Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  It was the only excuse she could find for seeing him again.

  He would think it strange that she was returning a gift, but she was going to pretend it had been a loan. Then she could thank him for letting her keep it for so long and apologise for not returning it sooner. He wouldn’t be fooled for a moment, of course – he had told her it was a gift at the time – but it was the best she could do. And when they met it would at least give her something to talk about.

  If they met. He might not be there at all. With a bit of luck he would be out for the day, driving up on to the moors with his new girlfriend for a quiet Sunday lunch.

  One thing at least, she hadn’t dressed up for him. If he was there she didn’t want him to think she had spent a lot of time over her appearance. There were no white gloves today, nor a hat. She was wearing a plain blue summer frock with an off-white linen coat. Her long dark hair was drawn back from her face by two combs, but otherwise it was loose and unpinned. It looked as if she were going out on an errand, and that was exactly the impression she wanted to make.

  The bus trundled past the main gates of the dockyard and came to a noisy halt in the next street. Julie got out and walked towards the gates of HMS Drake, the shore establishment attached to the dockyard. She was dreading the next part. She would have to ask for him at the gate and admit that no, she wasn’t expected, and the men on the gate would look at her knowingly, and smile at each other. She thought: Still more humiliation. It never ends.

  She approached the gatehouse and saw that there were three sentries on duty. As she came towards them they turned to stare at her and two of them exchanged glances. She thought: Oh God, this is going to be even worse than I thought.

  Suddenly there was a burst of noise.

  Julie jumped with fright and spun round. It was the roar of a car engine. The car itself, a vivid blue Austin 7, rattled past and ground to a halt beside the sentries. A young man was leaning out of the window waving a pass in his hand.

  Julie stood stock still and tried to regain her breath. She was shaking with fright.

  The young man was looking back at her with a rueful expression. Then his head disappeared into the car and the door was flung open. He leapt out and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I came round the corner rather fast, I’m afraid.’ He grinned at her, then looked serious again. ‘I say, you’re really shaken. I’m so sorry. What an idiot I am.’

  Julie shook her head. ‘I’m fine. It was rather a shock, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re all right then?’ He peered at her solicitously and put a hand on her elbow.

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘Well … if you’re sure.’ He glanced at the sentries. ‘Are you being looked after? I mean, can I find anyone for you?’

  ‘No, no, I …’ Julie paused and looked carefully at the young man. He was vaguely familiar and she realised she must have met him before at some time. He was dressed in a large shapeless sweater and baggy rust-coloured trousers, and on his head was an old black cap speckled with paint. He looked rather roguish, like a pirate.

  He was smiling at her; there was no doubt he was very charming, but Julie wondered if it wasn’t laid on. Bill had been charming too, but that had meant nothing, nothing at all.

  He was waiting for an answer and she said, ‘I was hoping to see a friend, but I think I’ve missed him …’ It sounded weak and she trailed off.

  ‘Oh, it’s impossible to find anyone on a Sunday. But if you want me to ask …?’

  She took another look at him. He was watching her intently, waiting for her reply, his eyes friendly and enquiring. Maybe she’d been wrong: maybe he was everything he seemed, and wasn’t the sort to make fun of her. She decided to trust him after all: it would be a lot less embarrassing if he asked about Bill rather than the sentries.

  She said, ‘Well, perhaps you could ask if Bill Crozier is around.’ She looked down, a little flustered, then remembered the book and fumbled in her handbag. ‘I wanted to return something he lent me.’ She held the book up as if it were a trophy.

  ‘No problem.’ He smiled and she noticed the eyes again. ‘Look, why don’t you hop in the car and we’ll go and ask in the wardroom. Someone there might know.’

  She nodded and after he had spoken to the sentries they got into the car and drove slowly into the establishment. He laughed. ‘We’re not allowed to drive fast in here, so you’re safe!’

  She smiled politely and looked out of the window at the barrack-like buildings.

  He negotiated the car round a sharp corner and she could feel him looking at her. He said, ‘Didn’t you come to that party on my boat? The one where we had the singsong?’

