Follow a Star (23 page)

The weathermen had promised the hottest weekend of the year for the Little Spitmarsh Regatta. In the natural harbour next to Watling’s, many boat owners were about, eager to put the last touches to their vessels before the Sail In of visiting yachtsmen – ‘a handful of boats if we’re lucky,’ Harry had commented pessimistically – began later in the day, marking the official start of the weekend’s festivities. There was a gentle bustle of activity with flags being hoisted and varnish being polished. A warm breeze sent silver ripples shivering across the surface of the water, setting the boats twittering on their moorings. May couldn’t think of many prettier locations.

Aboard
Lucille
, May was supposed to be dressing the pretty boat with decorative flags in preparation for Cecil’s imminent arrival, but was slightly distracted by the sight of Harry’s hottie of a hubby, Matthew, looking pretty decorative himself in his Jack Sparrow costume with a loose white shirt split halfway down his chest showing off an impressive set of pecs. To May’s shame, he caught her gawping and winked, making her blush bright red, but at least – thank the Lord – Harry was too preoccupied to have noticed.

‘You’re lucky I had spare flags in the store,’ Harry was grumbling. ‘There’s etiquette for this sort of thing, you know.’

‘What’s wrong with the vintage bunting I bought in town?’ May said, thinking that the triangles of green and red gingham perked up with some pretty floral fabric went beautifully with
Lucille
’s pale green deck paint.

‘It’s not a question of stringing up anything that takes your fancy,’ Harry said through gritted teeth. ‘Otherwise you might be hoisting a rude or offensive message.’

‘What? With old curtain fabric?’ May was puzzled.

‘Well, I find that floral fabric quite offensive for a start,’ Harry told her, grinning at last. ‘You’re supposed to use The International Code of Signal Flags like these. There’s a very carefully composed sequence you’re meant to follow, and you should start at the bow to the stern via the masthead. You don’t want to fly a message telling Cecil to bog off, do you? Not when he’s seeing the boat for the first time!’

May looked at the other boats being dressed to welcome in the visiting vessels. Everyone else’s approach looked far more haphazard. ‘I don’t care what the others are doing,’ Harry growled, catching her rolling her eyes. ‘We’re going to get this right for Bill and his uncle. Especially since you’ve made such a good job of cleaning her up, don’t spoil the ship for a ha’porth of tar.’

Preening a little at Harry’s praise – which, she was learning, was hard won – she hoped that Bill and Cecil would be equally impressed. It had been a demanding week for Bill, getting Cecil back on his feet as well as managing his restoration projects. She and Bill had managed a few chaste trysts, which had been rather lovely, but May had been busy too.

Thunder had been as good as his word and consulted his solicitors, sparing her from racking up additional costs in legal fees, so she’d braced herself and started to take the necessary steps towards extricating herself from Aiden’s contractual hold on her. Where she had once felt powerless against him, here, away from the pressures of her previous life, she could see him for the bully he was.

Her trips to Walton House had meant she’d got to know Fiona Goodwin better too – though it was a shame that their meeting at the Paradise Café had scarred Fiona so badly it had put her off drinking coffee for good. Everyone she’d met in Little Spitmarsh had made her feel welcome. As the ties to her past loosened, she was suddenly able to leap the obstacles in the path of her creativity as new songs and lines of lyrics kept coming towards her. Bill, she admitted, might have had something to do with it too. She wanted to do justice to his dad’s guitar, after all. And since Bill was occupied with Cecil, she’d taken it on herself to get up early to wash the topsides of the boat down and polish her brightwork.

‘I couldn’t have made a better job of it myself,’ Harry added, straightening up and looking round approvingly at the varnished wood gleaming in the sun.

‘Matthew! Get some life jackets on those kids,’ she bellowed, spotting her husband, who was now surrounded by a gaggle of small children all set to go on a treasure hunt. Matthew grinned and waved a large toy cutlass at them. At least, May hoped it was a toy. Once the children, with some help from their fussy parents, had donned their life jackets, Matthew inspired his merry crew with a rousing talk and dubbed them all on each shoulder, making them swear a blood-thirsty oath of allegiance and threatening to feed them to the sharks at the first hint of mutiny. The cutlass alone was enough to worry May. It was a wonder one or two of the more wriggly children hadn’t been beheaded.

