A Matter of Time (10 page)

But she saw. And wanted to comfort the little boy she saw in him. Whoa, girl! Lighten up!

“Had you ever thought of taking an animal with you?” she asked lightly. “A cat, maybe?”

He smiled. “You’re not the first to suggest that. And you know, I
have
thought about it. Ian even offered me a kitten, a gray-and-white female from their cat’s litter.”

“Why didn’t you take her?”

“Nearly did. Even had a name picked out: Esmeralda. I imagined her napping in a little box next to me in the cockpit, sleeping
on the end of my bunk at night.” He paused. “But then I made myself think about the dark side. And realized that Ezzie wouldn’t
have a clue how dangerous an environment a boat is, and wouldn’t have her mother to teach her. I couldn’t watch her all the
time. She might be up in the bow, playing with a knot in a line, and a swell would cause her to lose her balance and go over
the side. If I didn’t see it, she would be gone. And if we’d grown close, as we were sure to, that would be—devastating.”

He smiled at her, shaking his head. “You suppose we could talk about something else?”

She nodded and smiled brightly; yes, there were more layers to this one than met the eye. But she couldn’t think of anything
to say.

Nor was he helping. He just sat there, studying her, a
half-smile on his face. And that smirk, if that’s what it was, was beginning to annoy her.

Finally, eyes twinkling, he observed, “You’re in a bit of a bind, aren’t you?”

She frowned but said nothing.

“I mean, you came all this way to check me out, and now you feel a bit foolish because you don’t know exactly how to go about
doing that.”

“Do you
always
speak what’s on your mind?” she snapped at him.

“Why not?”

She had no answer.

“Amy,” he said gently, using her name for the first time since she’d arrived, “either it was a good idea for you to come or
it wasn’t. I happen to think it was.”

She was not ready to agree.

“Look,” he said, catching her eyes with his, “we can go on playing games if you want to. But honestly—why waste the time?”

Now he was infuriating! Coming here was
not
a good idea! It was the worst idea she’d ever had! She could be in Roma right now, on the
Via Veneto
sipping a Belini with Pam at Harry’s American Bar.

She glared at him, and he impassively returned her gaze. Neither turned away.

Oh, he was
really
making her angry! So sure of himself—well, we’ll see.

She decided to take him on. Straight on.
Mano a womano
.

“All right!” she declared. “From now on, we play by Bermuda rules. We say
exactly
what we think. No more, no less. No game-playing. And we say it, no matter how romantically incorrect it might be, even if
it sends me
back on the next plane. Because you’re right: I didn’t come here to play games! I came to see if,” she hesitated and then
played by the new rules, “I wanted to make any emotional investment in a–gypsy of the sea.”

In that instant, Lands’ End vanished. Colin did the sort of split-second re-evaluation that women would never understand.
But men understood perfectly. If she’s the one, and you
know
it, then you go after her—and move heaven and hell to get her.

“Deal.” It
was
a done deal, as far as Colin Bennett was concerned.

It took Amy a little longer. But once she admitted to herself that he
might
be the one, things did seem to come together rather quickly. They ate breakfast together, lunch together, supper together,
talking all the time, finding new subjects they mostly agreed on.

After a few days, the talking subsided. They knew they felt the same way about the sunset, or the two Long-tails cavorting
over the cliffs at Horseshoe Beach, or the young boys playing soccer (he called it football) in the late afternoon at a school
in Somerset Parish, the sun limning their lithe forms and creating halos around them.

They said nothing, because there was no reason to speak.

When she asked about going out on
Care Away
, he put her off. Too cloudy or too windy. He wanted her first experience with the other lady in his life to be just right.

She believed him, but she wondered if it might also be–that he was afraid it wouldn’t work out. Because she was afraid of
the same thing. According to Bermuda Rules, she should say what she was thinking.

But there was one subject that by mutual unspoken assent neither of them had mentioned. Them.

And somehow
Care Away
was in the midst of them.

Inevitably the day came, when conditions were ideal. “We’re going,” he announced at breakfast.

“When?”

“Soon as you can get your kit together.”

“My kit?”

“Whatever you’re going to need–windbreaker, deck shoes, sun-screen.” He looked at her red knees. “Long-sleeved shirt and pants.
You don’t want to fry out there. The sun reflects off the water–”

She cut him off. “I
have
been on boats before, you know.”

She was ready in fifteen minutes.

11
  
  
two ladies

It had been calm at breakfast, scarcely a breeze. But the wind had picked up, and now there was distinct chop in St. George’s
Harbour as he rowed them out to
Care Away
, in the Convict Bay anchorage.

Amy eyed her rival and had to admit she was—stunning. Her hull was royal blue, with a thin red line of trim at the waterline,
matching the red Bermuda ensign at her stern. Her deck was teak, her bright work polished stainless steel. Her rolled mainsheet
was covered with a tight canvas sheath, also royal blue.

Amy’s heart sank. How could she possibly compete against this—nautical
gleama
?

Colin tied the dinghy to the mooring buoy, then swung easily aboard her and put down a three-step ship’s ladder for Amy. When
she, too, was aboard, he cast off, and they were under way.

