"That's my choice. I like boats."
"You never mention it in the village."
"No reason to."
"It's your bolt-hole?"
"My home, actually. The rectory belongs to the Church."
"I can't get over it-a country clergyman with a gorgeous boat like this, or do I call it a ship? I mean, boats this size are made for millionaires, or the mafia."
He laughed.
"Do they know you down here?"
"By a different name. I don't parade around in the dog-collar. Milk and sugar?"
"Black, please. No sugar."
His brain was in overdrive. He had to deal with this emergency. Get a grip, Otis, he told himself. "Did you, er, tell anyone you were planning to follow me this morning?"
"Certainly not," she said with injured virtue. "I can be very discreet. I wouldn't dream of giving you away, Otis, if that's what you're thinking."
That's what I'm thinking, he chanted in his mind like a response to the litany.
She drew a line along the table with her fingertip, looking down. "I'll be only too happy to share your secret. I thought when we sat together at the harvest supper that we were on a wave-length. Didn't you feel the same?"
She was making a pitch. God, how blind he'd been. "It was fun, great fun, but I didn't expect it…"
"… to lead to anything?" She eagerly completed the sentence for him. "Well, I didn't either, but I've thought a lot about you since. Too much. I didn't want to force the pace. Maybe you were only being sociable?"
He handed her the mug. "Friendly."
Unhappy with the word, her eyes narrowed. "Friendly, yes, you were." She hesitated, and shot him a look that conveyed some apprehension. "You might be offended at this question. Do you have a friend down here in Poole?"
He frowned. "What gives you that idea?"
She added, "I thought, with the boat, you might…"
"You're right," he said, and watched her face fall.
"There is someone?"
"No, but I am offended."
"Oh."
"I don't have a secret love."
A sigh of satisfaction escaped her and she babbled on tactlessly, "Because there's no end of village gossip about your days off."
"I'm sure," he said without giving anything away. "And if you were seen aboard my boat, they'd have more to get their tongues wagging, wouldn't they?"
"No one's going to see us down here."
That "us" activated him like a switch. If he gave this woman the least encouragement she'd soon be tearing off her clothes or his. Far worse, she'd carry the tale back to Foxford. He took a long sip of coffee and said, "How would you like a sea trip?"
"Whee!" piped Cynthia. "I'd adore it."
"Just out into Poole Bay and back. I don't have too much time today. Must get back for the carols."
"Me, too."
"You'll need warmer clothes unless you want to stay below."
"I've got a thick coat in the car."
"Right. While you collect it, I'll start her up. Ever done any crewing?"
"You're joking."
He went up to the cockpit and watched her go to the car park and across to the blue Renault he hadn't looked for when he parked his own car. Nobody could have seen her except possibly Terry, and he'd gone off to his own boat, an Ocean 38 berthed at the other end of the pontoon. Nobody else was about. These cold December days deterred all but the hardiest of sailors.
He knew what he must do. He started the twin engines-so much more responsive than his old car-and looked at the time. The one drawback about this marina was that you had to coordinate times with the opening of Poole Bridge every two hours. The next slot was within the half-hour.
She came aboard again in a long fur coat wholly unsuitable for sea cruising.
"That may get wet if you go aft," he warned.
"It's only a cheap thing," she told him. "You didn't think it was real?"
"Want to sit in the captain's seat, then?"
He showed her the two seats in front of the controls in the covered cockpit. She pulled the coat off her shoulders. "It's really warm in here. This is so exciting, Otis." She brandished a silver hipflask. "I keep this in the car for emergencies and men I fancy."
He went down to loosen the mooring lines, then cast off and rejoined her. The Revelation got under way in a stately exit from the marina and into the Back Water Channel, well marked by stakes and leading to Poole Harbour. Approaching the lifting bridge he gave three toots.
"Would that be Poole on our left?" Cynthia asked, getting his attention with her hand on his arm.
"To port."
"You're really up with this sailoring lark, darling. The only port I know is Sandeman's."
He pretended he hadn't heard. "You'll see the customs steps and the Town Quay presently. Oyster Bank Beacon up ahead marks the edge of the mud we don't want to visit."
She offered him the hipflask. "It's Courvoisier."
"No thanks."
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but isn't it expensive running a boat this size on your stipend?"
"Iniquitous," he agreed. "The berthing fees alone would horrify you."
After some thought she said with a strong note of doubt, "I suppose if this is the only thing you spend your money on …"
"Right."
He steered into the Main phannel with its wide curve around the east side1 of Brownsea Island. \
"I had no idea it was such an enormous harbour."
"Second biggest in the world."
"You must have some private income. You'd never do this otherwise."
"Bit nosy, aren't you?"
"Anyone would be, I should think."
"The boat cost two hundred grand."
"Well, I'll be …"
He smiled. "The Good Book tells us that the Lord will provide, and he did."
"As much as that?"
"After my wife died there was a lump sum in insurance."
"Oh."
There was an interval not of silence, but of the hum of the turbines and the sputter of water.
Eventually Cynthia said, "I bet she'd rather you spent it on a boat than another woman. I would."
He let that pass and pointed out more landmarks. "The race platform for Parkstone Yacht Club. Poole Harbour Yacht Club beyond, with the marina. All very civilised now, but in bygone days these waters were thick with smugglers and pirates. The French and Spanish merchantmen went in terror of the local Blackbeard, a ruthless character they called 'Arripay.' "
"Come again?"
" 'Arripay.' Round here, he was just Harry Page."
She giggled at that. "Wouldn't you like to be a pirate? All girls dream of being captured by one."
"Pirates weren't romantic at all."
"Doesn't matter. You could be one and get away with it. No one knows who you really are-well, no one except me, and I'm your prisoner now. At your mercy, on your pirate vessel."
"What am I supposed to do? Make you walk the plank?"
"Lord, no. I can't swim. But you could have your wicked way with me. A Jolly Roger."
"That's a flag."
"Not in my phrasebook, darling." Quickly, she added, "Pure fantasy, of course."
"1 hope so."
"That's not very gallant, Otis."
He concentrated on his helmsmanship. The streams can be strong at the harbour exit between Sandbanks and South Haven Point. Lining up the beacon at the end of the training bank, he took them into Poole Bay by the route known as Swash Channel. "We'll open up a bit now."
"Us-or the engines?" asked Cynthia, laughing. She was steadily knocking back cognac.
"She'll do thirty-five knots."
"What's that to a landlubber like me?"
"About forty. Doesn't sound much, but on water…"
"Go on, then. Scare me."
He gave the pair of 660 horsepower engines more power and the five-bladed propellors fairly whipped the big boat over the water. It was reasonably calm today and he could motor into the waves without too much of a pounding.