‘I’m looking for a story on Erewhon. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’
‘Fire ahead,’ I replied, trying not to give her the idea I was giving her the once-over. She looked so like Mic, even down to the mannerisms, that she could have passed for a younger sister. With her looks, she had my full attention.
‘Come on board,’ I said, beckoning her through the security gate. She followed me down the jetty, kicked her shoes off, and stepped confidently onto the deck. She obviously knew her way around a yacht, running her eyes over Erewhon’s deck layout. She looked at the ensign fluttering on the stern and turned back in my direction.
‘Where are you and this yacht from?’ she quizzed.
‘Auckland,’ I replied.
‘Is she new?’
‘No, she’s about seventy years old.’
Veronica looked puzzled and was about to ask another question.
‘Listen,’ I said, with a smile. ‘There is a lot more to Erewhon’s story than I have time to tell you this morning. I’m sure our publicity manager, Jenny Standish, will be only too glad to talk to you.’
‘Can I have her number?’ she asked.
I gave her the home number, and she jotted it down on her pad.
‘Tell me more about yourself, then. You’re young to be boatmaster of a yacht of this size.’
‘I always talk better over dinner. Are you doing anything tonight?’
She smiled, reached into her handbag, and withdrew a small red diary. She flicked through the pages. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘nothing I can’t change. Dinner would be nice.’
‘Good, I’ll pick you up around half seven.’
She nodded and handed me her business card with her address handwritten on the back. I watched discreetly as she bent down to slip her shoes back on. ‘Half seven,’ she confirmed, as she stepped off the yacht and disappeared along the jetty, her tiny skirt flicking up as she walked.
I sat down in the cockpit. She was gorgeous! I started to panic. Had I played it too cool?
‘You don’t muck around, do you?’ I swung around to find Mic sitting in the cockpit. Dad had dropped her off, and I’d been too preoccupied to notice. If I was embarrassed last night by our conversation, then I didn’t know which way to look this morning. ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked, my face glowing again.
‘Long enough to see how much you fancy her!’
The security gate rattled, and Terry and his foreman came down the jetty. ‘Morning!’ Terry yelled, as he stepped on board. ‘Reckon I need a flag on that mast and boom with this crowd looking on.’
‘I’m sure you could come to some arrangement with our business manager,’ I replied, with a chuckle.
‘Business manager? Who’s that?’ Terry asked.
‘My brother, Matt. He’s looking after sponsorship and advertising.’
‘Why do you need a business manager?’
‘Dad’s keen to campaign her internationally.’
‘That puts a different light on the standing rigging. You’ll need running backstays if you go offshore.’
I nodded. Terry’s knowledge of rig requirements was incomparable. He continued to look around the rig until he came to the base of the mast. ‘Where’s the vang?’
‘We pulled the end off it just before coming home yesterday, and Paint didn’t think much of your fitting, so he took it away to repair it.’
‘That’ll be interesting,’ Terry replied, somewhat cynically.
The two men headed to the mast to measure the spreaders.
‘What do you reckon, Bill?’ he asked, as they produced tapes to measure the gaps. I listened as they bounced ideas off each other and came up with a sketch of what they thought was necessary. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow to fit the new spreaders,’ he said, as they walked back along the deck.
‘We won’t need runners while we’re harbour racing, will we?’ I asked as he left.
‘No, lad, the extra spreaders will do all you want.’
Mic reappeared. ‘Big night tonight, then?’ she asked.
‘Yes, sis, do you want to come along?’
‘What, and be the gooseberry?’
‘What do you think of her?’
‘She’s very pretty.’
I nodded. ‘She seems to know her way around a boat too,’ I added.
‘That’s lucky if she wants anything to do with you.’
‘You approve, then?’
‘You can keep me informed, but why don’t we look at your business plan now?’ she said, to change the subject. We spent the rest of the day doing that, and I was impatient for Dad to pick us up by the end of it.
‘What’s the rush?’ Dad asked, as we piled into the Lexus and I urged him to get cracking.
Mic smiled. ‘Ben’s got a hot date.’
