Entrance to the Harbour

by Peters, Sue

  `Thanks.’ He reached up and behind him without looking up, and took the rubber hot water bottle from her hands. For a second he held it against his cheek, not trusting her to know enough not to make it too hot, she thought, and she stepped back, feeling rebuffed. ‘He’ll do now until we get home.’

  `How will you clean him?’ It looked a hopeless task. `Surely it would be better to put the poor thing out of its misery?’ she cried, distressed by her closer view of the half dead bird. ‘It’s cruel to try and keep it alive.’ Indignation rose and blocked her speech, that Dan should contemplate prolonging the guillemot’s suffering.

  `You’ll see the difference in him in a day or two,’ he replied, unmoved by her tone. ‘If you want to go outside with Lance and Roddy, Chris, keep a lookout in case there are any more birds that have been caught in the same oil slick, will you?’ He smiled as the child hastened off. ‘You haven’t

  seen the pens at the back of Penderick House, then?’ He glanced at her disturbed face and compressed lips as he unlashed the wheel and set the boat in motion again.

  `What pens?’ She felt angry with him for trying to change the subject.

  `The pens for the seabirds I bring home with me,’ he explained patiently, as if he might be talking to a recalcitrant child. ‘The victims of the oil slicks,’ he enlarged, seeing that he had gained her reluctant attention. ‘Every trip we make we keep a lookout for them. All the ships in our fleet have instructions to do the same. Not that they need them,’ he added thankfully, ‘all our men would stop and pick up the birds anyway. They bring them straight up to the house when they find any. Some we can’t save,’ he added regretfully, ‘but a lot of them we do, and after a week or two, when they’re recovered, we’re able to set them free again. At least it’s something to counteract the tremendous losses caused by spilt oil.’

  `Flotsam and jetsam,’ Jo murmured.

  `What?’ His attention was only half on what she said, the rest of it on his task of swinging the boat on to its previous course towards the distant harbour.

  `Oh, never mind.’ Jo did not want to explain. It would mean telling him what Tessa had said, and admitting that the other girl’s sneer had upset her. Instead she turned her head, and watched Dan’s face. She could safely do that now, his eyes were intent on looking ahead, his head turned slightly away from her so that his features showed in sharp profile against the wheelhouse window. It was a strong face, the face of a man who knew where he was going, and who was accustomed to overcoming obstacles. The face of a man who could be gentle, too; now and again an inner core of compassion showed through, which under normal circumstances he hid pretty effectively under a tough outer shell. Children and animals, including birds, must be his Achilles

  heel. Compassion for Chris made him take her into his home—Jo did not delude herself that it was out of consideration for herself that he had taken them into Penderick House; his attitude to most grown-ups seemed to be one of impatient tolerance rather than liking.

  `You can help me bring this little chap back to life when we get home if you like,’ he told her, ‘you’ll see then how soon he’ll respond. If he’s going to, that is,’ he added quietly.

  `I’d like that.’ She would dearly love to help bring the guillemot back to life, though the thought of doing it with Dan stirred her heart to a life she did not wish to have. With an effort she controlled her thoughts. If she helped Dan with his birds, it would be one way of repaying the Pendericks for their hospitality to herself and Chris, she told herself determinedly. She did not dare to offer them money for their keep. The thought had occurred to her, pride rejected the idea of accepting their board without payment of some kind, but she blanched at the thought of what Dan’s reaction would be if she offered money. Offering her help would be an ideal way out. She felt happier now she had found a solution to at least this one problem.

  `There’s the Claw Rocks, coming up on our port side. Er—your left-hand side,’ Dan elucidated with a grin as Jo swivelled her eyes this way and that, seeking vain direction.

  `Then why didn’t you say so?’ she snapped, smarting once again under her own ignorance of all things nautical.

  `Didn’t think,’ he retorted, unabashed, and met her glare with an amused look. ‘We’re not used to having landlubbers aboard the Kittiwake.’ He made it into a taunt, and she gritted her teeth.

  `I said the rocks looked worse from the sea.’ His amusement faded, and he gestured ahead, and Jo forgot her vexation as she followed his signal, and met the visual impact of the cruel string of rocks, which drove every other thought from her head.

  `Do you have to pass—those,’ she gulped, ‘every time you go out and come back?’ Her heart turned over at the thought of the danger.

