What Happens at the Beach... (17 page)

‘Natalie, come here and steer while I get you a drink.' She got up and went across to him, protesting that she hadn't sailed for a good few years. He pointed out a distinctive cliff formation some miles away ahead of them. ‘There's nothing to it. Just keep her heading for those rocks there. You can't miss them.'

Slightly hesitantly, she took over. Never having steered a yacht this size before it was a bit scary at first, but she soon got the feel of it. The wind was onshore, coming across the left side of the boat, and it filled the sails very effectively, speeding the boat along so that the waves gurgled past them and they left a fine white wake behind. It was exciting and stimulating. She turned to Philippe who was standing nearby, an approving expression on his face.

‘What's the plan for today? Where are we going, Philippe?'

He came closer. ‘I thought we could go down to Cadaquès, you know, where Salvador Dali used to live. We go round the Cap de Creus to get there. This bit of coastline's a natural park with some of the cleanest waters in the Mediterranean. I think you'll like it. When we get to Cadaquès, we can go ashore for an aperitif and then turn round and head back to Port Renard in time for a late lunch. How does that sound?'

‘That sounds brilliant, Philippe.' It really did; particularly the fact that they were going to end up back at the bay. Natalie, her apprehension completely gone, was beginning to feel really pleased that she had come. ‘Thanks for inviting me.'

He smiled. ‘If you feel a big gust of wind coming along, just bear away a few degrees. Think you can do that?' Natalie nodded. ‘Now, I'd better go and talk to my aunt or she'll feel neglected.'

She thoroughly enjoyed the hour's sail down to Cadaquès. On no fewer than three occasions, dolphins appeared and swam along with them, diving down and then shooting out of the water as they went along. The water itself was so clear she could see the dolphins both on the surface and beneath the waves. One, in particular, swam alongside where she was standing, less than a couple of metres from her, for several minutes and she felt he was keeping her company. The breeze was strong enough to make it a very pleasant sail, but without Natalie ever feeling anxious. The scenery along the rocky coastline was as gorgeous as Philippe had promised and when he reappeared with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, she really felt it was a wonderful way to spend the day. She stood beside him at the wheel, sipping her champagne and admiring the unspoilt coves and beaches they sailed past, most quite deserted, in spite of this being the height of the holiday season.

When they reached Cadaquès, he dropped the sails and nudged the boat into the bay, dropping anchor not far from the crowded beach. Philippe took out his phone and made a call. Minutes later, Natalie was very impressed to see a water taxi appear to ferry them to the shore. Natalie and Philippe helped his aunt and uncle down the steps into the tender and then joined them. They had their aperitif on a terrace overlooking the bay, the statue commemorating the little port's most famous son, Salvador Dali, the eccentric artist, visible to one side of them. Philippe and his relatives drank Cava, while Natalie decided to go for something non-alcoholic. It was a delightful scene and she found she was enjoying Philippe's company immensely.

However, things changed rather drastically a little while later. To her surprise, the aunt and uncle got up and kissed both Philippe and her goodbye, before disappearing into a waiting taxi. As the car drove off, she turned to Philippe, suddenly suspicious. ‘Where have they gone, Philippe?'

He did his best to look and sound casual. ‘They've gone off to visit their son. He's married to a Spanish girl and they live just a few kilometres inland.' He caught her eye, rightly interpreting her expression. ‘That's not a problem for you, is it? I mean, you aren't worried about having to sail back to Port Renard alone on the boat with me, are you?' He gave her a gentle, friendly smile. ‘I promise I'll be a good boy.'

Natalie thought for a moment and then decided to go with her instincts. She gave him a big smile. ‘Of course I'm not worried. I know you're a perfect gentleman.' His smile broadened.

‘There aren't many of us left, Natalie.'

