The sun was drawing her like a magnet, and, as soon as she'd done her chores, Michelle climbed the ladder to the deck. For a few moments she stood at the rail, savouring the sun on her body, feeling it enfold her, turning the light down of hairs on her
arms to a golden blonde. The deck felt hot under her bare feet as she padded slowly towards the bows, the wind catching her hair as she moved out of the shelter of the main cabin. The sea looked completely different today; before it had seemed like an enemy, a malevolent element that had tossed the boat and made her sick the first night and had kept her awake with its noise on others, a vast, grey, empty expanse of alien water that could easily pluck their fragile craft down into its endless depths. But today the sea was an incredible blue, the waves capped by racing white horses whose spray broke into a million crystals, each facet reflecting the brightness of the sun until if hurt her eyes to look and she had to shield them from its brilliance. Leaning over the rail, she could see a shoal of fish darting along beside them, keeping pace even at the speed they were travelling, their silvery scales flashing and glinting for a few seconds as they came near the surface, then fading as the fish dived down again or were overtaken by the bubbling white waters of the boat's wake. The tang of the sea was very strong; she couldn't remember having ever really smelt it before. But now it filled her nostrils, clean and salty, carried on the breeze, an aroma as old as time itself.
'Do you want to try and catch some?' Guy's voice broke into her reverie and she turned to look up at him leaning over the rail of the fly-' bridge.
'I don't know how,' she called back, raising her voice above the breeze and the sound of the sea.
'I'll teach you. Stay there.'
He put the boat on auto-pilot, disappeared below for a few minutes and then came back carrying a fishing rod. For the first time he noticed that she wasn't wearing his jeans. His eyes ran over her and his brows flickered, but Michelle couldn't tell whether he was angry or not. She found herself saying defensively, 'The jeans were so thick, I was much too hot in them.'
He nodded slightly, but merely said, 'Come on up to the fishing platform in the bow.'
He led her right up to the front of the boat, the bow as he called it, where a narrow railed platform projected over the sea for a couple of feet. Michelle had noticed it before but had had no idea of its purpose. There was a safety belt fitted to the rails and this he clipped round her waist. 'Just in case you catch a whale,' he told her with wry mockery. Then he patiently showed her how to bait the line and how to cast it so she didn't get it caught up in the 'superstructure behind her. She was clumsy at first, finding the whole thing difficult and almost ready to give up. A week ago she would have done, rather than run the risk of making a fool of herself, but today was different; today she had managed to cook breakfast without ruining it, the sun was shining and she had the feeling that she could do anything if she really tried. So she laughed when the line wound itself round the rail of the flying-bridge and Guy had to climb up and release it for her, and didn't instead get cross with the unwieldy rod.
'No, like this.' He came up behind her and moved her hands on the rod, covering them with his own. 'Put all the movement in your wrists.'
He went through the motions with her a couple of times, but somehow Michelle couldn't concentrate. She could feel the heat from his body close against her own, the powerfulness in his hands and arms as they guided hers so easily, smell the hot, masculine aroma of his skin, slightly beaded with perspiration.
the sea master
'Now you try it,' he commanded, moving slightly to one side.
Obediently she took hold of the rod again, but her hands were unsteady and she had to look at him. He seemed quite impervious to their closeness, merely concentrating on the job in hand, but then he glanced at her and his eyes narrowed in immediate understanding and warning. Curtly he said, 'Get on with it.'
He stayed beside her until she could handle the rod well enough not to entangle it, then left her to manage by herself. Michelle didn't mind, she found she quite enjoyed standing up here in the bow like a living figurehead as the boat cleaved its way through the sea. It was certainly a pleasant and lazy way to pass the time. Suddenly the line jerked in her hands and she almost dropped it. A fish! She'd actually caught a fish. Excitedly she yelled to Guy and he ran down to help her.
'Take it slowly,' he warned her. 'Play it out. Don't try to hurry it.'
