Harbinger of Spring (20 page)

She glanced back and saw the cruiser had stopped and that the very amateur skipper was making fast to an overhanging tree branch.

‘
I suppose you
’
ve just about had enough of sailing after that excitement?
’
her father asked wistfully.

She sensed his disappointment and temporized,
‘
We need some lunch, you know, and Ted did say we should have a reef put in the sail by the afternoon. Let
’
s see what the weather is like when those two items are dealt with.
’

‘
Of course. I must learn how to roof. I don
’
t see it starting to blow hard, though, from the look of the sky.
’

‘
No. I suppose Ted could be wrong,
’
she said absently.

She was thinking of what he had said about the name of Hugh
’
s yacht.
Rosamond. Had
he named it after some girl? Or woman—the one he was in love with? There was almost sure to be someone in his life—someone special. Someone who was all the things she herself was not.

In an effort to put an end to such thoughts she glanced at her father. His face was alive with delight in a way which she had never seen before. She was realizing more every minute how constricted their lives were in London. A restless energetic routine which was the same on each and every day with the exception of Sundays. And on that day, according to the weather, one either sank into a semi-coma or made a frenzied rush to the country or seaside. If only they could both settle permanently at Fenchurch Mill!

But it was impossible. In any case, endless enjoyment only resulted in boredom. One had to work
—
have something to live for.

Sara had become so sunk in her thoughts that she was startled when her father called to her that they had
arrived at the boatyard.

‘
What
’
s the best way of coming alongside?
’

She stepped quickly aft and gave a glance at the burgee.

‘
Over to the right-hand bank, Father. Pass the yard, then turn right around.
’

‘
Perhaps you
’
d better take over.
’

She laughed,
‘
You mean display my superior knowledge? Go on. My experience is very little more than your own.
’

‘
Yes, but you did have expert tuition. However, here goes.
’

The yacht passed the end of the boatyard quay and Eric Seymour put the tiller hard over, making the craft heel so steeply that Sara nearly slid off her seat. She stopped an exclamation of alarm as boom and sail slammed viciously from port to starboard and managed to speak in a controlled voice.

‘
Let the sheet run out, Father.
’

He let the rope run through his fingers and almost instantly the yacht came upright and slackened speed. Within a few seconds it had almost stopped.

Eric Seymour gave a gasp of relief.
‘
Phew! I thought we were going to capsize then. My mind and hands seemed absolutely paralysed. You took it pretty calmly, though.
’

‘
Did I?
’

Sara was coming out of a mental daze. It seemed to her that Hugh, using her voice, had given the order to let the mainsheet run free. He had told her that when in any kind of trouble with a yacht, the first essential was to let the sails have their freedom, but she was sure her own mind was not working when she had given the instruction.

The yacht moved sluggishly in the right direction and a few seconds later they were moored. Sara stepped
ashore and Peter informed them that Ted Barker had had to go out and that he was to instruct them in the business of putting a reef in the sail.

While the youth was lowering the boom into a wooden scissors device he called crutches, Sara became aware of how much the wind had strengthened and how gusty it was. She asked Peter if it was likely to become gale force, but he shook his head.

‘
No, miss. No more than brisk.
’

He showed them how to reduce the sail area by what was known as putting in a reef.

Eric Seymour made the lashings in a satisfactory manner and also made a very neat roll with the part of the sail that would not now be in use. Sara watched the process and was easily able to understand it, but part of her attention was wandering. She wanted to know as much as possible about sailing, but had no yearning to do it alone—no feeling that she wanted to be the skipper. It was Hugh
’
s hand she wanted to be on the tiller, watching the burgee, setting the sail.

She pulled herself together fiercely. What a ridiculous, outmoded way of thinking! Men and women should be partners.

The sail was being hoisted again and she could see from the quick movements of her father that he was anxious to be away. She stepped on board, leaving the casting off to her father and Peter, when she remembered it was time for lunch. She stepped ashore again.

‘
Father—lunch. I
’
ll take the launch and pick you up at the end of the dyke. I don
’
t think we could get the yacht along it in its present state.
’

‘
All right, but make it something simple. I don
’
t want to waste a moment of this glorious weather.
’

She smiled,
‘
Coffee and sandwiches, then.
’

Sara walked to the launch and was getting into it when Peter ran after her and handed her a foolscap envelope.

