Chapter 10

Jeremy Stewart was, as his cousin Cara told Linnet, shy. In fact, that would have been an understatement. Every time he looked at Linnet, he blushed and seemed to have difficulty getting words out, though he spoke quite normally to his cousin. Linnet felt strange and couldn't quite put a finger on how or why. She liked him, certainly, and the naivete he seemed to show was attractive in itself.

Cara asked him to fetch more coffee all round and he shot off, stumbling against a chair on the way. 'Like a puppy', Linnet thought, watching.

"Like a puppy," Cara commented, unaware she was echoing Linnet's thoughts.

"Yes, and just as sweet," Linnet replied.

"He's not really clumsy, Lindy," Cara went on, "just a bit overwhelmed."

"By?"

"You, silly."

"I'm not sure how I could cope if he's that way round me all the time..."

"That's the problem. I'm trying..." the woman blushed as she went on, "I don't just want you to teach him sailing. I'd get a male instructor for that. I was hoping you'd help him ... well ... relate to girls. I mean, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, I know you're not a prostitute, but I can't get him to even talk to girls. I'm sure he's not gay, though."

Linnet had noticed a bulge in Jeremy's trousers as he got up. His rapid turn to try to conceal it contributed to his encounter with a chair on his way to the counter. "No..." Linnet agreed, "I think you're probably right, there..." the two women's eyes met and they burst out laughing. "Would you mind..." Linnet fumbled for words, "if I was ... not professional in my relationship with your cousin?"

The other woman giggled. "My, how ... delicately you put it! No. It's entirely up to you. I'm sure you'll be entirely professional in your approach to sailing." This time as their eyes met, it was in understanding and agreement.

Jeremy returned with their drinks. "I've been assuming we can use Zephyr," Linnet said to Cara. "I have possibly got the loan of a ketch belonging to some friends, but it's quite large and more complicated than your little sloop."

"Of course; I thought that was understood. She's here just now, on a drying mooring, but I have a berth at Fox's Marina. That might be more convenient for Jeremy."

Linnet looked at Jeremy. "It's up to you," she told him. "Do you want to sail with me?"

He gulped. "Er, yes ... please ... Miss Masters."

"No 'Miss Masters' here, Jeremy. Skipper, Lindy ... or Linnet."

"Linnet?" Cara's eyebrows were raised.

"Long story. Well, not long, exactly, but ... personal."

"Ah! Okay," Cara said, "Which do you prefer?"

"Actually, I rather like Linnet, but Skipper is fine." She looked at Jeremy. "Well?"

"Linnet ... if you, er, really don't mind."

"Good. Can you be here by seven in the morning?"

"I suppose..."

"We'll lake the ebb out of the Deben and sail round to the Orwell. It'll be a chance to get to know each other and for me to assess your skills and knowledge."

"I'll bring you," Cara said, "and collect you from Fox's in the evening." Then she turned to Linnet with a smile, "and bring you back here, unless you have other ideas?"

The small car drew up at the top of the slipway. Linnet stood, leaving a bag by the small inflatable tender pulled clear of the water. As she approached the car, she saw Cara lean across to kiss her passenger before he got out. Before leaving the car, he reached into the back and brought out a large bag. He was wearing blue fleece trousers and jacket, sea-boots on his feet. Cara didn't wait once he was clear of the car; she was backing up as he walked towards Linnet.

"Morning, Skipper, erm ... Linnet."

"Hello, Jeremy. On time, that's good. Let's get aboard." Turning, she picked up her bag and dumped it in the tender, then reached out for his. "Good God – what have you got in this?" She didn't wait for an answer, but pushed the boat into the water. "Just grab the bows a minute while I get the outboard started, will you?" It took three pulls, but it started and Linnet looked at him. "Hop in, then."

He pushed the boat away and 'hopped' in. Linnet gunned the little motor and set the tender crabbing across the current towards a sleek thirty-foot sloop; 'Zephyr, Ipswich' across the transom. She laid the boat alongside to allow Jeremy to climb aboard with the painter, passed the bags and outboard up, then climbed aboard herself.

"Help me get the boat on board," she said. They lifted the inflatable and secured it down to the coach-roof, forward of the hatch-rails. "Can you get the mainsail up?"

He just nodded and went forward to the main-mast to begin getting the cover and ties off the sail as she took the bags below and stowed the outboard in its place. She released the cords securing the tiller and watched her student get the sail up the last inch.

"Good work, Jeremy! How would you get under way?"

"I ... I..." he stuttered for a moment, then paused. "I'd ... walk the buoy down the port side."

"Good enough! Carry on, then."

His action meant the boat began to point towards the opposite shore, and Linnet sheeted in so that Zephyr stemmed the flow of the current. Unfurling the foresail, she judged her moment very carefully. "Ready to gybe?"

