Chapter 2

Charles Collins:

“A week. One couple and a single woman, mainly birdwatching; the Colne and Pyefleet, Hamford Water, the Stour and Copperas Bay. No dietary issues. Just us two as crew. Boarding Saturday morning to take the tide after lunch. High water about fourteen hundred.”

Nadiya smiled at her fiancé – me. “Sounds good. What about the firm?”

CC shrugged. “I agreed to start end of September. Mister Fuller is ... very accommodating. We’ll need to spend some time in Cambridge in August getting organised. Pippa will help out there.”

“What’s she doing at the moment?”

“Mate on SB Reminder.”

“I feel a bit guilty, not keeping in touch...”

“She loves you, but you both have your own lives to live.”

“Still...”

“Still, house-warming in Cambridge. She’ll be there.”

“In September,” Nadiya sighed, then turned to CC. “Don’t think I regret ... being with you. I’m a little sad Pippa hasn’t found her ‘one’, that’s all.”

“She will. She’s a great person, and sensible enough not to take up with someone who might abuse her. Someone will see the real Pippa and love her.”

Rufus Standish followed his parents into the Bed and Breakfast. He wasn’t particularly excited about the two weeks they were to spend in Maldon, Essex, but still, it was probably the last time he’d holiday with them. Starting at University of East Anglia in September, he was at the cusp of his adult life. He had a separate room, but they’d be touring around the area together. A highlight would be the short barge cruise they’d arranged. SB Reminder was an old Thames Spritsail Barge, converted from cargo carrying to passenger accommodation. She’d been built in 1926, or was it ‘27? Nearly a hundred years, anyway, and at that quite young in Thames Barge terms. He dumped his bag in his room and pulled his smart phone out of his pocket. Might as well read – his parents would be occupied for the better part of an hour. He shrugged and smiled. Not for him the denial of his parents’ love life. His father had given him ‘the talk’ several years before, no holds barred, but he’d never encountered a girl with whom he wanted to try exploring. Not quite right. He wouldn’t have minded having sex with several girls, but the dates he’d been on hadn’t resulted in any ‘click’. Mostly, he’d been aware that he had little in common with them. The dates had been okay, but he’d never been tempted to seek a second. Perhaps he’d been asking the wrong girls?

He immersed himself in a website about Thames Barges.

So immersed was he that the knock on his door was a shock.

“We’re going to walk down to the Queen’s Head for dinner,” his father announced. “We can sit outside and watch the boats on the river, maybe.”

Rufus shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “Just coming.”

It was not a long walk down to the Hythe, though the short hill was steep. Rufus made a mental note to look in to the chandlers that they passed. Despite the cool evening they all decided to sit outside. They ordered at the bar. Rufus had a glass of beer, though he wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t have preferred cider. The beer – the first he’d tried – was definitely an acquired taste. They all opted for fish. Rufus’ father opined that they ought to have a fish meal at least once during their visit, and it was very fresh and well cooked.

Rufus sipped his way through the pint of beer. His father smiled. “Takes a little getting used to,” he commented.

Rufus looked at him. “Is it worth it?”

“You have to decide that,” his father shrugged. “Personally, I prefer micro-brewery products from the north of England. This isn’t bad. But you might prefer cider or wine.”

Rufus nodded, but turned to watch a group of people boarding a yacht moored opposite the pub. They had to walk along a narrow path on the other side of the pub fence, then use a plank to cross the four foot gap to the bows of the boat. That was a beamy vessel, two masts ... a ketch? Yes, he was pretty sure that was a ketch, not a yawl. There were two men, one late middle-aged, and three women, two a similar age to the older man, one, a very pretty blonde, petite, perhaps late teens. However, the younger couple had a professional air about them, and assisted the older folk to board.

“Welcome aboard Serendipity,” the girl said, clearly enough for Rufus to overhear. “I’m Nadiya, part owner of Serendipity. This is my fiancé, Charles Collins, ‘CC’. We’ll be leaving on the tide in about a half-hour, so we’ll show you to your berths to let you make yourselves at home.” She nodded at the other young man, who led the party aft and below, while the girl began to prepare her boat to leave, dextrously releasing sail covers and ties.

Rufus was fascinated. Teenaged girl, little, very pretty, teenaged girl, part owner of the boat and clearly no stranger to managing her.

“Pretty, isn’t she,” Rufus’ father commented.

Rufus looked round and smiled sheepishly. “The boat or the girl?” Then he chuckled. “The boat’s a bit broad in the beam, isn’t she? Yes, I agree, the girl is pretty.”