  `If we come back on this side of the harbour, yes. It’s the quickest way from where we’ve been today,’ he told her practically.

  `They’re—horrible.’ Even now, in calm weather, they exuded a menace that could be felt. The slight drizzle had stopped, and the sky lightened, but it still remained grey, and in the dull light the spear-shaped rocks stood black and grim out of the waste of water around them like some great beast of prey waiting silently, with awful patience, to claim its victim.

  `There’s no danger under normal circumstances.’ Dan glanced down keenly at her face, which mirrored her feelings without need of words. ‘It’s only when there’s a storm, or perhaps a boat drifting out of control with an engine breakdown, or maybe the steering mechanism fouled, or something.’ He spoke lightly, trying to wipe away the dread that showed clear in her eyes. ‘Look, the sun’s coming out.’ He distracted her attention, pointing beyond the Claw Rocks to where a thin shaft of sunlight found its way through the lowering clouds, and cut a swathe of light across the distant cliffs. It lit up a square of bright gold, and instinctively Jo stood on tiptoe to see better.

  `That won’t help,’ he teased her shorter stature. ‘We’re still a good way off,’ he reminded her.

  `What is it?’ It glinted like a bright penny among the vast expanse of dun-coloured cliff.

  `It’s a field at one of the flower farms.’

  ‘Tessa’s?’ Somehow it did not seem so bright, now.

  `No, the Tremaynes’ holding is in the opposite direction. The farm where that field is hasn’t been worked for several years now, the people left and the place became derelict. That’s why you can see the daffodils, they’ve been left to bloom on their own. In a flower farm that’s being worked

  they’re picked in tight bud, you never see a field of them in full colour like that.’

  She should have known that, too. Tessa would have done. For the umpteenth time she felt at a disadvantage with the other girl, and smarted under the gall of it. Dan seemed to enjoy rubbing it in, too, which made it worse. Almost, she felt glad when they rounded the rim of the bay, and the arms of the harbour jutted out in welcome just ahead. Almost, but not quite. The brief hours she had spent with Dan in an environment that was wholly his own had given her a new insight into the character of the man behind the stem outer shell, a glimpse that she found enlightening, and wholly disturbing. The touch of his hand as he took the hot water bottle from her to tend the guillemot; his quick kiss, that for him was a moment’s amusement, but for Jo it meant the closing of one book and the opening of another, totally different one, as yet unwritten, and who knew what words might be blazoned across its still virgin pages? Whose names linked, before the close of the final chapter …

  `Dan ! Cooee !’ A tiny figure waved from the end of the harbour wall. A figure with fluttering skirts and long hair, that even from this distance Jo could see was dark, as Dan took the Kittiwake in a wide sweep to give him a straight run in through the harbour entrance, that from far off looked impossibly small to take the boat, but got wider by the minute as they approached, and with easy skill Dan pointed the vessel in and brought it to rest at the bottom of the stone steps in the exact spot from which they had set out earlier.

  `Looking for fish
again, Tessa?’ Lance called up to the girl as he and Roddy jumped ashore and tied up. ‘Isn’t Amos back yet?’

  ‘No, and anyway I had some from Amos yesterday,’ she called back. ‘I thought I’d try yours today.’ Tessa swung her basket and smiled invitingly, making a pretty display of

  holding down her skirts against the playful wind that lifted them enough to show a pair of attractive, nylon-clad legs, and an underskirt of lacy frills that was as provocatively lovely as the girl herself, and essentially feminine. Jo felt suddenly scruffy in her warmly practical slacks and jersey.

  `You’ll grow fins if you eat so much fish,’ Dan teased from the deck.

  `I just fancied some for supper again tonight,’ Tessa pouted prettily.

  `Then you’d better take this one, I know it’ll be good.’ Dan dived into the hold and came out with a plastic container, and Jo caught sight of a brown body with bright spots on it.

  `I thought you’d saved the plaice for Hannah?’

  She should not have said it. It was none of her business, and Tessa threw her a look that told her so.

  `Hannah won’t mind,’ she said indifferently, ‘we’ve got an arrangement between us. Dan knows.’ She threw the information at Jo with seeming carelessness, her casual manner hiding her barbed intention, but Jo did not miss, as Tessa intended she should not, the intimation of her close relationship with the family at Penderick House, that was deliberately designed to make Jo feel an outsider—an unwanted outsider.

