Follow a Star (3 page)

‘So, you’re awake at last,’ her crew mate observed, clearly skilled in the art of stating the obvious. ‘I even filled up the water tank while you were out for the count and you didn’t stir.’

‘Good morning to you too,’ said May. ‘What do you want? Congratulations? For succeeding where every herbal sleeping pill on the market has failed?’ She really hadn’t expected to drift off so quickly, not with Bill driving them home with his snoring the minute his head touched the pillow, but the gentle rocking of the boat had proved surprisingly soporific. The snoring, too, had settled down into a rumble of contentment which was rather reassuring. Swaddled in her sleeping bag, all cares left behind, she’d felt snug and safe.

‘Save the sleeping tablets for when you’re back on dry land,’ Bill advised, eyeing her keenly. ‘I can’t have you sleeping like a baby if there’s an emergency.’

‘I won’t let you down,’ she insisted, ‘so don’t fret about me being out for the count when I’m needed. In any case, I understand from friends who know, that babies wake up every two hours screaming to be changed or fed. Sleeping like a baby could be useful if it means waking at regular intervals. At least you know I won’t miss my turn to be on watch.’

‘Is that a fact?’ he nodded, studying her in a way that was starting to make her feel quite self-conscious about her bed-hair and morning breath. ‘Well, I’m sure you’re quite capable of getting washed and dressed all by yourself, but I can make you a bacon sandwich, if you like. There’s a shower block in the boatyard. Just don’t take all day about it. I managed to blag the use of the Defender while we provision the boat, so we need to make some serious passage plans. We’ll try a shakedown cruise towards the harbour mouth so we can assess the boat and how she handles. Provided there are no major problems, I’d like to get away tomorrow morning. Does that suit you?’

‘Fine,’ May shrugged. ‘The sooner the better.’ It dawned on her that Bill was so preoccupied that he wasn’t remotely aware of her appearance; she could have been standing there stark naked with her head shaved for all the notice he was taking. He was staring past her now, frowning at a point past her right shoulder through one of the cabin’s narrow windows.

‘Wind’s up,’ he grunted.

She toyed with the idea of saying ‘Never mind, we’re all friends together now,’ but managed to restrain herself and went off to dig out her wash bag instead. Bill Blythe was in for a surprise if he thought she was the type to keep him hanging around. Her two tours of the country had, if nothing else, taught her to get ready in double quick time. Not, she decided, tucking a micro towel for speedy hair drying into a cloth bag along with fresh clothes, that she had any intention of reliving those memories. Her glory days were in the past and that suited her just fine. Even if everyone who claimed to want the best for her was applying all sorts of pressure to persuade her to change her mind.

‘That’s one thing we don’t need to buy,’ he said, waving a frying pan at her as she waited to get past him and up the narrow companionway stairs. He slid back more lockers to reveal a comprehensive range of kitchen equipment and crockery left behind by
Lucille
’s previous owners and nodded with satisfaction. ‘This lot will be fine for a quick rinse over.’ He gave her a sharp look. ‘Cecil was insistent about reimbursing us for any expenses we incur, but he’s not made of money.’

May felt a hot wave of humiliation wash over her, but bit back her retort. Bill was bound to be protective of the ailing uncle who had given him such a fright, so rather than defend her case, she would prove to Bill through her practical approach and hard work that she was more than prepared to put right any wrong she may have unintentionally caused. Since she was standing next to the hanging locker – the storage space for clothes – she opened it to see what was inside and to bury her burning face somewhere cool.

‘Empty,’ she announced, feeling composed again. ‘I wonder where the life jackets and wet weather gear is, then?’

‘
Lucille
?’ someone shouted outside.

‘Oh bugger,’ said Bill. ‘It’s the bloke who’s lending me the Defender. I hope he doesn’t need it back just yet.’

They went up on deck where a grumpy Scottie dog was standing on the pontoon sniffing
Lucille
’s prow. With the dog was an equally grumpy man. ‘Parcel for you,’ he said, tossing it to Bill. ‘This arrived at the yard a couple of days ago.’

‘It’s for Cecil,’ said Bill, shaking the parcel by his ear and frowning at the stamp. ‘I’d better see if it’s anything important.’