"Ready!"

"Gybe oh!"

Zephyr swung round, the sail slamming across, then for a minute or so was at the mercy of the current until she gained way. Linnet let out a pent-up breath as Jeremy dropped into the cockpit.

"Neat!" he praised.

"Terrifying," she responded, "until the rudder grips."

"You were frightened?"

"Sure, of course. There's nothing worse than losing control of a sailing boat in a strong current and this is as nasty a bit of pilotage as I know. How about you trim up the sails?"

They were heading south down the lower reach of the Deben; again, she watched him work. "You seem to have a pretty good grasp of the basics," she commented.

"Thanks. I've done quite a bit of dinghy sailing with Cara."

"I think with this wind we may need a tack before we turn to leave the river. You'll need to be snappy with the foresail sheet, but I'll say when. Don't want to miss stays."

Sometimes a sailing boat turning through the wind gets stuck, which is called being 'in irons', or baulks at turning and loses way so the rudder doesn't bite, which is called 'missing stays'. This can be avoided by allowing the wind to catch the back of the foresail, which forces the bows round. On Thames barges, this is done routinely using a rope called a 'bowline'. On an ordinary yacht, the foresail sheets can be 'cleated', so it is only necessary to hold off releasing the sheet until the boat is through the eye of the wind.

They were unable, quite, to make good a course to the mouth of the river, but a single board across the river was enough to get them to where they could turn east. The mouth of the Deben is constantly changing, with a 'bar' that grows across the entrance. About every ten years or so, the river breaks through, creating a right-angled bend in the fairway, which is where they exited. Once clear, they were able to beat against the south-westerly wind and the current – taking about an hour and a half – to cross the shipping channel at the Platters. Linnet left Jeremy to do most of the sailing, which he seemed to manage quite competently. They turned in to Harwich Haven just after the tide turned, and Linnet suggested dropping the anchor on the Shelf.

"Um ... Skipper ... I mean, Linnet..."

"Go, on, Jeremy."

"You're the boss, of course, but we could sail round and tie up at the Ha'penny Pier; get a cup of coffee or something?"

"Good thinking. Let's do that; but you're on the helm, Jeremy. Let's see how you manage."

He frowned a little, but she thought it was concentration, rather than irritation. By eleven o'clock they were tying up at the Ha'penny Pier, ready to go and get some coffee in the café.

It was good coffee. Mindful of her official role in the relationship – seamanship instructor – she grilled Jeremy over the theory of passage planning; tides, currents, weather, charts and pilotage, provisions, water and fuel ... all the minutiae a sailor has to bear in mind. He answered clearly and concisely, obviously understanding the subject.

"You know your stuff," she said, "all you need is experience, I think."

He nodded, "I've been reading about it; I don't have a problem retaining what I read."

They were silent over their coffee for a while, then, "Have you ... have you got a boyfriend, Linnet?"

"No." She quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Broke up with my last boyfriend last summer and I've been moving around too much since then."

"Would you ... I mean," he was blushing again, "would you, um, like to have dinner with me, or er, something?"

"Haven't you got a girlfriend, Jeremy?" She knew perfectly well he hadn't – Cara had said so.

"No ... I ... I'm not very good with talking to girls..." his colour deepened.

"You're talking to me..."

"That's ... different. And ... I'm not ... doing very well at the moment, am I?"

She smiled, "You're doing well enough," taking pity on him, "yes, I'd like to have dinner with you ... or something."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Jeremy, you've got a lot going for you. You've passed the hardest part..."

"I have? What's that?"

"Asking." She waited until she thought he'd understood, then, "I think we've got time for another drink."

"Coffee? Or tea?"

"Ask if they've got Earl Grey, would you? Otherwise, more coffee, please."

When he returned with her tea and his coffee, Linnet steered the conversation onto his work. She was impressed that he could talk about it in words that she understood; previous encounters with computer geeks had left her gasping in minutes. They were back at Zephyr by mid-day and underway shortly after, heading round Shotley Point up-river towards Ipswich.

"It's probably time to have some lunch," Linnet declared as they rounded the point.

"I've got some things in my bag," Jeremy said, "sub rolls, pate, tomato, cucumber ... wine, grape juice."

"Well ... that's thoughtful. I just brought sliced bread, cheese and pickle. Yours sounds more interesting."

He blushed again. Why? They ate in the cockpit as they continued up-river, passing low, sandy cliffs and trees, the marina at Levington, the moorings, boat yards, houses and pub at Pin Mill. The Royal Harwich Yacht Club and marina at Woolverstone; under the great Orwell Bridge and finally, as the last reach to Ipswich opened out, into Fox's Marina, Zephyr's home. The little inboard motor got some work for the first time as they turned into the wind to enter the marina and Linnet took over, not wanting to risk Cara's paintwork.