Turning the Tide (30 page)

‘Good,’ said Matthew, beaming at her. ‘Do you have any glasses? I’ve found everything else.’

He certainly had. Something imaginative which had started life as tinned beef was simmering on one ring of her two-burner cooker, whilst some fragrant rice bubbled gently on the other.
Calypso
didn’t run to an oven, so he’d done a good job of improvising, and he’d even got to grips with a temperamental foldaway table just big enough for two. Harry passed him the glasses and he nodded approvingly. ‘Can’t stand drinking out of plastic,’ he told her, as he opened a bottle of her Special Occasion Shiraz.

‘I’m glad you didn’t need a small saucepan, seeing as you’ve thrown mine overboard,’ Harry said, tartly.

‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ he said, draining the rice. ‘I’d have made you retrieve it for me if I’d needed it. Here,’ he quickly passed her a glass of wine. ‘Have a sip of this before you say anything.’

Throwing him a last look of extreme displeasure just to show he wasn’t getting away with anything, Harry decided she might as well enjoy her meal. The logistics
of the cabin meant that, if two of you were seated at the foldaway table, it was very difficult
−
without the co-operation of the other person
−
to become unseated. Flouncing off was not an option; besides, there wasn’t anywhere to flounce off to, even if
you did succeed in getting up. And she certainly wasn’t going to sit outside whilst Matthew Corrigan enjoyed her nice warm cabin.

‘Now, I’ll hold the table whilst you get up. Then you’re to sit down out of the way and drink your wine, whilst I clear this up and make some space.’

What the heck, thought Harry, why not try passive for once? She might even find that she liked it. When Matthew sat down beside her, she found she liked that too; but then he said, ‘Harry, we need to talk,’ and she started to feel unhappy again. And, when he refilled her glass, she was certain that whatever he was going to say wasn’t going to cheer her up at all.

‘All right,’ she said, quickly. ‘I know what you’re going to say; but, before we get down to details, I’m going to have to admit that you were right about Little Spitmarsh and I was wrong. And, even if I could pretend that the changes in the town won’t affect me, I can’t ignore what’s been going on at Watling’s. I really thought there might still be enough people out there who would like to escape to a quieter place and the gentle pleasures of pottering around in the water, but you only need to take a look over at the marina and all the motorboats to see I was wrong about that, too.’

She shook her head. ‘Water miles don’t seem to count the way air miles do; recreation means powering across vast expanses of sea for the thrill of it, and sod everyone and everything else! I’ve tried, Matthew, but whichever way I look at it I can’t keep Watling’s going in its present form.’ She held up her hand. ‘I know, I’m sure you’re going to remind me about what you said about my land being better off in someone else’s hands; someone who could realise its potential. Well, I haven’t got a choice now; it’s either sell land to you, or lose the boat yard altogether. The game’s over.’

‘I’m not going to buy your land,’ he said gently.

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she sniffed. ‘You don’t need to now. Not when you own half the seabed. It makes Watling’s absolutely worthless.’

Matthew cupped her cheek in his hand in what she took as a brotherly sort of gesture, and made her look at him. That was fine, except that her heart was pounding in a response that didn’t feel at all sisterly.

‘I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re right,’ he said, lulling her with his soft, throaty voice. ‘Any kind of housing development along Campion’s Creek would be utterly insensitive. Not only would it be detrimental to the wildlife and so much natural beauty, but Little Spitmarsh would entirely lose its character. You’ve only got to look at the development at the marina at Great Spitmarsh to see what could happen here.’

Thank you! Harry thought silently. My point exactly.

‘However hard they’ve tried to disguise those holiday apartments with a bit of architectural tweaking and a few nautical references, the effect is still that of a housing estate with a floating car park attached. I’d hate to see that happen to the creek. With the extensive rights I’ve acquired, I could ensure that it will remain untouched.’

