Moon Rising (42 page)

Hearing a footfall, I blinked and took a deep breath. Jonathan came out on deck and leaned against the rail. ‘The Atlas Mountains,' he murmured, with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘A sight to be thankful for, don't you think, after the last few days?'

His sentiments echoed mine so precisely, they came close to destroying what little self-control I had left. ‘Yes,' I answered thickly, fishing in my pocket for a handkerchief. I blew my nose somewhat vigorously, while trying to control emotions that seemed determined to let me down.

After a while, he said hesitantly, ‘I was planning to have a drink before dinner in my cabin – I wondered if you might join me? In about half an hour, if that would suit?'

My heart gave such a thud of astonishment that I almost wanted to say no, I couldn't possibly; but I heard myself agreeing.

Moments later, in the privacy of my cabin, I was in a fever, struggling with my hair, powdering my nose, trying to find something to wear that was reasonably smooth and unstained. And then, when I'd tried and discarded several items, suddenly I was childishly apprehensive at the thought of what he might say, the questions he might ask when we were in a position, at last, to talk.

Having longed for a chance to explain myself, I found myself dreading it. But on my way up to see him all at once I was reminded of the Markway house on Southgate, and his room at the top of the stairs.

The door to his cabin was hooked open, the curtain swaying with the ship. To reinforce that feeling of time slipping back, he was seated at his desk, writing, but there the resemblance ended. It was a man who turned to face me, bearded, freshly washed as I could tell from the wet curls at his neck, wearing a clean shirt, a flamboyant blue tie, and a crumpled linen uniform.

With a warm yet uncertain smile he offered me the other chair, which like his own was anchored to the deck by a short rope, and asked what I would have to drink. He was drinking brandy, so I said I'd have the same, and while he was pouring it I glanced around for photographs.

I could see only one, and that not clearly. It was attached in some way to the panelling above his desk, and seemed to be of a small family group, which I was afraid must be Jonathan, his wife, and three young children. I forced a smile and peered rather obviously, thinking we might clear up one point at least. When he saw me looking, he released the picture with a smile, and handed it across.

‘You'll remember my brother, Dick? He has the chandlery now – that's him, with his wife and family, taken last year.'

I felt my mouth begin to twitch. ‘He looks prosperous,' I said, studying his somewhat smug expression, and the plain faces of his wife and children. ‘And a proud family man.'

‘He is indeed,' Jonathan said drily. ‘Dick weighs everything, and chooses well.'

‘Not a gambler, then?'

‘No, he's a good man, but he never took a risk in his life.'

We shared a conspiratorial smile across a space that was small, yet somewhat bigger than the passenger cabins below. My spirits improved as the fortifying spirit took hold, and I was bold enough then to ask after his parents. I discovered that his mother was dead and had been for many years, while his father had married again and was living at Bay.

‘He likes it there – says it puts him in mind of Cornwall.'

‘Yes, I've heard others say that.' I paused, just long enough to make the question sound casual. ‘And you, Jonathan – are you married?'

He shook his head. ‘Never found time, somehow. But I keep a cottage at Bay.'

Robin Hood's Bay. The name brought back so many memories, I felt choked by them and couldn't speak. Jonathan gazed into his glass for a moment, and then at me. ‘You know, I've been wanting to talk things over with you ever since you arrived on board – but it was so unexpected it's taken me a few days to adjust. I'm sorry if I seemed... rude.'

He paused to add more brandy to his glass, and I saw his hands were unsteady. At once a warm flood of sympathy – and, I must admit, a modicum of triumph that I could make him nervous – made me feel better than spirits ever could. ‘It's understandable,' I said. ‘It's taken me a while, too.'

Before I could become too complacent, he mentioned the storm, and began to thank me for keeping going, for looking after the other passengers when the weather was so bad. I didn't want to be thanked, and had no desire to talk about the weather, but he would not be diverted. ‘No, about the other night,' he said, ‘I feel I should apologise . . .'

‘Apologise? What for?'

‘Well, in case you thought...' He broke off, his mouth twisting with just the merest hint of irony; then, as he glanced up to meet my enquiring gaze, he said drily: ‘I don't know what you thought, but please try to imagine it from my point of view. I mean, here you are, with all you possess – with all your influence on the world I inhabit – and suddenly, without any warning, you're aboard my ship.

‘I still can't believe it. And then, without so much as a by-your-leave, this ignorant Whitby shipmaster takes advantage of your fear and a nasty bit of weather, and makes a grab at you in your own cabin. I didn't intend to,' he added, ‘but it might have seemed like that. So it wouldn't be surprising if you felt angry and insulted.'

‘Oh, I see,' I responded with equal dryness. ‘And there I was, thinking you were just concerned for my safety.' Before he could respond to that, I smiled and raised my glass. ‘Anyway, how did you know I was frightened?'

‘I knew,' he said simply, all cleverness and pretence abandoned. In that moment, I saw the innocent boy he had been, and felt a pang of longing; then he gave me a smile which was very much of himself. ‘And if you weren't, you should have been. I certainly was.'