Not wanting to look as if she was prying, May went below to find something useful to do. There was the sound of ripping paper then Bill’s voice, a little strained, as he rejoined her.

‘It’s for you.’

‘Me?’ She gazed at the square package with some trepidation. It was small, about the size of a jewellery box, beautifully wrapped and bore a gift label.
For May, welcome aboard. With thanks, Cecil.
Behind her, she could feel Bill bristling with curiosity. Whatever the box contained there was no point in hiding it. The boat was too small for secrets. ‘Oh,’ she gasped, ‘how very sweet of your uncle!’

A little silver starfish pendant dangled on a thread-like chain. When she held it up a pinprick of a diamond right in the centre twinkled and glimmered in a shaft of sunlight, a more evocative and poignant symbol than Cecil Blythe could possibly have known. From falling star to fish out of water in one text. Smiling wistfully, she turned to Bill only to see his mouth set in a grim line. Without knowing exactly how she’d offended him, it was apparent that his mood had taken a turn for the worse because of her.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘No wonder there’s no life jackets or safety gear,’ he said crossly. ‘Cecil was too busy trying to make a good impression on you. It must be true that a stupid old fool and his money are soon parted!’

May placed the pendant carefully back in its box. ‘I’m genuinely sorry about your uncle, but all I did was volunteer for a delivery trip. This,’ she said, offering it back to him, ‘wasn’t prompted by me, and, of course, I couldn’t possibly accept it.’

Bill narrowed his eyes at the woman standing in front of him looking like butter wouldn’t melt.

‘Why not?’ he scoffed. ‘Not good enough for you? Were you hoping for something with more bling?’

What was her motive for signing up to go to sea with an elderly stranger unless it was some sort of financial gain? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had tried to take advantage of Cecil’s soft nature. One of his uncle’s neighbours, a new divorcee looking for an easy way to make up the shortfall in her income, had made quite a nuisance of herself until Bill warned her off. If May genuinely wanted to feel the sea breeze in her hair, there was more excitement to be had crewing on a racing yacht, more company on a tall ship, and more luxury on just about any other vessel you’d care to pick.

He hated the thought of the gentle, kindly soul to whom he owed so much being taken for a ride. If, on the other hand, Cecil imagined he could boost his morale and regain his youth with an attractive young woman as his shipmate, he really, really hoped his uncle wouldn’t die before he could give the daft old so and so the bollocking that was coming. He exhaled slowly.

May had lowered herself onto the nearest settee berth, the unisex fleece she was wearing unzipped just enough to show the swell of her breasts above the camisole top she had on underneath. Feeling his body start to appreciate the view, Bill tore his gaze away, profoundly irritated that he was even capable of such an inappropriate and untimely response to the situation.

‘Look, how about I take you back to the station when you’ve had your shower,’ he said, making it clear it was an instruction not an offer.

She went still. ‘What?’

It was never going to work, this trip. However disturbing it was to think of Cecil getting swept away by thoughts of a light flirtation with May, it was even worse to discover the same madness now seemed to be afflicting him. He’d always thought of himself as a normal, healthy male with reasonable and balanced desires, but judging by that rather speedy reaction, he was beginning to get ideas, if not into his head then somewhere lower down. So if May, going innocently about her business in baggy pyjama bottoms and an oversize fleece, was bringing out the beast in him, being holed up with her for four, maybe five, nights would make for a long and painful voyage.

‘Well,’ he said, trying to sound fair, ‘it’s not as if this is the largest boat in the world.’ And if the cabin of a small wooden boat felt this confined tethered to a pontoon where either of them could just walk ashore, how would it feel at sea when there was no escaping the unpredictable combination of weather and waves which could cook up a storm of emotion without warning? ‘I ought to be able to manage her single-handed. I mean, it’s not what you signed up for, is it?’ he blustered, trying to ignore the colour draining from her face and the hurt expression. ‘Look at her – she’s hardly a luxury yacht.’

‘I wasn’t expecting luxury,’ May replied, dropping her voice. ‘I only wanted to get away for a few days.’

‘May, this isn’t a cruise,’ he explained. ‘We’re not sightseeing or calling in at picturesque little harbours along the way. I simply want to get this boat round to Little Spitmarsh as soon as I can. So get yourself ready and I’ll drop you at the station with enough money to cover your fare and any other expenses you’ve incurred, and on the journey home you can plan a proper holiday.’

