grey-and-white boat with black-and-gold trim (the colours of the heron, after whom her boat had been named) she saw that she had a visitor. Stretched out on a patch of sun-dried grass beside the boat, was the figure of a man. He lay with his forearm across his eyes, his shirt undone almost to his navel as he sunbathed in the setting sun.
‘Put it away before you get arrested,’ Hillary advised cheerfully . ‘It’s still too white and pasty-looking to be out on public display anyway.’
DI Mike Regis, from Vice, slowly lowered his arm and opened one eye. ‘I’ll have you know that,’ and he patted his flat belly proudly, ‘is now the colour of clotted cream. Tomorrow it’ll be the colour of ripe wheat, and by the end ofthe week I’ll be so bronzed I’d make a Hollywood leading man jealous.’
Hillary laughed. ‘Sure you won’t just look like a lobster?’
Mike Regis rose lithely to his feet. Although her own age, he moved with the subtle fitness of a much younger man. True, his dark hair was thinning, but he had spectacular green eyes, and a killer smile. He reached forward and kissed her gently on the lips.
‘Been waiting long?’ she asked, worried that they’d arranged to meet, and she’d forgotten.
‘Nope. I got off late, didn’t fancy home, or the pub, and took the off chance you’d be here. You weren’t, but it was such a lovely evening, I thought what the hell?’
They’d been seeing each other for over six months now, but it was rare for him to come to the boat. Hillary had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t overly fond of it. And, to be fair, she could remember that, at first, she hadn’t exactly been enamoured of the narrowboat either. But the Mollern had been much better than staying at her marital home, which had resembled a battlefield, and over the years, she’d come to love the boat. So much so, that she’d finally took the plunge and bought it off her uncle, who’d originally owned it. And after the death of her husband before their divorce could be finalized, she’d made the decision to sell the house and keep the boat.
Now she stepped on to it and felt the slight movement beneath her with a sense of coming home. ‘Mind your head,’ she called automatically over her shoulder, as she negotiated the few steep steps down into the narrow corridor that ran the length of her home. She walked on through to the front, where a single armchair, a narrow bookshelf, a small portable telly, and a gas fire, comprised her ‘parlour’. She pulled out and opened a folding chair, and slung her bag under it. Then she took one step to one side so he could get past her, and walked back a few steps to the open-plan galley.
‘It’s salmon salad. OK?’
Regis nodded, sitting down gingerly in the chair, and feeling like a rabbit in a hutch. Outside the window, set higher above him than he was used to, he saw a pair of legs walk past, closely followed by a black button of a nose, belonging to a curious dog. It sniffed the window, cocked its leg, and moved on.
‘I bought some bread and wine,’ he added, realizing he’d left it outside on the side of the grass. ‘I forgot to bring it in.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it,’ Hillary said quickly.
The bread turned out to be still warm, crusty and brown, the wine a rich Chablis. Just as well, since the tinned salmon was minuscule and the lettuce a little wilted. The bag of fresh tomatoes she thought she had in the fridge turned out to be only three in number, and just wrinkling. A small tin of new potatoes , warmed up, and a wedge of cheese – strong enough to walk out the fridge on its own and pop the cork of the wine without benefit of an opener – would just have to do. She spread it all out on to two mismatched plates, grabbed some cutlery and took it through.
‘I’ll have mine on my lap,’ she said. ‘But there’s a small side-table you can use for yours – that’s it, flush to the wall. It pulls out,’ she watched him fiddle
‘Put it away before you get arrested,’ Hillary advised cheerfully . ‘It’s still too white and pasty-looking to be out on public display anyway.’
DI Mike Regis, from Vice, slowly lowered his arm and opened one eye. ‘I’ll have you know that,’ and he patted his flat belly proudly, ‘is now the colour of clotted cream. Tomorrow it’ll be the colour of ripe wheat, and by the end ofthe week I’ll be so bronzed I’d make a Hollywood leading man jealous.’
Hillary laughed. ‘Sure you won’t just look like a lobster?’
Mike Regis rose lithely to his feet. Although her own age, he moved with the subtle fitness of a much younger man. True, his dark hair was thinning, but he had spectacular green eyes, and a killer smile. He reached forward and kissed her gently on the lips.
‘Been waiting long?’ she asked, worried that they’d arranged to meet, and she’d forgotten.
‘Nope. I got off late, didn’t fancy home, or the pub, and took the off chance you’d be here. You weren’t, but it was such a lovely evening, I thought what the hell?’
They’d been seeing each other for over six months now, but it was rare for him to come to the boat. Hillary had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t overly fond of it. And, to be fair, she could remember that, at first, she hadn’t exactly been enamoured of the narrowboat either. But the Mollern had been much better than staying at her marital home, which had resembled a battlefield, and over the years, she’d come to love the boat. So much so, that she’d finally took the plunge and bought it off her uncle, who’d originally owned it. And after the death of her husband before their divorce could be finalized, she’d made the decision to sell the house and keep the boat.
Now she stepped on to it and felt the slight movement beneath her with a sense of coming home. ‘Mind your head,’ she called automatically over her shoulder, as she negotiated the few steep steps down into the narrow corridor that ran the length of her home. She walked on through to the front, where a single armchair, a narrow bookshelf, a small portable telly, and a gas fire, comprised her ‘parlour’. She pulled out and opened a folding chair, and slung her bag under it. Then she took one step to one side so he could get past her, and walked back a few steps to the open-plan galley.
‘It’s salmon salad. OK?’
Regis nodded, sitting down gingerly in the chair, and feeling like a rabbit in a hutch. Outside the window, set higher above him than he was used to, he saw a pair of legs walk past, closely followed by a black button of a nose, belonging to a curious dog. It sniffed the window, cocked its leg, and moved on.
‘I bought some bread and wine,’ he added, realizing he’d left it outside on the side of the grass. ‘I forgot to bring it in.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it,’ Hillary said quickly.
The bread turned out to be still warm, crusty and brown, the wine a rich Chablis. Just as well, since the tinned salmon was minuscule and the lettuce a little wilted. The bag of fresh tomatoes she thought she had in the fridge turned out to be only three in number, and just wrinkling. A small tin of new potatoes , warmed up, and a wedge of cheese – strong enough to walk out the fridge on its own and pop the cork of the wine without benefit of an opener – would just have to do. She spread it all out on to two mismatched plates, grabbed some cutlery and took it through.
‘I’ll have mine on my lap,’ she said. ‘But there’s a small side-table you can use for yours – that’s it, flush to the wall. It pulls out,’ she watched him fiddle
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