Anna clambered down into the cockpit. ‘This is my wife.’ They shook hands. ‘Go and put the stuff below.’
‘Say,’ Charlie said cheerfully above the engine noise, ‘youse ain’t the couple out watchin’ the sunrise this mornin’, is yer?’
Morgan’s heart missed a beat again. ‘What?’
Old Charlie said, ‘Heard at the fuel jetty the boys is lookin’ for a couple who was out watchin’ the sunrise. Figure they know somethin’ about this plane.’
‘No, we only arrived this morning, on the seaplane. Let’s go. Where’re the charts?’
Old Charlie lifted a seat-cushion and pulled out one old, folded chart. ‘The boys is runnin’ round town like blue-arsed flies. Boy, is this town gonna jump!’
Morgan snatched the chart and unfolded it. It trembled. ‘Were they witnesses to the crash?’
‘Witnesses, hell. Black Cat an’ the boys figure they were flyin’ the plane. Cos the pilots sure as hell weren’t. They been found very dead down south somewheres.’
Morgan felt his stomach contract. He feverishly tried to concentrate on the chart. It only showed the Bimini islands. The coast of Florida was not shown. ‘Where’re your other charts?’
‘Got none. What you need more charts for?’
Morgan turned to the engine controls. Throttle, gears. How do I start her? With a crank?’
‘Right. Under here.’ Charlie started to lift a hatch.
‘Never mind. Compass. Knot log. Okay, Charlie, untie her.’
‘Whatsa hurry? I better show you the ropes …’
‘I know the ropes. Untie her please!’
Charlie said, ‘You better come back before dark. Or go into South Bimini. There’s a storm warnin’ out for tonight.’
He didn’t care if there was a hurricane coming. ‘I will.’
Old Charlie clambered up onto the jetty. Morgan looked back at Fred’s. Charlie untied the bowline. Morgan pulled it in. Charlie walked creakily down the jetty, and untied the stern-line. Morgan pulled it in. Charlie shoved against the gunnel. Morgan turned the tiller hard over, and eased open the throttle. He waved to Charlie.
‘So long.’ The yacht began to throb away from the jetty. ‘Stay below,’ he called to Anna.
The boat went chugging through the harbour. He looked back. Charlie was watching them, but there was nobody else on the jetty. He turned the tiller, pointed her towards the harbour mouth. He looked back again.
The yacht went chugging between the boats towards the open sea. It looked as if there was only a slight swell out there. Oh God, he dreaded what lay behind him. Those fast boats. He willed the little yacht to go faster. Now he was entering the harbour mouth. He looked at the wind direction.
‘Come up and take the helm.’
He pointed the boat into the wind, and Anna took the tiller. He clambered to the mast, unlashed the ties, then started to winch up the mainsail. It went up jerkily, flapping. He cleated the halyard, then hurried to the bows and unleashed the foresail. He pulled it up, it flapped noisily. He shouted:
‘Steer two-seven-zero.’
She turned onto course. The sails stiffened and the boat surged.
He pulled in the sheets and cleated them. He took over the tiller again.
Two-seven-zero, due west. That was the best he could do without a chart. But that would find Florida.
‘Open two of Charlie’s beers.’
She went down the hatch. She came back up with two cold cans. She passed him one. He upended it to his salty, bristly mouth, and swallowed.
He looked back at Bimini. It was still large as life. He looked at the knot log. Five knots with both engine and sail.
‘About fifteen hours to Florida.’ He looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. ‘About two o’clock tomorrow morning we’ll get there.’
It felt as if he were trying to shake off the hounds of hell.
20
He awoke with the crashing of sea. He struggled off the bunk, and another wave hit with a thud like cannon. He clung, then grabbed a lifeline out of the locker. He clawed up the hatch.
Anna sat at the tiller, her hair flying, water running off her exhausted face. The sky was an ugly grey. The sea was running in big, ragged swells. Another wave struck and spray flew, and the bows reared up. He clawed his way over to her and sat.
‘How long has it been like this?’
‘About three hours. It’s been coming up steadily.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me? Have you seen any boats?’