  She looked at him blankly. ‘Oh, was it your boat? I didn’t know.’

  ‘Yes, Dancer’s her name.’ He laughed again. ‘Oh, and my name’s Richard Ashley. We were probably introduced, but there were so many people there …’

  ‘I’m Juliette Lescaux.’

  ‘Of course!’ He lifted both hands off the wheel in an expansive gesture. ‘I remember the French name now. Are you French in fact?’

  Julie thought: God, he knows my name. Perhaps I’m infamous already. Perhaps Bill has been talking about me … She glanced across at the young man but his expression hadn’t changed, it was still interested and amused. No, she thought, I’m being stupid: he really did remember my name because it’s French.

  She said, ‘Half. I’m half French. My father came from Brittany.’

  ‘Ah, what a fantastic place to come from. I sailed over there last year and had the most wonderful time. The locals were so amazed to see old Dancer and me all alone that they couldn’t do enough for us.’

  Julie looked at him curiously. ‘You sailed the boat alone?’

  ‘Oh yes, always do if I can. Nothing to compare with it.’

  Julie didn’t reply immediately: she was thinking of what would happen if Bill was at the mess. She dragged her mind back to what Richard Ashley had said. ‘Isn’t it risky, alone? I mean what happens in a storm?’ They drew up outside the wardroom. Julie regarded it with horror.

  ‘In a storm?’ Ashley was considering her question. ‘Oh, I just shorten sail and go below for a sleep.’ Leaving the engine running, he got out of the car and stuck his head back through the window. ‘Unless I’m about to bump into the land. Then I sail like hell!’ He grinned. ‘Won’t be a tick.’ She watched him walk to the door and disappear into the building.

  Julie sat still, thankful for the safety of the little blue car. She began to pray that Bill wouldn’t be there. The last time they’d met, Bill had made it plain that he didn’t want to see her again. Well, he hadn’t actually said so, not in so many words, but she’d known by the long silences and the way he’d avoided her eyes. Julie put her hands over her face and thought: Please God, don’t let him be there.

  The door to the wardroom opened and Julie’s heart went into her mouth. Richard Ashley came out and closed the door behind him. He was alone. Julie closed her eyes with relief.

  Richard slid back into the driver’s seat. ‘Sorry, no luck, no-one seems to know where he is. But he is expected back fairly early this evening.’

  ‘Oh.’ Julie wondered what to do next. She didn’t want to go home, not yet.

  ‘I say …’ Richard’s face was alight with enthusiasm. ‘What about coming down to Dancer. I’m doing a bit of work on her today. I could do with someone to help … I mean with the sandwich-making and all that. Everything’s on board: cheese, bread, you name it. It would be much more fun than working on my own. Then I could bring you back here later.’

  ‘Oh—’ The question took Julie by surprise. She had no desire to go home, but on the other hand she didn’t know this man … she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend an afternoon with him. Anyway she wasn’t dressed for a boat. She looked down at her flimsy frock and stockinged legs. Climbing about in boats would ruin her stockings and probably dirty her frock too.

  Richard fo
llowed her look. ‘Oh don’t worry about your clothes. As long as you don’t mind taking your shoes off then the heels won’t damage the deck.’

  For a moment she looked at him in amazement, wondering how a boat’s deck could be so important, then she saw the funny side of it and smiled a little. He looked at her, puzzled, then understanding flashed into his eyes and he laughed. He said, ‘You’ll have to forgive me. You see, Dancer’s the love of my life and, like all good women, she has to be pampered!’ Still laughing, he let in the clutch and the car moved off.

  They stopped for a moment outside another building while he collected some things from his quarters and then they were through the gates and heading towards the Tamar River. Julie realised they were on their way to the boat, though she hadn’t actually said she would go. But she was glad. Why not? She had nothing better to do.

  They left the main road and started slowly down a rough lane towards the water. As the car bumped and swayed along, Julie asked: ‘How did you manage to find this amazing colour?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  The little car was noisy and Julie raised her voice. ‘The car, why is it such a bright blue?’

