by Katie Fforde
They went down into the saloon and she poured him a glass of wine.
‘So, what have you been up to since we last met?' he asked, sitting down and stretching out his legs in front of him.
Jo sighed. 'It doesn't amount to much. I got married to Philip as you know, had a lovely daughter, who now runs an art gallery in Canada, and came to live on a barge.' She didn't want commiserations from him about Philip abandoning her and he must know – Michael would have told him – so she didn't mention it. 'What about you?'
‘Well, I was at sea for years, as a deck officer. Never married. Got bored with deep-sea sailing and so retrained as a surveyor, but now I mostly make my living by moving other people's boats about. I also buy the odd bargain and sell it on.’
Jo smiled. 'Was Hildegarde a bargain?’
He nodded. 'Actually, yes. The man needed to sell it very quickly and offered it to me at a price I couldn't refuse. I'll sell her eventually, but for now, she's comfortable to live on.’
Jo laughed. 'We saw just how comfortable.’
He smiled back at her. 'Don't mock! It's all top of the range. The guy spent a fortune on her.'
‘I wasn't mocking!' But she was glad he thought that she was. Somehow she felt it would be good for him not to be praised all the time. He was obviously rather used to it.
He got up, put his glass down and started prowling around.
‘It doesn't matter how things are arranged down here, does it?' she asked.
‘Not really, but why wouldn't you be coming to Holland? There is plenty of accommodation, after all.’
She thought he hadn't noticed her saying that but she realised he was the sort of man who would remember all those tiny details most people would forget. 'Well, to be quite honest, I hate the sea. I get terribly seasick and frightened.'
‘We'll need a cook.'
‘And I can't cook, either.' The lie came out glibly and she didn't want him to believe her.
‘You used to cook extremely well.’
She frowned. 'Did I?’
He smiled broadly. 'Yes. Can't you remember?’
‘No. What?'
‘It was a dinner party, before you were married. You and your friend invited Philip and me for dinner. You and Philip got engaged shortly afterwards. He told us in the pub later he was checking out your cooking before he made up his mind.’
Jo shuddered. 'I think I'm very glad he left me.’
‘I think I am too,' said Marcus.
‘Why?' Jo didn't really want to go there, but asked all the same.
‘Because if you were still together you wouldn't be on a barge, about to go to Holland.’
Was this a good thing? she wondered. 'True, but as I really don't want to go, there's nothing very good about that.’
He took a sip of his wine, put the glass down on the side, and then sat down again. She noticed that the banquette was a bit disarranged from when Tom and Dora had been sitting on it. 'But it will be fun.’
Jo sat down opposite him and curled her fingers into her hair. I must stop doing that, she thought. No wonder my hair is always such a mess. 'I don't think so.’
He continued to look at her in a way that made her twitchy. Was he surveying her, looking for signs of damage, pitting, patches of her hull that were thinner than others? The last thought made her smile but eventually she had to break the silence.
‘Carole seems very nice,' she said, going on the offen sive. 'Very young.'
‘Yes, too young, really.’
Suddenly she stopped feeling awkward and relaxed a little. 'Well, I'm glad you can admit that! It's not right, these young women throwing themselves away on men nearly old enough to be their fathers! It's a topic I'm sensitive about, of course.'
‘Philip always was a fool.' Before she could react to this provocative statement, he went on. 'But I don't like the "throwing themselves away" part of that. I'm much sought after, I'll have you know.’
Ruefully, she accepted this was probably true but she wasn't going to pander to his already more than adequately sized ego. She raised her eyebrows, alight with merriment. 'By whom?'
‘By many young women who've tried to catch me.’
She chuckled. 'I'm sure that's true, but what are they after? Your massive bank balance or your renowned boat-handling skills?'
‘Well, with the women, it's the former, but the men, definitely the latter.'
‘So you're sought after by both sexes, are you?' Jo reflected that there were advantages to being middle-aged. You could say what you liked without any danger of being taken seriously.
‘For different reasons, yes. Are you jealous?'
