“Anyway, I received a letter from Mr Cambridge’s daughter. He is in hospital, poor man, and terribly worried about that silly promise. And strictly between ourselves, he needs the money desperately. I wrote at once and told her to sell the boat for as much as it would fetch, but not for a penny under two thousand...”
An almost indetectable tremor passed over Trelawney’s face.
“...and now back has come that dear, foolish woman’s reply. No—I must have the boat or no one else will. Final. Flat. Now can you understand how anyone could be so stubborn?”
The commander’s expression said that he certainly could not.
“Mind you,” Miss Teatime added, “I must admit that the temptation is almost irresistible. When I look at that water, I can just picture the Lucy—did I tell you he named it after me?—gliding along with that funny little thing on the mast going round and round...”
“Do you mean to say it’s got radar?”
“I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s something to do with being able to steer in fog. Anyway, she really is a beautiful little ship and there’s nothing I’d love so much as to...”
She stopped, suddenly serious.
“Yes?” Trelawney prompted. Boats had become an altogether fascinating topic.
Miss Teatime remained silent.
“I do believe,” he said, doing his best to be roguish again, “that you’ve let out that secret ambition of yours. It’s true, isn’t it? You want to cast off.”
She nodded, but something seemed still to be troubling her.
He asked: “Was it the Lucy you had in mind all the time?”
“Oh, no. When I mentioned my...my ambition in that letter, I certainly was thinking of the sea and going to all those wonderful places like Naples and Marseilles and, and Mozambique—perhaps with someone to share the adventure. But it was only afterwards, when I got Miss Cambridge’s letter, that the idea of the Lucy came into my head. Oh, but no—no, it’s impossible. It would be like taking advantage of a sick old gentleman.”
“Come now,” said Trelawney bluffly, “you mustn’t look at it like that. These old chaps are very proud; it wouldn’t be kind to go against what they believe to be right.”
“Dear Jack,” she sighed, “you are so masculine and sensible about these problems. I suppose that comes of your having had to deal with—oh, I don’t know—storms and mutinies and all that sort of thing.”
He laughed, and she was smiling, too, but in the next moment she looked glumly into the distance and murmured: “I don’t know why I’ve told you all this. You see, there is nothing I can do about it, in any case.”
“Simple, my dear. Send Mr Cambridge the money. Ease his conscience.”
“I am afraid you are wrong. It is not simple. I do not have the money.”
Trelawney waved a careless hand. “How long would it take? A week?”
“Oh, no, longer. Perhaps three. As I told you, my financial advisers are an old fashioned and you might say excessively fastidious firm. They have no faith in any process that takes less than a fortnight. And by then...well, it would be too late.”
“How do you mean, too late? The man’s not dying, surely?”
“Not dying. But in a serious condition in quite another sense. Something called a distress warrant has been applied for by some people to whom he owes money, apparently. Miss Cambridge says that unless the boat is sold within the next week it will be taken from him.”
“Good lord!” Thoughtfully, the commander straightened up from his bollard and took her arm. They strolled in silence towards the lock gates beyond which lay the tidal stretch of the river.
They had almost reached the lock when he stopped and faced her, frowning.
“Suppose,” he said, “that I were to buy that boat...”
She shook her head quickly. “He would never let it...”
“Wait, though,” he interrupted. “Suppose, as I say, that I were to buy it—but in your name...”
“I do not quite understand, dear.”
“In other words, let him think that you are the buyer—at the agreed price, of course—five hundred pounds—when it’s really me who’s put up the money.”
“But Jack, I could not ask you to do anything of the kind. You do not even know these people.”
“I know you, Lucy, and I think I’m a fair judge of character.”
She looked down modestly.
He took her hand. “And what would you say if you saw the Lucy bearing down the river here with me at the wheel, eh? Would you be ready to board her for better or for worse?”
“Jack!” Her eyes were shining.
“As a matter of fact, that’s just about what I was going to ask you in any case today. About us, I mean. Sailing in convoy.”
It was clear that Miss Teatime was much moved.
The commander gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“And now,” he said, “I’m going to tell you a little secret. Do you know why I happen to have five hundred pounds handy for the doing of good turns to old gentlemen with motor boats?”
He really was so droll. Miss Teatime could not suppress a little giggle.
“I’ll tell you why,” said Trelawney. “Being a very confident cove, I said to myself as soon as I saw you: that dear lady is going to be your lawful wedded, and as such she will want to live in a little cottage in the country!—of course, I didn’t know then that you were a sailor! No, a cottage, I said to myself, is what that charming woman will want, and you, Jack, know the very place...”
“Really?” exclaimed Miss Teatime.
“Really. The said cottage is for sale and may be secured, as estate agents say—one did say so this very morning—for a deposit of five hundred pounds. So now you know the little piece of business that brought me into town so early-O!”
“You’ve paid this deposit already?” She was quite flustered with excitement.
“Not exactly. The cash won’t be available until tomorrow. But I came to a firm understanding with the agent. The channel’s clear, old girl, absolutely clear.”
“Oh, Jack, how wonderful it sounds!” She paused. “But the money for the boat...I mean, how can you use it and still pay that deposit?”
Trelawney took her arm.
“That,” he said, “is something we shall have to have a little pow-wow about over lunch.”
Chapter Thirteen
After a meal which Commander Trelawney described as “confoundedly good messing”, he and Miss Teatime withdrew to a small deserted lounge where the proprietress of the Riverside Rest brought them coffee.
Miss Teatime poured, watched by the fond and by now slightly indolent eye of her companion.
“I love to see you do that,” he said. “Very womanly. Very homely.”