more convinced than ever that it was useless hanging around, just waiting for something, or somebody, to make a move.
The bright shape of a racing dinghy careered from behind some moored barges, and with her sails swollen by the freshening wind, tore at right angles across the river, her lee gunwale digging into the water, sending up a shower of spray. The two figures in it leaned far out over the weather side, their oilskin jackets wet and glistening. Vivian measured up the shortening distance, and began judging the angle of the little boat’s next tack. Even at that distance he could see one of the figures was a girl, her head wrapped in a bright scarf, her teeth white, as she laughed with excitement. Reluctant to spoil their pleasure, Vivian pressed the horn once, and started to turn the wheel to starboard, then, with sudden alarm, he realized that the dinghy had changed course again, and was bearing straight down on him. Cursing all sailing boats, he heaved one gear lever astern, and put the wheel hard over. The diesels’ roar rose to a shuddering rumble, as
Seafox
began to turn, and fall back on the tide, broaching round as she did so. It was some moments before he had her on course again, and by then the dinghy had wheeled round to run on a parallel course, barely twenty feet away. Vivian wrenched open the wheel-house door, jerking the megaphone off its hook.
‘Hey there!’ he yelled. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing? Are you asking for a ruddy smash or something?’
As the girl turned on her precarious seat, the headscarf slipped about her neck, and a mass of gleaming, yellow hair swirled joyously around her laughing face.
‘Why, Mr. Vivian,’ she called. ‘What a welcome to give a fellow-sailor!’
His throat contracted, and felt suddenly bone dry, and for a few seconds he stood staring at her, the megaphone hanging foolishly from his hand.
He was dimly aware of the amused stare of the man who sat close by her, one elbow negligently resting across the tiller, a young, fresh-faced fellow of about the girl’s own age, with dark, curly hair shining with spray.
He sought round in confusion for something to say.
‘Er, come aboard, won’t you?’ he called at length. ‘I didn’t realize who it was,’ he ended lamely.
She nodded in that grave manner which he remembered so well.
‘Obviously, Mr. Vivian. It would appear that this is not your normal greeting.’
Before he could answer, she jumped lightly to the sheets, and with very little fuss, the sails vanished, and as the motor yacht slowed, the little boat eased alongside, and moved carefully down to the stern, where they secured it, and while Vivian tried to watch the river, the boat, and listen, all at the same time, the two visitors appeared, laughing and breathless, at his side.
The girl was looking even more beautiful than before, he decided, her face, apparently washed and blown free of make-up, looked more golden than ever, and even her hair, tangled by the wind, and which she now combed with her fingers, made his heart throb painfully.
He was again aware of the other man, who was apparently taller than he had realized, about his own height, and whose handsome face was only marred by his rather arrogant mouth.
‘My name’s Muir, David Muir,’ he said suddenly, his voice a soft, well-modulated drawl. ‘Sorry to barge in like this, but little Karen wanted to see your boat apparently. I gather you know each other?’ His eyebrows rose questioningly.
Vivian nodded, watching the other man, and feeling vaguely resentful at his casual and familiar use of the girl’s name.
Karen stood back, looking from one to the other, an amused smile on her lips.
‘Well, you did say I could look at the boat, didn’t you, Mr. Vivian?’ She swung round, and opened her arms wide. ‘She is very beautiful, don’t you think so, David? I would love to have her all to myself.’
Muir smiled indulgently. ‘You’d soon want something with
The bright shape of a racing dinghy careered from behind some moored barges, and with her sails swollen by the freshening wind, tore at right angles across the river, her lee gunwale digging into the water, sending up a shower of spray. The two figures in it leaned far out over the weather side, their oilskin jackets wet and glistening. Vivian measured up the shortening distance, and began judging the angle of the little boat’s next tack. Even at that distance he could see one of the figures was a girl, her head wrapped in a bright scarf, her teeth white, as she laughed with excitement. Reluctant to spoil their pleasure, Vivian pressed the horn once, and started to turn the wheel to starboard, then, with sudden alarm, he realized that the dinghy had changed course again, and was bearing straight down on him. Cursing all sailing boats, he heaved one gear lever astern, and put the wheel hard over. The diesels’ roar rose to a shuddering rumble, as
Seafox
began to turn, and fall back on the tide, broaching round as she did so. It was some moments before he had her on course again, and by then the dinghy had wheeled round to run on a parallel course, barely twenty feet away. Vivian wrenched open the wheel-house door, jerking the megaphone off its hook.
‘Hey there!’ he yelled. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing? Are you asking for a ruddy smash or something?’
As the girl turned on her precarious seat, the headscarf slipped about her neck, and a mass of gleaming, yellow hair swirled joyously around her laughing face.
‘Why, Mr. Vivian,’ she called. ‘What a welcome to give a fellow-sailor!’
His throat contracted, and felt suddenly bone dry, and for a few seconds he stood staring at her, the megaphone hanging foolishly from his hand.
He was dimly aware of the amused stare of the man who sat close by her, one elbow negligently resting across the tiller, a young, fresh-faced fellow of about the girl’s own age, with dark, curly hair shining with spray.
He sought round in confusion for something to say.
‘Er, come aboard, won’t you?’ he called at length. ‘I didn’t realize who it was,’ he ended lamely.
She nodded in that grave manner which he remembered so well.
‘Obviously, Mr. Vivian. It would appear that this is not your normal greeting.’
Before he could answer, she jumped lightly to the sheets, and with very little fuss, the sails vanished, and as the motor yacht slowed, the little boat eased alongside, and moved carefully down to the stern, where they secured it, and while Vivian tried to watch the river, the boat, and listen, all at the same time, the two visitors appeared, laughing and breathless, at his side.
The girl was looking even more beautiful than before, he decided, her face, apparently washed and blown free of make-up, looked more golden than ever, and even her hair, tangled by the wind, and which she now combed with her fingers, made his heart throb painfully.
He was again aware of the other man, who was apparently taller than he had realized, about his own height, and whose handsome face was only marred by his rather arrogant mouth.
‘My name’s Muir, David Muir,’ he said suddenly, his voice a soft, well-modulated drawl. ‘Sorry to barge in like this, but little Karen wanted to see your boat apparently. I gather you know each other?’ His eyebrows rose questioningly.
Vivian nodded, watching the other man, and feeling vaguely resentful at his casual and familiar use of the girl’s name.
Karen stood back, looking from one to the other, an amused smile on her lips.
‘Well, you did say I could look at the boat, didn’t you, Mr. Vivian?’ She swung round, and opened her arms wide. ‘She is very beautiful, don’t you think so, David? I would love to have her all to myself.’
Muir smiled indulgently. ‘You’d soon want something with
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