‘Mystified,' she said solemnly. 'Unless of course you really have got a massive bank balance.’
He narrowed his eyes. 'I have, actually, but why are you being provocative?’
She shook her head, still smiling. 'I'm not! I'm just saying I don't know why all those people should pursue you. At least, I understand about the men. There was a man here the other night who said you were expensive, but if you had three hundred thousand pounds' worth of barge, you were worth it. Damn!' she added, cross with herself. 'I shouldn't have told you that. Now you'll be more bigheaded than ever.’
A smile started reluctantly at the corner of his mouth. 'Whoever said I was bigheaded?'
‘No need to state the obvious.'
‘Is my bigheadedness so apparent?'
‘Now don't look all affronted, I dare say not everyone would notice.' She managed to stop herself patting his hand just in time.
He shook his head slightly and turned away, possibly hiding an answering smile. 'So, if you know that I'm the best skipper around, why won't you come to Holland with me?’
Now it was Jo who was on the back foot. She sighed asshe tried to explain when she didn't understand why she was so nervous about it herself. 'It's nothing to do with your skippering – your reputation precedes you. I'm just frightened at the thought of being in a small boat on the sea.'
‘It's quite a large boat. It has a very well-maintained engine, going on what Michael has told me, although I will make more checks, of course. It's perfectly seaworthy, and we'll pick our weather. What is there to be frightened of?'
‘Drowning, maybe?’
He dismissed this possibility with a gesture. 'Not at all!’
‘Well, seasickness, definitely. I'm a terrible sailor.’
‘You could take pills.'
‘They knock me out. Then I certainly wouldn't be able to cook for you, although I could make up lots of dishes you could just put in the oven. There's quite a large freezer compartment in the fridge.'
‘So you can cook?’
She realised she'd been caught out. 'Yes, but badly.' She smiled at him. Now she'd got over feeling she was nineteen and was back to being fifty, she was beginning to relax and enjoy his company. Not enough to go to sea with him, of course, but enough for now.
He looked at her with a hint of mock sternness and got up. He went to where the leftover lasagne was cooling, prior to being put in the fridge. He found a spoon from the cutlery container, and took some. He ate it thoughtfully. 'Mm. Not bad at all.’
Jo rose too, her instincts to feed on full alert. 'Would you like some? I could easily heat it up in the microwave. It never occurred to me you might not have eaten.'
‘I have eaten,' he acknowledged, 'but not very much. Carole is very careful about my diet.'
‘But you aren't?'
‘I don't need to be, with her to do it for me.’
Jo, who had found a plate and a serving spoon, hovered over the lasagne. `So do you want some or not?'
‘Yes please.' He picked up the bottle of wine and refilled both their glasses. 'I'll bring you some wine tomorrow.'
‘There's no need for that.' Jo pressed buttons on the microwave. 'It's only supermarket plonk.'
‘I know. I've got some really nice wine on Hildegarde.'
‘I thought you were taking Hildegarde away tomorrow. That's wha
t Michael said.'
‘Nothing's set in stone.' He took another sip of wine and grimaced slightly.
Jo took a few moments to decide whether or not she should be offended, then she laughed. 'Go and sit down. I'll bring this when it's ready.’
She was aware that she had let down the Sisterhood, that feeding a man like that was against every rule. But she liked seeing him sitting there, reading a copy of the Dutch barge magazine while she heated lasagne and added a bit of tomato and cucumber to the leftover salad. It must be because, at heart, she was a provider, a wife and mother, most fulfilled when caring for others. It was a salutary thought.
‘Here you are,' she said. 'It's ready.’
She sipped her wine and watched him eat, wondering what Miranda would say if she could see her. Would she chide her for falling back into her old ways of being wifely? Or would she understand that seeing someone eating with evident pleasure the food you had cooked was satisfying?
‘Well, you've definitely blown your cover, I'm afraid,' he said. 'You cook better than ever.'
‘Perhaps I didn't cook it!' She challenged him with her eyes.
