Follow a Star (24 page)

‘What? And bump into most of our guests?’ she said, smiling. ‘No, I’m happy here. Unless you want to. I think Thunder said he was going to have a look round to check on his latest investment.’

‘Investment?’ Paul said warily.

Fiona swatted away a bug as it flew towards her hair. ‘He’s buying a boat off Harry Watling. Some old wreck she’s persuaded him is a bit of a bargain. I expect she’s convinced him to pay for the privilege of her doing it up for him too.’

‘I don’t blame her. In the current climate everyone’s doing whatever’s necessary to stay afloat. She’s very good at her job, though. I’m sure that no matter what condition it’s in now, Thunder’s boat will look smashing by the time she’s finished with it. But not as grand as the yacht he’s been used to – I wonder what he’s bought?’

‘I thought you’d know all about it, seeing as you two have always got your heads together lately. It’s enough to make a girl feel jealous,’ she teased, squeezing his hand.

She heard him take a deep breath. ‘Fee, there’s something we need to talk about. Something serious.’

Oh my god! He was dying! She’d been so wrapped up in herself she hadn’t noticed something going wrong right in front of her eyes. That’s why he was always so thin no matter how much he ate. Her poor baby was going to be fatherless!

‘Paul.’ She clutched his hand. ‘I’m sure it’s not as serious as you think. There have been huge strides in treatment and all kinds of medical innovations. I’m sure we can find a doctor who can do something.’

‘Fee, I’m not ill. Although you’re probably going to think I’m raving mad. I know that Walton House realised our dream of living by the sea, but Thunder Harwich is very keen to buy it for his sister. She’s lonely where they live now and has always fancied running a B&B. He’s made me an offer, a very generous one, said it’s worth it to him for the time he’s saving not having to look around. The thing is, Fee, I’ve indicated we’ll probably accept it.’

‘You’ve what? You’ve made us homeless! Are you crazy?’ No wonder he’d gone to such lengths to soften her up. ‘And just what are we going to live on? Thin air?’

‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Just listen for a moment. We knew it would be hard work running a B&B, but I don’t think either of us reckoned on how time-consuming it would be. The more I watch you endlessly chasing around and clearing up after other people the more convinced I am that we’ve made a mistake taking this place on.’

For a moment, she forgot about the baby and dared to start hoping that this unknown sister would love Walton House as much as Thunder seemed to think. ‘But this was your dream? Won’t you be sad to give it up? You hated working in an office.’

‘It was never my dream to unblock the toilets after other people.’ He shuddered. ‘I hated someone else telling me what to do, which is why I don’t intend to return to an office,’ he insisted. ‘I thought Walton House would give us some free time, but now I’m answerable to other people twenty-four seven instead of from nine to five. I’ve tried to stay upbeat about it for your sake and I’ve kept smiling to keep the punters happy, but really all I want is to spend more time with you. I’ve been contacting agencies for some freelance consultancy work, and although nothing’s firmed up yet, I think we can afford to take a chance.’

She nibbled on a ginger biscuit, while she thought of the freedom and all the possibilities now open to them, completely forgetting that some bug might have sneaked through her waterproof gardening glove on to her bare, unwashed hand.

‘You know what it’s like. There’s always one guest or another demanding attention.’ Paul sighed. ‘Thunder’s offer felt like a godsend. I’m certain we’ll never get a better one. I know I’ve sprung this on you, but I thought this would be great opportunity for us to take off and have some fun before we settled down again and start a family.’

Fiona was brought back to harsh reality by a biscuit crumb sticking in her throat. ‘Oh Paul,’ she choked out at last. ‘It’s too late – I’m pregnant. It’s as much a shock to me as it is to you. But it’s happened and now we’ve got to deal with it. This poor baby wasn’t planned, but I don’t want it to feel unwelcome. What kind of start in life is that?’

He didn’t answer and when she dared look, she realised he was struggling with his own emotions. He gulped and pulled her towards him, clasping her face and raining clumsy kisses on her hair. ‘Oh Fee, I’ve been so worried about you. Especially given how pale and exhausted you’ve been lately.’

‘Paul,’ she said, feeling strangely hesitant. ‘What are we going to do?’

He leaned back and closed his eyes, and reached for her hand. ‘One thing at a time. Right now, the guests are out and we’ve got the house to ourselves. Let’s go to bed.’