Michelle couldn't have done if she'd tried. The rod felt as if it was being pulled out of her hands and Guy had to help her hold it. She would gladly have relinquished it to him, but he made her keep hold of it, just standing ready in case it got too much for her. At last the fight ended and she was able to reel the fish in and pull it up on to the deck. It was quite a big fish, weighing several pounds, and it lay on the deck at her feet with its mouth open and gills flapping weakly, its beautiful silvery scales already turning to dull grey as it struggled to get back in the water.
'Quickly, throw it back!' Michelle exclaimed as Guy bent to remove the hook from the fish's mouth.
He glanced up at her in surprise. 'Why? This one's big enough. It's a yellowtail snapper.'
The fish thrashed its tail in a last frenzy, desperately trying to escape, but Guy held it firmly as he hit it hard, just once, against the deck, killing it instantly.
'You've killed it!' Michelle stared down at him in horror. 'How could you?'
Guy stood up with the fish in his hands. 'Because we're going to have it for supper, of course. Why the hell do you think we were trying to catch one?'
'I thought it was just for sport, that you'd throw it back. You didn't have to kill it—you've got plenty of food in the freezer.'
'I prefer fresh fish.' Calmly he began to dismantle the rod.
'Then you're just a sadist!' Michelle told 'him .angrily, her voice rising. 'That fish was beautiful and you had no right to kill it.'
'Oh, for God's sake grow up. Do you think a shark would think you were beautiful and leave you alone if you fell in the sea?' he demanded brutally. 'Man has been preying on other animals to survive since time immemorial. It's the law of the jungle Mitch.'
'I still think you were just being cruel. And if you think I'm going to eat any of that fish, you're crazy!'
His eyes met hers levelly. 'Eat it or not as you like, I couldn't care less. But you're certainly going to clean it and cook it for me.'
'Oh, no, I'm not! You can do your own dirty work.'
She moved to stride away from him, but before she quite realised what was happening Guy reached out and grabbed her wrist, at the same time dropping the fish into her arms. It was wet and slippery against her bare skin and she gave a cry of mingled horror and revulsion, hating the feel of it and the way its dead, empty little eye stared up at her.
'No, take it away. Please!'
She tried to drop it on the deck, but Guy held her arms firmly round the fish, using his strength to make her obey him.
'It's just a fish, Mitch, that's all,' he bid her, his voice harsh. 'It's no different from the frozen stuff you buy in the supermarket. Just because that fish comes in a colourful package it doesn't mean that they weren't alive once and swimming freely in the sea. But you don't go into hysterics about eating those, do you? Do you?' he demanded when she didn't answer at once.
Slowly Michelle shook her head. 'No, I suppose not.' She lifted her head and looked at him, her hazel eyes close to tears, 'But this was different somehow. They looked so beautiful swimming along beside the boat with the sun shining on them. They were so alive. And,' she turned her head away, 'and I've never seen anything killed before.'
For a moment he didn't answer and when he did his voice sounded strange, oddly unlike him. 'Well, now you have. And I don't suppose it will be the last by any means. Take it down to the galley and wash it, then leave it until I have time to come down and show you how to gut it.'
He turned away dismissively while he finished putting away the rod, leaving Michelle to gaze
at his broad back uncertainly, but he didn't turn round or even look at her. It seemed that, as usual, she had no choice but to obey him, so she slowly turned and carried the fish below, her skin flinching away from its cold sliminess.
For the rest of the day she was subdued and took care to keep out of Guy's way, but made no demur when he came into the galley and showed her how to clean the fish. It made her stomach turn, but somehow she managed to stay and watch. Afterwards, when it didn't look like a fish any more and was in a dish in the oven, Guy put an understanding hand on her shoulder. 'You did fine,' he told her approvingly.
Michelle moved forward and leant her head against his chest, feeling suddenly trembly with relief now that it was all over. 'I was afraid I'd be sick,' she admitted.
'You did okay. I'll make a fisherman out of you yet.'
She smiled a little, glad that he was pleased with her, arid relaxed against him.
