“Maybe you should,” she said, looking suddenly serious and very unlike the laughing girl she’d been only moments before. “And maybe you should try flirting back. Didn’t you say you wanted to learn how to get along with women?”
At that point, the band played a fanfare and set their instruments aside. Marian led the way off the floor and Rolph followed, telling himself it was stupid to feel so disappointed that she’d only been offering him a lesson in casual flirtation. He wasn’t looking for anything else. Not from her.
“That,” said Slim Masterson, leaning back in his chair, “was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.”
“Amen,” said Ethel, his wife, dabbing at her lips with a pink linen napkin. As a server whisked away their plates while another brought the coffee and brandy Rolph had ordered, she leaned forward eagerly. “Now can we talk about boats?”
“That’s my girl,” said Slim, shaking his head. “If she’d had her way, we’d have spent the evening on our hands and knees with flashlights inspecting decks, rigging, and electronics, instead of enjoying this place and pleasant company.”
Ethel patted his hand indulgently. “Somebody has to take care of business.” She shared a sharp look between Marian and Rolph, then fixed it on Marian. “Well? Are we going to sit and sip brandy like these two, or are we going to start talking turkey?”
Marian smiled and said, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.” Reaching under the table, she pulled out the briefcase Rolph had brought in, glanced at him and said, “May I?”
With a smile in his eyes, sipping his brandy, he nodded.
“Starting with Windrider,” she said, “we have a fifty-foot cutter, John Alden design built in l965 by Cooper-Westhall. She’s fiberglass, built to Lloyds specs, and is ideal for charter work in that she sleeps ten comfortably.”
She went on to discuss Windrider’s excellent long-range fuel and freshwater capacity and her electronics. When she was finished, she handed each of the clients a sheaf of papers. “You can go over these at your leisure before we see the boat in the morning. From what Rolph tells me, Windrider is more the boat for you than Cleo, though with her extra three feet in length, Cleo has more below-decks space.”
“That’s right,” said Rolph. “And she’s a ketch, while Windrider’s a cutter. I know you’ve expressed interest in a three-master, but there aren’t many of those on the market just now as I’m sure you’ve discovered. But either one of these will make you a fine charter boat.”
The conversation swung into a spirited discussion of the relative merits of the two boats Sunrise Brokerage was offering the couple and others they’d seen in a buying tour that had taken them from Norway to Hawaii and points between.
“Of course, what we really want, we can’t have,” said Ethel wistfully.
Rolph tilted his head questioningly. “What is that?”
It was Slim who replied. “Catriona. We spent our honeymoon aboard her on a three month cruise around the Great Barrier Reef thirty-six years ago. We fell in love with her, and with the life. That was when we decided that on retirement, we’d buy Catriona and go into the charter business ourselves. Living in the Bahamas, we have the ideal base for such an operation.”
Ethel leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright as if she were seeing the ship of her dreams. “She was sixty feet overall, schooner-rigged, Burmese teak decks, slept twelve in comfort and handled like a real lady with a minimum of crew,” she said, then looked indignant. “We heard ten or twelve years back that she’d been sold, renamed Felicity and was being used to haul freight in the Seychelles.”
Marian could see the older woman took that as a personal affront. “It’s sad when things like that are done to beautiful boats.”
“And she was a beauty,” said Slim. “The workmanship that went into her construction was superb. She was built in Glasgow in the fifties, a wooden boat, of course, but built to last. The detailing was exquisite. Why, there was an inlayed compass rose three feet across the walnut headboard of the berth in the captain’s cabin and a smaller one in each of the others. Every porthole had a hand-carved rim of the finest walrus ivory and each berth was gimbaled to reduce sway in heavy seas.”
Compass roses? Ivory porthole rims? Marian felt goose-bumps rise on her arms and rubbed them quickly. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, bit her lip and closed her mouth again, listening while Slim and Ethel went on talking about the beautiful Catriona.
“Do you know where she is now?” she asked moments later when she had her excitement under control.