Fiona thought about it. It might not solve the big problems but it was a good place to start.

Later, as the sun began to sink on a day of simple pleasures, May sat alone on
Lucille
’s coach roof feeling the warmth of the wood beneath her bottom and the cool evening air ruffling her hair. Cecil had sensibly decided to have an early night, having been on his feet all afternoon watching the procession of classic boats which had arrived from all over the East Anglia coast from Woodbridge and Walberswick to Wells. One by one, they’d trickled along the creek. The Cornish Crabber was followed by a spruced up Dallimore sloop, then a perky little Folkboat with a dark blue hull until fifteen boats, in total, were crammed in around the basin. With everyone relieved to be safely tied up, the party atmosphere was building.

This was how it felt to be happy, she realised, catching sight of Bill making his way through the people gathering for the evening celebrations. That hair marked him out, copper gold in the light, a contrast to the grey of his T-shirt and dark low-slung jeans. He still hadn’t found time to get it cut and with its strong wave, it was flicking up at the back now, like Robert Redford playing the Sundance Kid in that old film. Only proper ginger, of course, not namby-pamby strawberry blond, she sniggered to herself. Somebody stopped him, another man about Bill’s age, and introduced him to the woman with him. Bill smiled and shook hands, but his impatient glance towards the boat demonstrated his eagerness to get back to her.

May drew up her bare legs and rested her chin on her knees, trying to rationalise the pitter-patter of her heart as Bill came closer. She wanted to believe that everything was going to work out, that Aiden would throw up his hands and tell her she was free to go, and then she’d walk away from her old life without regret. Use the money she had to bury herself up here for good, until the world forgot who she was. Maybe she could wipe the slate clean and start again with someone straightforward, easy-going and as unlike Aiden as it was possible to imagine. A breath of cold wind sent shivers down her back and she pulled the thick, cream cardigan around her shoulders. Someone, she thought, who didn’t know about her past and was happy to be with her even when as his seasick shipmate? She hoped so, because the alternative of repeating the same old mistakes didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Is Cecil all right?’ she asked as Bill stood on the pontoon in front of the boat, facing her.

‘He’s fine. He just wants to make sure he’s fit to race tomorrow, although looking at the forecast, I’m not sure there’s going to be any wind. It’ll be more of a float than a race. Come on,’ he said, holding out his hands to help her over the pulpit at the nose of the boat. ‘There’s a fish and chip van on its way – and it’s not just any old fish and chip van. It’s been laid on by Matthew’s restaurant over there. His chef is superb and I can tell you we need to beat the rush before all those hungry visiting sailors smell the salt and vinegar.’

Even so, a queue had already formed by the time they reached the vintage van with its curved lines and blue and white stripes. A lot of people, it seemed to May, either worked for Bill or he had worked for them and were keen to catch up with his news. Some of his students from Great Spitmarsh College were there; the girls smiled under their lashes at him and the boys showed off, and inevitably everyone’s gazes had slid to her and questioning eyebrows were raised.

‘Swab my deck, if it isn’t Bill and his wench!’ Matthew, who was helping to serve and still in pirate mode, roared at them. May very much hoped he wasn’t going to make any cracks about catching her eyeing him for hidden treasure earlier in the day. Touch Matthew’s loot and she’d certainly feel Harry’s boot, she decided.

‘Dig out your doubloons for a good cause,’ he went on. ‘The food’s courtesy of Samphire this weekend, but we want to raise as much money as we can for local charities.’

Bill handed over a crisp note and ushered May away, ‘Before he comes up with any more pirate phrases,’ he explained as Matthew warmed to his theme.

Back on
Lucille
they sat in the cockpit and unwrapped greaseproof parcels of thick wodges of homemade ciabatta filled with spicy fried pollock which were served with a dinky bucket of chips with aïoli. It was the perfect end to the day so why, she noticed, catching him watching her as she licked her fingers, did Bill look as if he was brewing up to say something?

‘What’s the matter, then?’ she asked, nudging him.

‘This tasting dinner and entertainments night Matthew’s put together at Samphire tomorrow night,’ he said at last. ‘I wondered if you’d like to go with me.’

‘I’d be a bit disappointed if you hadn’t asked,’ she grumbled, ‘but what about Cecil?’

