Chapter Five
While I stood there,
forcing myself to remain composed, I saw the scruffy bruiser appear once more.
He came from a dark alleyway and stood on the boat park about a dozen yards
from the end of the pontoon, picking at his nose and watching me suspiciously
through those dark-ringed eyes. He rubbed one hand across a cheek that looked
strangely hollow for such a big guy. I got the feeling it would be very easy to
ram a clenched fist down his gullet. Enjoyable, even.
But I
decided to leave that pleasure for another day.
Viola
and I went off to our cabins early that night. I was glad, feeling strangely
tired. Nevertheless, I lay in my bunk for a couple of hours just allowing my
mind to wander. Simone would now be back in England, using her trim and prim
visual charm to calm and reassure her party as they began the next stage of
their European vacation.
Already
I was forming fanciful daydreams inside my head: dreams in which Simone was an
important part of my future life. I missed her. But I had to be sure that my
feelings were for real and not just the residue of a physical longing. A common
or garden form of physical longing could be conjured up by other women; like
Viola Bracewell. Real love was far more than that.
Or did
I mean real sex?
That
as well, I supposed.
Some
while later I woke up with a start. I must have been dreaming about Penny. Or
was it Simone? Slowly, as full consciousness began to creep into my brain, I
felt around for a lamp switch over the bunk and then grabbed my watch. It was a
little after two o’clock. I lay back in the bunk and listened, wondering what
had woken me. I could hear the gentle lapping of the water on the hull,
rhythmic and soothing. Metal masts were being slapped by wire ropes on a
hundred or more yachts out in the harbour, but that wasn’t what woke me. It had
been something on board the cruiser, I was sure of that now. But I didn’t know
what.
After
some minutes I climbed out of the bunk and eased open the cabin door.
Everything seemed normal so I grabbed a bathrobe and my torch, slipped out into
the corridor and stepped quietly along to the saloon. I painted my torch beam
round about, splashing it across the floor and the bulkheads, even across the
ceiling. But I saw nothing untoward, at least not at first. I was about to go
back to my cabin when the light flickered across something on the floor,
forward near the main hatch.
When I
stepped nearer I saw that it was a cigar butt, the fall-out from someone’s
dirty smoking habit. It certainly hadn’t been there the night before and that
meant someone had been aboard the cruiser while we slept. Without thinking, I
dropped it in a waste bin and went out on deck. There was hardly a soul to be
seen in the dim glow of the shore-side lights. Puzzled, I went back to my bunk.
It took me some time to get back to sleep.
The
next morning I woke up slowly, consciousness easing into a dull brain.
Minutes
passed before I realized that the boat was moving to the accompaniment of the
steady throb of its diesel engines. I sat up and peered out of the cabin
window. The marina basin at le port des
Bas Sablon had gone, replaced by the banks of the River Rance. Overhanging
trees and a footpath acted as the foreground to a view of long, flat fields and
distant villages. Occasional houses sat close to the shore while moored boats
lay at anchor in the wide river. I grabbed at my watch and frowned with
disbelief. It was ten minutes to six. Viola had said she would be leaving
early, but I hadn’t realized she meant this
early. I hastily pulled on my clothes before I went out to the saloon.
The
sky was clear, promising another sizzling hot day. Sunlight shafted in at all
the windows. From the saloon I could see out to the main deck and the steering
position. Viola sat at the wheel, once again with just a pair of minuscule
panties between her and total nudity. She was staring at the far bank of the river,
quite oblivious to me.
I took
a moment to study her before I went outside. It was all on show. Slender body
curving in an out the right amount in the right places. Silky hair and silky
skin. The word ‘sensual’ just didn’t do her full justice.
When
the moment was right, I coughed to attract her attention and then I walked out up
the deck. I was facing the rear of the boat and saw the Rance Barrage half a
mile behind us. Viola had taken the Breton
Belle through without any help while I slept. I felt momentarily guilty.
“Hello
there.” I turned towards the girl and saw that she had been crying. Worse, she
had been in another bust-up. Her eyes were bloodshot and there was further
heavy bruising on her face. It was spread right across her cheek, much deeper
than the bruising she’d sported the previous day. I felt a cold shiver run down
my spine as I recalled that cigar butt. Someone had been aboard during the
night.
“What
on earth happened to you?” I asked.
She
bent her head away again. “Nothing. Just an accident.”
“It
looks more like you’ve been two rounds with Mike Tyson. What really happened?”
“An
accident, I said! It’s nothing.” She turned her head away.