‘If she’s any good, she’ll wait,’ Dad replied. ‘Your mother soon got used to me, and I was never on time.’
‘That may have worked in the Stone Age, but it’s not the same now, so will you put your foot on it?’ I said, pointing to a gap in the traffic. Rush hour was at its very worst and, as we crept towards home, I got even more wound up.
I set the land speed record for a shower and change, Mum gave me the keys to her Merc, and I was off down the drive. As I headed towards the city, I tried to compose myself. I checked my watch. As long as there were no hold-ups, I was going to make it. I pulled Veronica’s card out of my pocket, rechecked the address, flicked the stereo up, and eased back in the seat.
Parking in Parnell at this hour of night was almost impossible, so I couldn’t believe my luck when a car pulled out of a spot right in front of her apartment.
The door opened gently as I knocked. It wasn’t locked. ‘Hello, come in,’ Veronica called. ‘I’ll be with you in a tick. I’m in the kitchen.’
I stepped into a very neat lounge and took a few paces in the direction of her voice.
‘Hope you haven’t made plans,’ she said, as I rounded the corner. ‘I’m cooking us dinner. Could you open the wine?’
I pinched myself.
Conversation came easily, and we talked well into the night. I didn’t want the evening to end, but the Merc finally found its way up the drive just before morning.
I hitched a lift back to the Basin with Matt. Paint was standing at the security gate with the new vang at his feet.
‘Not much use if our security manager doesn’t know the combination,’ I called, as we approached. Paint seemed a little edgy. He’d had a run-in with the security guards, who didn’t like the look of him. Matt disappeared in the direction of the security hut as I showed Paint the combination. We carried the parts to the vang down the jetty and placed them on board. Matt arrived back with two burly security guards and jumped onto the deck.
‘Paint,’ Matt beckoned, ‘these guys would like to apologise for giving you the third degree this morning.’ He nodded in their general direction.
‘He’s our head of security,’ I explained, ‘and he has our full sanction to be around the yacht at all times.’
One of the guards thrust out his hand in Paint’s direction. ‘No hard feelings, bro.’
‘Nope!’ Paint replied and shook the other guard’s hand as well.
When the guards had gone, we took a look at Paint’s handiwork. ‘Reckon it’s strong enough now?’ I asked.
‘You could lift the whole bloody yacht out of the water on that fitting and even have the fat Maori sitting in the cockpit!’ he replied.
‘That strong?’ Dad said, as he appeared from nowhere on the dock. ‘Just came to see if anything was happening down here.’
‘You won’t break it, I guarantee!’ Paint confirmed.
The security gate rattled, and Terry Espie and his mate came down the jetty.
‘Morning, Terry!’ Dad bellowed, as we watched the two men staggering along with the new spreaders.
‘Morning,’ Terry replied, gasping for breath as they placed their load on board. They scrambled onto the deck and
collapsed in the cockpit.
‘You’ll have to knock off the fags,’ Dad advised, as the two men restored circulation to their arms. Finally, Terry got up and walked forward along the deck, eyeing the new vang. ‘My, my!’ he said, as he studied it. ‘I’m impressed. Who designed it?’
Paint’s chest swelled. ‘Me.’
‘That’s a bloody good job. Where did you learn your trade? Do you want a job?’
‘You can’t have him. He’s contracted to Standish!’ Dad interrupted.
‘Contracts are made to be broken. Go on, tell me where you learned this stuff.’
Paint looked sheepishly at Dad.
‘Paint worked for the Government for a while,’ Dad said, ‘and the mob he worked for produced parts for bridge construction.’
‘That fitting is the same as one we manufactured for a bridge down Clutha way,’ Paint continued, thankful Dad had got him out of a tight corner.
‘Looks bloody strong. What do you reckon, Bill?’ Terry asked his mate.
‘Bloody sight stronger than the ones we can buy,’ Bill replied. ‘Reckon you could make them for us?’
Paint didn’t know where to look.
‘We’ll work something out,’ Dad said. ‘Either Standish will open a marine fittings division, or we’ll fund you into your own shop, Paint, if that’s what you want.’