Slim shrugged. “We have no idea. She disappeared from the Seychelles several years ago and we haven’t been able to trace her. She must have gone down somewhere. A boat like that wouldn’t just disappear. If she were still under sail, someone would know where she was. If we could find her, no matter what her condition, we’d buy her, partly out of sentiment, but mostly because we believe in her and know she’s the right ship for us.”
Ethel sighed. “Of course, we’ll settle for something else, but there will never be another ship like Catriona.”
“Never mind.” Slim stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s not waste that great band. Come and dance a bit before we go back to the hotel.”
“Rolph!” said Marian excitedly when the clients were out of range. “I know where Catriona is! But if we tell them, they’ll be able to buy her for a song and we’ll be out a sale. What should I do?”
He cocked an eyebrow, not really believing her. “Take it easy. What makes you so sure you know where Catriona is? Honey, they’ve been searching for the right boat, and I assume that means her, for over a year. If they couldn’t find her, either as Catriona or Felicity, what makes you think you can?”
She gripped his hand in both of hers. “Because I know where she is, I tell you. Her present name is Portside Queen and she’s tied up to a dock in a little tourist town outside Adelaide, Australia. She’s being used as a gift-shop and museum, Rolph. I know that because I worked aboard her for two months while looking for a crew berth on a boat headed back this way. That was four or five years ago, but what if she’s still there?”
“If she’s called the Portside Queen, how do you know she’s the right one?”
“Because of the carved compass roses. Rolph, believe me. She’s the one! And the Mastersons want her.”
“Sweetheart, that was sentiment talking. She’s a wooden boat. If she’s been sitting tied up to a dock for God knows how many years, she’s probably rotten right through.”
“No. I don’t think so. Sandy, the man who owned her, hauled her out every year and had her scraped and painted. He didn’t want his museum sinking under him, for heaven’s sake.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want his museum sold out from under him, either.”
“But we could try. What would it hurt to go have a look? Rolph, she must have been a beauty in her day. Very beamy, with pure, graceful lines. I used to think what a shame it was to see her so … trapped, growing shabbier and shabbier. But I could see that she’d been built to last, just like Slim said. She was a strong ship, a sound one, and I’d stand on her bows picturing her under full sail, set free to fly. Maybe she still could. Listen, why don’t we buy her, do a refit and then sell her to the Mastersons? You heard Slim. He said they’d buy her no matter what. And Rolph, think what a coup finding her would be for the business!”
He laughed at her then tapped her nose with the tip of a finger. “I’m thinking, but you’re not. Okay, I agree, it’s worth a try. It’s worth investigating. But we don’t buy her and do the refit then tell the Mastersons. Use your head, Marian. We don’t own either of the boats we’ve been offering to them tonight, do we?”
She shook her head. “No. Of course not. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. We’ll get a finder’s fee, though. I’ll—”
“We’re going to head back to our hotel now, old boy,” said Slim, returning to the table with his arm around Ethel’s waist. “You intend to pick
us up there in the morning, I understand?”
“That’s right,” said Rolph. Then, “Would you mind sitting down again, both of you? There’s something I think you need to know. Marian thinks she might have a line on Catriona.”
The Mastersons both sat, abruptly, their faces expressing combined disbelief and hope.
“You do? But how? Where?”
Marian explained briefly.
“Call him,” said Ethel decisively. “Can we get a phone to the table?”
“There’s a courtesy office in the back,” said Rolph. “I’m sure we can be accommodated there.”
Rolph seated Marian at a large oak desk and slid the phone closer to her. “Go for it,” he murmured.
“Yes,” said Slim. “Get Catriona for us, my dear, and you’ll have earned yourself a healthy commission.”
“Not me. That belongs to Sunrise Brokerage.”
“The finder’s fee does,” said Rolph, touching the back of her neck with a fingertip. “But the standard commission is all yours.”
