Chapter 3

Friday afternoon, the phone rang at precisely 3:05pm. Ingrid picked it up knowing exactly who it would be.

"You're nothing if not prompt, Steve," she said brightly.

"Hi to you too. I promised to call and I keep my promises. By the way, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" He blurted this out so quickly she had to pause for a moment before answering.

"No, sorry, I can't," she apologized. "I have to finish some revisions tonight. You wouldn't want me to cancel tomorrow because I have to work, would you?" she asked.

"Of course not! OK then, tomorrow is more important. Finish your work. I'll be patient."

"How brave you are," she laughed. "Shouldn't we actually do some work on your house for a change?"

"Oh, I suppose so," he grudgingly acknowledged. "Do you have something to show me?"

"Yes, I have some colour suggestions for the interior and a couple of ideas for the exterior. Why don't you come over and have a look." It was an all-business invitation.

"Great, I'll be there in ten minutes."

"See you then. Bye."

True to form, he was there in ten minutes and knocking on her door. She let him in and they walked over to a large artists table in the corner of the living room.

"Is this where you work?" he asked, looking around.

"Yeah, it's not ideal, but it's the only room in the house with good lighting, so here it is." She looked back at him. "I've got some suggestions. Come and have a look."

He walked around the table and stood shoulder to shoulder with her, looking at the colour sketches of the various rooms. He was conscious of her perfume, or was it her shampoo. Whichever one, it was very appealing. He struggled to concentrate on the drawings. She was a skilled artist, and he could easily visualize each room and the colours she was proposing. They went over the suggestions.

He chose almost all the same colours that she subtly recommended, then complimented him on his good taste. When it came to the outside colours, he wasn't so sure. She suggested she make up some samples on rough cedar siding so that they could look at them outside in the light of day on the proper substrate. Again, he agreed.

"You make quick decisions, Steve. Was it that easy?"

"Pretty much. I think you and I think a lot alike, so it makes it easier. Nice work, by the way."

"Thanks," she said smiling. "You make it easy for me too. I don't have to go back and do all these drawings all over again. You have no idea how time consuming that is when the client doesn't really know what they want. It takes hours to do these and some people have me do so many versions, I can't remember what we were trying to accomplish in the first place. I'm hoping I can afford a CAD program for my computer soon. It would allow me to make changes in a flash, right in front of the customer."

"That sounds like an important program. How much does it cost?"

"About three thousand," she replied

"Do your competitors have these programs?"

"Yes, the larger ones do, unfortunately. They've got the resources to buy them, and to train their staff. That's the big problem for little outfits like mine. The cost of the program is bad enough, but learning to use it is very time consuming. However, I have to keep up with the times, so I will have to get into the computer age pretty soon."

She spoke with a resigned voice, not quite regretful of the electronic revolution, but not sounding very enthusiastic about its inevitability either.

"You don't have much choice, do you? Right now, your strategic advantages are your ideas and your low cost. If it takes you a lot longer to do the same work as your competitor, you lose much of your advantage."

He had captured her dilemma in a couple of sentences.

"I admire your quick grasp of the problem. But, why am I surprised? This is what you do, analyze businesses," she smiled.

"I have some contacts in the computer software industry," he said, still looking at her drawings. "These people are a bit ahead of the curve. Let me make some calls and see if there is something out there for you that won't break the bank or suck up all your time reserves."

He turned to her as she looked at him. "After all, I want some of that time for myself."

She looked startled at his last comment, but recovered quickly.

"That would be wonderful, if it isn't too much trouble."

"No trouble. You never know what you'll learn when you set out to solve problems. It'll be my pleasure." He smiled at her and could see the gratitude in her expression.

"So, do you want to see my sneakers?" She was trying to recover from an awkward moment.

"Sure. Bring them on," he laughed.

She walked out of the room and came back with a shoe box. She took the top off and showed the contents to him. Inside was a pair of brand new navy blue and white canvas sneakers.

"Hmmmph!" he snorted. "They don't look very grungy to me, Ingrid. But I guess they'll do."

"I couldn't come on your lovely boat with those old things, so I thought I would treat myself to a new pair. Besides, they are much more comfortable than the old ones."

"I'm sure you'll look terrific, new shoes or not," he said confidently. "Are you sure you're not available for dinner?"

"Yes, sorry, I do have to get the revisions on the fax tonight. But I'll be bright and shiny tomorrow morning, I promise!" Her voice confirmed her enthusiasm for their day on the water.