‘Avast behind!’ Matthew roared, making them all giggle and stick their bottoms out, then they set off, with Georgia shrieking like a banshee to be let out of the buggy, Captain Flint yapping wildly and a trail of self-conscious parents bringing up the rear.

‘I’m beginning to wonder if I ought to have dug out a couple of adult life jackets too,’ Harry said thoughtfully. ‘Seeing that one of the dads nearly lost his footing. Although, I know what the problem is …’

May followed the line of her gaze to where a handful of houseboats were moored just beyond Harry’s land. ‘That’s Lola Moult visiting her parents, Carmen and Roy, on
Bella Vista
,’ she said, nodding towards a curvaceous dark-haired young woman looking sleek in black jeans and black shirt standing on deck. ‘He’s not the first man to lose control of his senses at the sight of her. She might have the figure of a prowhead, but she’s also blessed with an acute business brain and far too much ambition to let herself get tied down by an early marriage.’

‘Darling, what a brilliant idea for a holiday home!’ an excited woman squealed loudly. ‘A houseboat! Imagine waking up with the waves lapping at the bedroom window. Not just living by the sea but living on it! Perhaps we should try an offer?’

‘Isn’t she looking pretty?’ said Bill as Cecil stopped beside one of the black wooden tubs spilling over with orange nasturtiums Harry had planted up round the boatyard. He eyed his uncle surreptitiously, gauging his fitness. Two weeks was about what the hospital reckoned Cecil would need to make a full recovery. Spooked out by his reading of the possible post-surgery complications, Bill had insisted that Cecil convalesce with him for a full week, even though the district nurse had quietly assured him that his uncle was well enough to return to his own home after a couple of days. He silently ticked off the milestones as they reached them, but still worried about the synthetic graft migrating, or its fabric tearing, or the risk that it would form a dam that would pool and clot his uncle’s blood or cause him to have a stroke.

Even though the rational side of his brain accepted that keeping a constant eye on Cecil wouldn’t save him from the inevitable one day, Bill was still anxious about this first proper excursion and what the emotion and excitement of the day would do. Cecil, however, had been so determined to be well enough to start sailing again wild horses wouldn’t drag him away now. But, Bill wondered nervously, had he pulled up to soak up the view or to catch his breath?

‘Are we talking about
Lucille
or your young lady?’ Cecil chuckled, patting Bill’s hand. ‘Both of them are looking very lovely to me, but I have to admit to being particularly delighted to see
Lucille
after all this time. Just look at her elegant lines! I was most envious of the chap who owned her back then. She always turned heads whenever we visited a new harbour. He offered to sell her to me when he packed in sailing and if I hadn’t been posted abroad, I would have snapped her up and never have let her go. There’s a lesson for you, Bill. It’s all very well for your head to give you cool, sensible advice, but you’ll never be content unless your heart’s in it too.’

Bill looked at May, waving from
Lucille
’s cockpit, her light brown hair lifting as it was caught by a refreshing gust of wind tugging at the signal flags. Her lines were looking pretty good too, in her blue stripy T-shirt and denim shorts. And
Lucille
was looking splendid, thanks to her hard work. He was enormously touched and grateful, and he could think of nothing that would make him happier than he was at this moment … except having her naked in his bed.

Now that Cecil was desperate to regain his independence, it looked as if he and May could have some uninterrupted time together at last when they weren’t wrestling with a truculent weather helm, the vagaries of the tide, an overloaded work schedule or a possessive ex-boyfriend. The kind of thoughts he was having owed little to his head or his heart, but an entirely different part of his anatomy. But as for holding on to her? He’d only known her for a couple of weeks and there was so much more to discover; it was a little soon, wasn’t it, to be rushing out buying engagement rings?

Any niggling worries about his uncle’s health seemed to be groundless. Cecil was forging ahead, confidently striding out after his confinement and looking very dapper in his Breton red cotton sailcloth trousers and a new checked shirt. He was still an upright, handsome man who moved easily and seemed to have shed a few years along with some extra pounds. A few of the grannies, lining up for tea at one of the refreshment stalls set up around the yacht basin, seemed to think so too. Bill scooped up the cool bag and hurried after his uncle before May decided he was a bit of silver fox after all.