Paint said nothing.
Terry and Bill got on with fitting the spreaders, and I gave them a hand, eager to learn all I could about working on a carbon-fibre mast. Terry noticed me watching. ‘Trade secrets, lad. I don’t want to see Standish making masts next week.’
‘No fear of that,’ I replied. ‘I’ve got my hands full as boatmaster.’
Paint and Dad left, and I now had my car back. Terry continued to sing Paint’s praises as he examined the new vang.
‘What was he inside for?’ he asked.
‘Did time for murder, but how did you know he’d been in jail?’
‘It’s a sure bet, with that many bad tattoos. I’ve had a couple of employees who worked for the Government. With talent like his, it’d be a bloody waste to see him get into trouble again.’
‘Don’t worry. If Hepi and the old man can’t keep him straight, nobody can.’
Hepi arrived at the dock later that afternoon. ‘Just came down to see if she’s going to be ready to take the iwi out this weekend.’
‘Too right!’ I replied. ‘How many?’
‘’Bout fifty!’
‘Jeez, Hepi, that’s more than a boat full. We’d better make that two shifts, one on Saturday and one on Sunday.’
Hepi nodded.
‘Tell you what—why don’t we take half of them and sail up to Kawau on Saturday, have a barbecue on the beach through the night, and the other half can sail the yacht home on Sunday. The only problem will be getting the second crew to Kawau.’
‘Sounds a good scheme. Leave the transport problem to me,’ Hepi replied, as he walked off along the jetty.
19
The weekend came around quickly. Veronica—or Ronnie, as she liked to be known—and I arrived at the yacht to find the Saturday crew waiting at the security gate. She was keen to go sailing on Erewhon and had jumped at the chance. I was looking forward to getting to know her better, and it would be good to have another experienced hand on board.
Hepi had brought the iwi by bus, and when I opened the gate I nearly got killed in the rush, until a firm voice said, ‘Stop!’
The iwi halted in their tracks.
In a few short sharp words, Paint had everything under control.
‘The first thing I need to see before you get on board is a little respect.’ The group remained hushed. ‘We have a karakia to perform before you step off the dock. Now line up!’
They positioned themselves along the jetty as Ronnie and I stepped on board to find Mic already there. Paint blessed the yacht, and the iwi filed quietly on board.
Matt arrived with Mum, Dad and a couple of my mates, Jason and Derek, who would supply some experience to help sail the yacht. Mic took up her station at the helm as Matt and I made ready to cast off.
We motored out into the harbour. The guests were strangely silent as Paint slipped the gear lever into neutral and Erewhon glided to a halt. I called for hands to work the grinders and twenty volunteered. I directed pairs to the winches and showed them what was required. The main was at the masthead in no time. Mic held the head to wind as the jib was unfurled, then gently pulled the bow downwind. She called for the main to be sheeted, and the whole group hushed as Erewhon heeled in the gentle morning breeze wafting in from the northeast. ‘Jib on!’ Mic called, and Matt egged the sheet grinders into action.
Paint silenced the engine and, apart from the usual creaks from the rig and the ensign flapping on the stern, there wasn’t another sound. Erewhon responded lazily in the gentle breeze, and we ghosted out into the channel. The tack at Bean Rock went without a hitch, and the crew began to chatter among themselves again. Mic called for a couple of tacks to make life more interesting for the eager hands, and as we moved out into the gulf the breeze filled in and Erewhon responded.
Tiritiri faded off the stern as one of Paint’s nephews came up and tapped me on the arm. ‘Can we put up the balloon, Mister?’ young Danny asked, politely. ‘The big balloon sail up the front that makes the boat go fast!’ The grin said it all.
I explained that the spinnaker could only be put up when the yacht was going in the other direction. Mic looked at me. ‘We’ll be at Kawau in no time. Why don’t we tack now and sail out around Sail Rock? We can run back down to Motuora with the spinnaker up and then back on the wind into Mansion House Bay.’
‘If the wind stays at this level, let’s give it a go.’
Mic yelled, ‘Ready about!’ and the young men jumped to their winches. The yacht changed direction, and we headed further out into the gulf.