When the connection was made, and Marian had identified herself to an astounded Australian who said that yes, his boat had once been named Catriona, was in decent, if not Bristol shape, and he would certainly consider selling if the price were right, a deal was struck in principle in very few minutes. Pending the outcome of a marine surveyor’s report and a personal inspection by the Mastersons, Portside Queen, formerly Felicity and Catriona, would change hands. Hopefully for the last time.
Beaming, Slim hugged his wife, spun her around and declared a celebration. Back at their table, he continued effusively, “We’ll dance until dawn, drink champagne, and dream of the day Catriona sails again. You, my dear Marian, are going to be one of our first guests.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t wait! What a life you two are going to have.” A dreamy expression flooded her eyes. “Faraway places with strange-sounding names …”
Smiling, Ethel finished the snippet of song. “ ‘Calling, calling me …’ ”
Leaning sideways, Slim nudged Rolph with an elbow. “You too, of course,” he murmured. “A honeymoon trip, maybe, like Ethel and I had? I tell you, boy, there’s nothing better than making love in a gimbaled berth.”
Rolph closed his eyes briefly. “No,” he said. “I’m afraid that’s not in the cards.” Faraway places … He looked at Marian. She still had that dreamy smile on her face. “But you might offer Marian a job as crew. By the time your refit’s finished, she’ll be ready to move on.”
Marian tapped Rolph’s hand with one fingernail. “I heard that,” she said softly. “And I’ll thank you to let me find my own future employment. Don’t forget you promised me three months training here. Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?”
Rolph picked up his champagne glass and sipped. “I’m a realist,” he said, shrugging. “I know you of old. You’ll be on your way again soon.”
“We’ll see.” Marian glanced at the dance floor. “Shouldn’t we join our guests in their celebrations?”
Rolph sipped again. “I thought we were.”
Marian grinned cheekily. “Slim mentioned dancing till dawn along with the champagne. We can’t disappoint him, now can we?”
Rolph hesitated, thinking of the way it had been holding her in his arms, wondering if he could stand even ten more minutes of it. He wondered, too, if he could stand to meet Marian’s entreating gaze for another ten seconds without giving in. It wasn’t the Mastersons he hated to disappoint. Dammit, Marian had always been able to get her own way simply by looking at him like that. He slid one hand up her arm to her shoulder, palm tingling as it stroked over her smooth skin.
“Come on, then,” he said gruffly. “If I must, I must.”
“Poor Rolph,” Marian sympathized. “The sacrifices you make in the name of business.”
“It really is criminal,” he said, and smiled down at her. “Should be looked into.” He looked into her eyes.
“Absolutely,” she agreed, her breath caught in her throat, her gaze locked with his, her heart beating high and hard and irregularly. She and he were momentarily encapsulated, isolated from the music, from the crowd, from everything but that silent, aching communication between them. So immersed was she in Rolph’s eyes, that when someone touched her arm, she jumped in genuine fear.
She whirled, blinked and shook her head, bewildered by the intrusion, finding it almost impossible to form a coherent thought.
“Marian?” The dark-haired man who had touched her seemed taken aback by her reaction. “So sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It is Marian Crane, isn’t it?” He had a crisp British accent, but one not regional enough for her to place.
“I … yes. Of course.” She bit her lip. Who was this? He looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall from when or where.
“You remember me, don’t you?” he said with a smile. “Robin Ames. We met in Hong Kong a few years back. I was married to Adrienne then.” His smile never changed. “But I’m not now. Say, I don’t suppose your brother would mind if I danced with you, would he?”
“My brother?” Marian’s gaze flew to Rolph’s set face. “This is Rolph McKenzie. We’re not related.”
“Oh. Oh, not your brother? I say, forgive me. I wouldn’t have intruded if I’d thought … but you do look so very much alike, you know.” He shared a smile between Rolph and Marian. “That golden hair. Those green eyes. Even your faces are the same triangular shape. Sorry,” he said again. “My mistake.”