‘I should be piping you aboard, shouldn’t I?’ May laughed, taking Cecil’s hand as he climbed nimbly over the pulpit.

She was certainly looking piping hot, thought Bill, curling his arm round her waist and kissing her, and he was touched to see her wearing the little silver starfish pendant. Cecil, very misty eyed, pulled out a very clean white handkerchief and pretended to blow his nose. Moving slowly, he went off to explore the boat, tenderly renewing his acquaintance with the vessel he’d sailed on so many years ago before returning to sit in the sunny cockpit next to May.

‘I can’t thank you both enough, for everything you’ve done.’

Bill watched May returning Cecil’s smile. Cecil was right to advise him to not to let go of May, who could brighten anyone’s day just by sitting there. He thought about the luxury of a long, leisurely evening together, about undressing her slowly … and, he swallowed hard and steadied his thoughts … about just how nice it would be to wake up in the morning to see May’s head resting on the pillow next to his. With the rest of the summer to get to know her properly, his sensible head ought to approve too.

‘The thanks aren’t necessary, Cecil,’ he said, unwrapping the champagne glasses he’d packed so carefully. ‘Just try not to frighten me like that for a good long while, will you?’

If anything he ought to be thanking Cecil. If he hadn’t been ill, Bill might never have met May. Although he could have done without the subsequent drama. It was a great relief that Cecil seemed to be over his health crisis and was back to his usual self. He glanced across at him fondly. The old boy certainly deserved to enjoy the future having paid dearly for his dreams of regaining his lost youth.

‘May?’ he began, removing the gold foil from the
Veuve Clicquot
.

‘Just a sip,’ she said, smiling. ‘Just this once.’

He unwound the wire, lifted off the cage and eased off the cork, letting it fly in the big blue sky and into the creek.

‘To
Lucille
and all who sail in her!’

The chinking of glasses was accompanied by cheers from the other boats and ashore as a cluster of small boats appeared in the channel beyond Samphire, led by a Cornish Crabber with beautiful tan sails.

‘I can’t wait to be out on the water,’ Cecil observed wistfully.

‘Tomorrow,’ Bill told him, ‘in the regatta. Until then you’ll have to be patient.’

He caught May’s eye and grinned back at her. All three of them were learning how to be patient.

Having waited for so long, Fiona didn’t know whether or not to be grateful that her guests had gone out, giving her a chance to have a private conversation with Paul at long last. She knelt over a flowerbed doing some much needed weeding while she practised what to say to him. Being pregnant was already changing her. The heightened emotions were probably to be expected, but she was also horribly aware of anything that might threaten the baby, as if she was being subtly manipulated from within. Her initial resentment of her condition was giving way to an unexpected and growing desire to protect her unborn child. Previously innocent foods like soft cheeses, mayonnaise and shellfish now seemed laden with murderous intent. Even a harmless lettuce leaf might have been crapped on by a cat and infect them both with toxoplasmosis if someone hadn’t bothered to wash it properly.

She froze and stared in horror at her gardening gloves, but before she could work herself up about anything she might have accidentally brushed across her mouth, a shadow fell across the flowerbed. Looking up, she found Paul standing over her.

‘Come on, Fee. Come and sit down,’ he said, crouching down beside her and stroking her back. ‘I’ve made some tea.’ Then, as if reading her mind as she started running her mental check list of everything she couldn’t or shouldn’t drink, he added, ‘Peppermint for you. I noticed you’ve started drinking it. Is that all right?’

He straightened up and offered her his hand to help her up. She already felt like Granny Grumps; how would she feel when she was seven months pregnant, she wondered miserably, and what would Paul think of her then? But sitting down on one of the garden chairs on the terrace, she let her gaze rest on the pots full of geraniums, their colours so bright in the sunshine, and tried to feel optimistic. Paul had obviously made a special effort, setting out her favourite bone china cups, given to her by her grandmother, with their oriental themed design of peacocks and peonies. He’d even put a few ginger biscuits on a plate, which he solemnly offered to her.

‘Did you want to go to the boatyard?’ said Paul, sitting down next to her.