Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘Why can’t he come here?’ I was indignant. It seemed a strange, one-sided arrangement to me.

  ‘Broke ’is leg. Mrs Andrea, she offered to have ’im to stay, of course, with ’er heart of gold, but he wouldn’t ’ear of it; didn’t want to put ’er out, so ’e said. Never mind. I’ll see if anyone from the village can go over.’

  ‘I know how to row.’ I don’t know what made me say it. Perhaps I was curious. Perhaps it was the light way this young man assumed that I would be of no use. ‘If you show me where the boat is I’ll go over and see.’

  ‘You sure you can manage?’ He looked at me hard from piercing blue eyes.

  I grinned. ‘Give me one moment to fetch my jacket.’

  I followed him out into the exhilarating autumn sunshine, down to the edge of the quay, and climbed into the rowing boat which was tethered there. He pushed me off and I managed quite well on the whole, as I pulled at the oars with unaccustomed muscles, a fixed grin on my face as he stood to watch me go. To my relief he only stayed a minute, I suppose to make sure this town woman really could row, and then he turned and hurried away towards the village.

  It was much further than I thought across the harbour. I rowed slowly, losing my breath in the brisk salty wind, cursing the fact that I hadn’t remembered to bring any gloves. My fingers turned red, blue and white in turns, and soon I felt my strokes beginning to fail. I had forgotten my own stupid weakness, and the fact that this harbour, unlike the lake at home where I had learned to row, had a tide.

  As I felt myself weaken I kept glancing over my shoulder towards the singularly misnamed Moonbeam, where she lay black and forbidding against a bank of reeds. Uncomfortable waves of panic began to crawl up and down my spine as I wondered whether I could get there at all, and what would happen to me if I didn’t. The tide had such effortless hidden strength as it swept up the broad channel, bringing with it great lumps of green spinach-like seaweed.

  Eventually I did get there, even though for a while I had the strength only to hang gasping onto one of the heavy mooring ropes, slimy with weed. Then at last I began to swing my little dinghy round towards the ladder which hung over the side. I was beginning to call Edward Avon all kinds of rude names under my breath. Didn’t the silly man have a mobile phone, or a radio or something sensible like that? Why didn’t he appear and at least help me up his beastly ladder? I wasn’t sure I had enough energy left to climb it on my own.

  I squinted up at the flag hanging from the stumpy mast above me. On it there was a pretty yellow boat, and it was flying upside down. That was the signal, I supposed, as I scrabbled my way feebly around the side of the boat with frozen hands.

  At last I reached the ladder and managed to pull myself up precariously onto the slippery deck. I looked around. The boat seemed deserted. Making my way to the cabin door, I tapped on it, shaking with cold. There was no reply so I pushed it open and peered in.

  The cabin was neat and warm, an oil light burning above the table. In the corner I could see a bunk and on it the huddled form of a man, the plaster cast encasing his ankle dragging at an awkward angle on the floorboards beside the berth.

  ‘Hello, can I come in?’ I was surprised by the tremor in my voice. My teeth were chattering.

  He did not stir. I supposed he was asleep and timidly stepped down into the cabin.

  His pillow was soaked in blood.

  For a moment I had to fight off a wave of terrified faintness and nausea and then miraculously I was clear-headed again. Very gently I touched his head, easing back the fair hair, which was matted black with blood. He groaned as I touched him, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  I sat down at the little table for a moment, trying to decide what to do. I hadn’t enough strength to row back for help. Of that I was sure. Somehow I had to attract the attention of someone in the village.

  He let out another groan and I pulled myself to my feet to go to his side. Somehow I had to help him myself. Eventually, very gently I managed to sponge away most of the blood. He seemed to have a deep cut on his temple and a massive, spreading bruise across his forehead. Cautiously I lifted his heavy cast up onto the bed and straightened his legs, throwing a rug over them. At least he looked more comfortable.

  It was as I tried easing the blood-soaked pillow away and replacing it with a cushion that he suddenly opened his eyes. They were clear slits of silver in his weather-beaten face. He looked at me blankly for a moment and then he smiled.

