Love a Sailor (9 page)

Not wanting to lose my advantage, I crash
my elbow down between his shoulders. He staggers, almost falling. I grab his
ears and tug his head in towards me and jerk my knee up again, whamming into
his chin. This time he does fall, tumbling onto the cobbles. Before he has a
chance to recover, I raise my leg high above him and bring my booted heel down
hard against his ribs. Twice I do this and he rolls over into the gutter, moaning.

I stagger for a few yards to put some
distance between me and the two heaving lumps on the ground, and fall against
the wall to get my breath back before my heart jumps right out of my chest.
Swallowing down great gulps of air, I wait for my pulse to slow. But my
time-out is too long. The second ruffian is on his feet again and coming for
me. I push off from the wall and, willing my reluctant legs to carry me, run
down the alleyway and out onto the quayside as fast as I can, right into the
arms of the Captain.

“Whoa!
Steady there,” he says, as he
takes the force of the impact and stumbles back a step or two.

Heavy flatfooted steps stop behind me.
The Captain spins me round as he lets go of me. The lout takes one look at the
Captain’s height and bulk, and ducks back into the alleyway. I grab the back of
the Captain’s jacket to restrain him. “Don’t bother, Captain. I’m all right. He
didn’t hurt me. I’m just winded.”

He hugs me tightly to his chest and I
breathe in the scent of citrussy cologne, shower gel and the Captain’s own
musky fragrance. He squeezes me tighter and musses my hair with his lips. “I
should never have suggested you come here alone and wait for me.”

He tilts up my chin and searches my face.
“You’re truly okay?”

I nod and he chuckles. “You certainly
seem to have held your own in that scrap, judging from the blood pouring out of
his mouth. What did you do to him?”

“Oh nothing much. Just what I’ve been
taught. I head-butted him on the chin and he must’ve bitten his tongue.”

“My, my. I shall have to tread carefully
round you from now on.”

I giggle and mock-punch him in the
stomach. He doubles up, groaning, “Ouch! I was going to say we should go and
get you a brandy at
Le Chat Rouge
, but I don’t think you need it. You’re
a lot tougher than you look, little Meredith.”

The Captain has spoken too soon. My legs
are shaking and I feel sick. The adrenaline that fueled my fight and flight is
dissipating, leaving me weak and fearful. I move in close to the Captain’s
powerful male body and take his hand. I lay my head back down on his chest,
taking comfort in his strong heartbeat. Oh no, I’m going to cry and that won’t
do. He will think me a wet. I wipe my nose with my free hand and he catches my
hand up in his and brings his arms up around me, holding me like that, close
and secure until my sobs die down.

“I’m so sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to
cry.”

He tips my face up again and kisses my
tears away. “You silly goose, I don’t mind if you cry. You can’t be strong all
the time, and I’m here now to look after you. Let’s go get that brandy. I think
you need it after all.”

Arm in arm, we walk up the quay the few
yards to the bar and go inside to the light and the chatter. The Captain is
right. The cognac curls through me, dampening down the shock and warming me up.
I hadn’t realize how cold I was until we entered the bar, leaving the winter’s
night outside.

We don’t speak; just sit there looking at
each. I don’t know what the Captain is thinking, but all the time I’m sipping
the cognac he holds my free hand tightly, giving a quick shake of his head now
and then. My thoughts are a confusion of gratitude to Clara whose forethought
has saved me from being a victim again, pride and astonishment at my own
accomplishment and acceptance of the Captain’s tenderness towards me.

“Better?” he asks when I put my empty
glass down.

“Much,” I answer. “Thank you for taking
care of me.”

“Merry, it was all my fault. I shouldn’t
have left you alone in a strange city. Let me make amends. Do you still feel up
for the
bouillabaisse
?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the
world.”

While I visit the
Dames
, the
Captain pays the bill and orders a taxi and is ready by the door with my coat.

*

The Captain and I cuddle up in the back
of the taxi. It doesn’t take us long to reach
Chez Philippe
in the
Vallon
des Auffes
, along the coast to the east. I’m sorry it’s too dark to see
much of the scenery apart from the lights on the ships out to sea on the right,
and the dimly lit villages we pass through. I read up on the area before we
left the ship and know that the coast is indented with the Provencal version of
fjords, called
calanques
, narrow inlets with scraggy cliffs of
limestone. The
Vallon
is one of these, considered by many to be the most
beautiful, and I can’t wait to see it, hoping that the port itself will be
well-lit.