His hand tightened on her shoulder and she could feel his fingers biting into her flesh, then, abruptly, he moved away. 'Keep your eye on it; don't let it burn,' he instructed curtly. 'I'm going up to the wheelhouse to radio in.'
They ate their meal mostly in silence, Michelle trying to force herself not to think of what she was eating but not being very successful, and Guy of course tucking into his food with his usual appetite. She thought, scathingly, that he had no finer feelings at all, then felt instantly ashamed; a lesser man wouldn't have taken no for an answer, would have just forced himself on her and taken what he wanted. That thought made her hand tremble and she pushed her plate away, unable to even pretend to eat. Sitting back in her seat, she sipped her glass of wine arid watched Guy under her lashes. His table manners were excellent and his hands, although strong and tanned, weren't rough or the nails dirty or broken. His fingers were long, sensitive; she remembered the way they'd touched and caressed her breasts and she stirred restlessly in her seat, gripping the stem of the glass hard. Guy glanced across at her
and she quickly got up, afraid that he would read her thoughts.
‘I’ll make some coffee,' she muttered unnecessarily, turning her back on him.
He'd finished eating by the time she'd made it, and lit a cigarette. For a few minutes he contemplated her over the smoke as she stirred her coffee, her head bent so that her hair hid her face. Then he said abruptly, 'How long ago did your parents split up?'
'What? Oh, ages ago.' She shrugged. 'I was only about six when my father left; I can hardly remember them being together.'
'Have they remarried?'
'My father has—a couple of times, but my mother hasn't.' Despite herself she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice and Guy looked at her sharply.
'Do you blame your father for that—for marrying someone else?'
Michelle laughed shortly. 'Good heavens, no! Even a saint couldn't live with my mother. None of her lovers last very long.' She deliberately used the word to try and shock him, but he merely asked,
'Why don't they last very long?'
'Because they get tired of having to behave like sycophantic lapdogs, I suppose. Or else she gets tired of them,' Michelle added, picking up a fork and digging it into the tablecloth. 'But then she just goes on to the next lover. Oh, she doesn't have any trouble finding them; they all queue up to have an affair w…' she stopped abruptly, 'with her. You see, my mother isn't like me, she's very beautiful.' She laughed mirthlessly again. 'I'm afraid I'm a great disappointment to them.'
Guy's hand came out and covered hers, holding it still, stopping the vicious action of the fork. Roughly he said, 'Stop selling yourself short.' Adding as Michelle's eyes came quickly up to meet his, 'You’ll do. Believe me, you'll do'.
The sincerity in his face and his voice threw her, made her feel suddenly shy. He released her hand and sat back again, watching her.
'Why did you ask me about my parents?' she asked, to fill the silence.
'It seemed strange that they wouldn’t worry where you were, when you're so young.' He didn't add 'and so innocent', although the words hung in the air.
For a moment Michelle felt ashamed about deceiving him and perversely got annoyed with him for making her feel it. 'What the hell does it matter to you that my parents were incapable of living together?'
His eyes narrowed. 'It seems to mean a lot to you.'
'No, it doesn't, I couldn't care less. I certainly don't need them,' she said loudly, top loudly.
Guy pulled on his cigarette, studying her averted face. Slowly he said, 'Then maybe you blame them for splitting up, for not making more of an effort to stay together for your sake.'
Michelle's head came up, her eyes bleak and vulnerable. 'They don't - care about me—they never have. They were both too wrapped up in their own careers, their own lives, to care about me. All they ever did was to yell at each, other, and argue…' .She broke off, biting her lip.
'And you expected them to stay together, even in those circumstances?'
'They could have tried.' She said it forcefully, her hands balled into fists on the table.
'Maybe they did try. Maybe they tried as hard as they knew how for the first six years of your life,' he answered roughly.
Stubbornly she shook her head. 'I don't believe that. I don't think they thought about me at all.'
Tor God's sake grow up!' Guy exclaimed, suddenly impatient. 'You can't expect two people who've grown to hate each other to stay married, even when there's a child to consider. It wouldn't be fair on any of them, least of all the child. Surely you're adult enough to see that? To go on resenting the fact as you've done is both childish and incredibly stupid,' he told her roundly.