He dropped his hand and Harry found she was missing it. She looked at the thin leather band he wore round his wrist and the faded chambray shirt she’d seen him in so many times. Renovating Samphire must have cost him a small fortune; he’d probably been counting on the housing development to finance the restaurant.

‘But how can you afford to do that?’ she asked.

Matthew smiled at her. ‘I don’t need to worry about money. And I’ve now found my next development, so there’s plenty to keep me busy.’

‘Oh well, that’s marvellous, isn’t it?’ Harry said, wondering why it didn’t feel marvellous at all. Hadn’t she known all along that Matthew wouldn’t have any long-term interest in Little Spitmarsh if a more interesting and lucrative development came along? And in the meantime, whatever he claimed now, the charter would ensure that he could always return for a second bite at the cherry, if market conditions dictated it in the future.

But, for now, Campion’s Creek was safe and her land unthreatened by development. She ought to have been celebrating, but something didn’t feel right. Puzzled, Harry couldn’t stop her gaze lifting to Matthew who, she suddenly noticed, was so close that she was acutely aware of the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, the clean masculine scent of him. If she reached up, she could stroke his cheek or run her finger down the soft bare skin between his ear and his sideburn. ‘I can’t afford to keep Watling’s going,’ she croaked, feeling more sorry for herself by the second. ‘I don’t know why, but it just hasn’t worked out.’

Matthew picked up his glass and drank some wine. ‘It will, Harry, there have been some big changes in the town. You’ll notice the difference at Watling’s too.’

She shook her head. ‘God knows how hard I’ve tried, but I just can’t attract customers any more.’

‘Yes, well, there’s a reason for that,’ he said, furtively.

Harry went cold. Now what?

‘And it’s not one you’re going to like. Still, at least George is out of your way here.’

‘George?’

‘He’s been doing his very best to drive all your customers away. Thought it might force you to turn to me for help.’ Matthew’s dimpled flickered, briefly. ‘As if.’

Harry sat still and listened. By the time Matthew had finished, she didn’t know whether to sack George all over again or kiss him when she next saw him. Silly old sod. No wonder he’d hit the bottle, the strain of the subterfuge must have been unbearable for him.

‘At least I know now, even if it doesn’t help me out of the current mess,’ she said, wiping her eyes.

‘I promise you there are customers ready to go,’ Matthew assured her. ‘As soon as George told me what he’d been up to I made him start chasing up anyone who’d made enquiries and telling them there’d been a misunderstanding. A couple of Frankie and Trevor’s clients have asked about the chances of keeping a boat up here, and I bet the families who eat at Samphire would much prefer a
Swallows and Amazons
-type mooring to life in a marina. I’ve also reinstated your adverts in all the sailing press which George cancelled for you – and I’ve put your prices up too, your new customers will be able to afford them.’

Matthew glanced at her; presumably, she thought, to make sure she wasn’t about to scream. ‘With the amount of business coming in, you’ll soon be able to afford to pay someone to take the day-to-day strain off you and George. It’s about time you both had a rest.’

Harry ran a hand across her forehead; it was all a bit much to take in.

‘Matthew, why have you done all this?’

‘Do you remember the day we first met?’

She’d need a blow on the head to forget. ‘You were sitting in my favourite thinking spot.’

‘Was I?’ Matthew grinned. ‘No wonder you weren’t thrilled to see me. The thing is, Harry, I never forgot what you said about trying to maintain a working waterfront. I’d bought the old clubhouse by then, so it was easy to justify the development by telling myself I was doing a service to the area.’

‘Everyone else thought so, too,’ Harry acknowledged.

‘I’m used to getting my own way. I could see that a smattering of expensive apartments along the creek would be a perfect complement to the restaurant, but you wouldn’t have it, would you?’

‘Because I wanted a working waterfront for everyone to enjoy, not just the fortunate few!’

He reached over and took her hand. ‘It’s all right. I did get the message.’

‘Sorry.’