It’s not disappointing. A perfect spot
for us to dine together alone again without the whole ship looking on. The
surface of the sea is smooth in this sheltered inlet, shining emerald and deep sapphire
in the glow of the lights spilling out from the bars and quaint old buildings.
Small boats ride at their moorings all along the quayside, rising and falling
on the gentle swell.

The Captain ushers me before him into the
restaurant. The ma
î
tre d’ greets him with a broad smile and
leads us to a table looking out over the water.

I whisper to the Captain, “He knows you?”

He chuckles. “Should hope so, the number
of recommendations I give to the
Albion
’s passengers. There are probably
a few of them in here tonight, but I don’t recognize anyone,” he says looking
round.

The ma
î
tre
d’ pulls out my chair and flicks a napkin over my lap.

When he’s left I ask, “So you come here
often — with your other women?”

The Captain doesn’t answer for a moment.
He’s studying my face. I try to relax but am aware of the sullenness of my
expression. I don’t want to be like this, but can’t help myself. I’m jealous of
the time he’s spent with them — these other women.

He leans across the table and gently
outlines my lips with his finger, making me conscious of how tightly pinched
together they are.

“Meredith, give over. You must have a
good idea of the life I lead by now. And I’m a bachelor — not even a serious
relationship to call my own. So what do you think I’ve done?”

I have the grace to blush with shame at
my hassling of the Captain. Apart from the danger of spoiling my image, it’s no
way to behave as a dinner guest. My jealousy leaves me, allowing my lips to
plump up again, and I catch his finger in my mouth and suck on it.

He pulls it away, saying, “Meredith, you
don’t know what you’re doing to me. One minute you’re behaving like a spoiled
child, and the next like an experienced flirt.”

I grant him the first, but I don’t
understand the second comment at all, and so I just smile and make a resolution
not to be prickly for the rest of the evening. I shouldn’t have forgotten that
men don’t like a jealous bitter woman.

We both lean back in our seats and regard
each other in silence. I could kick myself. It’s obvious that we want to move
on, but my outburst has disrupted the romantic flow of the evening.
Fortunately, the waiter arrives with our tureen of
bouillabaisse.
When
he takes off the lid, the aromatic steam swirls upwards, filling my nostrils
with the scent of the ocean and the perfume of saffron and garlic. Suddenly I’m
starving. All the pastries I ate during my wanderings of the back streets of
Marseilles are long gone.

The Captain ladles out a plate of the
thick broth for me, leaving the strange fish shapes behind at the bottom of
dish to keep warm. We add a couple of slices of crusty baguette and grated
cheese. Next comes a pot filled with a reddish mayonnaise-like substance. “Try
this, it’s
rouille -
the French for ‘rust’
.”

“I hope that’s for its color,” I joke,
and he smiles as I ask, “What do I do with it?”

He takes the pot back from me and spoons
several dollops into his soup and gives it a stir. “Like that!”

Okay, but I’m going to taste it before I
ruin my broth. Wow! It’s hot. I reach for my glass of water and gulp down a few
mouthfuls. Anything to put out the fire on my tongue.

The Captain’s laughing at me. “Put it in
your soup, you silly girl. It’s laced with chili … and saffron and garlic. Pure
Mediterranean magic: the olive oil of Provence, Spanish saffron and Moroccan
chili.”

I stir some into my broth. It’s truly
delicious and we spoon our soup down without talking. The flavors are too good
not to merit our full attention. When we come to the fish and other unfamiliar
creatures of the sea, the Captain takes pity on me and de-bones my helping.
It’s not only good eating, it’s good fun. We’re sharing the dish, wiping our
bread around in the thick broth at the bottom, with the Captain feeding me
delicate morsels from time to time.

“So? Was that a success?” he asks when the
tureen is spotless.

“Absolute heaven,” I answer, and dip my
hands in the finger bowl just as the Captain gooses me under the table. I jerk
and send the bowl flying, spraying water all down the front of my dress.

When I look up from dabbing my napkin at
the wet splotches, the Captain is laughing his head off. “Sorry, couldn’t
resist, Meredith.”

I retaliate and flick the water from his
bowl onto his tie but he stays my hand. “Steady on. We don’t want to be thrown
out of here for misbehaving, do we?”