  ‘I’m sure you can’t be an angel,’ he said clearly. Then he mumbled something I couldn’t make out and closed his eyes.

  I looked down at him, amused. ‘I’m afraid I’m not,’ I was about to reply, but I could see he had slipped away into unconsciousness again.

  He was, I guessed, about thirty, perhaps a little more, and his face had a pleasant, thoughtful expression as though he were puzzling out some strange but not too unpleasant problem. There were little laughter lines at the corners of his eyes.

  I was worried. Obviously he needed a doctor, and obviously I shouldn’t really have touched him at all. Supposing he had a fractured skull? I quickly tried to put the idea out of my head as I searched fruitlessly for the radio or phone which I had already guessed he didn’t possess and then went back out onto the freezing deck and looked around for the way to make another signal. Aunt Andrea’s house seemed so far away now, across the still water, and the village, the other side of the point, turned nothing but stone walls to the cold harbour view. I could see no signs of life.

  Perhaps I should after all row back for help. I went to the ladder and peered down uncertainly.

  The rowing boat had gone.

  There were tears in my eyes as I made my way back into the cabin. How could I have been so foolish; so stupid? I wondered if I had even tried to tie it up. I suspect I had been so relieved to get to the ladder I had stepped out of the little boat and forgotten it.

  ‘There she is again.’ The voice was slightly muffled but more coherent this time. ‘I dreamed I saw a lady, and she tried to walk away with my foot.’

  I laughed. ‘Well, I picked it up onto your bed. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt it.’

  ‘Bunk.’ He smiled disarmingly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I was indignant. Was he being deliberately rude?

  ‘You don’t have beds on boats, you have bunks.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come nearer, young lady; you have your back to the light and I can’t see you. You’re not the district nurse I suppose?’

  I wasn’t sure if he was being facetious. ‘I am not. I am staying with Aunt Andrea and when we saw your signal I came to see what was wrong. Jim, who is my cousin, had already left for town.’

  He looked a little puzzled.

  ‘Signal? Andrea?’ He put his hand to his head, and winced suddenly. ‘I remember now. I tripped on deck with my stupid foot, and hit my face. There was blood everywhere. My foot hurt like hell, and I was scared. I put the signal up hoping to catch Jim before he left. Then I remember coming back down and the pain, and then …’ he shook his head. ‘I suppose I blacked out for a bit.’

  Gingerly I reached out and touched his forehead. ‘The bleeding has stopped. Have you a first aid box anywhere? I think I ought to put something on it until the doctor comes.’

  I bit my lip suddenly as I remembered the dinghy, and my inability to call the doctor now.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ His eyes were acute now that he was completely conscious.

  ‘You’ll think I’m such a fool. I’ve lost my boat. I didn’t tie it up properly when I got here.’

  To my surprise he let out a shout of laughter. ‘Thank God! You’re not as efficient as you look. Don’t worry, your boat will go for help without you. The tide will take it straight back to Andrea’s. Then they will come and fetch you. I did that myself once just after I came here.’

  ‘Haven’t you got a dinghy? Then I could go back in that,’ I said a little stiffly. ‘Or a phone?’ I didn’t much like being laughed at. ‘Or do y
ou always rely on other people?’

  ‘Now, now.’ He tapped my hand reprovingly. ‘I do have a dinghy, as it happens, but it is on deck, and I doubt if you could lower it on your own into the water, however strong and capable you are. Modern technology I eschew. It has its uses, I admit. But I did not envisage having any need of it.’

  I withdrew my hand, where his own had casually come to rest, and backed away from his bunk.

  ‘In that case shall I put on the kettle? I suppose you have one of them? Where did you say the first aid box is?’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘If you’re thinking of making tea, I’d rather have medicinal brandy. And I prescribe it for you, too …’ he paused, his head on one side. ‘Does my angel of mercy have a name?’

  ‘Christine,’ I mumbled. ‘Christine Harper.’

  ‘Well, excellent Christine Harper; if you proceed through there,’ he pointed vaguely to a door, ‘to what would in your landlubber language be called the front end of the boat, you will find in a locker, or cupboard, which probably has the door open, a selection of bottles. Scrabble about a bit and see what you can find. And Christine –’ he called after me as I made my way to the door, ‘there’s a box of plasters on the sink.’