‘Only one sail boat, heading for Bimini.’
The storm warning would keep most boats in port – it should keep Black Cat there too. He shackled on his lifeline, and hooked it to the rail. The knot log read thirty-seven nautical miles. Halfway to Florida. He looked at his watch. Just after five o’clock. Thirty-seven miles divided by seven hours – they were averaging five knots. He had slept nearly six hours. He said, ‘Go below and get some sleep.’
She unclipped her lifeline and clawed across the cockpit. She clambered down the hatch. She was cold and sodden. He shouted, ‘Pass me a beer, please.’
The yacht was ploughing up the side of a big running swell. Up, up she ploughed, then the crest hit her with a thud and she shuddered and spray flew; then down plunged her bows. She went ploughing, down into the trough on the other side, and the next swell was coming.
Anna clawed up the hatch again, a beer in one hand.. He stretched and took it. ‘Can you light me a cigarette?’
She disappeared again. He upended the can to his mouth. It tasted like nectar. Anna reappeared, and held out a cigarette to him. He took a deep drag. It tasted like food. The yacht was ploughing up the side of the swell. The crest hit and the spray flew and his cigarette was knocked sideways in his mouth.
It was soaked. He threw it over the side angrily.
He looked astern. There were no boats to be seen.
In the night the big winds came.
They came out of the south-east, whistling louder and harder, and the Rosemary lurched and surged, her rigging straining. And the seas ran harder and deeper and faster and the waves crashed harder and louder and the spray flew like grapeshot. The Rosemary ploughed up, up the running swells, heeled over, sails straining, and over the crests she went and then down, down the other side; then the bows rearing up again, the thud, the spray flying, and then down, down she plunged again into the next trough. Morgan sat hunched, his head turned against the flying sea, the tiller wrenching in his hand, trying to hold the course, the bows swinging and rearing and crashing, the compass needle swinging wildly. The cabin hatch slid open and Anna’s head appeared. He shouted: ‘Stay down! … ’
I’m coming up to relieve you.’
She came clutching her way up, and a mass of flying spray hit her. She clung, head down, then she lurched into the cockpit. She snapped her lifeline onto the rail, and crashed down beside him. She grabbed the tiller and shouted: ‘Go below … ’
Oh, the relief of not hanging onto that tiller any more, and the bliss of slumping his spine and shoulders; and oh just to throw himself down onto that narrow bunk below and let the aches and the cold flood out of him in sleep; he shoved back his head arid straightened his spine. No way could he leave her up here alone. ‘Only a few hours to go.’
He clung there, head down against the flying spray, cold to his bones. It was ten o’clock. Only four or five hours before the coast of Florida … Yes, and how did he get in to the coast in seas like this? … He was too tired to care yet. Just thank God that Black Cat and his boys would not be out in this.
An hour later the Coastguard helicopter appeared.
They did not hear it coming above the crashing of the waves; it came out of the night, a great black shape with winking lights suddenly chopping towards them out of the howling sky. Anna gripped his arm and pointed. The helicopter came chopping angrily closer and closer, and then they could hear the thudding of its engines. A searchlight came on and the machine went chopping over the to
p of the ploughing Rosemary. They were bathed in light. The helicopter went thudding around the port side, and now they could see a man behind the light. He was signalling at them with his hands. Morgan stood and clutched the rigging and forced a smile onto his frozen face and waved his hand energetically. He shouted to Anna: ‘Wave! Cheerfully!’
Morgan held up his thumb. The helicopter went chopping past the bows, into another circle. Morgan waved his hand at the sea cavalierly. Then he clawed his way to the hatch. He slid it open, clambered down into the heaving cabin and grabbed a bottle of wine out of Charlie’s cold box. He clambered back into the cockpit. He held up the wine bottle to the helicopter in offering. The machine went chopping down the side of them, the co-pilot staring down. Morgan clambered back to Anna, flung his arm around her and planted a big kiss on her cheek. ‘Laugh,’ he rasped.
The machine went round their bows for the last time. Then it went chopping away into the blackness.
She looked at him, drenched, her hair flying like rope. He said: ‘They just wanted to know if we were all right.’