He turns my hand over and kisses the
palm. “Sorry, okay? Now, would you like a dessert?”

I shake my head. It’s taken us quite a
while to get through the
bouillabaisse
and it’s been an eventful day.
Five minutes later we’re in a taxi speeding our way back to the
Albion.
Try
as I may, I can’t stay awake. When I resurface I am cuddled up in the Captain’s
arms and we are driving through the center of Marseilles.

“Ah, sleepyhead, feel better for your
forty winks?”

I nod and reach up to draw his lips down
on mine. We’re nearly at the ship. He sweeps me into kiss after kiss, leaving
me trembling and breathless. And we’re at the gates to the port.

As we walk along the quay, he says,
“Meredith, my girl. I can’t ask you up to my cabin tonight. I have to grab some
sleep. I’m taking the
Albion
out at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning. We’ll be
sailing on round the coast of France and Italy, down towards Naples.”

“Through the sea where the
Costa
Concordia
ran aground?”

“Yes, but not till the day after
tomorrow, and we are not going to share the same fate. I am a good ship’s master
and will keep my attention on the job.”

The port of Marseilles wasn’t worth the bother of an early
rise yesterday, and I was still exhausted from the events of the day before, so
I stayed in bed and slept and read until lunchtime. The Captain and I had no
time alone as he was occupied with running the ship and entertaining VIP’s to
dinner again. We entered the Tyrrhenian Sea in the early evening and passed the
site of the wreck of the
Costa Concordia
some time after midnight. As
the Captain was keeping to the safe shipping lane, five miles offshore, I
didn’t stay up to look. Anyway, I found the whole idea gruesome.

Today, the care of Sukey falls to me.
When I go to collect her from the Playroom for lunch, Moira meets me at the
door, saying, “I’m sorry Meredith, but Sukey’s not well. She’s over here.”

She leads me to a little room off the
main play area. Sukey is tucked up in a sleeping bag laid out on a bunk-bed.
She’s asleep, two fingers in her mouth, blond curls stuck to her face which is
all red and sweaty. I feel her forehead and my hand comes away hot.

Moira says, “Two of the other children
are running temperatures as well. It’s possibly some virus they’ve all picked
up ashore.”

“I’ll carry her to our cabin and put her
to bed. Have you given her anything?”

“No, not yet, but you could give her some
children’s paracetamol. I’ve notified the ship’s doctor and reported the case.
He says he will call in and see Sukey after he’s had his lunch.”

“I’d best be going then,” I say,
unzipping the sleeping bag to scoop Sukey up in my arms.

Fortunately, the ship isn’t rolling and
so it isn’t too difficult for me to carry her up to the cabin. She wakes up
when I lay her down on her bed, but apart from saying hello to me she stays
unmoving, while I undress her and give her a quick bed-wash to cool her down. There’s
a nasty rash on her chest and stomach. Dr Jenkins has already been alerted and
so there is nothing more I can do but give her some paracetamol syrup.

I tuck her up in bed with clean pajamas
on and Bunnylugs by her side. A quick call to the Hospitality Desk to ask them
to page Clara and I order some lunch for myself and fruit juice for Sukey.
Clara arrives at the same time as the steward. While I relieve the steward of
the tray and put it down, she rushes over to look at our little girl. Like me,
she holds her palm against the child’s forehead and frowns at the result.

“Poor little mite. It’s not like Sukey to
be ill. It’s not just teething, is it?” She asks me hopefully.

I shake my head and tell her that Moira
thinks there’s a bug going round amongst the children as three of them seem to
be going down with the same thing.

“Have you sent for the doctor?”

“He’s coming after lunch.”

“There’s not much we can do for now. You
eat your lunch before it goes cold, and I’ll keep Sukey company for a bit. I’m
sure she’d like to have one of us here even if she’s dozing.”

I jump up off Sukey’s bed, yielding my
place to Clara, and sit down at the table in the sunshine on the balcony. As
soon as I finish my lunch, I ask Clara if she has eaten and she says she
hasn’t. She joins me on the balcony and leans against the window, one hand
rubbing up and down her other arm as if she’s cold in spite of the sun.

“I entered the table tennis tournament,”
she says. “Two of my matches are this afternoon. I booked them for today
because you were looking after Sukey. Do you think I should cancel and stay
here with her?”

