Chapter 9

The surgeon saw me after breakfast. "You were lucky," he told me seriously, "you need to thank the person who called for help and got you airlifted here. Straightforward op, no complications and you should heal up fine. Drink plenty, steady on the alcohol and plenty of roughage. You really don't want constipation. Most of the stitches are absorb-able, but the external ones will need to be taken out in a week..."

"My charter is a Registered Nurse," I told him, "it was she who called for help..."

"Good. She can take them out and will know what to look for in the way of signs of infection or anything like that. Oh, and no heavy lifting for at least four weeks."

"Er ... what do you mean by heavy lifting? I don't have an anchor winch and usually hoist the sails by hand..."

"How heavy is the anchor?"

"The main one is forty pounds, not counting the chain, of course."

"Well, that's right out. And at four weeks you'll have to work up to that sort of weight..."

"Oh, shit..." I chewed that over for a minute or so, "Oh, sorry, doctor ... that's really ... going to be a problem."

"Not nearly as much of a problem as peritonitis," he pointed out.

"Maybe not, but ... I'm chartered to take Miss Tyndall on a tour of the Scottish Islands. I don't think I can expect her to weigh anchor ... though I might be surprised, I suppose."

"Well, Mr. Quinton, you need to let the incision heal up before you put any strain on your abdominal muscles and fascia. You'll be in a world of hurt and back in hospital if you pull the stitches."

I nodded, "Alright, doctor. I'll be good..."

Grace arrived at the hospital with my clothes just after ten. She seemed very subdued and pensive. I dressed ... very carefully ... and we left. Halfway to the harbour she steered me into a café; I was grateful for some decent coffee. Grace put a plate with a piece of flapjack on in front of me.

"That'll help keep things moving," she said with a slight smirk.

I sipped at coffee and took a deep breath. "Grace ... thank you..."

"It's nothing ... it's ... my job."

"Maybe. And I suppose keeping your head in an emergency is part of that. But ... getting Serendipity here safe and sound is more than I'd expect..."

"You taught me well."

"You learned well. But ... you'll need to find another skipper, Grace. I've got to..."

"Avoid heavy lifting. I expected that. But I won't look for another skipper."

"Oh..." I chewed that over for a bit as I chewed a bite of flapjack and washed it down with a mouthful of – very welcome – coffee.

"What's the matter, Ted?"

"I..." I rested my elbows on the table and bent my head so my face was resting in my hands. How could I put into words what I was feeling?

"Tell me, Ted."

"I can't fulfil my contract with you. I'll ... refund most of the charter fee."

"Is that what's bothering you? Really?" her voice was gentle as she reached out and took my hands, pulling them away from my face. "Look at me, Ted..."

I found I couldn't lie to her, not that it was easy to say the truth.

"I ... don't want ... I don't think I could bear ... that you should go."

There was a silence; a very long ... pregnant ... silence.

Then, very gently and quietly, she said, "Why would you think I was going anywhere? Anywhere without you, that is?"

It took a while for that to penetrate. "You're not leaving?"

She shook her head, her eyes still on mine; I couldn't drag mine away.

"I ... thought ... as I won't be able to manage the boat for a month ... and you'd seen ... spoken to ... your baby's father..."

Her head shaking sped up. "I'm told," she said with a slight smile, "all men suffer from a handicap when it comes to relationships."

"You're dead right there," I said a little grimly, "it's called the 'Y' chromosome."

She giggled, "I thought I'd made it clear I would rather be a single mother than marry Rupert. The way he behaved ... I couldn't ever believe he genuinely cared for me and I'd be a fool to tie myself to him. Besides, I want the rest of my adventure."

"But..."

"Let's just get back to Serendipity, shall we?"

We didn't rush. She took my hand, which was sort of comforting. I tried to remember what I'd thought when I first looked at her, but didn't have much success... 'Just walking hand in hand is more meaningful than all my life up to now. What the hell do I do about this? I think she's beautiful and it feels so good to be with her... '

After a lunch of wholemeal bread and salad followed by fruit, I walked to the marina office with Grace, though she'd taken care of the formalities, but she had me supervise her topping off the diesel tank and the drinking water ... I was going to say 'quite unnecessarily' as she did so safely and competently, but it's never a bad idea to have a second check and I suspect she was sending another message as well, though I didn't think of it at the time.

She made soup for supper, and while it was cooking we watched a DVD on the lap-top; she sat on one of the bench-seats in the saloon and had me lay with my head in her lap. Colour me stupid, but I still wasn't getting the message.

We ate the soup sitting in the cockpit and watching the sunset over the town before going to bed after the usual necessities. I was absolutely whacked; I would never have believed I could be so exhausted after a day of watching someone else work, but I was asleep seconds after settling down with Grace moulded to my side. I woke once in the night with the pressure in my bladder. Whatever they'd given me in the hospital had worn off and I'd turned my nose up at the suggestion of Paracetamol, so when I moved there was a sort of pull in my insides that made me gasp. Grace was awake instantly ... well almost ... and supported me as I sat up. We made our way through the cockpit; I was focussed on reaching the head ... toilet ... but Grace gasped next to me.

"Oh, wow ... Ted, look..." She physically turned my head to face north, to see the curtains of coloured light in the sky. The Northern Lights – Aurora Borealis – are occasionally visible from the northern islands; we were lucky. We stood there, gaping in awe, for several minutes until I was ... encouraged ... by my bladder to move.

"I can manage; stay and look," I said, moving to the hatch.

"No, " she replied, following.

I didn't fight it, both because I actually was grateful for her support and because some time in the previous week or so I'd come to realise that arguing with her was a waste of energy. When I'd finished, and Grace had also taken the opportunity, we sat in the cockpit for a few minutes, watching the strange, shifting phenomenon. It was cool, though, and we were both soon ready to get under the duvet again. Not much after that, I was asleep again, comforted by the slim form next to me.

Thanks to our little expedition in the small hours, there was no urgency to get out of bed in the morning. The discomfort from my operation wound was almost gone and I was very happy to lie there with Grace tucked against me. My free hand stroked her side and slipped under the t-shirt she was wearing. Her skin was soft and smooth, like the finest silk – warm too, of course. I found her breast and caressed and cupped it, her nipple hardening with my touch. She drew a sharp breath, wriggled against me and purred.

"I'd give you all day to cut that out," she murmured into my chest, but then added, "except that we're expecting visitors later this morning."

"Visitors?" I asked, suspiciously.

"Uh huh," she responded, innocently, her hand finding my penis ... which sprang to attention at her touch. It was a little difficult to concentrate, but I tried.

"What visitors?"

"Well..." she kissed me and stroked my now rigid manhood. "You met my friend, Bridie McAllan..."

"I did..."

"Her fiancée – Eric Chalmers – is a sailor; he's worked fishing boats and tourist trips for years and he's intimately familiar with Orcadian and Shetland waters. The two of them are coming to see us. If they're acceptable to you, they'll come with us and Eric will do the heavy stuff and act as pilot. You'll be the skipper, but you won't have to strain yourself, and they get a holiday. We won't be able to go till next week-end, though, that's when Bridie's got a couple of weeks off."