  ‘Ah! What colour is every other Austin 7 in the world?’

  ‘Black. Or sometimes grey. Or a sort of beige.’

  ‘Exactly! Very dreary. That’s why I decided to paint this one blue!’ He laughed again. He seemed to laugh most of the time, and Julie found herself smiling too.

  She decided she was glad she had come.

  The afternoon was warm and Julie lay on the foredeck with her face towards the sun. She had taken her stockings and shoes off in the car and left them on the back seat with her coat. Richard had lent her a waterproof jacket to put round her shoulders in the small rowing boat and then, when they arrived on board Dancer, he had found her a sweater. The sweater was enormous and she probably looked extraordinary in it, but she didn’t mind. Somehow it didn’t seem very important.

  She had done very little all day and it had been wonderful. She had made the sandwiches and boiled up the kettle for a cup of tea. Then she had lain down here and let herself be lulled by the lapping of the water and the gentle movements of the boat.

  Eventually she drifted off into a pleasant dreamless sleep, very different from the long, troubled nights of the previous week. Only the occasional noise of hammering or loud humming from the inside of the boat interrupted the stillness of the day.

  When she awoke she guessed it was late afternoon, about four or five o’clock. She looked up and saw that Richard was sitting on top of the cabin roof with a mug of tea in his hand, watching her with amusement. He grinned. ‘Have a nice sleep?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I just seemed to nod off.’

  ‘Yes, it does that to you, the sea.’ He put down the mug and said, ‘Look, I’ve finished my carpentry. Well … I wouldn’t say my carpentry was exactly finished, but it’s as done as it ever will be – and it’s still standing. So why don’t we go for a short sail? Just into the sound and back. Won’t take long.’ He stood up and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘It’ll blow the cobwebs away!’

  Julie looked at him nervously. She had never been sailing before and the idea didn’t appeal to her at all. Yachts looked very unstable – they always seemed to be on the point of tipping over. She also suspected that she was prone to seasickness. Once she and Mother had gone on a steamer trip to Fowey and Julie had felt very peculiar on the way back. Anyway, she knew absolutely nothing about sailing.

  He was looking at her expectantly and she said, ‘Thank you. It’s awfully kind of you to offer but … well, I’ve never sailed before.’

  ‘Then it’s high time you did!’

  ‘No, really, I … I get seasick.’

  ‘Don’t worry! Most people do – especially me. I’m always sick as a dog for the first day or two. But that’s out at sea. It’ll be fine in the sound, there’s not a ripple, not a wave. Honestly, trust me!’ He lent down and offered her his hand.

  She stared up at him and thought: Yes, I do trust you, it’s impossible not to. She took his hand and let him pull her up.

  He pushed her gently in the direction of the cockpit and went forward to untie a rope.

  She called, ‘Where shall I sit? On the seat in the back here?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s called the cockpit, and it’s situated in something called the stern! This sharp end up here, this is called the bow. Yes, just sit there, next to the companionway.’

  Julie sat down and gripped the piece of wood that ran round the cockpit. She watched him pull up the sails and arrange the ropes. Then he threw a chain off the front of the boat and she realised they were off. For a moment everything flapped and there was the most terrible din. Then he ran back to the cockpit and pulled some more ropes. Suddenly the sails stopped flapping and Dancer leapt forward.

  For a while the yacht skimmed along quite steadily and Julie began to relax a little. Then the little boat shuddered and the next moment it was tipping over. Julie gripped the side and felt a touch of fear. It seemed to her that there was nothing to stop the boat from going all the way over and turning upside down.

  She looked back anxiously and saw that Richard was steering the boat quite happily. He said, ‘Isn’t this wonderful! There’s nothing like a good sail! It’s a wonderful day for it, too. A really nice breeze.’

