maddy?’ he asked. Like Bart, he didn’t look tired but rather exhilarated.
‘Sleeping. She’s had a bad time. I don’t think she’ll want to see you until she’s recovered a bit.’
‘As soon as we’ve berthed she’ll be fine,’ said Bart. ‘Being seasick is like having a baby, so they say. Bad at the time, but soon forgotten when it’s over.’ He smiled at Anny. ‘You gave your mother a spot of bother, but the first time I saw you I could tell she thought you were worth it. When we sail into Port Mahon, Maddy’ll forget her troubles. It’s a magnificent harbour. We always enjoy ourselves there.’
They spent two days in Minorca and it seemed that Maddy had recovered and was enjoying herself. But the night before they were due to sail round the coast to Ciudadela, a picturesque town at the other end of the island, she announced that she couldn’t face it.
They were in one of the harbour’s restaurants, waiting for their meal to be served, when Maddy dropped this bombshell.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I had no idea I was such a terrible sailor...or that it would be so rough. I couldn’t go through that again. I just couldn’t.’
‘It’s most unlikely we’ll run into more bad weather,’ Bart assured her.
‘I’m not prepared to risk it. I can fly back to Paris from here.’
Taking it for granted that Van would go with her, Anny felt like bursting into tears. It was all going from bad to worse. She had an ominous feeling she might never see him again.
Then, to her surprise, Maddy added, ‘Don’t feel you have to leave with me, Van. Flying doesn’t scare me and I’ve never been airsick. But, unlike the three of you, I’m a rotten sailor. To be truthful, I wasn’t too happy when the water was calm.’
Expecting Van to insist on going with her, Anny was even more astonished when he said calmly, ‘I’m sorry it’s turned out like this.’
‘I don’t understand it,’ said Anny, when Van had gone to see Maddy off from the airport. ‘I thought they were in love.’
‘What gave you that idea?’
‘Why else would he bring her?’
‘Ask him. I can’t tell you.’ Bart was in one of his irritable moods. ‘She hadn’t much pluck. The chances are it’ll be as calm as a millpond from now on.’
Perhaps, thought Anny, Maddy’s defection had reminded him of the girl who had blighted his life by refusing to sail the world with him.
When Van returned, Bart was having a siesta. Anny had decided she couldn’t go on wondering about the exact nature of the others’ relationship.
‘I thought Maddy was your girlfriend.’
‘I thought I was doing her a favour, bringing her here,’ Van said dryly. ‘We were both wrong.’ He sat down in a deck chair and stretched his long legs. ‘Maddy has a broken heart. I expect it will mend in time but right now she badly needs something to take her mind off her trouble. I thought a sea trip would be perfect. Who would have guessed she’d be one of those people who throw up if there’s a slight swell running?’
‘Who broke her heart?’ asked Anny.
‘Some bastard who forgot to mention he was married.’ He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘I don’t know what made you think she was my girl. A schooner the size of Sea Dreams isn’t the ideal venue for people who want to be alone together. The bunks are only marginally wider than coffins, apart from Bart’s which is shaped like a wedge of Brie.’ Amusement tugged at his mouth. ‘Also there are “noises off’ which aren’t too romantic...like someone pumping the loo on the other side of the bulkhead.’
Anny, her world set to rights, burst out laughing. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose, if you live in a house, life on a boat does take some getting used to.’
‘And vice versa, as you’ll find when you get a job. You said you wanted me to look over your CV.’
From then on it was like old times. Bart woke up in a better mood and they went by dinghy to a secluded bay where the two younger people swam and he fished from the rocks.
On their last night at Port Mahon, again they ate out Anny wore her new skirt and T-shirt and she and Van joined the paseo of evening strollers. Bart preferred to sit outside a favourite bar where they would join him later.
‘I wonder if journalism is the right career for you,’ Van said, after suggesting a further improvement to her CV.
‘What a strange thing to say. It’s the only career for me.’
‘It’s changed since your grandfather’s time, even since your father’s time,’ said Van. ‘Unless you see television, you have no idea what a swarm of blowflies the press has become, and not only the tabloid press. The broadsheets have ditched most of their ethics as well. Anyone in the news can’t set foot outside their front door without being mobbed by photographers and reporters. I can’t see you pushing and shoving to thrust your recorder under the nose of someone whose life is in ruins.’
‘I don’t want to be a news reporter. I want to be a feature writer.’
‘Most of them do a hatchet job. The bigger the byline, the more snide the comments,’ said Van. ‘I think you’d be a lot happier working for, say, an academic publisher. You’re not tough enough to be a journalist.’
‘How can you say that? You don’t know what I’m capable of.’
‘I have a pretty good idea. I’ve known you a long time.’
‘You still think of me as a child,’ she said angrily. ‘I’m not I’m grown-up now...a woman.’