He gave her a sidelong smile. 'Oh come on. Of course you cooked it.' He wiped his plate with a bit of bread.
‘Well, possibly,' she conceded. 'There's a bit of Eton Mess for pudding if you'd like it.’
A look of sheer ecstasy flickered across his face. 'Yes please. Don't tell Carole.'
‘I won't if you won't, but do make sure you take that bit of ragu off your shirt.’
He looked down quickly and then scrubbed at a tiny spot of tomato. Jo reflected that Carole taking care of his diet was the reason his middle-age spread was kept to a minimum. Maybe younger women were good for men after all. But what would become of the older ones?
‘Here's your pudding,' she said, adding a sprig of mint from the pot she had brought down from the wheelhouse to the dish on impulse. She didn't care that some restaurant critics thought it was common – she liked to eat it. 'Would you like some coffee?'
‘I've still got some wine, thank you.' He handed her his dirty plate and accepted the pudding in return.
‘Even though it isn't very nice wine.'
‘I didn't say it wasn't nice. I just said I've got some that's much nicer on Hildegarde. This pudding, however, is to die for.'
‘I hope you don't mean that literally. Do you have a problem with your cholesterol?’
He laughed. 'Not at all.'
‘Probably thanks to Carole.' She was aware she probably sounded snippy, but she couldn't help it – her recent experiences made it impossible to be completely normal about such things.
‘Maybe. She doesn't really appreciate good wine.’
‘Perhaps that's something that comes with age? Like opera?’
He snorted. 'I've never liked opera.'
‘Perhaps you're not old enough. I only like some of it.’
‘I'm older than you,' he said.
‘Well, it's an acquired taste. Like boating, probably.’
‘You probably just need to make an effort,' he said sternly. 'With opera or boating.'
‘I don't think that would work with me. I'm just too frightened.'
‘What, of opera?’
She laughed but shook her head. 'No!'
‘I think you should give it a go. I promise not to do anything that could possibly frighten you.'
‘Does Carole like boating?' Perhaps he'd taken her out on small trips to begin with, so she could gain her confidence.
‘Oh yes. At least, I think so. I haven't actually asked her.’
Jo opened her mouth to tell him he was very selfish but as she wasn't absolutely sure this was true, shut it again.
He got up. He put down his dish with a clatter. `I'd better go. Carole will be wondering where I am.’
Jo stood up too, and realised Marcus was much taller than Philip. She moved past him to the door to the stairs, opened it and went up them. The fluttery teenager in her couldn't help wondering if he was looking at her bottom and thinking how big it was. Carole's bottom was of the pert, tight, high variety. Hers no longer was and possibly never had been.
They reached the wheelhouse and he turned to her. 'Do think carefully about coming on the trip. It could be really interesting. I never usually encourage owners – they can be a bloody nuisance. I'm making an exception for you.’
She laughed, feeling a bit lightheaded, possibly because of the wine. 'But I'm not the owner, Michael is.’
He smiled. 'That probably explains it.'
‘Well, on behalf of Michael, I'll thank you for coming to look at The Three Sisters. Will you email him or shall I?'
‘I will. I need to ask him if the fuel tanks have been cleaned out within living memory. If not, it'll have to be done before we go. There are a couple of things as well. I didn't look at the navigation lights.’
She felt guilty. 'Oh. I shouldn't have given you lasagne. I distracted you from your job.'
‘Yes you did,' he said. 'But I was happy to be distracted. Goodnight, Joanna.’
She watched him walk away thinking that most men would have kissed her cheek. The fact that he hadn't was more disturbing than if he had. She went back down into the saloon contemplating her feelings. He wasn't the first man she'd entertained by herself since she'd been on the barge. She never had been the sort of woman who assumes every man is making a pass at her, even when she'd been of an age to be made a pass at, but she'd found Marcus both unsettling and exciting. 'Perhaps they're the same thing,' she said aloud as she cleared up his plates and glass.