  Julie looked towards the bow again. It seemed to her that there was altogether too much wind. The boat was still leaning over at a sharp angle and showed no signs of coming upright again. Julie found it impossible to believe that everything was all right, though Richard obviously thought so. She could not rid herself of the feeling that something unexpected and frightening would happen at any moment.

  Dancer sped past Drake’s Island and into the open sound. Small wavelets rushed at the boat and Dancer’s bow pushed a curtain of fine spray up into the air and back into the cockpit. Julie shivered slightly and wondered how much further they would go. Then Richard leaned forward and loosened some ropes. The boat changed direction and gradually came upright again. Immediately the motion was easier and the waves, instead of rushing at the boat, seemed to be travelling with it.

  ‘That’s better, eh? No point in getting wet.’ He looked at her with a funny mock frown, and she realised he had changed course for her, to make the sail more enjoyable.

  ‘Thanks. It’s better like this.’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s always better going with the wind. I only wish the wind always blew from behind. But it never does. Quite the opposite, in fact.’ He cast his eyes skyward. ‘Sometimes I think there’s a heavenly conspiracy to make sure it always comes from ahead.’

  ‘Do you really get seasick?’

  ‘Most certainly. There are two stages to seasickness, so they say, one when you want to die, and the second when you’re frightened you’re not going to. Well, I go through both! The only remedy is to keep busy, stay on deck as much as possible – and remember it can’t last for ever.’

  ‘And do you often go far? To places like Brittany?’

  ‘Whenever I have the time I do. This summer I went to the Scillies. Now the Scillies! They’re the most wonderful islands in the world. I spent a whole fortnight there and you wouldn’t believe it, but I anchored at a different place every night. Most of the islands are uninhabited. You can walk all day and see nothing but birds.’ He said blissfully, ‘At one point I didn’t see another living soul for four whole days.’

  Julie thought: What a strange one you are. All that laughter and charm and you like being on your own.

  He went on, ‘The Scillies are covered in wrecks, you know, literally hundreds of them. Not surprising really, when you consider where they are, stuck miles out into the sea, just there in the entrance to the English Channel. And they’re low, of course; ships can’t see them until they’re almost on top of them. Not a good place to find yourself in bad weather.’ He laughed as if such danger were a great joke and Julie suspec
ted that he would like nothing better than to be sailing off the Isles of Scilly in a storm.

  He started to tell her some stories about the Scillies; about the famous wrecks and the people who lived there and the beautiful scenery. As he talked Julie found herself watching him. He was attractive, there was no doubt about that, but not in an obvious way. He wasn’t good-looking as Bill had been, and he would probably put on weight when he was older. But those eyes did light up his face. He reminded her of a teddy bear, kind and safe and – yes, cuddly.

  She decided that her first impression had been wrong. His charm was not laid on, it was perfectly natural; it stemmed from his enormous enthusiasm for everything he did.

  She looked at him and thought: I could have liked you a lot. Could have – she had used the past tense automatically. There would be no boyfriends now: that was all over.

  Anyway, he probably wasn’t interested. Why should he be? There was nothing special about her; Bill had made that quite plain at their last meeting. Besides – how stupid of her not to think of it – he probably had a girlfriend already.

  Dancer was sailing quietly into the Cattewater, the creek that leads to the Barbican – the oldest part of the city – and to the fishing harbour. Julie was quite enjoying herself now that there were no waves and hardly any wind.

  Richard said, ‘Well, best not get into the harbour itself. We’ll probably meet a fishing boat coming out. I’ll gybe her round and we’ll head back to the mooring.’

  Julie nodded, not having the slightest idea of what gybing involved. The next moment he shouted, ‘Mind your head,’ and there was a great crash. For a second Julie thought the mast had come down, but then she saw that it was the noise of the sail changing sides. She laughed and put her hand to her chest. ‘You might have warned me!’

  ‘Sorry, I forgot you didn’t know about sailing. Listen. I’ll explain a few of the basics. It’s really quite simple. You see, there are just three things to remember. First, always know where the wind’s coming from. Second, pull the sail in just enough to stop it flapping. And three, always try to avoid gybing!’