‘Only just,’ Van said, smiling. ‘You’re tough in situations you’re used to, like that squall the other night. But I’m not sure you’d do so well in Maddy’s environment... the rat race.’
‘I’ll survive,’ Anny said confidently. Then, anxiously, ‘If you start on this tack with Bart, I’ll never forgive you. I need you on my side, not against me.’
‘I am on your side, but I know more about city life and the pressures and stresses than you do.’
‘You know a lot about cyberspace. It doesn’t make you an expert on other people’s career choices. The contessa thinks you should have gone into banking. From what I gather, your entire family thinks you’re wasting your potential.’
Van shrugged. ‘That’s because they haven’t grasped that we’re on the brink of another “giant leap for mankind”. Anyway it’s not my future we’re discussing, it’s yours.’
‘My future’s been settled for years. You’ve seen my portfolio. If I didn’t have what it takes, those editors wouldn’t have bought the pieces I offered them.’
‘There are thousands of freelances around, not many of them making enough to live on. The competition for staff jobs is a lot tougher.’
‘I know that. I’m not an idiot,’ she said indignantly. ‘I don’t need all this wet-blanket stuff. I get enough from Bart.
What I need from you is support.’
By this time they were almost back to the café where Bart was watching the promenade of local people and tourists.
When Van ordered fruit juice for her, red wine for Bart and a beer for himself, Anny said to the waiter in Spanish. ‘Not fruit juice...a glass of white wine, please.’
Her uncle’s attention was elsewhere but Van lifted an eyebrow, his blue eyes amused by her assertiveness.
‘When did you start drinking vino?’
‘Ages ago.’ She had sometimes had sips of Bart’s wine, but the first full glass she had drunk had been champagne at the palazzo at Christmas. The contessa had a glass of champagne every evening. She called it her pick-me-up. Anny found it rather dry and hoped the café house wine would be a sweet one.
As they waited for the waiter to return, she was conscious of Van’s rangy body at ease in the chair next to hers. Bart’s belt was hidden by the overhang of his paunch which each year grew a little fuller. Van’s midriff was flat and, as she had seen while they were swimming, there was much more muscle than flesh cladding his long, lithe frame. He fitted into the Mediterranean scene as if he belonged here, as in a way he did. Even his vivid eyes did not mark him out as a tourist because quite a few Menorquins had eyes which were not dark brown.
Anny’s sun-bleached hair springing from fair roots marked her out as a foreigner who might be looking for holiday romance.
In the restaurant where they ate, a young man at the next table, part of a large family party, kept looking at Anny, attempting to catch her eye. At first she ignored him. But after a while, piqued by Van giving his whole attention to Bart, she responded to the Spaniard’s glances in the way she had seen other girls look at admirers.
Annoyingly, Van seemed not to notice this silent flirtation going on under his nose.
But later it turned out he had. When they returned to the schooner, after Bart had gone to the heads, Van said, ‘Sending come-on signals to boys you don’t know isn’t a good idea, Anny. Don’t say “I don’t know what you mean”. You do, and you did, and if we weren’t leaving tomorrow you could find yourself being targeted not just by him but by the guys he hangs out with. These young studs compete with each other to score with available girls.’
Anny felt herself flush a deep red. Unable to defend her behaviour, she resorted to attacking his. ‘I suppose you speak from experience, having “scored” with Francine and others.’
But it gave her no satisfaction to see, by the hardening of his mouth, that her riposte had hit home.
Bart reappeared. ‘Make a pot of tea, will you, Anny? The pork has given me heartburn. If I don’t take a tablet I’ll be awake half the night.’
An hour later, he was snoring. But it wasn’t that which kept Anny wakeful. It was the row with Van which she knew had been her own fault. How could she have been so stupid as to open a rift between them just when things had begun to go right?
In the morning there was nothing in Van’s manner to alert Bart to the fact that his crew had had a disagreement. The moment her uncle was out of earshot for a few minutes, Anny intended to make peace.
But a suitable opportunity didn’t arise and presently the two men went ashore, Bart to have his hair cut and Van to go to a hotel where he could use his modem and check his electronic mailbox.
Left on her own, Anny did some cleaning. So far Bart’s weakness for the bottle had not caused his standards to decline. Old as she was, Sea Dreams still looked immaculate and, whenever she was berthed in a harbour, always attracted a lot of admirers, especially among people who preferred the graceful shape of an old-fashioned sailing vessel to that of a modern motor yacht.
Presently Anny heard someone calling ‘Señorita!’. She put her head out of the main hatch to see if it was her attention they were trying to attract. To her dismay, the young man from the restaurant was standing on the quay, smiling at her.
Out of politeness, she stepped on deck and said good morning in Spanish. That was her second mistake.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN they were short of money, Bart looked for the cheapest berth, however inconvenient. This time, because he had recently received the half-yearly income on his small amount of capital and also because they had had two visitors on board, her uncle had chosen a quayside berth.
