It was not what she expected, somewhat of a disappointment. But more of a disappointment was the conversation she overheard once she boarded the old boat. Listening, she heard the argument of four men, an argument that told her that two naval officers had already rented or bought the houseboat, and that a civilian was still trying to outbid them, frustrated at their refusal.
She stood on the deck, as the civilian, wearing a rumpled-looking suit and a sour scowl, stomped past her, grunting obscenities.
She watched the man leave, then entered the cabin where the argument had occurred. There stood a blond navy lieutenant, with his back to her, bragging about how he had turned the tough-dealing civilian away with ease.
The other officer, sensing her presence, spun and stared at her. He eyed her up and down and whistled.
Barbara, embarrassed, and aware that she had been guilty of trespassing, as well as committing heaven knew how many other misdemeanors, blushed and edged backwards. An instant later, she suddenly halted. The blond lieutenant had about-faced at his friend's whistle and she stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Regina's fiance!
"Why, Greg Maiden!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"
Greg looked blank for a moment. Then, as her identity dawned on him, he strode forward to take her hands in a warm clasp.
"Barbara Torrance! Say, how did you know I'd be here? Regina wrote that you were staying with her, but I hardly expected you to form a reception committee." He held her at arm's length for a more thorough scrutiny. "You've grown up!"
"That's what I keep telling my parents," she said, laughing.
Greg introduced Chuck Dodson, who broke into a relieved smile. "I'm mighty glad you two are friends!" he explained. "For a while there, I was afraid you were another customer wanting to buy or rent the Albatross."
"Well, I was, almost," Barbara confessed. "But from what I've seen, I guess I arrived latest with the leastest."
"You wouldn't have liked the competition," the other sailor declared after Greg had performed the introductions and identified him as Whitney Egan. He turned to Chuck. "Who was our snarling competitor, anyway?"
"He gave his name as Smith," Chuck said dubiously.
Barbara sniffed. "With an accent like that? Did he say why he was so eager to buy this particular houseboat?"
Whit shook his head. "Nope. Just sailed in here prepared to hoist anchor. He tried some 'you'll-be-sorry-if-you-don't' tactics on us first, and when he found we didn't scare easily, he started waving his wallet. By that time, I was so mad I wouldn't have sold for sixteen thousand!"
"It seems awfully peculiar. Not that this isn't a nice houseboat," Barbara hastened to add. "But Mr. Dodson mentioned that I was the fourth person to inquire about it in the last hour. I suppose he meant Mr. Smith, you and Greg and myself."
"There was someone else, too," Chuck put in. "He telephoned yesterday and a couple of times today, insisting that we hold off selling the Albatross until he got here. Pa told him first come, first served, but he didn't seem to get discouraged easily."
"Maybe that was our mysterious Mr. Smith," Greg suggested.
"The fellow on the phone had a Southern drawl," Chuck said flatly. He shrugged, glad to be rid of the problem. Descending to the wharf, he informed Whit that he could take possession of the houseboat that evening, since it would require only a few hours to remove the former owner's possessions to a storage room.
"I'd better call Regina," Barbara said suddenly. "She would never forgive me if I let you catch her in pin curls, Greg. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."
Her phone call completed, she and Whit Egan piled into Greg's shiny new convertible. "What do you intend to do with the houseboat, now that you've bought her?" she asked Whit.
"Turn her into a restaurant." He grinned. "Sound silly? You'd be surprised at how many chefs ladle up their soup in old railway cars and streetcars. This should be quite a novelty in Santa Teresa-I'll bet we won't have room for half the people who will line up for a seagoing sirloin once we swab down the decks and freshen up her paint."
Barbara smiled at his enthusiasm. "It sounds like a wonderful idea! One thing puzzles me, though. How did you discover that this particular houseboat was for sale?"
"Lucky accident. I was waiting outside a phone booth near the base yesterday and I overheard this guy inside mention a houseboat at Dodson's in Santa Teresa. I didn't see his face-but he sounded like he was going to talk all day so I went to buy a newspaper. When I came back, he was gone."
"Whit's been dreaming about owning a houseboat ever since we ate at a place called 'The Willows' in Honolulu," Greg put in. "It's a fantastic spot, built like a huge raft over a pond. You can even pick out your own frog legs there."
Barbara wrinkled her nose, but before she could reply, Greg had leaped out and was halfway up the front steps of the Prescott house. She and Whit discreetly delayed their exit from the car for a few minutes, then joined the engaged couple.
"You would have to show up tonight!" Regina was saying, although she was smiling happily. "This is Mother's evening for volunteer work at the hospital, and Dad has gone bowling with his League. When Barbara called to say she wouldn't be home either, I decided to make myself a sandwich. I haven't a thing prepared!"
"Point me in the direction of the kitchen," Whit said. "This likely-looking KP assistant and I will stir up a few calories while you two hold hands."
No one objected, and half an hour later, after selecting various items from the pantry shelves, Whit had a salmon soufflй puffing in the oven and was measuring ingredients for the lemon sauce that was to accompany it.
"Where did you learn to cook?" Barbara asked him, rinsing salad greens under the faucet.
"On our ranch in Montana. Mom gave up hoping for a girl after six boys and recruited the baby of the family to help her feed the threshers. Once you have cooked for threshers," Whit added emphatically, "feeding a Navy chow line is child's play. Salad ready? Shell some walnuts for brownies. I'd make a lemon pie, but there isn't time."
"Aye, aye, sir," Barbara responded with a smart salute. "Anything else?"
"Set the table while I hail the lovebirds. This soufflй won't keep."
The golden-brown salmon loaf was a work of perfection. Barbara, ladling lemon sauce over it and helping herself to French-sliced green beans garnished with mushrooms and red slivers of pimento, catalogued Whit's culinary artistry in the Cordon Bleu class. Yet there wasn't a trace of sissiness about him. His broad shoulders looked as if they would fit snugly into a football jersey, and she had already seen him stand up for his rights against the bullying Mr. Smith. Watching his blue eyes sparkle with small-boy mischievousness as he teased Regina and Greg, Barbara decided that Whitney Egan, like his cooking, was in a class all by himself.
While the girls cleaned up the kitchen, Greg and Whit commandeered one of the spare bedrooms and changed into civilian clothes.
"I was all for moth-balling my bell-bottoms this morning when the Navy handed over my freedom papers, but this character couldn't wait even five minutes to wave goodbye to Port Dixon. Said there was some girl in Santa Teresa he wanted to see," Whit teased.
Regina pretended disbelief. "A girl or a houseboat?"
"Wait a minute!" Greg protested. "The houseboat was all his idea."
"You might at least introduce me to this floating cafeteria," Regina told them.
"Before the clock strikes eight, you shall feast your eyes on the Albatross," Greg promised her. "In fact, if you coaxed hard enough, we might even berth her in your inlet for a few weeks. I'm going to pull the 'Man-Who-Came-to-Dinner' act on Whit until your Aunt Louise sings 'O Promise Me' at us."
"You'll stay here? Oh, super!" Regina squealed delightedly. "I can think of a hundred chores for a couple of stalwart ex-sailors-with a wedding coming up!"