They watched, lingering over their beer, though his mother began to fidget. Eventually, she stood. “I’m getting cold, and going back to the Walshes’. Don’t rush your drinks, I’m going to have a bath.”

“Very good, dear. I think we’ll watch this boat get under way before we leave.”

“Take care, Mum.”

The bit of wind, westerly, off the Hythe, was enough with the mainsail pushed aback by the young man, to ease the boat backwards into the fairway, then the genoa was released and sheeted in, and the boat – Serendipity – began to move smoothly away past the quay. Fenders were pulled in and stowed, and Rufus and his father walked along the quay as the boat gathered momentum.

“Neatly enough done,” Rufus’ father commented.

“Yes,” his son agreed. “No wasted effort. No engine. Very smooth.”

Their attention was taken by the barges alongside the quay. His father pointed to one which looked a little smaller, and was on the outside of the raft. “Reminder,” he commented. “We’ll be on board tomorrow night.”

“Looking forward to it.”

On board Serendipity, the charterers were in the cockpit with mugs of cocoa, watching Nadiya at the wheel. The reach down to Herring Point before Heybridge was a little too near to west to make good the course, and CC was managing the sheets as Nadiya tacked the boat.

“How far do we go tonight?” one of the women, Jane, asked.

“Just down to Bradwell,” CC answered. “We can anchor in Mersea Quarters, or on the other side of the river below the old power station. The latter might suit you better as it’s near a small nature reserve. We could continue into the Colne, but it’d make a late finish.”

“We’re not in a hurry,” the woman smiled. “This is a holiday.”

“That’s good. You call the itinerary, Miss Hendricks. We can sail all night if that’s what you want, but without a reason to do so there’s little point.”

“Please, call me Jane.”

“Thank you, Jane. I answer to CC, as you know.”

The other woman interjected at that point. “There’s no point in formality, CC. I’m Sarah, and my husband is Peter.” After a pause, she went on, “Have you a date for the wedding?”

Nadiya turned to her for a moment. “End of August,” she said.

“It was a long time coming,” CC said with a smile, “but she gave in eventually.”

“You make a handsome couple,” the man, Harry, commented, “and you clearly work very well together.”

At that point, CC began to indicate points of interest, interrupted by the approach to Hilly Pool Point, where a gybe was necessary. Once that was accomplished the sailing was straightforward. They anchored a little downstream of the old power station, did a rough stow, and sat in the cockpit in the last of the daylight. With mugs of tea, or in one case beer, and another, wine, they watched terns fishing in the river, a cormorant, and, briefly, a seal.

“What do you suggest for tomorrow?” the man asked.

“It’s your holiday, your cruise,” CC averred. “High water’s about eight or thereabouts. We don’t want to try to get into the Colne before low water, which is about fourteen hundred, and it’d be any time after that. If you want to sail, we could be in Hamford Water or Harwich Haven by mid afternoon, or the Deben a little later. If you’d prefer a leisurely breakfast and a walk onshore in the morning, there’s plenty of wildlife on the Bradwell peninsular, and we could get round into Pyefleet Creek after lunch. On shore, there’s St. Peter’s Chapel, dates from about 600AD, built on the remains of a Roman Fort, a memorial to RAF Bradwell Bay and the remains of the airfield, if that’s your thing. But you don’t have to make up your minds right now.”

Their passengers looked at each other. Ellen Johnson got nods from the other two. “We may as well make the most of the sailing, I think. Let’s go after breakfast and head up the coast. What might we see on the way?”

“I wouldn’t want to raise hopes,” CC said, “but occasionally there’s a few dolphins make their way into the North Sea. There’s always a possibility of seabirds, but honestly, you need to be further north for that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, Flamborough Head’s about two hundred and fifty miles. If we make five knots, that’s fifty hours continuous sailing. Of course, there’s no guarantee of conditions that would permit that. It could be longer. I wouldn’t recommend it, unless sailing is your thing.”

The others were shaking their heads. “I don’t think so,” Jane said. “Perhaps another time. This is a holiday!”

“Well,” Nadiya smiled, “I think my fiancé and I are going to bed. Feel free to sit up. The tap for the gas is behind the stove, please turn it off after you use the stove – LPG is dangerous in boats if not treated with care.”

In the master cabin, Nadiya twinkled at her lover and stripped. He shook his head, smiling, and followed suit. She rode him – quietly – to a mutually satisfactory climax, before they both donned the underwear they intended to sleep in; they both needed to be ready to respond to an emergency, such as Serendipity dragging her anchor (unlikely) or a collision (it does happen, even when anchored well out of the fairway).