As soon as she said good morning the young Spaniard came on board. ‘Ah, you speak Spanish,’ he said, smiling. ‘That’s good because I have not much English.’
‘How did you know where to find me?’ Anny asked.
‘When you left the restaurant with your father and the other man, I followed you. I wanted to talk to you. I can see you are busy now—’ he looked at the polishing cloth she was holding ‘—but will you come for a walk with me this evening?’
‘We’re leaving here today.’
‘What a shame. Will you come here again?’
‘I don’t know. Not for a long time.’
‘Too bad. My name’s Salvador. What’s yours?’
‘Anny.’ She couldn’t help feeling flattered that he’d made some excuse to leave his family in order to follow her. Although he could not compare with Van, by ordinary standards he was a good-looking youth and from a respectable background. His family had been welldressed and well-behaved. She couldn’t believe he was the kind of youth who belonged to a gang of yahoos.
‘This is a beautiful boat,’ he said, looking up to the top of the mainmast. ‘I’ve always wanted to learn to sail. Your father doesn’t need an extra hand, does he?’
Anny shook her head. There seemed no point in explaining that Bart wasn’t her father.
‘Do you have a job?’ she asked. Perhaps he was still at college.
‘My father’s a builder. I work in the office. One day I’ll take over the firm. But it’s a dull life,’ he said, with a grimace.
After some more conversation, he asked her to show him round. By now convinced he was harmless and feeling sorry for anyone chained to a desk when they longed for a more adventurous life, Anny took him below to see the main cabin and the galley.
He seemed so interested in everything—the stove mounted on gimbals, the stowage areas and especially the navigation area with its chart table, VHF radio and some electronic aids Bart had installed—that it came as a surprise when he put an arm round her and kissed her.
‘You’re very pretty, Anny. I wish you were staying longer.’
‘No, Salvador...please don’t...’
Blushing, she tried to push him away. His kiss had been gentle and not unpleasant, but she didn’t want him to repeat it.
. Salvador put both arms round her and kissed her again, this time less gently. Anny began to worry in case things got out of control. Seconds later they were; Salvador fired up like an outboard motor, his excitement embarrassingly obvious even before she felt his tongue in her mouth.
Revolted, she used all her strength to shove him away from her. At the same moment they both heard footsteps on deck.
‘Fuera!’ Anny said fiercely. It was the Spanish equivalent of ‘Get lost!’
She didn’t need to repeat it. Salvador shot through the hatch. Then she heard Van say, ‘What the hell...?’ followed by a series of thuds, a yelp and a gabble of agitated Spanish.
‘Anny...are you there?’ Van shouted.
Guessing he thought he had intercepted a sneak-thief, she hurried on deck to find he had grabbed Salvador and was holding him by the scruff of his shirt.
Looking scared, Salvador gabbled in Spanish, ‘I didn’t mean any harm. It was only a kiss, for God’s sake.’
‘What the hell is going on? Did you ask him on board?’ Van demanded.
No wonder Salvador was frightened. Anny had never seen Van in this mood. His face was a mask of anger, his eyes like lasers. The plastic bags he’d been carrying when he stepped aboard had been dropped, their contents scattered.
‘Please...let him go,’ she begged. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong.’ She knew that what Salvador had done
had been in part her own fault for agreeing to show him below.
‘So why was he bolting?’ Van said harshly.
She could see there was nothing for it but to tell him the truth. ‘He...kissed me. I told him to beat it. That’s what he was doing.’
‘In that case I won’t delay him.’ Van grabbed the Spanish youth’s shoulders, swung him round to face the stern and knee-kicked him in the backside, sending him flying quay-wards, arms flailing to stop himself falling.
He managed to keep his balance and stumble up the gangplank. Once on the quay he found the courage to turn round and shout some angry remarks at the American. But when Van took a single stride forward, Salvador decided not to risk being grabbed a second time. Flushed with rage and humiliation, he ran.
Van turned and looked at Anny.
She said hurriedly, ‘I know...you don’t have to tell me it was stupid of me to show him round. But he seemed so nice...so interested...’
“‘Stupid” isn’t the word for it. A girl alone on a boat who lets a stranger go below has to be out of her head,’ he told her, his tone like a whiplash.
‘I know and I’m sorry I did.’ Her lower lip trembled.
‘Is that all he did? Kiss you?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t nice. He...it was disgusting!’ Feeling that if she didn’t wash her mouth out she might be sick, she hurried below.
She had gargled with some of Bart’s mouthwash and was brushing her teeth over the washroom basin when Van’s reflection appeared in the mirror. During the day, except when the heads were in use, all the doors between decks were left open, clipped to the bulkheads.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, in his normal tone.
Her mouth full of toothpaste, she nodded.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he said. ‘We’ll have it on deck.’
The awning rigged to make shade had been taken down, but at this time of year it wasn’t intolerably hot as it would be in July and August.