I
wasn’t ready to end the conversation there. I spoke with an insistent edge. “Was
it that big hoodlum again? The brain-dead gorilla? Or was it the older man?”
“Please,
Henry. Keep out of this!” She was getting rattled now. “It’s none of your
business.”
“Okay.”
I mentally backed off. Maybe I was wrong in sticking my nose into her business,
but I found it difficult to hold my tongue. The closer I came to her, the
uglier became the blue-red mark across her cheek. I looked about for some way
to ease the tension between us.
“Have
you eaten?” I asked and immediately realized it was a damned silly question. Of
course she hadn’t eaten. Lamely, I added, “I’m really okay as a cook, if you
don’t mind living on ham and eggs.”
A
calmer tone crept into her voice. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” The soft, husky
sound of her voice unnerved me. It was almost sensual. “But if you’d like to
take the wheel, I’ll rustle up something for you.”
I
weighed up the options. Let her cook or let her steer? Let her cook, I decided.
It was a better chore to occupy her attention. Steering the boat was easy; it
left the mind free to wander.
She
went down into the saloon without looking back. Ten minutes later she returned
carrying a tray neatly set out with a full English breakfast. It wasn’t what I
had grown used to in France—continental breakfasts left me cold inside and out—but this smelt good. Not as good as
an all-American breakfast, but a step in the right direction. I handed back the
wheel so that I could do full justice to her cooking.
“You
must let me do my share in the galley,” I offered between mouthfuls of crisp
bacon and egg fried sunny-side-up. Change the bacon for proper ham and it would
remind me of my mother’s cooking at home on the desert hills above LA.
“I can
manage. It’s a woman’s job.”
“Thank
God I didn’t say that. I’m not a
chauvinist, you know.”
“I
believe you,” she replied, but I could see her attention was already wandering
away from me. Her eyes were not focused on anything in particular as we
continued slowly on down the river. Fortunately there wasn’t much other water
traffic to worry about.
“Do
you smoke, Viola?” I asked as casually as I could manage. It was ridiculous to
think she would smoke cigars, but the question could lead me towards someone
who would.
“No.”
She turned up her nose. Pert and perfectly shaped like the rest of her.
“Smoking is a psychological weakness. I have no need of it.”
“Strong-willed
enough without it, eh?”
“I
read somewhere that most women only smoke to increase their sexual
gratification. The cigarette is a sort of penis substitute.”
I gave
her a look of astonishment. “And men?”
“Then
it becomes a nipple substitute. That’s why some men roll their cigarettes
between their thumb and forefinger. Did you know that?” She said it without any
hint of embarrassment. And this girl claimed to be an innocent virgin!
“No.
But I’ll bear it in mind. Do you have any friends who smoke?”
“Lots.”
She stared into the far distance and didn’t elaborate.
I shut
up after that.
We
cruised at a steady pace along the river. Viola told me we would be travelling slower
after we passed Dinan where we would enter the canal d’Ille et Rance. The canal was much narrower than the River
Rance and there were forty seven locks between Dinan and Rennes. She hoped to
reach Rennes the following evening and moor somewhere before the canal joined
the River Vilaine.
“I
like Rennes,” she said. “I’ve moored there before. Several times. There’s a
farm nearby where we can get milk and eggs. The family who run the farm, they
know… they know the boat and… they… well, they just know.”
“You
mean they know your one-time fiancé?”
She
made no immediate reply but her head sank. After a full minute she said, “They
know me.”
I
still couldn’t figure her out. Silence ensued for some time as I struggled to
put the enigma into its place. With no luck.
“How
did you get your name?” I asked eventually.
She
gave me a glance, which reeked of suspicion. “Bracewell was my father’s name.”
“I
guessed that. I meant the first name, Viola. It’s English, but rather like Victorian
English. Shakespeare’s English, even. A bit dated anyway.”
“My
mother was called Viola. And her mother. And her mother before that. They say
it went back at least six generations. Maybe more. My mother didn’t want to
break the chain. She insisted I was called Viola.”
“I
like it,” I told her and she gave me her first genuine smile that morning.
The
day grew hotter as the sun arched into a clear blue sky and Viola’s near
nakedness became increasingly appropriate, if somewhat distracting. In
deference to the heat, I donned a pair of respectable shorts and sat beside her
at the steering position. We chatted idly as we cruised, but I was careful to
avoid mention of Hassim. Kept trying to tell myself it was none of my business.
“Do
you always dress like that?” I asked her at one point.
“Like
what?”
“Almost
naked.”
“Often.
