Chapter 1

She had a thin face, with a mouth that was a little too wide and a nose that was a little too big. She had light brown hair with a tinge of red, that wasn't red enough to be 'ginger', or dark enough to be 'auburn'. Perhaps her best feature was her eyes, which were large, dark and expressive, though in that face she slightly brought to mind one of J.K. Rowling's house-elves. Of middle height, she looked so insubstantial that a strong breeze would lift her off her feet.

Me? Nothing special. You might, I suppose, call me a 'boat-bum'. In my mid-thirties I'd received a small legacy which meant I didn't have to work as long as I lived fairly economically. My hobby for years had been sailing, and I was qualified as an off-shore yacht-master as well as being competent to skipper small commercial craft, both sail and power. So I quit work, bought a forty-foot ketch and lived aboard, supplementing my income by skippering yachts, sometimes classic boats, or occasionally chartering Serendipity, my ketch.

I was rarely alone; my lifestyle, if not my appearance, made me a 'romantic' figure. Some women just wanted to fuck me for a day or two; some, to live aboard for longer, either for a passage as crew and bed-warmer, or perhaps for several months. The longest stay would have been about six months. By that time, the most determined had realised I was basically a self-centred, chauvinist, lazy so-and-so. I could focus attention on a girl for so long, but once one of us lost interest, that was it. I didn't have too many friends, as you might imagine.

April, and the beginning of the sailing season. I was kissing my current bed-warmer goodbye – in both senses, she'd had about enough of me (or perhaps was going after another skipper who was heading for the Mediterranean or the Azores) and was going to get a life – when I saw her, watching and waiting. I've been spoilt. I may not be fussy, but I'd had plenty of choice and I preferred a little flesh on my partner, so I didn't get excited when she approached me.

"Captain Quinton?"

I suppose she was technically correct, and I couldn't fault her courtesy, but still... "Ted," I said, "or 'Skipper' if you really want to be formal."

"Skipper," she emphasised, "I'm Grace Tyndall, and I want to charter your vessel."

Oh, so formal. Correct, of course, but formal.

"You'd better come aboard," I said, backing up and leading the way down the slightly wobbly plank.

She negotiated the plank cautiously but steadily and I showed her into the saloon.

"Drink?" I queried, heading for the galley.

"What are you offering?" she sounded dubious.

"Tea, coffee, juice ... whiskey, beer, wine?"

"Have you got decaffeinated coffee?"

Oh. One of those.

"Sorry." I don't suppose I sounded very sorry, "Only leaded drinks on board here."

"Perhaps a glass of juice, then."

A glass? On a sailing boat? I got orange juice out of the little refrigerator, which actually contained very little else; just milk, butter, a couple of packets each of bacon and sausage, and a half-finished bottle of white wine, and poured it into the least stained mug of my collection. Then poured myself a generous slug of Jameson's. I thought I might need it.

"So," I said, placing the juice in front of her and sitting opposite. I took a healthy swallow of my whiskey. "What can I do for you?"

She wrinkled her nose – possibly at the smell of my drink.

"I want to sail round Britain," she stated, "and I particularly want to visit Orkney, Shetland and the Western Isles."

I thought about it. The idea had its attractions, but I thought about missing the barge and smack racing season and revised my charter fees upwards.

"I don't like to sail single handed for long," I commented. "I'll need at least one crew..." I was thinking I might find a suitable boat-bunny before setting off.

"I rather thought I would be doing that," she said, "though you'll have to teach me."

Lovely. Just what I needed.

"Do you have any experience?"

"Only dinghies," she said. "I've done quite a bit in dinghies."

"So if I asked you to define the word 'luff'?"

"I'd ask if you meant the leading edge of a sail, or turning into the wind to take the power out of the sail."

She had, rather neatly, 'taken the wind out of my sails' with her answer. I quoted a figure for the charter slightly less than the National Debt, "Assuming a six-month charter," I said.

She countered with an offer about half what was reasonable and we ended up with a figure that, quite honestly, was more than fair to me.

"When do you want to start?" I was thinking I needed to provision the ship and she'd probably need foul-weather gear.

"As soon as possible," she said. "I can be on board with everything I need this evening."

"That would be about three in the morning," I said, "There's a full moon and a clear sky, so we'll be fine down river. Might need to motor a little, though. You've got marine water-proofs?"

"Yes," she said shortly.

I left it at that. "Anything you don't eat?"

"Meat," she answered.

Wonderful. I raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not really that strict about it," she went on, "I just don't like the taste of meat."

That made me feel very slightly ... not much, but slightly ... better. I wasn't that pleased at the prospect of six months in her sole company, though, not to mention either doing without meat or preparing two different meals each time.

Provisioning was a priority. She walked with me to Tesco's, where I stocked up with non-perishables and UHT milk, plus a day or so's supply of perishables. She picked out stuff she was willing to consume including decaffeinated tea and coffee, herbal infusions and similar. It filled my large rucksack and made it a little difficult to lift. She left me to go to her hotel and pack while I carried everything back to Serendipity. She told me to meet her in the Queen's Head restaurant for an evening meal; I insisted that we do that quite early as I wanted to get a few hours sleep before getting under way.

It was a good meal. We had lasagne – mine with meat, hers vegetarian – a decent bottle of wine. Conversation was ... stiff? Or perhaps that should be stilted. Whichever, it was uphill and I was glad of the food to occupy my attention. I did question her about her aims for the charter. It seemed she didn't particularly want to hurry north, she just wanted to start on her 'adventure'. It was left to me to decide on intermediate stops. She loosened up a little as we got outside the wine and she surprised me, in view of her 'stick insect' appearance, when she opted for tiramisu for dessert. I had apple pie. Not having much in the way of conversation, the meal didn't take very long. Most of the time taken was thanks to delays in getting it in the first place. That's not a criticism, by the way, just a recognition that decent food takes time. But we were back at Serendipity by eight o'clock. I gave her the option of a single or double cabin and retired to my aft master cabin to try to sleep.

Five hours later I threw on my top layer and made my way to the saloon. She was sitting there with a book.

"I couldn't boil the kettle," she said, more than a little accusation in her tone, "no gas. I found the tap and turned it on..."

"It's turned off at the bottle," I explained, "LPG is dangerous if you don't treat it very carefully." I had to show her where the bottle, the spare and the spanner to change the regulator over, were kept. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

"Too excited," she said, shortly.

I just nodded, and as she boiled the kettle and made sandwiches, I went to disconnect the electric from the shore and hoist the sails. I was impressed she made decent coffee, and was pleased she had some too, even though that might mean I ran short later. Perhaps she wasn't so stiff as I'd thought.

I started the motor and cast off, pleased to see her coiling the warps as I released them, and we were under way by half-past two. I've always loved sailing by moonlight. The red or green lights on the fairway marker-buoys were hardly necessary with the almost full moon and clear sky. By the time we were passing Heybridge I was able to shut off the diesel and Serendipity was swishing along at a leisurely four knots or so.

Soon enough we were leaving the lights of 'civilisation' behind, and approaching Osea. Just the chuckle of water under the fore-foot and the occasional bird-call disturbing the silence. I'd almost forgotten my passenger/erstwhile crew in my own pleasure.

"It's magical," she said, very quietly in my ear.

"It is," I agreed. "Would you like to take the wheel?"