"I bet you will. I'm looking forward to it. The weather forecast looks terrific, so I expect we'll have a great day."

"So, see you at eight then," she said brightly.

"See you at eight. Don't forget your sport bra, sunglasses and sun block," he reminded her.

He left and she closed the door behind him. As he slid into his car, he looked back and thought her could see her watching from the living room, but he couldn't be sure.

-0-

At five minutes before eight on Saturday morning, Steve parked his Volvo V70 at the curb in front of Ingrid's house. He got out and looked up at the front window and saw Ingrid standing there. She waved and he returned the gesture. He was pleased that she was ready to go.

She opened the door just as he arrived on the top step. She turned to get her navy blue, down-filled ski jacket. She was wearing a white cotton mock-turtleneck sweater that would keep her warm in the cool morning air. She had a pair of loose fitting blue track pants that looked to be nylon, and of course her new canvas shoes. What Steve didn't know was that there would be no bra today.

A pair of wraparound sun glasses was parked up in her lovely red hair and she wore what seemed to be a wide blue band to keep her hair in check. She flashed him a glimpse at a container of 24 Sun Block and smiled. His smile and quick acknowledgement confirmed that the outfit passed inspection. She was a striking picture on this particular morning.

"I'm ready," she chirped.

"You certainly are."

He openly admired the sexy woman with whom he would spend the day.

When Ingrid had locked the front door, he took her bag and walked her to the car, opening the door on her side while she slid in. She smiled at his courtesy.

Steve slid into the driver's side, and they quietly motored off toward Marine Drive and the winding coast road to Fisherman's Cove.

They exchanged small talk, mostly about the cloudless sky and the darker line of water outside the bay that Steve said indicated wind. He was sure they were going to have perfect sailing weather, and his mood was buoyant.

Ingrid had only seen a photograph of the boat, but she knew it wasn't like most sailboats she saw out in the bay. It was rounded at the stern and had a tall cabin where the steering was located.

Steve said there was a stateroom below the deck at the stern, and a couple of other sleeping quarters farther forward. He said it would sleep six comfortably, or even eight in pinch. It had a bathroom he called the 'head, ' with a decent sized shower as well as a toilet and sink. Her experience with boats was limited, but she remembered that they were always cramped for space, and she didn't think this would be any exception.

It was just a couple of minutes past eight thirty when they arrived at the parking lot. Steve drove to a ramp and stopped his car.

"My parking spot is at the other end of the lot, so we'll unload the supplies here."

They got out and he opened the tailgate of the station wagon. He took out a couple of heavy looking coats, two vests, a large portable cooler, a sport bag that looked like it had been around the world a couple of times, and finally a beautiful wicker picnic basket.

"Oh Steve, that's a lovely picnic set. May I look inside?"

"No you may not. That's for later," he said, catching her off-guard, but smiling. She must have expected an automatic yes and she pulled her hand back quickly when he didn't provide it.

"Hmmmm, I wonder what's in there?" she murmured.

"Wait here a moment, I'll be right back," he said.

He walked over to the far edge of the dock and pulled an odd looking cart from under a shed roof. He wheeled it back to the ramp and began to load the contents of his trunk on the cart. When he was done, he asked Ingrid to wait there for him while he parked the car. In a couple of minutes he was back and he carefully rolled the cart down the ramp.

"It's not so bad today," he said to her as he wrestled the strange machine down the ramp. It's a bearcat when the tide's low and I've got a bunch of stuff to go up the ramp. I usually unload it at the bottom and carry things up in two or three trips."

It was a short walk to the float where the boat was moored, tucked in between another sailboat and a motor cruiser. It was hard to get a good look at it in those tight quarters, but what she could see was impressive.

It had a dark, forest green hull, a white superstructure and deck, green sail covers and two light coloured metal masts. A large mainmast was located halfway between the front of the tall wheelhouse and the bow, and a shorter mast just behind the rear of the wheelhouse.

This was no sleek beauty for racing. This was a motor sailer, a cruising boat. Like everything about Steve, it was neat and clean. The side boards, the railings, hatches, and cabinetry were all teak, oiled and polished. Across her beautifully rounded stern was the white script, 'Matron of the Sea, ' and her home port, West Vancouver, B.C.