No sooner had the word ‘holiday’ entered his head when the image of a bikini-clad May stretching those golden legs out on a sunlounger insinuated its sensuous way into his thoughts as well. How long now since he’d had anything like some rest and recuperation? Since moving to Little Spitmarsh to be closer to Cecil again, his working days had been long and his evenings short and increasingly spent keeping his uncle company. Even then, he’d been unable to lift the old man’s spirits. Nothing Bill could do seemed to stop time weighing heavily or make the nights less fearful.

Worse still, his uncle’s general anxiety seemed to be matched by a visible physical decline. Realising that the old man would become even more dependent unless he had something other than morbid thoughts about his failing health to engage him, Bill had been happy to talk about Cecil’s boat-buying plans. In theory. What he hadn’t appreciated was that the old boy had every intention of putting them into practice. Then look at what had happened.

No wonder his imagination was doing its best to divert him. When his hands began to tingle in anticipation of smoothing warm suntan oil over silky skin, Bill shook his head, came to, and only realised that he must have been standing there glaring at May when he noticed her dismayed expression.

She stood up and picked up her bag. ‘Don’t worry about the lift,’ she told him. ‘I’m perfectly capable of making my own way back to the station. Besides, you’ve made your feelings about me quite clear, so I wouldn’t want to have to put you to the inconvenience of sharing a small space with me for a minute longer than necessary. If it makes it easier for you I’ll take everything up with me to the shower – and then you won’t even have to look at me!’

She drew herself to her full height, which brought her, he guessed, to just under his chin. ‘But when you’re out in a big sea with the wind tearing at the sails and you find yourself wishing you had someone to help you reef them in, look inside that hot red head of yours and ask yourself what’s really bugging you. Me? The person who could have been there to assist you if you’d given me a chance, or’—she nodded towards the jewellery box—‘should you be directing that anger somewhere else? I didn’t respond to your uncle’s ad because I saw a chance to con a vulnerable old man. I needed—’ She shook her head. ‘Never mind my needs. Maybe you should ask yourself what your uncle needs. Why he’s so lonely that he has to buy company for his boat trip and sweeten her with trinkets? Perhaps
you
should be doing more for him?’

Any sympathy he might have had for spoiling her plans evaporated. He opened his mouth to tell her exactly how mistaken she was, but she turned away to the forecabin and quickly swept her wash bag and the few possessions she’d unpacked into her rucksack. Before he could do or say anything, she then pushed past him and climbed the companionway. He felt the boat tilt as she hopped nimbly off the side and couldn’t stop himself going over to the window to see if she was really on her way.

A choppy wave, slapping against the bow, almost knocked him off balance as he squinted along the pontoon until May disappeared. Hot red head indeed; after insinuating he had a temper to match his hair colour, she was the one who’d flounced off. Duracell. Copperknob. Animal – his nickname at school, after the drummer in the Muppets. He’d heard them all and none of them bothered him. It certainly didn’t matter one jot what May Starling thought of him; she was a complication he could do without.

Though, if he was completely honest, it was going to be a much longer and far more tiring haul getting
Lucille
round by himself than he would have liked. The first few days of adapting to the cycle of being at sea were always challenging; checking the boat’s position, keeping her out of danger and on course. There were hazards to face: wind farms, underwater cables, huge cargo ships … even the cabin seemed to have turned a moody face to him as the sun went in, making the dark teak look surly and uninviting.

‘You’d better appreciate this, Cecil,’ he said out loud. The old rogue had certainly caused him some trouble, Bill thought, shaking his head. Right now, he was undecided about whether to hug him or shout at him first when he next saw him. Except that bawling the old boy out wasn’t the way to thank the man who had taken him in after his mother’s death and given him security and stability.

Seeing his uncle looking so vulnerable, his skin papery beneath the thin hospital gown, had evoked a small boy’s confusion and fear. He’d been unable to save his mother, but clutching Cecil’s hand, so frail and arthritic in his, Bill promised to do anything to give the old man a reason to live. Just knowing that the boat was on its way would give him something to look forward to. Pottering about on the backwaters of Little Spitmarsh would perk him up no end.