I told you that when we first met.” She drew in a deep breath as if there was
more to be said so I made no attempt to interrupt. “It’s not out of place in
France, you know. Of course daddy would be furious if I dressed like this at
home, but Ali doesn’t mind. He says I look fresh and pure when I’m naked. He
says I’m like some precious gift that’s just been unwrapped. Don’t you think
that’s a lovely thing to say? When I was at his chateau I used to sunbathe
completely naked.”
“But
he never made any attempt to have sex with you?” When she frowned, I added,
“That’s what you told me.”
“Well…
maybe he wanted to, but I told him I intended to be a virgin when I get married.”
“A
very refreshing policy.”
“Are
you teasing me again?”
“Just
observing.”
“I
think Ali understood. He never made any demands.” But she averted her gaze as
she said it. Then she added, “Not too many demands.”
I
began to wonder what sort of guy this Hassim was. Something sure as hell wasn’t
right with him. A beautiful young girl like Viola Bracewell sunbathing naked in
his castle and he didn’t succeed in pre-empting the nuptial proceedings. Maybe
he was blind?
Around
mid-day we pulled into the bank near Dinan for lunch. The river was behind us
and the canal ahead. The sun was right above us with no sign of cloud on any
horizon and perspiration was rolling down Viola’s well-tanned breasts in steady
dribbles.
“We
need to rest for an hour,” she decided. “It’s what the French do and it’s a
good idea in this heat.”
“I
could prepare us a salad lunch,” I offered. “And afterwards we could have a
siesta.”
“You
feel like making us a meal?”
“It’s
only fair that I should do my share. Why don’t you take a break while I get to
work?”
In
fact she didn’t rest immediately. While I was in the galley I heard her go onto
the foredeck and then came the distinctive sound of her diving into the water.
Ten minutes later she came back into the saloon, still wet from her swim. Water
dribbled down her body and splattered across the floor.
“I
enjoy a swim in this heat,” she said as she bent to pull off her wet panties. Palpitations
began to hammer out from my chest. Good
God, doesn’t she realize what she’s doing! Probably not. A sensible Goldilocks would
never have gone into the woods in the first place.
She
squeezed the water from the panties and hung them to dry on the back of a seat
before wandering off to her cabin. She came back dressed in that same
expensive, but over-sized man’s shirt.
I
picked up two plates and gestured towards the table. “Take a seat and tell me
what you think about this,” I said. “I used only what I found in the ice box.
Nothing elaborate, but tasty I hope.”
“I
don’t usually eat much in the middle of the day.” She squeezed into a built-in
seat at the far side of the table.
“Try
it, for my sake.”
She
leaned her elbows on the table and stared at me, conjuring up a thoughtful
expression. “Why are you here in France, Henry? You’re not here just for a
holiday, are you? There’s something else.”
“I
needed a vacation, that’s all. Honest.” I took my seat directly opposite her
and set to with knife and fork.
“But
you’re here for another reason. You’re trying to run away from something,
aren’t you?”
Run
away? Hell, maybe that’s exactly what I was doing. Her perceptive comments were
too close to home and I felt a shiver run through me. “You think so?” I said,
eyeing her carefully.
“I’m
jolly well sure of it. What’s the real story?” She sounded so sure of herself.
But I
wasn’t so keen to talk about my life. “I have my secrets, Viola, just as you
have yours.”
“But
you need to talk about your secrets. You
do, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
I
thought about it for a full minute while paying with the food. Maybe she was
right, and maybe it would help her to loosen up a bit. So I gave in and told
her the truth. I told her all about Penny and the baby and the overwhelming
sense of grief that I just hadn’t been able to shake off. But I said nothing
about Simone de Valieur. That was a secret too fresh to be unwrapped just yet.
Viola sat
at the table in silence while I talked, her elbows still spread out on the
table, her food uneaten. When I had finished, she said, “That’s very sad. I
feel sorry for you.”
I
shook my head firmly. “I don’t need anyone feeling sort for me. But I think I’m
now entitled to ask about you.”
“You
already did.” She stood up instantly and cleared up her plate. She still had
eaten nothing. “Remember?”
“You
didn’t tell,” I reminded her.
“No, I
didn’t, did I?”
She
scooped the food into the waste bin and dropped the plate in the sink and then
she was gone, pattering her way along the corridor to her cabin. I just sat
there for a few minutes and then I went outside and took a walk along the
towpath to clear my mind.
I
needed it.
When
we set off again, I insisted on taking the wheel. It was only fair to share the
driving, I told her. Viola put up no objection to that and she spent the next
few hours sunbathing on the front cabin roof.
It
seemed like she had found a pair of dry panties.
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