  `Tessa keeps Hannah supplied with flowers, and we keep her supplied with fish,’ Dan smiled. ‘Tessa suggested it, and it works very well.’

  Tessa would suggest it, Jo thought caustically. It would provide the ideal excuse for her to visit Penderick House, and also a reason to be at the harbour to meet Dan’s boat as it came in on the tide each day. She was dressed to impress rather than to keep herself warm; her toeless, high-heeled shoes were most unsuitable for walking the harbour wall, and Dan noticed them. He was observant enough where Tessa was concerned, thought Jo waspishly.

  `Don’t come down, the steps are wet and you’ll spoil your

  shoes.’ He took the container of fish and vaulted easily over the rail on to the flight of steps. ‘See Jo up the steps, will you, Lance,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘and Roddy, make sure Chris doesn’t slip, the stones are a bit wet.’ He was as considerate of the child as ever. He took the steps easily himself, two at a time, having disposed of the responsibility of his passengers, and even forgetting the guillemot in his eagerness to be with Tessa. Jo could forgive him for forgetting herself, but not the guillemot … She raised her head to remind him of it, then changed her mind. It wouldn’t be any use if she did tell him, any more than it had been reminding him that the plaice was for Hannah. She might have been mistaken in that, of course. Dan could have saved the fish for Tessa, knowing she would be there to meet him when they docked.

  Jo wished heartily she had not come out on the trip at all. All the pleasure she had gained from it vanished, and only depression remained. The question mark hovering over the eventual fate of the seabird hung over her own too, in a different way. She pulled her mac about her, shrinking from the keen wind that seemed to cut more cruelly as they neared the top of the flight of steps, where Dan and Tessa stood, talking and laughing, absorbed in one another to the exclusion of all else.

  `Here’s your basket,’ he smiled, and gave it back to the girl with the container of fish inside. ‘Mind you cook the plaice properly,’ he told her, mock serious, ‘I prepared it specially for you.’

  So it had been for Tessa, and not for Hannah. Jo’s gloom deepened.

  `You liked the way I cooked it the last time you came for a meal.’ Tessa looked up at him, her black eyes laughing. `Come and try it again some time,’ she invited, ‘I’ve found a new recipe.’

  It sounded as if he went to the Tremaynes for a meal

  fairly frequently. And no doubt he was a welcome visitor. Jo hovered miserably on the outskirts of the little group, wishing she could go and leave them, and contrarily glad that she could not, since it would leave Tessa victor on her own ground.

  `I’ll be off,’ the other girl said surprisingly. ‘Here’s your lorry coming.’ The rumble of an approaching engine warned of its arrival, and the group broke up. Roddy and Dan returned to the deck, but not before Tessa stood on tiptoe suddenly, and kissed the tip of the skipper’s chin.

  `That’s for the fish,’ she laughed, her amusement tinkling across the harbour as Dan offered hastily, Tor another like that you can have the whole catch.’ Some other time,’ she returned softly, ‘when we’re more private.’ She threw a mocking look at Jo and swung away, waving gaily to the driver of the lorry as they passed.

  `I’ll leave the unloading to you tonight, Alf,’ Dan called as the man drew to a halt and jumped down from his machine.

  `That’s O.K. by me, Skipper. I’ll cope and then I can give young Roddy here a lift home. What about the young ‘un?’ He noticed Chris for the first time. `Has’t got a new apprentice?’ he asked seriously.

  `Aye, and he’s shaping well.’ Dan ducked back out of the wheelhouse with the basket under his arm.

  He hasn’t forgotten the guillemot after all! A wave of relief passed through Jo, and she became conscious of Chris’s excited chatter, bubbling over with delight at the fisherman’s teasing and Dan’s praise.

  `I’ll take the mugs and the dixie back home. Thanks for coping, Alf,’ Lance added, and lent another pair of hands to relieve Dan’s burden. The lorry driver grinned.

  “Twon’t take long before we have that lot in tins,’ he declared, and with a friendly nod towards Jo he joined Roddy on the Kittiwake’s deck.

  `Tessa’s gone.’ Dan looked round as if he expected to find her waiting near where they parked the car.