*
The week whistled by for Dora as she struggled to bring a little order to the chaos that was the boatyard's office. It didn't take very long before she became much loved and depended on. She made tea twice a day for everyone, and people gathered in her little office space to collect it. When she wasn't chatting, she was filing, sorting and recycling forests' worth of paper. She set up a program so she could do the wages quickly and efficiently and even acquired a wall planner and made everyone decide when they were going on holiday.
Jo was putting the whole dry-dock business out of her mind, or at least she tried to. She was concentrating on her gilding.
Although she was not frightened of the gold leaf in the same way she was frightened of crossing the North Sea in a barge, she was anxious.
All her little bits of carving had been glued on, sanded, gessoed, coated with glue size mixed with clay. Her friend at the art shop had told her to mix up a combination of size, water and a drop of vodka for the final layer and to arrange the surface she was using to be slightly sloping so the water couldn't run back over the gold she had laid. Then she opened her book of gold leaf. It seemed about half the thickness of tissue paper and threatened to float away. It was like trying to catch a strand of gossamer. Just managing to catch it on her gilder's tip she watched it float down to the suede where it would be safe for a few moments. She divided it into two and then brushed her tip over her arm a couple more times, as instructed, so the oil from her skin would help the gold adhere to the bristles. Then, carefully with her clean sable brush she wetted an area a little larger than the space the gold would occupy. Finally, her tongue between her teeth, she caught the gold leaf and offered it up.
Like magic it leapt from the brush and attached itself to the carving.
‘Wow,' she said out loud. 'That really is alchemy.’
A little braver now, she wetted the next section, brushed the tip over her arm and caught up the next piece of gold leaf.
After applying two pieces she had to make herself a cup of tea to help calm her down. She hadn't done anything so exciting for years. Later she would rub it smooth with the agate burnisher until it looked as if the wood was made of gold.
She tried to convey her excitement to Dora when she came home but she realised, as she saw Dora's somewhatglazed expression, that you had to have been there, really.
Tom, who'd become a regular guest at mealtimes, w
orried away at the two women about the dry docking with the persistence of a particularly obsessive terrier.
‘You two should definitely go. It'll be brilliant! I'm going to go, if I can persuade Marcus to take me.'
‘What was he like, Jo?' asked Dora. 'What did you think of him?’
Jo was glad she'd had a second to think of an answer. The trouble was, she didn't really know what she thought of him. He was confused in her mind with the Marcus she'd known before. Had he changed? Or was he still a bit arrogant, a bit of a womaniser, someone she didn't have the confidence to be natural with? She decided to be economical with the truth until she was clear in her own mind. 'He seemed very professional. He took a lot of trouble to check things.'
‘That's reassuring,' said Dora, putting plates in the dishwasher.
Tom was wiping the table. 'The blokes with boats that cost the same as London flats wouldn't let him move them about unless they trusted him.’
Perhaps I should trust him too, thought Jo. Although probably only where boats are concerned.
Over the following days, Dora and Jo got tired of hearing how much fun going to Holland would be, how brilliant Marcus was, at least by reputation, and how they'd be mad to miss the opportunity to go on the trip.
Dora, who had become used to Tom being there to row her across the creek when she finished work, was aware she'd miss him if he wasn't around. Her loyalty to the boatyard had been instant, and knowing she might want to take leave so soon focused her mind. She stayed late several nights and was making huge progress. She couldn't decide if she wanted to go to Holland or not.
Jo was only concentrating her attention on her gilding and her trip to her old home, planned for the weekend. It would be the first time she had gone back and she wasn't looking forward to it. She made lists of things she wanted to collect, aware that she might not remember anything once she got there. 'I'm bound to forget Karen's fork-lift truck certificate,' she warned herself, 'which is the whole reason for going!’
*
As they set off down the motorway in Jo's little car, Dora was aware that Jo had been unsettled since the trip was proposed and Marcus had visited. She couldn't tell if it was the thought of seeing her garden again, or the house infiltrated by the Floosie. It was bound to be emotional. She had emailed Karen about it, who had railed against her father all over again.