On the way back, Philippe took the helm and Natalie perched on the side of the cockpit beside him, very much on her guard, although he showed no signs of being anything other than cordial. He was a good sailor and she admired the way he managed to get every ounce of speed out of the boat, but still managed to avoid spilling their drinks. His behaviour was irreproachable and she was quite relaxed by the time they arrived back at the entrance to the bay. Her only slight concern was that he had opened a second bottle of champagne on the way and it was now empty, Philippe having drunk most of it. He dropped anchor just at the mouth of the bay, where they were sufficiently protected from the waves to be able to eat in comfort.

He disappeared below and reappeared with bottles of red, white and rosé wine along with mineral water. Natalie protested in vain as he opened all of them and poured her a glass of rosé. He clinked his glass against hers and toasted her before draining his glass and filling it with white. Natalie just took a cautious sip, slightly worried that her
capitaine
was drinking far more than was good for him. The food was all cold, but Natalie couldn't fault it. There were several different mixed salads, cold meats, a whole roast chicken and a huge pile of prawns. Along with these were fresh bread, a great selection of cheeses and fresh figs. Natalie found she had a really good appetite after being out in the air and the wind and she ate her fill. She accepted a glass of white wine but made a point of limiting her alcohol consumption. Philippe, on the other hand, was obviously in full vacation mode and trying all three wines; rosé, white and red. By the time they had finished eating, he was looking half asleep.

Natalie glanced at her watch and was surprised to see it was almost five o'clock. The time had passed really quickly. The boat was anchored several hundred metres from the beach and she could just make out the mooring buoys where she normally stopped for a rest. She sat back and relaxed, her own eyes half-closed by now. It was an idyllic setting and the gentle movement of the waves had a soporific, calming effect and she felt pleasantly dozy. She could easily have dropped off to sleep but decided it would be prudent not to tempt fate. In his inebriated state, Philippe, although a perfect gentleman up to this point, might misinterpret her decision to fall asleep alongside him. After twenty minutes or so, she decided it was time to go. She looked across at Philippe. He was leaning over to one side and snoring peacefully, out like a light. Natalie glanced round the bay. There was no water taxi here and she had no intention of trying to start the engine and haul up the anchor by herself so she had no option but to wake him, to get him to put her ashore at the jetty. She reached over and tapped his arm.

‘Philippe, wake up. I really need to go home now.' No reaction so she tried again, a bit more insistently. There was still no reaction so she prodded him a bit harder. The only result was that he slowly keeled over until he was stretched out on the bench seat, his head resting precariously close to the edge. If he moved much more, he would fall off. Natalie got up and went round to kneel by his head. She leant down until she was close to his ear. ‘Philippe, I need to go home. Wake up.'

This time there was a reaction. His eyelids flickered and for a moment it looked as though he was about to stir. Instead, he just grunted to himself and, before Natalie could intervene, rolled gently towards her and, in so doing, fell off the bench onto the cockpit floor. She just managed to catch his head as he fell, preventing him from braining himself on the teak floorboards, but ending up on her back on the floor, with the top half of Philippe draped across her. It took her some minutes to extricate herself, but she eventually managed it. Finally free, she reached for a couple of cushions and positioned them under his head. There was a broad smile on his face and he was dead to the world. She had one last try at reviving him, but all to no avail. He was fast asleep and it looked very much as though nothing short of the last trump would wake him.

Natalie stood up and looked around. As usual, the beach was virtually empty and the water around the boat equally so. The only person she knew who swam as far out as this was Mark and he, she reflected morosely, was otherwise engaged today with the beautiful Hortense. She could see the line of mooring buoys roughly halfway between the boat and the shore but all were empty. There was nothing else for it; she decided to swim. She scrabbled around in her bag until she found a pen and a scrap of paper. On it, she wrote,
Thank you for a lovely day, Philippe. I've gone home. Sleep well. XX Natalie.

She peeled off her T-shirt and shorts and set them on the bench alongside her sandals and her bag, remembering at the last minute to add her sunglasses to the top of the pile. Placing the note for Philippe on the table, she weighted it with her empty glass before taking a last look at his sleeping body on the floor. He was snoring contentedly and didn't look in any danger of doing himself any harm. The boat was securely moored, so she decided it was safe to leave him. She climbed down the ladder at the stern and slid into the water.

