Chapter 7

Of course, we had to separate and tend to the boat. The wind veered more – it was near enough north-west – and dropped until Serendipity was no longer making steerage-way. Some boats, Serendipity for one, when this happens, gradually spin round until they are facing directly into the wind; it has to do with the balance of the sails and the centre of pressure of the hull in the water.

We were sitting in the cockpit, sipping Rooibos tea and watching the sunset when I sheeted out the mizzen so it didn't cause her to weather-cock.

Grace seemed to understand. "The rudder isn't biting, and usually you carry a little weather helm, so she'll tend to luff. We need to get the balance just right so that what little speed we make is on course."

"Exactly. Of course, we could just start the motor. We're about twenty miles from Peterhead – we could be in harbour in less than three hours, under power. We're a hundred and twenty or so from Kirkwall – we could be in Orkney in twenty hours, under power."

"I'd rather not."
"I thought your adventure involved visiting Orkney, Shetland and the Western Isles?"

"It did, but this is much better. This is real sailing, a real adventure, dealing with real conditions. And, Ted, you've made this special for me. Really special. If we never get to any of the islands, it's been worthwhile."

"Well, if this is what you want, you can have it. We've got to keep watch-and-watch, though, I'm afraid."

She sighed. "Too close to the shipping lanes."

"Yes."

"Can you sleep?"

"I think so."

"I'll take the first watch, then. I'll wake you when I feel I might nod off."

"Okay, Grace. It's a deal. I'll crash in my cabin, though. It's nearer than yours."

"I'd really like to come with you."

"I'd really like you to. But..."

"I know. Sleep well, Ted."

She woke me, all right; about midnight, I was disturbed by the sound of the motor firing up. I pulled on fleece trousers and top and deck shoes and made my way through the hatch to the cockpit.

"I thought that would bring you," was her greeting. "Take a look over the port quarter."

Red and green navigation lights, two masthead white lights – large vessel, under power, heading straight at us ... but it had also three red lights under the higher masthead white light...

"Alright, Miss Able Seaman, tell me what you see."

"Skipper. Vessel over fifty metres in length, under power, constrained by her draught, heading straight towards us. Sir."

"Quite correct, Seaman. What do you recommend?"

"Sir. Since we don't have steerage way under sail, I recommend proceeding under power. Sir."

I laughed. "Make it so, Grace, Petal."

"Sir! Familiarity with the crew could constitute harassment. Sir!"

"My apologies, Seaman. Very well. Proceed under power. Course, due north."

That put us clear of the oncoming vessel, though not by a lot. 'He wasn't about to go out of his way to avoid us, was he? If he saw us at all, ' I thought to myself, as Serendipity rocked in the wash. The idea of being run under and the impact probably not being noticed made my legs turn to jelly.

"Ted..." Grace stood very close and wrapped her arm round my waist, resting her head against my shoulder.

"Aye?"

"Can I change my mind?"

"About?"

"Using the motor."

"Sure. It's a woman's privilege to change her mind. What would you like to do?"

"Either, motor north until we're clear of the shipping lanes, or go into Peterhead. Peterhead, I think."

"Good enough. Wait there until we get some wind?"

"Yes. I ... well, I didn't mind being alone with you in the middle of nothing but sea, but I don't want to worry about being run over."

"Absolutely. Are you going to get some sleep?"

"As long as I'm awake for entering harbour."

I woke her at three. I had wanted to get the sails down, but obeyed my own rule about moving round the deck at night. Once she was up and about, I saw to dropping the main-sail and getting tiers on; the staysail I could furl from the cockpit. Grace dealt with the mizzen and did so competently. I was going to miss her when the charter was over, to say the least.

Peterhead is a busy harbour, handling quite large vessels, but there's a marina in the south side of the bay and we managed to get in without major problems and dived into a berth near the entrance. We were cuddled together in the master cabin, asleep, by four o'clock.

Eight o'clock, we were both awake, though neither fully rested. I, for one, experiencing the inertia of being awake before I really wanted to be without any life-or-death issues to deal with. Add to that the slim, sinuous body moulded to mine and I had no motivation to get up at all. That should be, no motivation to get out of bed. I was up. Definitely up. Grace had her hand on the evidence. I stroked my hand from her thigh, over her hip and that delightful dip to her waist and up her back. She wriggled against me. I would not have thought it possible, but I got even harder.

"You're a very sexy woman, Grace."

"So you keep telling me."

"I'm feeling wrung out, though."

"Mmm. Me too."

"I ought to go and check in with the office, make sure we're all right where we are. You don't need to get out of bed, though, if you don't want to."

"No," she sighed, "tempting, but I'll get up and make some breakfast. Then, we could see what delights Peterhead has for us."

I dragged myself out of bed; lack of sleep and the release of tension had left me limp as a wet rag ... except the one portion of my anatomy that wasn't dependent upon mental functioning.

"Pity to waste that," Grace commented, "but I just haven't the energy to do anything about it right now."

"Me neither," I sighed, wearily dragging on boxers, jeans and a t-shirt, then bending down to find my deck-shoes.

The office staff were very helpful; we were fine where we were, berths closer to the shore were more popular; I paid for three nights up front and picked up information about shower and laundry facilities, and returned to Serendipity. Grace was just pouring hot water onto coffee grounds.

"Hope you don't mind Sosmix," she said, nodding at the frying-pan, "there were only a couple of rashers left and I thought they were past their use-by date. Quite a lot past."

"That's fine. You're right. We can get some more perishables this morning."

She'd chopped onions finely and added them to the Sosmix with some mixed herbs. It tasted good. Two mugs of coffee and I was beginning to be willing to do more than vegetate in bed for the rest of the day. We set off to see what Peterhead had to offer, which turned out to be all the necessities of life, but not much to attract tourists. That suited us down to the ground, tourists (of a sort) though we were. We found a second-hand bookshop which also had a coffee bar. My two favourite land-side places rolled into one. Even better, it was Grace that spotted it and suggested having a look.

"I love bookshops," she enthused, "especially second-hand ones. There's usually a pleasant surprise or two."

"Snap! When you live in a boat, you can't really keep a lot of books. It's one thing I miss about living in a house. But I buy a book or two, read them a few times, then donate them to a charity shop."

"I thought you had a pretty random collection, apart from the nautical stuff," she said.

I picked up a Philippa Ashley – 'Decent Exposure' – then noticed a scruffy paperback version of 'Lord of the Rings'. It being several years since I last read it, I grabbed that too.

I paid for my selections and went to the coffee counter, where I ordered a large Americano and a Chamomile tea. As an afterthought, I added a couple of Danish pastries. Grace came over with her own reading matter.

"Hey! You certainly know how to treat a lady! Whatcha got?"

"Glad you're pleased," I said, "I didn't know how long you'd be and I was feeling in need of some coffee. Cinnamon swirl okay?"

"You must be able to read my mind. That's exactly what I want right now. Except for one thing..." she bent over and kissed me. "That'll hold me for a few minutes. Lord of the Rings? Why am I not surprised? But ... a Little-Black-Dress book?"

"Love 'em," I said, simply. "How do you think I learned all the little tricks you seem to enjoy so much? Besides, I'm a sentimental softie, really. What about you?"

She handed a couple of paperbacks across the table. Arthur Ransome, 'Peter Duck', and Robert Heinlein's 'Time Enough for Love'. "Interesting," I said. "We seem to have some shared tastes."