  Gingerly I let myself into the next cabin and gasped. It was flooded with light. Nearly half the roof had been replaced by an enormous skylight. There was an easel, a table, and everywhere paints, canvasses and jam jars of brushes and pencils and palette knives.

  Shutting the door behind me I went over to the easel and examined the picture on it. It showed a flock of geese paddling about on the saltings. Eagerly I turned other paintings towards me. Most of them were of birds, although some showed boats and harbour scenes. It was the most fascinating room, and immediately explained a great deal about Edward’s solitude. I found a small unopened bottle of brandy in the cupboard as he had predicted, behind a few empty beer cans and several bottles of turps and linseed oil. Collecting the elastoplast I returned to the main cabin.

  ‘You’re a painter!’ I remarked rather foolishly, holding out the bottle to him. He was sitting up now, his head in his hands.

  ‘Full marks for observation.’ He grimaced slightly as he reached for the brandy. ‘I’m more of an illustrator actually. The glasses are in the locker over there.’

  I found them, and seeing how his hands were shaking, took the bottle back and poured out two small measures myself. Sitting down next to him I handed him a glass.

  ‘I hope Aunt Andrea won’t be terribly worried when the rowing boat drifts back without me. I didn’t tell her I was coming here. She was still in bed when I left.’

  ‘Your Aunt Andrea is not a worrier,’ he smiled. ‘At least not until you’ve spent the night here with me, then she might.’ He chuckled.

  I glanced at him sideways. ‘Do I gather you have a reputation then?’

  ‘I do.’ He sounded quite pleased about it. ‘The villagers think I live a life of utter debauchery over here, partly because people always think that about painters; partly because they saw my sister here in her bikini last summer. But, alas, I live like a hermit. Or did until now.’ He looked at me speculatively. But I could see the twinkle was still there.

  ‘I see I shall have to watch out.’ I was beginning to enjoy his teasing manner. ‘I can always swim for the shore if you get too persistent.’

  We both looked down at his cast, and laughed.

  ‘You’ll outrun me for a while yet, Christine, so don’t risk hypothermia on my account. When are you getting married?’

  I was astonished. His sharp eyes had missed nothing. Ruefully I twisted the ring on my finger. ‘I don’t think I am. My fiancé has gone back to New Zealand and I have a feeling I shan’t be following him.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was suddenly gentle. ‘What went wrong?’

  I shrugged. ‘What does go wrong? We’d been apart for several months and when he came back we just didn’t seem to be so right any more. We couldn’t discuss things as we used to. The spark had gone, somehow.’

  ‘And you came down here to make up your mind?’

  I nodded. ‘And to convalesce. I’ve been ill.’

  ‘What a pair we are.’ His voice was suddenly bright once more. ‘More brandy?’ He held out his glass.

  We were on our third ‘dose’ and I was beginning to feel extremely light-headed when there was a loud knocking on the side of the boat. A moment later we heard heavy footsteps on deck.

  ‘Anyone in?’ a hearty voice called out. I looked at my companion wide-eyed.

  ‘Come on down, Mac. It’s Dr Macintosh,’ he laughed at me, and then turning to the doorway, ‘Are you psychic, or did you see me fall through your telescope?’

  A large, jovial-faced man stepped cautiously down into the cabin. ‘Neither. I gather you need me young man, but if you had any memory at all you would have remembered that I was coming over to see you this morning anyway.’ He turned to me with a smile and stuck out a huge hand. ‘Christine Harper, I presume. Your aunt asked me to look in this morning to give you a quick check-up, but you had gone out. I might have known Edward here would have enticed you over.’

  I was indignant. ‘Why did she want you to see me? She never mentioned it.’

  ‘Oh just to catch up on your list of ailments.’ He laughed reassuringly. ‘I gather you’ve been poorly for some time. But if you’ve the strength to row across here and indulge in a drunken orgy with this reprobate …’ He grinned, leaving his sentence unfinished.

  ‘Have one, doctor, while there’s still some left.’ Edward held out the battle.