At first, she loved it—the wind in her face, the broad white sail on its gaff rig, the sound of the waves thrumming against
the bow. Best of all was watching the shoreline recede swiftly behind them, smaller and smaller. They, too, were Longtails,
leaving all cares behind.

Once they had cleared St. George’s Channel, he headed her south in the Narrows, running before the wind. As the sun rose higher,
the breeze moderated, and he put on all her canvas—mainsail, staysail, jib, topsail, mizzen—showing her off, in all her glory.
Under full sail they were soon surfing atop each wave that passed.

It was fun, at first, whooshing along, and then settling a bit, only to be picked up by the next wave. Such fun that she looked
around, half-expecting a school of flying fish to adopt them.

But this was not a ride in an amusement park, which was over after a few exhilarating minutes, setting you back on
terra firma
, laughing about how much fun it had been. This ride kept going. And going.

And after half an hour of whooshing and settling, she began wishing she’d had something sensible for breakfast. She could
feel the greasy fried eggs and two shiny sausage links sliding around down there and sloshing up the walls of her stomach.

Think of something else! She concentrated on the knotted end of the mainsheet, dangling from the stainless steel grommet,
as it swayed with the motion of the boat, this way and that. Find something else! She turned away, but a little burp brought
up the brown taste of sausage.

She closed her eyes, and guessed she’d be able to keep eggs and sausage down for five more minutes, then she would be puking
her guts out over the boat’s leeward side. She’d prefer the privacy of the tiny head, but then she’d have to clean up the
mess afterward, and—Oh, God! This was a terrible mis–

“Amy,” he said gently but firmly, “open your eyes. Keep them on the horizon.”

She did as she was told, and smiled weakly.

She concentrated on the horizon. Hard. And burped. Sausage again, but this time some orange juice, too.

“It’s not working,” she gasped.

“Then come over here. There’s one thing that always works,” he said cheerily, adding under his breath, “if anything’s going
to.”

He hadn’t meant her to hear that, but she had. Nevertheless, she did as he instructed, taking the place he’d just vacated,
at the tiller.

“Now keep her headed roughly one-six-five,” and he pointed to the compass floating in the gleaming binnacle.

Once she got used to pushing the tiller in the opposite direction of where she wanted to go, she found that the boat did not
respond to the helm as quickly as a car. So she over-corrected. And then overcorrected again. Behind them, their wake, which
had receded in a straight line, now resembled the track of an alpine skier.

“Relax!” he called to her, grinning. “Give her time. She’ll come to your heading eventually. Just be patient with her.”

She did relax. And took a deep breath. And relaxed some more. And found that only very minor corrections were needed to keep
her on a heading in the general vicinity of 165°.

“Now you’re getting it!” he cried. Turning to
Care Away
, he asked, “What do you think?” He listened. “Yup, I agree!” He turned back to Amy, beaming. “Hey, Ames, she likes you!”

She giggled, feeling ridiculously pleased. How did he know her nickname?

He taught her how to tack, come about, and avoid jibing. How to close haul and keep her mainsail taut, reading the telltales.
How to take a reef in the mainsail, when
the wind reached 15 knots or more and started kicking up whitecaps. And each new thing he taught her, he only had to tell
her once.

He really is a wonderful teacher, she thought, breakfast long forgotten. And he makes it fun. No wonder his nephew had such
a good time.

After four sun-dazzled hours, he headed them home. “Steady her up on zero-three-zero,” he called.

“Aye-aye, cap’n.”

The waves were now coming at her off the port bow. Following the imaginary line she could see through the swells forming ahead,
she guided this magnificent blue sea creature effortlessly through them, like a skier negotiating moguls.

“Ames!” he cried, overjoyed. “You’re a natural! I didn’t even tell you how to do that!”

“I love this!” she called back. “This could be the most fun I’ve ever had!”

A rogue wave, out of pattern with the rest, suddenly loomed to starboard. Deftly she fell away before it, then neatly rounded
it, and resumed their heading.

“Amend that!” she shouted, laughing. “This
is
the most fun I’ve ever had!”

He let her have the helm all the way back, taking over only as they approached his mooring. She caught the buoy, first try.

At the end of the day, tired, sun-baked, smiling, they sat drinking Heinekens at the White Horse. He looked at her over the
little round table. “Bermuda Rules, right?”

She nodded.

“You’re the best first-time sailor I’ve ever seen! Man or woman.”

“Even better than Eric?” she teased him.

“Well,” he said, not quite willing to go that far, “he was only eight.”

“We’re going tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.”

“No matter what the weather is?”

“No matter what.”

“Okay,” she declared, putting her bottle firmly on the table. “Bermuda Rules. After a day like today, if I had my way, I’d
spend the rest of my life sailing.”

Both were stilled by what she had just said.

As she looked at him, studying his steady dark eyes, she was thinking of the one thing they hadn’t shared. They’d kissed briefly,
careful to keep it casual. Held hands briefly, parting naturally.

She knew she had never met anyone she enjoyed being with more. Nor had she ever imagined finding anyone she could share silence
with. And when she wasn’t with him, she didn’t feel whole. She would wake up in her room at the Coral Beach Club and wish
she could drag time forward, till he came to collect her.

“I want to move aboard
Care Away
,” she announced. “Tonight.”

“You’re sure?” he asked softly.

She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’m sure.”

12
  
  
to the table down at sandys