The passengers watched gloomily as Hamish sprang on to the harbour. As he busied himself with the ropes he said to Mr Johnson, who had brought Peta, “Couldn’t you have driven a bit slower? Nobody seems to want her.”
“Are you kidding?” demanded the manager. “She was screaming at me the whole way. If she’d had a whip, she’d have lashed at me to make me go faster.”
The gangplank was lowered. Peta waddled on board wearing a huge loose flowered dress like a tent. “Gosh, I’m starving,” she cried. “When’s breakfast?”
“Any minute now,” said Priscilla. “Archie, Hamish will need to help me in the galley.”
“What’s for breakfast?” asked Hamish. “Bacon and eggs?”
“No, kedgeree. I’ve a big pot of it. Sean keeps a ton of the stuff in the freezer and I defrosted it before I left. Heat up the rolls, Hamish, and put out the butter. Give them all a plate, cup, knife and fork – you’ll find them in that box over there – and then the coffee and tea’s in those giant flasks. They’re the kind with spouts, so all you’ve got to do is twist and pour. Serve Peta first and that’ll keep her quiet.”
Jenny came down into the galley. “I’m sure you need help,” she said, but she looked at Hamish and not Priscilla.
To Priscilla’s annoyance, Hamish promptly relayed the orders she had just given him to Jenny. “Now what are you going to do?” asked Priscilla, half exasperated, half amused as Jenny bustled off.
“I’ll light the stove for you. It’s tricky,” said Hamish, “and then when you’ve got the kedgeree heated, I’ll hold the casserole while you dish it out.”
“I hope you won’t faint from exhaustion before the day is over,” said Priscilla sarcastically.
“I’ll do just fine.”
When the kedgeree was heated, Priscilla piled a plate high and handed it to Jenny, who was now waiting behind her. “Take that to Peta,” said Priscilla. “There’s loads here. Tell her to leave room for lunch.”
The members of Checkmate were sitting on the small deck. Peta broke off flirting with Sir Bernard when she saw the food arrive. Her eyes gleamed. Jenny cast one horrified look at Peta shovelling kedgeree into her mouth and darted off down the companion-way to get the food for the others. She felt brisk and efficient and quite confident now that she had something to do. She hoped that attractive policeman noticed just how brisk and efficient she was.
A policeman’s wife might be no bad thing. He was, she judged, in his thirties and should surely have been promoted to a higher rank by now if he were any good. But with a wife behind him, he might do wonders. He looked clever. She could see him now, solving cases in a sort of Lord Peter Wimsey way, throwing in the occasional apt quotation.
But that dream dissolved when she got downstairs again. Hamish was lying on one of the bunks, reading a newspaper. He did not look the least like an ambitious man.
Feeling slightly flat, she served the others before taking her own plate and sitting down to join them. The kedgeree was excellent, but they were all picking at their food and it was obvious they were trying to look anywhere and everywhere but at the glutton. Priscilla had made the mistake of bringing the remains of the casserole up, which Peta seized with both hands. She not only ate that but cleared up everyone else’s leftovers. She was a mess of crumbs and rice and fish. This mess, once temporarily sated, began to flirt again with Sir Bernard, who edged away from her and asked Deborah if she would like to go to the side and see if there were any seals.
“Probably basking on rocks in this weather,” said Deborah, but she joined him at the side. And then Sir Bernard felt a pudgy arm steal about his neck and Peta’s cooing voice saying, “You know, you’re my sort of man.”
Her fishy breath fanned his cheek. He could feel her blubbery body pressed against his side and wondered desperately why it was that men were always being accused of sexual harassment and never women. He had never before felt at such a loss, he, the business tycoon, who was used to handling all sorts of situations. He remembered visiting one of his stores to talk to the manager. He was leaving by walking through the shop after closing time when he had seen a light on in one of the fitting rooms. He had pulled back the curtain to switch the light off and had been confronted by a shop girl clad only in bra and pants, who had wet her lips and smiled at him seductively and he had immediately known she had staged the whole thing, had known he would leave by the shop floor and would see the light. He had jerked the curtain closed and had gone to fetch the manager, knowing the girl would be dressed by the time he returned. He therefore did not mention how he had found her but demanded the manager interrogate her as to why she was still on the premises after closing time. She made some lame excuse about getting ready to go to a party. He had drawn the manager aside afterwards and told him to wait three months, then find fault with the girl and sack her, and in the intervening period, he never went near the store. He had handled that properly. But there was something so repulsive, so frightening about Peta. She caused emotional claustrophobia. There was something almost cannibalistic about her. He jerked away from her and said desperately, “Now, now, Mrs Gore, you will be making my fiancée jealous.”
Peta looked at him sulkily. “Fiancée? What fiancée?”
“Deborah,” said Sir Bernard.
“Oh, well…” Peta rolled off in the direction of John Taylor to try her luck there.
“Sorry about that,” said Sir Bernard awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have said that. You must be very embarrassed.”
“Gosh, no,” said Deborah. “I was awfly flattered. For a moment I thought you meant it. Never mind. Look at that rock over there. What an odd shape.”
Sir Bernard looked at her fondly. She was far from pretty with her heavy face and limp brown hair, not to mention the backside, which was shown in all its glory in a brief pair of striped shorts, but she was clean and healthy and a good sort. Nothing messy or clingy about her.
“I don’t know that I didn’t mean it,” he said, taking her hand. “But it doesn’t do to rush things.”
“Gosh, no,” said Deborah. “I mean, we hardly know each other. I feel like one of those Victorian heroines. “This is so sudden.” Chin up! I’m not going to sue you for breach of promise.” But she left her hand in his and the pair suddenly beamed at each other.
Thank God, thought Maria, covertly watching them. Not what I had intended, but who cares? Oh, if only Peta would fall overboard.
The headland fell away and the boat chugged on into the oily swell of the Atlantic. Down in the galley, Priscilla said to Hamish, “Get up and help me start preparing the lunch. I’m beginning to feel seasick.”
Hamish amiably swung his long legs down from the bunk. “Show me where the stuff is and then take yourself up on deck for a breath of fresh air.”
“It’s cold salmon for lunch. The hollandaise is in that plastic container and the other container holds the salad-dressing. You’ve got to tear up the lettuce and stuff in that box and make a big bowl of salad. Then there’s quails’ eggs to be shelled and salted. Lots of French bread. The wine’s still cold and it’s in that crate over there, along with some beer in case anyone wants that. Oh, Jenny, what is it?”
“The skipper’s complaining that he wants some real food. He couldn’t eat the kedgeree. He says it’s foreign muck.”
“He’s got some bacon and eggs here,” said Hamish, stooping down and looking in a small cupboard. “Fry him up some and add a couple of slices of fried bread and then give him a cup of strong black tea and he’ll be happy. You are looking a bit green, Priscilla. Off with you. We’ll manage.”
Priscilla took in great gulps of fresh air and then went into the wheel-house. “Can you find us somewhere on dry land for lunch, Archie?” she yelled above the noise of the engine.