I push back my chair and step towards
her. Taking her by the arms, I shepherd her back inside and close the door.
“You look cold. You’re shivering, Clara. Go and get some lunch. Sukey’s in good
hands. When you come back, the doctor will probably have called, and we’ll have
a better idea of what we should do. It really doesn’t need two of us to be here
with Sukey.”

Clara gives me a weak smile, “I’ll be as
quick as I can.”

She snatches a sweater out of the
wardrobe, kisses Sukey on her hot little forehead and leaves, closing the door
softly behind her. I draw a chair up to the bed and sit down with my book to
await the doctor. I’m not feeling quite as nonchalant as I held myself out to
be to Clara. I am concerned for Sukey is a healthy child, rarely falling ill
apart from the usual colds of childhood.

I read two chapters before Dr Jenkins
arrives. He takes his time examining Sukey while I watch him at work. At one
point he takes a glass from the nightstand and presses it down hard on Sukey’s
rash. He gives a sigh of satisfaction when he removes it.

“See, the spots disappeared under the
pressure, so we’re not dealing with meningitis. It’s probably one of the many
lesser viruses. Continue with the paracetamol, the liquids and keep her in bed.
I’ll pop in tomorrow, same time.”

“So we’re not to worry?” I asked.

“Not for the time being. I’m off to check
on the other children. I’ve ordered the Playroom shut until further notice so
as to try and contain the spread of the virus. No adults are ill so it must be
something that only attacks small children. We have to keep an eye on it, but
no cause for alarm at the moment.”

When Clara returns I report the doctor’s
finding and prognosis to her and we decide between us that it would be all
right for Clara to take part in the tournament.

“I hope I shan’t be giving the matches
away,” she says, as she changes her clothes. “I feel so worried about Sukey.”

*

Sukey sleeps all day and I continue the
treatment as advised by the doctor. Clara comes in to say she lost one match
and won the second. While she showers and prepares for cocktails and dinner, I
take the opportunity to go down to the promenade deck for some fresh air. I
walk a few fast circuits to clear my head and get my blood moving again after
staying in bed all morning, and sitting with Sukey all afternoon. We’re due to
dock in Naples at about eight this evening. The Italian mainland is already
showing up on our left as we turn in towards the port. I dash up to ask Clara
to hold the fort until we dock. She’s agreeable as she is the one to have this
evening off.

Grabbing a warm jacket, I rush up to the
top deck and take up my spot. The rest of our gang are already there and ask if
I’m going ashore with them for a stroll around. I tell them I have to take a
rain check because Sukey is ill. I add that I will probably have to miss Naples
altogether, as the doctor has said Sukey should stay in bed tomorrow.

“But you’ve been with Sukey all today.
Isn’t it Clara’s turn tomorrow?” asks Doreen.

“Strictly speaking, yes, but it would be
unkind of me to keep Clara away from visiting Pompeii. Remember, she is a
history professor.”

Tony nods. “I can see that, but it’s a
pity. It’d be fun to have you with us.”

“I’ll survive. I can always visit Naples
another time. It’s not as if it was Muscat or Mombasa. Flights to Naples are
cheap. I’ve got plenty of time to see Naples before I die!”

Pete stops a passing steward and orders
beers all round. We pull deckchairs up against the railing and settle in to
watch our approach to Naples.

The lights of the great city wink on in
the far distance as night falls, the glow growing brighter as we draw closer
and more lights spring on. We can just make out the shape of the two summits of
Vesuvius over to our right, south of the city. Floodlights illuminate the
castle of St. Elmo, which stands almost directly in front of our quay. It’s a
magical sight, the architectural splendors of the city shining out with an
amber glow in the dark velvet of the Mediterranean night.

I stay on deck until the last possible
moment, long after Tony, Pete and Doreen have left to go ashore. How I wish I
was going with them, but there is no way I would put my own desires before
Sukey’s well-being.

*

Sukey passes an untroubled night and her
temperature has fallen by the morning, but is still above normal. She’s well
enough to play some games with me and for me to read to her during the morning.
She even eats some breakfast which I take as a good sign. When she nods off in
the late morning, I’m able to go out onto our balcony, which fortunately is on
the side of the ship looking out across the bay to Vesuvius. I’m leaning out
over the side, craning my head round to get a better view of the town when
there’s a knock at the door. The doctor must be early.

“Service!” calls out a voice.