Young Danny edged closer to Mic, and she beckoned him to stand between her and the wheel. The grin grew a mile wide as he placed his hand on the huge wheel. Mic quietly whispered into his ear, and when her hands came off the wheel the others all roared with excitement. The huge grin masked the boy’s absolute concentration as Mic told him how to watch the sail.
Mic looked at me. ‘Do you think we can lay through to Sail Rock yet?’
‘We’ll go close so long as the wind doesn’t break the other way,’ I replied, as I checked our new heading.
She whispered into Danny’s ear. Danny looked up at her, ‘Now, Miss?’
Mic nodded. ‘Remember—big voice!’
He rose up on his toes and took a big breath. ‘Ready ‘bout!’ he yelled. The whole crew roared with laughter and placed their hands on their winches.
‘Helm over!’ he called and swung the wheel. Erewhon eased through the eye of the wind, and the giant boom swung over our heads.
‘Straighten up,’ Mic whispered to Danny, and he brought the helm back to the centre as the winches hummed and the sails were sheeted in.
‘Well done, Danny!’ she said as the speed returned.
Sail Rock passed under the stern as we squared away for the run back down to Motuora. Matt, Jason and Derek joined me on the foredeck to set the spinnaker. The young men, ever eager, ground the huge sail to the masthead, and the light breeze filled the sail as the spinnaker pole snapped into place. Mic pointed to where she wanted Danny to steer. Erewhon quickly covered the distance between the two points, and we had to drop the extra to come back on the wind for the leg to Mansion House Bay.
The wind from the northeast faded as we stood off the Coppermine and stowed the sails and gear. We glided into Mansion House Bay to meet the rest of the iwi.
Hepi had ferried over the other group earlier in the day, into a private little cove where the young men had dug a hangi pit and scoured the shoreline for suitable rocks. The sea around Kawau Island had provided a bountiful harvest of crayfish, snapper, scallops and oysters.
Erewhon’s anchor pierced the calm waters of
the cove, and the chain rattled over the bow. Hepi’s flotilla of runabouts descended on Erewhon, as the Saturday crew transferred to the waiting boats. They babbled excitedly about their day’s sailing, and the others on the boats were equally excited about their day’s fishing and diving.
Mic, Ronnie and I stayed on board and squared the remaining gear away, while the others joined the festivities on shore. Food and drink flowed, and the music got louder.
A kaumatua made a speech, which Hepi translated in a hushed voice, and then the hangi was opened and the hot food lifted out.
Later, Ronnie and I stood at the water’s edge and looked out into the bay. ‘Doesn’t she look fantastic?’ she said, as Erewhon glistened in the moonlight.
It was a great night and, as morning broke, Ronnie and I found the dinghy and rowed out to Erewhon. The music was still going, but as we climbed into the cabin it became tolerable. We both curled up on my bed, and she drifted off to sleep in my arms. Mum and Dad had found the safe haven as well, and were fast asleep in the main cabin.
The peace was finally broken by a familiar bellow and a gentle thud on the outside of the hull.
‘Do you lot want lunch or what?’ Hepi yelled down the companionway.
‘Stuff Hepi!’ we all replied.
‘Come on, you lot. Grub’s up!’
As I poked my head out through the companionway, the sun was high overhead. I gazed, bleary-eyed, at my watch.
‘It’s nearly midday!’ boomed Hepi, from the waiting runabout, which he’d nosed in under the counter-stern.
‘What’s all the bloody commotion?’ Dad asked, as he followed me up the stairs.
‘Come on, Bollocks, the day’s half over!’
Dad’s head popped through the hatch. ‘Jeez, Fatman, can’t you sleep? What’s for lunch?’
‘Paint and the boys have rustled up a feed. Morning, Miss Jenny!’
Mum smiled as she joined us on deck. ‘Morning!’ she replied.
Mic had been sitting on deck, enjoying the sun, and Ronnie joined her, now dressed in a red bikini with a loose wrap around her waist. How could somebody look that good just after waking up?
A Yacht Called Erewhon Page 22