  The doctor poured himself a tiny measure, but his attention was already on Edward’s head. He set down the glass untouched and made his patient lie down, thoroughly examining him as I watched. ‘Did the lady hit you over the head?’ he enquired thoughtfully as his fingers gently touched the wound.

  ‘She did, doctor.’ Edward’s voice was mournful.

  I could see the two of them were good friends, and very much on the same wavelength. And I was beginning to feel outnumbered.

  ‘Does this convince you you’re not fit to stay here alone?’ the doctor said as he sat back at last, after putting on a dressing. He picked up his glass.

  Edward shook his head. ‘I’m unrepentant. Did you come to take off my cast?’

  The doctor laughed. ‘You’ve a while yet I’m afraid, before you can start thinking of that.’

  When he stood up to go, I was making ready to follow when Edward took my hand.

  ‘You will come again, Christine, please? I get so few visitors.’

  ‘That’s because you threaten to throw them off your boat,’ Dr Macintosh commented over his shoulder as he climbed out of the door.

  ‘Shut up, Mac.’ Edward’s voice was quite threatening. ‘Please, Christine?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said with a grin. I was beginning to like this Edward Avon – and his doctor – very much. ‘But perhaps I’ll get Jim to row me over next time. It might be wiser.’ I ducked out under the low door before he had a chance to argue, and gingerly followed the doctor down the ladder into his motor launch.

  Two days later I went into Chichester and posted my engagement ring to New Zealand. I was not going to follow it.

  I visited the Moonbeam two or three times in the safely recovered dinghy, with Jim at the oars, and then as I regained my strength and nerve for rowing I began to do the trip on my own. The first time I did this Edward was awaiting me on deck, balancing with a walking stick near the rail. As I climbed the ladder he presented me with a little book on knots.

  ‘Now,’ he commented, ‘you’re not coming in until you’ve learned to tie a bowline and having done so have looped it over the appropriate bollard – or knob to you.’ He grinned.

  ‘And knobs to you too,’ I retorted. But I obediently sat down in the freezing wind and twisted the dinghy’s long painter into the correct knot.

  Two weeks later when I arrived, still slightly breathless from t
he rowing, he greeted me on deck, jubilant. His cast had been removed.

  ‘Now there’s no escape,’ he gloated with a grin. ‘Even if I still have to hop I can go faster than you.’

  But we both knew by now that he would not have to run. My initial attraction had swiftly developed into something much deeper, and although neither of us ever mentioned it I sensed that he felt the same way.

  Autumn turned to winter and at last Christmas Eve arrived. I rowed over to the Moonbeam in the morning, a small Christmas tree propped up in the bow of the dinghy. He was coming to spend Christmas Day with us at Andrea’s house, but I wanted the celebration to start early, with just us two there.

  Carefully tying the dinghy to the ladder I climbed it and hauled the tree up after me.

  ‘So now she wants a garden on board too!’ He was looking at me through the open cabin door, his eyes laughing as he watched my exertions.

  ‘More like a forest,’ I retorted. ‘You might come and help.’

  I had a box full of decorations and together we set up the tree in the main cabin. It took up an awful lot of space but it did look beautiful.

  ‘Now,’ he commanded. ‘Make the coffee. I’m busy.’ He retreated into his studio and closed the door.

  ‘Make it yourself,’ I answered back happily. There was something else in the dinghy which I wanted to fetch. His present.

  The door reopened and he appeared, frowning. ‘Did I hear you disobeying orders?’

  ‘You sure did.’ I stuck my tongue out at him.

  ‘You realise that this is mutiny?’ He strode towards me and grabbed my wrist. ‘I don’t hold with mutiny on my ship. I have ways of dealing with it.’

  He had never kissed me before. As his arms went round me and he drew me to him, I felt myself starting to tremble. I did not believe it was possible to be so happy.

  He broke away from me abruptly. ‘As I was saying, I have ways of dealing with troublemakers.’ He fished for a moment in his pocket and then he brought out a slim gold bangle. ‘I clap them in irons. It generally keeps them in line.’ He clipped it on my wrist, and gave me another quick kiss. ‘Now, will you make the coffee. Please?’