I haven’t got round to ordering lunch.
Maybe Clara has.

I hurry over to the door before the
steward wakes Sukey. He enters pushing a food cart set out with an elaborate
luncheon: wine bucket, damask napkins, covered dishes on spirit lights, cheese
board and what looks like tiramisu. I put my finger to my mouth saying “Shush!”
and pointing to Sukey who is still lost to the world.

“Where would you like it, Madam?” he asks
in a whisper.

“Are you sure you have the right cabin? I
haven’t ordered anything,” I whisper back.

“No, but I have,” says a deep husky voice
as the Captain squeezes his large frame past the food trolley still standing in
the doorway. He takes my hands in his. “I thought you could do with some
company.”

He turns back to the steward and
indicates the balcony, “Out there, please.”

As the steward leaves, closing the door
quietly behind him, I smile up at the Captain, “How did you know?”

He raises my hands to his lips and drops
a soft kiss on my knuckles. “You don’t think anything goes on in this ship that
I don’t know about do you? I made inquiries when I missed your pretty face at
my table last night.”

He lets go of me and tiptoes over to
Sukey and touches her cheek with his palm. “She is still hot but not burning
up, I think. Dr Jenkins says she’s doing fine. But it’s not much fun for you
and your aunt.”

Putting his arm round my shoulders he
leads me out on to the balcony and pushes me down into a chair. “Especially not
for you, missing out on Naples, It’s a magnificent city. But it does you
justice, Merry, that you chose to be the one to stay behind and look after
Sukey, allowing Clara to visit Pompeii. She was telling the Admiral only the
other night how much she was looking forward to visiting the Roman ruins.”

“Captain, there’s no way I would go
ashore while Sukey is ill, even if Clara stayed here. Sukey’s far too
precious.”

“Don’t look so anxious, Merry. Sukey’s on
the mend. The sun is shining and we have a couple of hours together before I
have to get back to the bridge.”

He kisses the top of my head and I switch
from caring to craving in a second but he turns his attention to the cart,
taking the wine bottle out of the bucket and pulling the cork.

“You look as if you could do with a
booster, my girl. This is the best
Lacryma Christi
from the Campania
region around Vesuvius. I think you’ll like it. It’s crisp and dry to go with
our seafood starter.”

He pours us both a glass and I join him
in his toast of “Down the hatch!”

The Captain’s right as usual, both about
the wine and about me. I hadn’t realized how uptight I was until the wine
loosened up my knotted nerves.

We work our way through the delicious
lunch. I eat every scrap and he laughs at my appetite, saying it’s a
combination of youth and good clean sea air.

With the last spoonful of tiramisu gone,
I lean back in my seat and we lock eyes, a current of awareness passes between
us, and our smiles slowly fade away as its intensity increases.

The Captain gives himself a shake, rises
and comes round the table to me. He hunkers down beside me and reaches up. I
think he’s going to kiss me but he licks me, on the mouth, the touch of his
tongue on my lips starting a tremor that ripples right through me.

“Tiramisu! Come,” he says, taking my hand
and standing up, drawing me to my feet along with him. “I have another hour
free. Come lie with me.”

“But what about Sukey?” I whisper.

“She’s asleep, and we can see her from
the other bed.”

I pull back. “But it’s Clara’s bed. It
doesn’t seem right.”

The Captain puts his arms round me and
gives me a gentle hug.

“I’m only suggesting we lie down together
and relax. I want to hold you and, maybe, even kiss you,” he says, as he bends
to stroke my lips softly with his.

How can I resist? I want him to hold me.
I want to have his strong firm body lying close to mine. I want to breathe in
his essence even if only for an hour. I follow him over to Clara’s bed. He
sheds his jacket and tie, and draws down the coverlet. I push off my shoes and
we stretch out side by side. He covers us and we snuggle down together, face to
face, our height difference no longer significant. He looks at me and I look at
him. Our magnetized lips are drawn together, the pull irresistible, and we kiss
long and deep. A heaviness steals over me. I am floating in honey, drifting but
buoyant. His lips trace downward and my nipples swell and tighten in
anticipation of his touch. Kisses land on my breasts like moths, fluttering and
setting my senses a-tingle. My drowsy limbs stretch of their own accord and my
center softens. The Captain trails his kisses down to my waist and around my
tummy button. He reaches out his hand beneath the coverlet and places it on my
knee.