Chapter Eleven
The Bass Strait was notorious for gales, and after leaving Melbourne, it had been a rough crossing once the ferry passed through the heads. Sam was one of the few passengers who sat down to eat a hearty breakfast. A slight touch of nausea attacked her on waking, but soon passed. Perhaps it was to do with the wonderful sense of well-being surrounding her. It was bliss to feel so carefree after weeks of unhappiness.
Her fellow passengers stumbled bleary-eyed from their cabins after strong winds and squally rain buffeted the ferry all night.
After breakfast she bundled herself into her warm windcheater and went to stand on the deck, where she struck up a conversation with an elderly gentleman.
“You’re not worried by the movement of the vessel,” he said heartily when they’d discussed the weather for a while.
“No.” She smiled, repressing the sudden urge to sing at the top of her voice. He would likely think her nuts.
When the old man walked off to stroll around the wet deck she stared at the dark water and went over her last encounter with Peter. She’d gone once more to the boutique to say farewell to her co-workers and he’d come strolling in as she was going out.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, and she wondered how she could have thought him remotely charming. He looked all of his years, and to be honest she felt sorry for him.
When she turned her back on him, and his shop, lightness filled her, making her buoyant.
Lonely Pride Page 31