“How crazy is that?” Quinn asked the captain, as he sat back in a leather chair in his cabin, and thought about the hundred-and-eighty-foot sailboat for a minute. He felt it was more than he deserved, but it was all he wanted. Living on a yacht was the perfect escape route.
“It's not crazy at all, sir. It's a shame for a sailor like you not to have a boat of your own.” He wanted to tell Quinn that he would love to work for him, but he didn't want to be intrusive. But if Quinn bought the boat, he had every intention of saying it to him. There was no love lost between him and John Barclay, the Victory 's owner. Quinn Thompson was just exactly the kind of man he wanted to work for, he was the consummate sailor. John Barclay ran the Victory like a houseboat, and had no real need for a seasoned captain. Most of the time, all they did was sit in port, or at anchor while they went swimming. “She's a year away from completion, maybe less, if you push them. You could be sailing her wherever you want by the end of next summer. Or at worst, a year from now, sir.”
“All right,” Quinn said, looking suddenly decisive. “Let's do it. Do you mind changing my flight for me? I can fly to London after I see her.” He had no schedule to meet, no timetable to follow, no one to see or be with, and the past three months had proven to him what he had suspected. He wanted a sailboat. And there was no one to stop him now. “Do you mind calling and telling the yard I'm coming?” Quinn's eyes looked hopeful and bright.
“Not at all, sir. I'll speak to the yard owner, and tell him to expect you.”
“I'll need a reservation at the Amstel. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I'll go straight from the yard to the airport, and fly to London.” It was an exciting decision, and if he didn't like the boat, he didn't have to buy her. He could even commission one of his own from scratch, but that, Quinn knew, would take longer. It would take at least two years to build a boat comparable to the one Ramsay had ordered, possibly even longer.
The captain made all the arrangements for him, and half an hour later Quinn shook hands with him and the entire crew, and thanked them for their kindness to him. He had left generous tips for each of them, and had written a sizable check to the captain. He promised to let him know how things turned out in Holland. And as he sped toward the airport in Nice in a limousine, Quinn felt the same anguish he had felt for months, wishing he could tell Jane what he was about to do, and what he hoped would happen in Holland. There was always something he wanted to share with her, something that reminded him with agonizing acuteness of how empty his life was without her. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of her, and then forced himself to open them. There was no point allowing himself to get sucked into the black pit of grief again. It had been a constant battle since June. But the one thing he did know, and believed with every ounce of his being, was that a sailboat was at least one way to flee the places he had been and lived with her that had become too painful for him. A sailboat was something for him to live for. He could never replace Jane with a boat. But he sensed, as they reached the airport, that she would have been pleased for him. She always was. Whatever he chose to do, she always supported him, and celebrated each and every idea he had, no matter how crazy it seemed to anyone else. Jane would have understood, better than anyone. She was the one person who would. The one person, the only person he knew, who had really loved him. More than he had ever known when she was alive, he knew now without any doubt, his entire life with her had been a love poem, just like the ones she had written and left for him.
2
THE PLANE TOUCHED DOWN AT SCHIPHOL AIRPORT IN Amsterdam at six o'clock, and Quinn took a cab to the Amstel Hotel. It was one of his favorite hotels in Europe. Its ancient grandeur and exquisite service always reminded him somewhat of the Ritz in Paris. He ordered room service shortly after he arrived and found himself torn between missing the comforts of the Victory and her crew, and excitement over the boat he was planning to see in the morning. He found it nearly impossible to sleep that night with the anticipation of it. All he hoped now was that he would love it.
He slept fitfully, and was up and dressed by seven the next morning. He had to wait another hour for a car and driver to come, and passed the time by reading the Herald Tribune over breakfast. It was an hour's drive from the hotel to the boatyard, and by nine o'clock, he was in the office of the owner of the shipyard, a powerfully built older man, with an ebullient style, who had the plans on his desk, in anticipation of Quinn's visit. He had heard of him, and read of him over the years, and the night before, he had made some calls, and done some careful research. He had a very clear idea of what Quinn was about, and knew of his incisive, and allegedly ruthless reputation. To those who crossed him, or failed him in some way, Quinn could be fearsome.
Quinn eased his long, lean frame into a chair, and his blue eyes seemed to dance as he went over the plans with the owner of the shipyard. His name was Tem Hakker, and he was a few years older than Quinn. Both his sons were in the office with them, and explained the plans in detail to Quinn. Both of the younger men were in charge of the project, and took a great deal of pride in it, with good reason. The boat was going to be spectacular, and Quinn had fresh respect for Bob Ramsay's genius as he listened. The giant sailboat seemed to have almost everything he would have wanted. Quinn had a few additional ideas, and made suggestions as they talked, which in turn impressed both younger Hakkers, as well as their father. Quinn's ideas were of a technical nature, which improved on Ramsay's initial concept.
“He's crazy to give up this boat,” Quinn said as he went over the plans with them again. He was anxious to see the boat now.
“We're building him an eighty-meter,” Tem Hakker said with pride. Two hundred and fifty feet. But the one they were discussing seemed vast enough to Quinn. It was everything he could ever have wished for, and all he needed.
“That ought to keep him happy,” Quinn quipped easily, referring to the eighty-meter, and then asked to see the boat still under construction that Ramsay was selling. And when he did, Quinn stood in awestruck silence and whistled. Even the hull looked beautiful to him. There were already large sections of the boat completed. The main mast was going to stand a hundred and ninety feet tall, and she was to carry eighteen thousand square feet of sail. She was going to be a sight to behold when she was completed. Even in her unfinished state, she was, to Quinn, a creature of exquisite beauty. It was love at first sight, and he knew looking at her that he had to have her, which was how he did things. Quinn Thompson was a man of instant and almost always infallible decisions.
They spent an hour examining her, discussing changes Quinn wanted to make now that he'd seen her, and then he and Tem Hakker walked slowly back to his office. Hakker and Bob Ramsay had agreed on a price for her, and after a few rapid calculations, keeping in mind the changes Quinn wanted made, he quoted a price that would have made most men blanch. Quinn showed no emotion as he listened, and just as rapidly countered. There was a long silent pause, as Hakker looked at him and took the full measure of the man, and nodded. And as he did, he stuck out his hand and Quinn shook it. The deal was done, at an impressive price, but there was no question in either man's mind that the yacht was worth it. Both men were delighted. And Quinn told him he wanted it completed by August, which he knew was optimistic, but now that he had seen her, he could hardly wait to set off on his travels and life of escape aboard her. The months of waiting for her would seem endless, but the anticipation thrilled him.