‘Why?’ laughed Bill, ‘is it a condition now that we have to go out as a threesome or has he already invited you?’

‘Silly. It’ll be a long day for him if he’s still serious about entering the boat race in the afternoon. I just thought that if you needed me to stay behind and look after him while you help Harry and Matthew, I’d volunteer.’

‘Cecil,’ he said, watching her closely, ‘has decided he’d be more comfortable back in his own bungalow tomorrow. I’m going over with him in the morning to check the place over and settle him in.’

‘Oh?’ she injected a note of disapproval into her voice. ‘You’ll miss the fun run in the morning. Matthew won’t be happy.’

‘Matthew can take a running jump,’ Bill said softly. ‘I might need to save my strength.’

‘And why’s that?’ she said, looking into his dark eyes. He reached a finger inside the neck of her cream cardigan and traced a circle on her shoulder.

‘If you don’t think I’m being too pushy, I hoped that since we’ve finally got some time to ourselves, that you might like to come home with me afterwards.’

That was one of the aspects of his character she found so endearing, that he was so considerate about her feelings. Nevertheless she couldn’t resist teasing him.

‘Oh Bill,’ she sighed. ‘I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble. The last thing you need is another visitor. Not when you’ve got the house to yourself at last.’ And then she spoiled it by bursting out laughing.

Bill growled and pulled her to him. Then there was a loud bang above their heads and May broke away to the sound of more fireworks exploding, sending stars and little glittering fishes of lights twisting and spiralling in the night sky.

‘Blimey, Bill.’ She giggled. ‘That was clever. If that’s what you can do with your clothes on, what will you do when we’re home alone?’

The next morning, as the first event of a packed regatta programme drew to a close, Georgia, in Matthew’s arms, started kicking off again as she spotted her mum near the end of the 5k Fun Run. Coming in to loud cheers, Harry finished with a very zippy time of just over twenty-six minutes.

‘I don’t know what you’re all so surprised at,’ she grumbled. ‘I run round the boatyard every day. Besides,’ she added softly to May, ‘I wasn’t going to let another mum beat me in front of Georgia.’

Matthew, behind Harry’s back, rolled his eyes. No one, it seemed, was going to get the better of Harry, not even in a light-hearted contest.

Harry had vetoed demands for a crab race on the grounds of cruelty to crustaceans, so there was plenty of time to watch the prizes being awarded and for crews to prepare for Little Spitmarsh’s very own round the island race.

‘Back to something like normal at last,’ Cecil announced, looking proudly over his shoulder at his silver Jaguar gleaming in the car park. ‘It’s not that I’m ungrateful for everything everyone’s done for me, but it’s a damn bore relying on other people. You’ll be relieved to get your home back to yourself too, I daresay, Bill.’

‘Don’t overdo things, that’s all,’ Bill said, helping Cecil aboard. ‘Remember what they say about making progress slowly or you’ll be back to square one.’

May took Bill’s hand as she dropped into the cockpit beside him. His grip was firm and always so reassuring, like his manner when he addressed his uncle. Instinctively, she knew that if Cecil needed him this evening, Bill would postpone their plans to be with him. He was a man who took care of others and she liked him all the more for his unselfish nature. It didn’t stop her hoping, though, that Cecil wouldn’t need them, or from quietly simmering in anticipation of the night ahead. And when Bill looked at her so tenderly and intensely, May could tell that he was having similar thoughts. For the rest of the afternoon she’d have to try to avoid catching his eye as she needed both her wits and her sea legs to be in full working order, especially when Bill’s hot looks were affecting both.

She hadn’t forgotten what a big day it was for Cecil. He’d once participated in the Little Spitmarsh Regatta’s much larger namesake, the Round the Island sailing race that took place annually in the Solent. Now, he was busy talking tactics with Bill. Whilst they wouldn’t be racing against high-tech multihulls and the course took them round Little Tern Island, not the Isle of Wight, no one listening to them would guess that today’s event, comprised mainly of weekend sailors in ancient wooden boats, wasn’t just as serious.

‘That lot look as if they need resuscitating, not motivating,’ said Cecil, looking askance at the elderly crew on
Rose of Grimsby
, a North Sea 24 next to them. But his smug expression was masked by one of fury when, in the melee at the starting line, the same crew almost tricked them into sailing off before the starting gun, therefore nearly earning instant disqualification.