‘But they may send a cutter to look at us.’
‘There won’t be too many around in weather like this. But we’ll change course.’
He took the tiller and swung the bows away from the wind. The little yacht came around, and he slacked off the mainsheet and the mainsail swung out with a crack, and the knot log needle jerked upwards. He slacked off the foresheet and the foresail billowed. The Rosemary surged, ploughing before wind, and suddenly it was almost silent and almost warm, as the yacht ran with the seas, getting the hell away from the US Coastguard.
For two hours they ran before the wind, the little yacht surging up the swells, then over the crests she went and down the other side, down, and the swell heaved at her stern and she was almost surfing; then Morgan swung the bows west again, and the wind came back on their beam in all its fury. And the Rosemary heeled hard over, her sails filled tight and her rigging twanging, fighting her way across the running seas again, and the spray flew like grapeshot again.
‘Go below,’ he shouted.
At about midnight the really big winds came.
Came howling up the Gulf Stream, and now the seas were great running troughs, spray flying in great lashing sheets and streaks, and now the crests were angry breakers coming crashing down like thunder; and the little boat lurched and shuddered. A wave came crashing over the cockpit, and Morgan felt himself go.
He sprawled and the wave swept his legs up and there was nothing in the world but the crash of salt water in his ears and nostrils and the deck disappearing beneath him, and he went over the side, into the sea. And there was nothing but the terror and the fighting, and then the wrench at his guts as the lifeline stopped him. He broke surface, gasping, being dragged behind the ploughing boat, stunned. The rudder crashed about, free, and the little boat swung into the wind and the sails flapped and crashed about wildly, and Morgan heaved on the lifeline. He heaved himself, hand over hand, back towards the stern, gasping. He reached up wildly and gripped the stern. He clung there, as the bows heaved up into the coming swell. Up, up, up the bows went; then the crest broke and the wave came crashing down. It thundered into the cockpit and over the stern and over Morgan, and wrenched him again, but he clung; then he kicked with all his might, and he swung up one leg. He got it over as the bows crashed over the crest, and he rolled back into the cockpit.
He scrambled up, gasping. The yacht was ploughing into the bottom of the trough now. He seized the end of the mainsail sheet, and frantically tied it round the tiller and lashed it into the midships position. Then he heaved in the mainsail, and lashed the boom to midships. He unclasped his safety line, and scrambled for the mast. The yacht was riding up the next swell now. He made it to the mast as the wave broke over the bows. He clung to the mast with all his might, and tons of sea crashed over him. He frantically uncleated the halyard, and the mainsail came crashing down into the cockpit. He let go the next halyard and the foresail came cascading down onto the deck and he scrambled for the bows. He clutched his way, tooth-clenched. He thrust one sail-tie under the mess of sail. He frantically lashed the bunch to the railing as the bows rode up the next swell. He tied the knot and the wave hit him. Like an avalanche, wrenching, and he clung. It swept away in a crashing rush, and he started to scramble back to the cockpit, and he saw Anna.
He saw her disappear in a mass of crashing water and he bellowed, ‘Get back! –’ and the wave rushed over the stern, and he saw her again. She was naked, both arms flung around the boom, and she was lashing the sail down, and he cried ‘Thank God –’ He jumped into the cockpit as she finished the knot, and he seized her arm. He looked wildly at the next swell coming at them, and he flung open the hatch and shoved her down it. The next wave hit, and he scrambled into the hatch after her. The wave came crashing down the deck, over him, into the cabin and he slammed the hatch shut above him.
He clung, heaving, braced. She was on the bunk, clinging to the mast, dripping, her hair matted to her head, grinning at him weakly. It was the first time in six years that he had seen her naked. ‘You shouldn’t have gone there without a lifeline.’
‘Hark who’s talking. So – bare poles, is it?’
‘It’s safest.’ He lurched to the bunk opposite her, crashed down, and braced. He looked at her, his hair matted, two days’ growth of beard on his face, and with all his exhausted heart he wanted to take her in his arms and possess her. There was a thud and the boat shook, and they braced themselves. He said: ‘You should put something on.’