"It's beautiful, in a different sort of way," said Ingrid. "It looks European. I've never seen a boat like this around here."

"Very observant, Ingrid. It is European, built in Sweden in 1974. It's a cross between a North Sea Motor Trawler and a sail cruiser. It's not built for speed, but it will go anywhere in complete comfort and safety. It's the perfect boat for my kind of sailing. The reason you don't see many of them is that there aren't many around in North America, and even fewer on the Pacific side. This one was brought over with a smaller sister boat to a marina in Sydney, on Vancouver Island.

"The current owner, George McConnell, is the second owner. The first one only kept it for a year or so, and sold it at a big discount when he couldn't find a buyer locally. He wanted a faster motor launch, so George got a real bargain. He and I love this lady. It's perfect for what we want in a sailboat." He spoke lovingly of this floating object.

"You speak as if it were human," Ingrid said.

"Well, it's the way sailors tend to think of their boats. It's a love affair of a different kind."

"You said George owns this boat. I thought you did."

"No, I just charter it when he isn't using it. I'm of two minds on boat ownership. I see too many of them sitting idle all year around. I think if a boat's not being used, it deteriorates. This lovely lady begs to be sailed, as you'll find out today." His affection for the craft was obvious in his voice.

And the name? 'Matron of the Sea.' At first it seemed like an odd name. At least it wasn't one of those clichés or trick names seen on so many boats these days. It seemed to be a name of respect and recognition. This was no runway model, it was a mature lady, beautiful to those who loved her, and homely to those who did not. Steve and George were of the former group.

Steve stepped up onto a wooden platform and then onto the deck. He turned and offered his hand to Ingrid. She took it and easily hopped up onto the deck of the 'Matron.' He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to the wheelhouse and stepped inside.

He opened the companionway down into the hull and then put another key into the panel above the chrome and teak helm. In a second, the sound of fans could be heard. After waiting a minute, he pushed the starter button and a diesel engine rumbled to life.

"There, now we'll have some heat and electricity. I'll put the kettle on and then go bring our things aboard," he said routinely.

He knew this boat like the back of his hand and his organized pattern was a study in economy of movement. Within five minutes, the battered old aluminum kettle was whistling while Steve had brought the gear aboard and stowed it in the forward cabin, except for the cooler and the picnic basket. The mystery picnic basket had been placed in a lower locker, out of sight.

As the kettle began to boil, Ingrid flicked off the burner while Steve pulled out a battered old Brown Betty teapot from below the counter.

"Those two look like they've been through the wars," she said laughing.

"Yep, but some things are tradition and not replaceable. George would have a fit if either of these things were gone. This is the 'Matron's' stuff, not ours," he smiled.

They had been aboard less than ten minutes and Steve was up on deck preparing to cast off from the dock.

Motioning to Ingrid, he said, "I'm going to rig this forward line so that when I give you the signal, just pull on it and we will be free of the dock. Pull it on board quickly so that it can't get caught in the prop and if you can, coil it up and lay it here, on the superstructure. I don't want you or me tripping on it when we come forward."

His instructions were clear and calm. She nodded that she understood the simple task. She was told what to do and why it had to be done.

"Also, I want you to take off that ski jacket and put on either a vest or the full jacket I brought aboard. They are 'floater coats' and if by some accident you fell in, they will act like lifejackets and keep you afloat. Bring me up a vest while you're at it, please."

Ingrid went below and took one of the vests. They all seemed to be the same size, but then, they weren't that much different in size. She zipped up the vest and taking the other, stepped back up to the wheelhouse, then forward to the bow.

Steve rigged the stern line in a similar fashion to the bow, just as he would if he were sailing alone. With Ingrid helping, there wasn't as much scurrying about when casting off and she seemed happy to have a role.

Steve checked his gauges, saw everything was normal and turned the helm hard to starboard. He brought the revs down to minimum and eased the lever into reverse. The boat slowly began to swing its stern out from the dock.

He pulled the lever back to neutral then called out, "Let go forward, Ingrid!"

She immediately pulled the line and it released just as the stern line had. She quickly pulled the rope on board and began to coil it up. She finished and looked up to see them moving slowly, exactly in the centre of the narrow passage between the other boats, out toward the main harbor passage.

Steve gave her a 'thumbs up' and waved her back to the wheelhouse. She instinctively kept a hand on the teak railings until she reached the forward part of the wheelhouse where she could hold onto the railing on its roof.