‘Wiley buggers,’ Cecil muttered. ‘We’ll have to watch them.’

Once through the tidal gate, nerves were tested as the flotilla of little ships squeezed into the same stretch of deep water, all of them trying to avoid the shallows either side of the narrow channel.

‘Damn fool,’ said Cecil happily as the skipper of
Winkle
steered on to a sandbank, his race over. May, who had been enjoying the sight of the colourful boats cutting through the fretwork of marshes and mudflats, prayed they wouldn’t suffer the same fate. Surely this was her and Bill’s night? If they ran aground at this state of the tide, they could look forwards to cocoa with Cecil rather than getting cosy at Bill’s.

From Campion’s Creek the channel split in two, leading to the sea in one direction and to Peregrine Water, a large lagoon easily navigable by all the boats. Simple, May decided, relaxing until the breeze on the big stretch of open water caught the sails and almost swept them into the Folkboat just ahead.

The sea was flecked with the hues of bobbing hulls as the yachts cut through the waters, taking advantage of every breath of wind as they fought for the fastest route round the small island. In the carnage, the Cornish Crabber came perilously close to scraping
Lucille
and Bill had to make Cecil sit down for a while for the sake of everyone’s blood pressure. And then, just as they had almost rounded Little Tern Island, the wind died just as suddenly as it had blown up. The sails drooped, the rudder lost power and for a moment it looked as if the current would take them straight on to the narrow shingle shore.

‘Shall I start the engine?’ May said, recoiling as both Cecil and Bill bellowed, ‘No!’ at her. Another competitor did, though, so that was another boat out the race.

Afraid of being keelhauled for mutiny, May retreated below to put the kettle on. When she returned with mugs of tea,
Lucille
was pointing back towards the main channel but still drifting. The tea was received with barely a grunt, so she went back down below again and found fruit cake to go with the tea, by which time the boat was drifting very gently downstream towards Watling’s along with a sedate procession of so-called racing yachts.

May settled herself against the coamings surrounding the cockpit which made a good back rest and enjoyed the warm sunshine and the sight of the grassy banks passing slowly beside them. Cecil and Bill were still willing the wind to pick up, but the only motion was with the tide, so it was hardly surprising when small clouds of smoke started to rise above the creek as one by one the other crews reached for the engines and chugged back towards Watling’s.

‘What do you think, Skipper?’ Bill said, checking his watch. ‘Reckon we’ll make it back before we run out of water over the tidal gate?’

‘I’m jolly well going to give it a try,’ Cecil said, casting a steely eye at the competition. ‘Even if we’re not going to win.’

Far from looking tired, an afternoon outside had put some colour back in his cheeks, and he was full of plans for solo sailing and exploring the backwaters as soon as possible. Listening to him, May felt a tinge of sadness that the time had almost come to hand the boat back to him, although she hoped there would be more opportunities to sail again on
Lucille
. In the meantime, she could look back on her memories and forwards to the evening with Bill.

‘Look out,’ Bill warned as the two remaining boats ahead of them collided in a scrape of paintwork as they both made for the centre of the main channel in the approach to Watling’s.

As one yacht struggled to get back on course, having been nudged into the shallows,
Lucille
’s sails suddenly picked up in a freak gust of breeze, giving Cecil the chance to nip past her, although it was too late to catch up with the lead yacht which had the clear advantage.

‘Second!’ said May, turning to Bill and Cecil as the boat made a spritely finish. ‘That’s wonderful!’

Cecil pulled a wry face. ‘You obviously don’t know what Queen Victoria was told after the America’s Cup, do you?’

May shook her head.

‘“Your Majesty, there is no second.”’ Bill laughed, giving his uncle a consolatory pat on the back.

Shrugging, because she couldn’t understand what there was to be disappointed about when they’d all enjoyed such a pleasant sail, May looked at Bill in anticipation of the night ahead. It was a shame that Cecil hadn’t won a prize, but hers was yet to come. Then they became aware of the committee boat making an announcement over the loudhailer.

‘
Rose of Grimsby
– you’re disqualified for fouling
Hazy Daze
.
Lucille
is therefore declared the winner of this year’s Little Spitmarsh Regatta!’