  `She wouldn’t have gone if she’d known you weren’t going to stay and unload the catch,’ Lance predicted, with an impish grin in Jo’s direction that tilted her own lips upwards. This time, it seemed to be Tessa who was worsted, she thought gleefully, and felt her satisfaction in the thought dimmed because the other girl was not aware of it too.

  And I didn’t even get the chance to tell her I wasn’t seasick, either, she mourned silently. Perhaps after all it was Tessa who had scored again, and not herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  `THAT was the factory, with the figures for the catch—yours and Amos’s.’ Julian returned from the telephone and picked up his after-dinner coffee. ‘You both had a good haul.’ He settled himself back in his armchair with every appearance of relief.

  `Which had the biggest?’ Chris piped up interestedly, and Julian smiled.

  `The Kittiwake, of course,’ he teased.

  `So I didn’t cast a blight on the fishing after all,’ Jo observed, and try as she might she could not keep the bite out of her voice.

  `I told you not to let Amos worry you,’ Dan said sharply, and turned from helping himself to more coffee. ‘I said …’

  `Oh, never mind Amos, tell us how much we’ve earned,’ Lance cut impatiently across the suddenly brittle atmosphere.

  `Earned?’ Chris looked up puzzled from his seat on the rug.

  `Yes, earned,’ Lance emphasised. ‘You don’t think we go out cleaning and boxing fish in a freezing wind, for fun, do you?’ he sounded scandalised, and drew a laugh from the others which blew away the last of the tension. ‘The Kittiwake’s a working boat, my lad, not a pleasure steamer,’ he rubbed his point home. ‘The canning factory has to be kept supplied with fish, or the people it employs would have no work to do.’

  `Here’s the factory tally.’ Julian handed Lance the slip of paper on which he had taken down the telephone message and his brother glanced at it and nodded, as if satisfied, before handing it on to Dan.

  `Mmm, we’ve earned our keep, and the Kittiwake a new bit for her engine.’ Dan folded the paper and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  But how do you know?’ Chris persisted, clearl
y intent on learning all about this fascinating new trade, and Dan responded with the patience he invariably showed towards the boy.

  `Each man on the crew has a share,’ he explained, ‘and the boat itself is counted as another share, to pay for the fuel and the upkeep. Your share,’ he took out the slip of paper again and studied it seriously, ‘your share comes to a pound,’ he said gravely, and the boy’s eyes widened.

  `My share?’

  `I took you on as a crew member for the day,’ Dan reminded him

  `No, Dan ! I can’t allow …’

  `I don’t accept voluntary labour from anyone.’ Dan met Jo’s indignant glare across the boy’s head.

  `Does that include mine?’ If he offers me money, I’ll throw it back at him, thought Jo furiously. How dared he patronise them like this? They were under his roof as involuntary guests, not beggars. All her pride rose in protest at the idea of accepting Dan’s money as well as his hospitality.

  `I don’t take on women as crew members.’ He sugared his coffee and stirred it unhurriedly, blandly unmoved by her anger. ‘If a passenger volunteers to make a hot drink for the crew, we accept their help with gratitude.’ His blue eyes glinted into hers, challenging her to remind him that he had called her a galley hand, and she bit her lip, compelling herself to silence. If she flung the reminder at him, as it was on the tip of her tongue to do, he would pay her as a crew

  member, and that her pride would not allow. And Dan knew it …

  `A whole pound !’ Chris had the dazed look of a treasure hunter who has just come across a golden hoard. ‘It’ll buy me a new bird book,’ he gloated.

  `And a sketching pad and pencil, if you want it,’ Dan encouraged him, and Jo fumed in helpless silence. Dan knew Chris wanted another bird book, to replace the one they had had to leave behind in the cottage. And once again he had driven her into a corner, knowing she would not disappoint the child by refusing to let him accept the money. ‘There’s rather a nice shop in the village which sells books and artists’ materials in the tourist season,’ Dan waxed informative, being deliberately aggravating, thought Jo vexedly, but she could see no way to stop him without spoiling Chris’s pleasure. ‘They’ve probably got their new season’s stock in by now, why not come into St Mendoc with me tomorrow? I’ve got to go and see about a spare part for the Kittiwake’s engine, you can come with me if you like and see if they’ve got what you want.’