The impact of the cold water was a physical shock to her overheated body and she found herself remembering how her mother and grandmother had always insisted she wait at least two hours after eating before going swimming. She couldn't remember whether this was for fear of stomach cramps or heart attack. As she bobbed up to the surface and set off towards the beach, she hoped her recent lunch wouldn't produce some unwelcome physiological effect on her today.

She swam towards the beach for probably ten or fifteen minutes, and soon felt herself beginning to tire. She stopped from time to time and glanced back at the yacht. By now it looked a long way away, as did the beach way ahead of her. She struggled hard to overcome the wave of panic that risked overtaking her. She had always been a good swimmer, but this was the first time she had ever been alone in the sea, so far from land. When she reached the first of the mooring buoys she grabbed hold of it gladly, very relieved to be back in familiar territory, and allowed herself a little rest while she calmed her racing heart before carrying on. Philippe's yacht was little more than a blob in the water behind her by now and her aching shoulders confirmed how far out it was. She set off again and was soon feeling increasingly weary, so she stopped at each of the four buoys for a minute or two to catch her breath. Finally, at long last, she was relieved to feel her feet touch the seabed, the beach now only a few metres ahead of her.

She splashed clumsily through the shallows and onto the damp sand. She let herself fall forwards until she was on all fours and then sat down on her haunches, breathing deeply, relishing the sensation of being on dry land, oblivious to the scorching sun on her back. She glanced at her watch. To her surprise it was just before six o'clock. She had been in the water for almost an hour. No wonder she was exhausted. She was still in that same position some minutes later when she felt a cold wet nose against her side. Looking up with a start, she saw Barney the dog standing at her side, his tail wagging uncertainly. She straightened up and reached out a hand to stroke him.

‘Hello, dog. If you were a real Labrador you would have come out to rescue me.' Her voice sounded as if it belonged to somebody else; rasping and raucous.

‘Natalie…' He sounded hesitant. ‘Are you all right?'

She swung round to find Mark standing behind her, his towel in his hand, presumably en route to his afternoon swim. She immediately felt better. ‘Hi, Mark. I'm just a bit tired.' Her voice still sounded very strange to her. She straightened up and struggled to her feet, turning towards him. ‘I've just swum in from that boat out there.' She pointed out to the mouth of the bay where Philippe's yacht was still anchored. ‘It was a bit further than I thought.'

‘Wow, that's a good swim. Are you sure you're all right? You look a bit unsteady on your feet.' There was real concern in his voice and she felt a rush of affection for him, Hortense or no Hortense. She smiled at him and was about to reply when she suddenly realised that she was standing a few feet in front of him just wearing a bikini, and it was her French minimalist one as well. Although she wasn't in any way indecent, she felt the blood rush to her face.

‘Here, take this.' He must have realised what was going through her head, but he made no comment. Instead he handed her his towel. ‘You need to dry off a bit. You're shivering, you know.'

She took the towel gratefully and wrapped it round herself. Now that he pointed it out, she realised that, in spite of the temperature here on the beach being in the thirties, she really was shivering. She rubbed herself through the thick cotton of the towel and did her best to control her chattering teeth. Gradually, as she towelled herself dry, she felt the shivering stop and she became a bit more lucid. She looked across at him gratefully.

‘Thanks, Mark, that's really kind of you.' She unwrapped part of the towel and ran it over her hair, keeping the rest of it tight around her body. Without a word, he pulled his T-shirt off and held it out towards her. ‘Here, why don't you take this? That'll help you warm up again.' He didn't ask her how it was she had decided to undertake such a gruelling swim. He didn't ask how it was she hadn't got a towel or clothes waiting for her here. And his eyes stayed on her face, rather than her body, as she took the T-shirt gratefully and pulled it over her head, letting it drop down until it covered her. It was big and baggy on her and reached right to her bottom. She unwrapped the towel, ran it across her face and handed it back to him.

‘Thanks, Mark. Thank you so much. That was probably a bit silly, really, but I was sort of stuck. I was out on the yacht with a friend and he fell asleep.'