‘Everything’s wet.’ She picked up a towel and draped it around her shoulders. She looked at him.
‘Oh Jack, Jack, beautiful Jack. The things you’ve done for me. Now this.’ She clung to the mast as the boat ploughed down. She waited till it hit the bottom of the trough. Then said: ‘If you want to quit when we get to port, I’ll understand perfectly. I mean that.’
‘And what’ll you do?’ The boat was heaving up the next swell.
‘I’ll carry on alone.’
He said: ‘It’s nice to just sit and talk, isn’t it?’ The crest of the swell hit them, and they lurched. ‘Well, it beats ditching aeroplanes.’
‘You haven’t answered me.’
The bows hit the bottom of the trough. He said, ‘These people have got no rights over you.’
She clung to the mast. ‘You’re doing this because you think you love me.’
‘I do love you.’
‘Yes, I believe you do.
You didn’t before?’
He grinned: ‘I didn’t know those bastard pilots were coming.’ The boat hit the crest with another thud. ‘Or this bloody storm. I thought it was just going to be a breeze with Big King.’
‘So my evidence is questionable?’
‘But your verdict is sound.’
Then her exhausted eyes filled with longing. She stood up, and she pushed the mattress down onto the deck between the two bunks. She dropped to her knees onto it, and held out her hand to him.
He held her hand tight, his heart pounding.
‘I don’t want a reward, Anna.’
‘It’s a gift! Of love!’
And he came down off the bunk, onto his knees beside her, his heart hammering, and he slid his arms around her bare shoulders, and oh, the blissful feel of her smooth wet nakedness, and they toppled over onto the mattress. And she clutched him and kissed him, her mouth and teeth crushed against his; and oh, the wonderful feeling of her in his arms at last, the cool softness of her, her breasts pressed against his sodden chest, the wonderful feel and taste of her soft-hard mouth; then she broke the kiss, her eyes full of tears, and she laughed at him:
‘I was going to be beautiful for you.’
And he laughed with her and he kissed her again, devouring her. The boat heaved and crashed and rolled about them, but they did not know it in the joy of each other at last.
21
The first pearly light came into the east.
The wind was gone. The Rosemary drifted in the early-morning Gulf Stream, gently rising with the swells, slopping in the little wafts of breeze. Down in the bottom of the boat Anna Hapsburg and Jack Morgan lay together, arms entwined about each other, deep in beautiful sleep. With the sunrise, the big sleek boat came cruising towards them.
The noise of the engines woke them. Morgan scrambled up, his heart pounding, every muscle tense, ready to fight, to kill. He peered through the porthole. And stared. He saw the big, grey steel hull of a United States Coastguard vessel. Anna was pulling on her blouse frantically.
‘No! Just clutch the towel around you. Embarrass them. Stand in the hatch and act dumb.’
She clutched the towel to her bosom. She ran her fingers through her ropey hair and slid back the hatch. The cutter towered over her, the sunrise behind it. ‘Ahoy there,’ a voice called.
‘Oh, hi.’ She smiled uncertainly.
The officer looked down at her from the bridge. ‘Are you all right?’
Anna stood in the hatch, naked but for the towel clutched to her breasts. ‘Sure. We had a pretty bad time last night. Had to bare-pole it.’
‘Where’re you heading?’
Her mind fumbled. ‘To Bimini …’
‘Where you from?’
‘Fort Lauderdale.’
‘Were you approached by a Coastguard helicopter last night?’
‘Why, sure. We tried to tell them we were okay.’
‘But you were heading towards Florida at that time.’
Morgan closed his eyes.
‘Yes, we got worried about the storm, thought we better turn back. Then it got so bad we had to bare-pole it.’
‘Didn’t you hear the storm warning on the radio?’
‘I guess not. We kind of like to set sail and go.’
The officer muttered something. Then: ‘Well, you’re in the middle of the shipping lane, lady. If I were you I’d wake up the husband.’ He added: ‘And listen to the radio next time.’
Anna gushed, contrite. ‘We will.’
A Woman Involved Page 14