‘When I found the charter, it would have been simple for me to put you in a position which would have made it very difficult for you to continue trading.’

‘I think George almost beat you to it.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘It’ll be fine, just you see. But I couldn’t do it. And do you know why?’

Harry shook her head.

‘Because of you,’ he said, his eyes dark in the shadows of the lamplight. ‘Every time I decided to act, I thought about you; I thought about when I first met you, a little tough tomboy all wary and mistrustful. I thought about you refusing to back down when you thought my proposals were wrong, even when you were on your own. And I thought about what you said about keeping the boat yard going in memory of your father. Well, you certainly achieved that. If George hadn’t decided to take matters into his own hands, you’d probably be looking at a profit. Your father would be proud of what you’ve achieved.’

‘I don’t think he’d be too thrilled about me sailing onto a sandbank! He’d have something to say about that, certainly.’ Harry ran a hand across her forehead; spilling everything out had left her exhausted.

Matthew must have read her thoughts. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s turn in. Hmm, these saloon berths don’t look as if they’ll be very comfortable.’ He looked at the two narrow seating areas that doubled as beds.

‘They’re not,’ said Harry, standing up and going to the folding teak door which divided off the fore cabin. ‘But fortunately this end of the boat’s really quite civilised.’

She pulled back the door to reveal the V-shaped double bed that her father had cunningly fitted into the small space. Like everything else on the boat, Harry had made it a rule to have a home from home; so the bed that nestled in the crook of the glowing timbers was beautifully fitted with her second-best bedding.

‘Clever girl,’ Matthew said approvingly.

Harry was glad that her face was buried in a locker. So, she was so utterly unfanciable that he thought he could share such an intimate space with her without, apparently, even registering that she was a woman? Just because he’d changed his mind about Watling’s didn’t mean that she’d give him a second chance to humiliate her. She tossed him a sleeping bag. ‘See you in the morning, Matthew. Try not to make too much of a noise if you use the heads in the night, will you?’

The mist collected on George’s beard and rained gently onto the cockpit sole, as he steered his way towards
Calypso
on the high early-morning tide. He was slightly concerned that the skiff’s engine would not be powerful enough to drag the stranded yacht off its shallow grave. But he’d resisted the urge to summon help from a bigger boat at the marina, for fear that talk of Miss Harriet grounding her boat would be all round the sailing fraternity. He was keeping his fingers crossed that, if they took it slow and gentle,
Calypso
would be waterborne once more and no one else need know.

George’s main worry, though, was that Harry and Matthew might not have resolved their differences and that one or the other had been forced to walk the plank. As George approached
Calypso
, he was reassured to see two people waving at him, but it was too soon to decide on the state of play. Positioning the skiff amidships of the yacht, he took lines from Harry and Matthew who were standing at either end of the boat.
Calypso
was deeply buried, but after ten minutes of gentle persuasion the yacht floated off with no harm done. Motoring closer to agree the next course of action, George thought that Harry looked more relaxed, as if free of some of the worry that had been haunting her for too long. So far as anything else was concerned, there was nothing.

Having checked that all the mud and debris churned up by Harry’s efforts to release the boat herself hadn’t done any harm to the engine, George led them along the channel back to Watling’s, disappointed that his scheme hadn’t quite come off. So much for hoping that his days of taking responsibility for Harry Watling were numbered.

Instead of being delighted when the familiar black-stained buildings hugging the creek came into view, Harry began to wish that she and Matthew could have had a bit longer on the mudflats. Out on the boat, it had been just the two of them; Matthew had been almost caring, the future of Watling’s looked secure and she wouldn’t even have to worry about having a housing estate on her doorstep. As they crossed the tide gate and entered the little basin where the smaller boats were moored, Harry could see George getting ready to take the lines. And Jimi was there, waiting anxiously, with a very glamorous woman. Teeth and Hair, thought Harry miserably, the woman George had spotted leaving Matthew’s house.