Michelle's cheeks flushed with anger as she, got hastily to her feet. 'How dare you talk to me like that? That's the second time today you've told me to grow up. What do you see yourself as—-a surrogate rather or something? You're certainly old enough to be my father!' she added nastily.
If anything she expected him to be angry at her rudeness, but to her surprise he just laughed mockingly. "That's just the kind of reaction I'd expect from a kid like you.'
'You beast! I'm not a kid.'
She lunged at him, fists flying, and Guy put his hands up to protect his face, still laughing.
'You swine! Stop it. Stop laughing at me!' She hit out at him wildly with her fists, sending a glass flying from the table to shatter on the floor. One or two blows landed on his chest, but then he'd caught her wrists and twisted them behind her. Furiously Michelle tried to kick him and to butt him with her head, but he pulled her hard down on to his knee and imprisoned her legs between his. Her wrists he gripped in his right hand and his left he coiled in her long hair, forcing her to be still.
He wasn't laughing now, his jaw was thrust forward and his mouth was set in a hard line.
'You spoilt brat! Someone should have put you over their knee and given you a good spanking years ago.'
'Acting the heavy father again?' she demanded sneeringly, then winced with annoyance as he pulled her hair.
'Maybe I ought to at that. I'd certainly be doing both of us a favour.'
Furiously Michelle tried to break free, arching her back and trying to pull her arms apart. Guy let her struggle, watching her sardonically until she realised that it was futile and gave up at last. She glared at him malevolently, hating him more at that moment than ever before. 'You pig! You rotten bastard!' she swore at him.
Immediately she was jerked forward so that she fell down over his knee, her legs still imprisoned between his. Letting go of her wrists, he pulled up her tee-shirt. She knew what was going to happen and gave a cry of protest which quickly changed to one of rage as he brought his hand down on her behind. He went on, holding her down as she struggled convulsively, yelling with anger and rage. He held back, not using all the strength of his arm, but the hurt scorched through the thin seat of her pants. Only when her yells and expletives ceased and he could feel her shaking with bitten back sobs did he stop and let her go.
'You asked for that
,' he told her, grim-faced and breathing rather heavily.
Michelle didn't look at him, she just scrambled to her feet and ran out of the galley, to lock herself in her cabin and throw herself on her bunk, tears of rage and humiliation running down her face. No one, not even her own parents, had ever dared to lay a finger on her before, God, how she hated him, hated him! She lay on the bunk in the darkness, engulfed in self-pity, and it was a long time before she could even begin to acknowledge that maybe she had asked for it, that by swearing at him like that she had got no more than she deserved. Gingerly she got off the bunk and put on the light so that she could examine herself in the mirror. The marks of his hand were clearly to be seen, and she shivered, remembering the ease with which he had held her, even though she had struggled so hard to break free. The strength in his big frame was enormous compared to her own. He had only to exert it to make her do anything he wanted.
Gradually it dawned on her that she had deliberately provoked him into a reaction, but not the one she had subconsciously wanted. Held like that, between his knees, feeling him so close to her, she had wanted an excuse to get even closer, to touch him, and so she had tried to fight him. In all the romantic films she had ever seen a fight had always ended with the man taking the girl in his arms and kissing her passionately, but Guy, unpredictably, had treated her like a naughty child and put her over his knee. Would he have had the same reaction, she wondered, if she hadn't admitted she was a virgin? Slowly she undressed and got into bed, deciding to lie quietly and think things out for a while. Was he going to treat her like a child for the rest of the voyage? It was comforting to know that she was safe from him, of course, but even so… Michelle turned on her side, feeling suddenly very hot and pushing off the sleeping-bag. Although Guy had handled her so roughly, he hadn't lost his temper with her; had never, in fact, lost control of his emotions since she'd been on board, and she couldn't help wondering just how much provocation it might take and how he would behave if that iron self-discipline ever broke.
Sally Wentworth - The Sea Master Page 9