“Not at all,” said Marian. “How nice to see you again, Robin.” It wasn’t. Even married to Adrienne, Robin Ames had tried to put the make on any woman around, but she was prepared to be civil. “Rolph is my employer. If you’re in the market for a boat of any kind, or have one to sell, Rolph’s the man to see.”
The two men shook hands briefly, assessing one another. After a few moments of stiff conversation, Robin Ames smiled again and lifted one of Marian’s hands, kissing the backs of her fingers. “Perhaps, McKenzie,” he said, looking up, “you’d have no objection if I asked your employee to dance?”
Rolph dropped his arm from around Marian’s shoulder and stepped back. “Ms. Crane is capable of speaking for herself and making her own decisions.”
Marian made one on the spot. She shook her head. “Thank you, Robin. But Rolph has already asked me. Perhaps another time. Good evening.”
“Wait.” Again Robin touched her arm. “I’ll be in town for several weeks,” he said. “Perhaps I could call you?”
She smiled. “I don’t think so. I’m terribly busy just now. Good night, Robin. Nice seeing you again.”
“Why did you do that? You didn’t have to send him away.”
“I didn’t want to dance with him. I want to dance with you,” she said.
Rolph stood looking down at her, his gaze filled with questions, and the same kind of doubts she’d seen the day he massaged her back in the office. “Why?” he asked softly.
She smiled. “Because,” she said, wondering how he’d handle the truth, but not yet ready to risk it, “you happen to be a far better dancer than Robin Ames.” She tucked her arm through his. “You’re a better dancer than any man I know. Now, are we going to stand here and discuss it, or are we going to go out there and boogie?”
“Boogie,” Rolph laughed, capitulating. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Four
CAPITULATION HAD ITS REWARDS. That smile of hers! It heated him from the inside out and he walked her to the dance floor with an arm close around her shoulders.
“Oh, good!” she added as the band swung into action. “A Tango. I love Tangos.” She gave her fingers a couple of snaps that would have done justice to a flamenco dancer and waggled her hips, taking a long, slinky stride, shapely leg insinuating itself between his for just an instant before she backed away, teasing him, tempting him, attracting attention to which she seemed oblivious, her gaze riveted on his face.
He noticed the Mastersons smiling at them, at Marian’
s antics, really. “Cut that out,” he said softly, squelching an absurd desire to laugh. “Remember, people looking on might think we’re brother and sister. Act accordingly or we’ll go sit down, clients or no clients.” He was only half kidding. He wondered how many other people had made the same mistake as Robin Ames tonight and, thinking of the way he’d held her when they’d danced earlier, it made him more than a little uncomfortable.
“Oh, don’t be such an old poop!” She pouted, using the phrase she’d first used on him when she was thirteen and wanted him to buy her a pack of cigarettes so she could “learn to look sophisticated.”
“I’m not exactly asking you to do the Lambada.”
“When the Tango first reached local dance floors, it was treated to as many raised eyebrows as the Lambada when it came into being.” he said, moving easily into the steps of the dance.
“I don’t know why each new Latin American dance has to suffer such disapproval before it catches on. I love the Lambada.” She paused. “Especially with a partner who knows what he’s doing.”
“Don’t look at me if they play one.”
She laughed up at him. “I won’t. At least not this time.”
The thought of there being other times when they might be here in this club, dancing until dawn, did things to him that’d he’d rather not be done. “You’re a seductive brat,” he growled, swinging her close into the rhythm of the Tango. She tilted her head back and fixed her luminous gaze on his face, making him forget every reason he’d ever considered for keeping her at arm’s length. “I shouldn’t have brought you along tonight.”
“Then you’d have missed making a deal with the Mastersons. Remember, they were only thinking about dealing with your brokerage. But because of me, they’re definitely going to do so.”
“You’re right, and I’m grateful,” he said, but he knew he was right, too, and that he shouldn’t have brought her here, not once he saw her in that dress. But the hot Latin American rhythm infected him and he put everything out of his mind as he gave himself up to the music and incredible, impossible magic pulsing between the two of them.
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