A Perfect Hero

‘You too. Thanks for a lovely evening.’

She touched his cheek with her hand, and then climbed out of the car and shut the door, watching until his tail-lights disappeared from view.

Then she let herself back inside and prepared for bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. So he thought they could have something really special, something that deserved time to flourish. She wondered where it would lead—to heartache, or to a lifetime of happiness? Maybe neither. Only time would tell.

She snuggled down in bed, her head crowded with images of Michael, and fell asleep in seconds.

Oh, Michael, she’s lovely!’

Clare stood on the quayside and gazed in admiration at the little sloop. Built on traditional, classic lines, she was sleek and graceful, and Clare fell in love on the spot.

Michael slammed the boot of the Volvo and strolled to her side, a confident, cocky grin on his face. ‘Isn’t she great? I know every inch of her, inside and out—I helped my grandfather build her the year I was ten. She handles beautifully—he really knew what he was doing. Come on, let’s get all this stuff stowed and take her out.’

He led Clare on to the pontoon that ran out like a finger into the marina, with little branches off it at intervals to which boats were moored in orderly profusion.

‘I may be biased, but I think she’s the prettiest,’ Clare told him as they arrived at the Henrietta and she got her first close look at the boat.

‘I’m biased too, but I happen to agree with you!’ He shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Here, hold this lot.’ He handed her some bags and hopped nimbly aboard, uncovering the cockpit and stowing the cover neatly under the seat in the stern.

Then he took the bags from her, dropped them into the cockpit and held out his hands. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said, and as she leapt forward he caught her under her arms and swung her on to the deck.

She fell against him, laughing, and as she straightened his head came down and he kissed her lingeringly.

‘Good morning,’ he said huskily.

‘Good morning yourself,’ she replied, suddenly breathless. ‘What can I do?’

He waved a hand at the bags. ‘Get all this lot stowed away in the cabin and come back and keep me company.’

She scrambled somewhat inelegantly over the high step of the hatchway, down the two rungs of the companionway into the main cabin, and took a deep breath.

Oh, yes. Varnish, and seawater, and diesel, and the unmistakable smell of the bilges. Clare hadn’t realised how much she had missed messing about in boats until she had caught that evocative smell. Heavens, it took her right back to her childhood! Suddenly light-hearted, she looked around her.

On her right was a desk next to a bank of navigational equipment, charts, radio and so on, and on her left a little galley, with a gimballed stove designed to remain stable as the boat tilted from side to side. In front of her was the main seating area, with two long benches down either side that would convert to berths, one L-shaped, with a fixed table in front of it that would collapse to make a double berth.

There was a door directly opposite her that led, she imagined, to another little cabin in the bows, and the ‘head’, that ghastly contraption that passed for a loo on board small boats.

She looked around her at the cabin, and a little smile touched her mouth. This was Michael.

There were a few books—Nicholas Monsarrat, Neville Shute, Hammond Innes—a couple of bottles of wine and one of brandy, two jars of coffee and some powdered milk, a few tins of staples—everything a man like him would need for a quick getaway.

She heard his light tread behind her and turned.

‘Are you a loner?’

He looked startled for a second, and then smiled. ‘No, not really, but I do need to escape every now and again and top up. Will that worry you?’

There he goes again, talking as if we have a future, she thought with a soaring heart.

‘No, it won’t worry me at all. We all need solitude periodically.’

He gave her a brief hug. ‘What do you think of her?’

‘Oh, she’s lovely—just right. All wooden fittings and personal touches—not at all like a modern boat.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t sound as if you approve of modern boats!’

‘Well, they have their place, I suppose, but they’re characterless by comparison.’

‘Thank you,’ he said simply, and hugged her again. After a moment he eased away from her with a reluctant sigh and headed for the hatch. ‘We need to get under way if we’re going to catch the tide up the Deben. There’s a sand-spit across the mouth of the river that closes it off at low tide, but if we go now we should make it just about right.’

She found a picnic in one of the bags and wedged it in the corner of the galley, and dropped the other bag, full of towels and sweaters, on the quarter bunk under the cockpit. Then she clambered back over the hatch to join Michael.

There’s a light breeze picking up—just do us nicely,’ he said, and pressed the starter button. The engine turned, coughed, and fired immediately. He cast off, jumped nimbly back on board and steered her carefully over to the lock. The top gates were open, and the lads working the lock made her fast and stood by to steady the boat as she lowered.

Tide’s only just coming in now, so we’ve got quite a long way to go. Will it worry you?’

Clare shook her head. ‘Must make it tricky if you get back too late,’ she said. ‘Do you have to find another mooring outside overnight?’

‘Oh, no—they have a motto here, “Lock around the Clock”—you can come and go whenever you please. Just as well—when I got her here from the Scillies it was nearly midnight.’

‘Isn’t that a bit hair-raising in the dark, in strange waters?’

He laughed. ‘Hardly strange! She’s been moored near here for fifteen years—my grandfather lives in Holbrook. I know this coast like the back of my hand.’

As the lock gates opened and Michael manoeuvred the boat out into the estuary, Clare sat back and relaxed. There was nothing she could usefully do, and Michael was clearly competent. She might as well give herself a treat and watch him at work.

And it was a treat, she admitted to herself some time later. He had changed into ragged cut-off jeans and abandoned his T-shirt, and she watched the smooth play of muscle in his back as he hoisted the mainsail and unfurled the foresail, tightening the sheets and bringing the head round into the wind.

‘OK?’

She nodded. ‘Super. I’d forgotten how much I love it!’

He laughed in sheer enjoyment. ‘Great, isn’t it? I’d die if I couldn’t do this!’

After a while he offered her the helm, and stood behind her, his hands steady on hers, his chest brushing lightly against her back. She leant back against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and made a small sound of contentment in her throat.

‘Happy?’

‘Oh, Michael, you have no idea …’

His lips nuzzled her neck. ‘You taste wonderful—fresh and clean and delicious. Mind the ferry.’

‘What ferry?’

He laughed. ‘Just testing. Want to take her round the point?’

She let out a breath. ‘I’ll try—just don’t go away.’