‘
I nearly forgot to give you this.
’

‘
I don
’
t suppose it
’
s anything of importance, but thanks just the same.
’

Not able to get at the pocket of her coat because of her lifejacket, Sara tucked the letter down the front of the garment. She left the quay and quickly overhauled her father.

‘
Want a tow?
’
she called out.

‘
You keep your noisy, smelly thing out of my way.
’

She laughed and went ahead, then waited for him at the end of the dyke. As she stopped her engine and looped the bow line over a small tree branch she noticed it was not quite so sunny. She looked up at the sky and saw heavy cloud was building in the north. Then, apparently from the clear sky right overhead, hailstones fell and rattled like stones on the tiny foredeck of the launch.

Sara
’
s first instinct was to get the canopy up, but she remembered her father. Quickly she released the mooring line, backed clear of the bank and turned around. It took her only a few minutes to reach the yacht and come alongside it. Her father had the boom hauled tightly inboard and was making slow progress against a wind which had veered to nearly head-on. There was no doubt, however, that he was enjoying himself.

‘
Take a tow,
’
Sara said.
‘
It
’
s too cold for it to be any fun.
’

She nosed the launch forward and managed to make her
stern
mooring line fast to a deck cleat. Then she went slowly ahead, her father stowing the sail roughly so that he was able to steer astern of her. Meanwhile the hailstones had given way to large, feathery snowflakes, wind-driven as they fell from clouds which came lower and lower.

Sara turned into the dyke and for a while her father
followed her without difficulty. Then
he grounded on
one of the bends and it took him all
of five minutes to
push off with the quant. But finally
they were in the
warmth of the kitchen and laughing
about their little
adventures as they stripped off wet outer
clothes. Clearly,
there would be no more sailing today.

As Sara took off her jacket her letter fell
to the floor.
She picked it up and put it on the pine
dresser, deciding
to read it after lunch. In the meantime she
put potatoes
into a bowl and picked up a peeling knife,
but her father
took it out of her hands.

‘
I
’
ll attend to those. I expect you want
to change?
’

She looked at him in surprise.
‘
Yes, I
do, but—
’

‘
But you don
’
t think I can do a
little job like this?
You run along. I wasn
’
t
born
yesterday.
’

Sara went up the stairs. This domesticated
side of her
father and his love of doing things out of
doors were a
continual amazement to her. All these years
together
and she hadn
’
t really known him. Did he
know her?
Did he understand the necessity she felt
for standing on
her own feet, being independent of
him? Apparently
he did, for he had never tried to rule her
life, and except
for his dislike of Des there had never
been even the hint
of a qua
r
rel between them.

The thought of Des reminded her that
he had not
answered her letter. She doubted if he
ever did write
letters. It was easier to pick up the
telephone. But in
any case there was nothing for him to
answer. She had
made it quite plain that she did not
feel any profit which
came from the leasing of Fenchurch
Mill house should
go towards the opening of another
boutique.

Sara went to the bathroom and
from the landing she
heard her father using the
telephone. She wondered
vaguely whether he was talking to
Mrs.
Worthing, but
her mind was still on Des. If he
didn
’
t like letter writing
he could have phoned. Perhaps
he had already tried and
she
had
been
out, although it wouldn
’
t have been diffi
cult for
him
to contact
her in the evenings.

Her father was
in the kitchen when she came down
stairs and two pans were
simmering gently on the stove.
He had also opened
a can of stewed steak.

‘
Have you taken over
in the galley?
’
she chaffed.
‘
That stewed steak was
supposed to be for the evening
meal.
’

He pulled a face at
her.
‘
That
’
s been taken care of as
well, my girl. It
’
s Saturday,
so we
’
re dining out.
’

‘
Oh?
Where?
’

‘
Fenchurch Hall Country
Club. Dine and dance to
Eric
’
s String Ensemble.
Choice Wines and High Class
Cuisine.
’

‘
What a wonderful idea!
I never for a moment sus
pected you went
in for the gay life.
’

‘
Ah-ha
—I
don
’
t
do
it
very often, but there
’
s plenty
of life in
the
old
dog
yet.
’
He caught hold of her and
whirled her
around in a waltz.
‘
It
’
s a good thing I
thought to throw
in my dinner jacket.
’

Sara laughed and
released herself.
‘
Let me set the
table. I
’
m as
hungry as a hunter, and you must be just
about famished.
’

They ate
lunch in the kitchen and afterwards Eric
Seymour spread
a large-scale map on the table and
studied it
for a few moments. Then he spoke to Sara,
busy
at the sink.