I was tempted to believe him, and the fact of danger now past struck me forcefully, as it had that afternoon. He seemed to read my expression at once, and as I put out my hand he grasped it in his strong, capable one, entwining his fingers in mine. For a moment we simply gazed at each other; then he drew me closer until our hands clasped, until our knees were touching and we were leaning forward, face to face, breath to breath, skin prickling with awareness.

‘How dare you refer to yourself as an ignorant Whitby shipmaster?' I whispered, swallowing hard.

‘Because that's what I am.'

I laughed, shakily. ‘In that case, I must still be an ignorant Whitby fisherlass...'

I felt the warmth of his sigh and his lips moved briefly against mine. But the kiss was barely there before he said, ‘I liked her, you know, that girl, Damsy Sterne – I always thought she had courage. Not one to make idle promises, either. So why did she go? Why didn't she leave word for me?'

Instinctively, I moved back, but his hands tightened their grip. ‘I need to know.'

‘Didn't they tell you at the time, Jonathan? Surely they must have been eager to put you in the picture?'

‘People told me lots of things at the time – I didn't necessarily believe them.'

‘You should have done,' I said. ‘They were probably true.'

He shook his head, released one of my hands, but only to reach for his glass. ‘That man – the one at Newholm, or wherever it was – was he the one you married?'

‘Goodness, no. He was married already – that was part of the problem.'

‘With that sort, it generally is,' he commented, and drank some more. ‘Did you love him?'

I nodded, barely able to trust my voice. ‘Yes, unfortunately, I rather think I did.'

He set down his glass then, and cupped my face in his hands. He kissed me very tenderly. ‘Well, then, I'm glad you loved him. I'm just sorry he let you down.'

Looking like a wraith, Dr Graeme joined us at table that evening. He was the butt of some friendly jokes, mainly from the Chief Engineer, who was closest in age, but he responded readily enough. I was grateful, since the jesting drew attention from Jonathan's air of abstraction and my somewhat forced spirits. After dinner, I was in two minds about rejoining him, but since Alice and Miss Fenton seemed to be enjoying a cosy chat over soup and water biscuits in Alice's cabin, I felt my attention there was no longer required.

Climbing the stairs to Jonathan's cabin, I could barely believe my change of heart in so short a time. I still wanted him, but it was hard on my conscience having all those old suspicions confirmed, discovering that he had learned of my affair with Bram all those years ago, and been hurt by it. In mitigation, he said we were barely more than children at the time; but even so, he hadn't forgotten, and nor had I.

Words had come more easily before dinner, but having broken the thread, it was difficult to recapture anything but small-talk. Above the desk were a pair of oil lamps, which moved in gimbals with the motion of the ship, casting soft light and shadows over the dark mahogany fittings. The steward brought a pot of coffee from the galley and poured two cups, together with some brandy, before disappearing again. If we'd both been inclined to gulp nervously before, now we sipped carefully, each watching the other while pretending not to, each waiting for an opening which seemed determined not to come.

I was aware of every movement, every blink of thick dark lashes against tanned skin. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and he seemed to be undergoing a struggle similar to my own, less to do with the morality of the situation, I was sure, than this battle between then and now, this conflict between apprehension and desire. We were like unarmed combatants, edging round a ring, looking for some kind of satisfaction, but half afraid of the pain involved. It was unbearable.

I drained my coffee and set the cup and glass on the desk. ‘I'll go,' I said at last, aware of the catch in my throat. ‘Perhaps we can talk some other time.'

‘No, please don't.' Frowning, he rose and touched my arm, lightly – then firmly, as he turned me towards him and closed the door. ‘Please, I want you to stay.'

Another moment of choice presented itself, in which I knew I should do the right thing, and leave – for his sake as much as my own. But with his touch fear and conscience fled, and then the burning of his mouth against mine banished everything beyond desperate need. We clung together, intoxicated by taste and touch, swaying between the two stabilities of desk and sleeping-place. He fumbled with the tiny buttons of my blouse; I opened them at once as he pulled off his tie and began to unfasten his shirt. But we paused then, breathing hard, aware that a boundary had been crossed, some kind of commitment entered into.

‘What about...?' I raised my eyes, to where an occasional creak of timbers signalled watchkeepers moving across the deck above.

‘I told the 3
^rd
Mate I was going to bed,' Jonathan said with a sudden, mischievous smile. ‘Don't worry – he'll call me if he needs me.'

With that he unfastened my skirt, and as it dropped, lifted me up into the bunk. It was high and box-like, with cupboards above and below and curtains to the side; and, while not nearly a double bed, spacious compared to mine. Extinguishing one of the lamps, he turned down the other, slipped off his remaining clothes and climbed in beside me. For a little while we simply lay against each other, kissing and caressing, laughing softly with relief that we'd reached this far. Then he helped me undress. Words were superfluous. He made me feel desirable and intensely alive; when he rose above me I wanted to cry out for the joy of it. He knew, and watched as he penetrated me, stifling both our cries with kisses as he withdrew to thrust again and again. At the last, when he would have pulled away, I held him to me, shuddering with pleasure as he climaxed deep inside.

Afterwards, we were both emotional, torn between laughter and tears, in a whispered conspiracy of tender words and smothered kisses. Cradled in each other's arms and rocked by the sea, with the curtains of that curious little bed half drawn against the night, it was like being nursed in the safety of a womb. Jonathan slept while I watched over him, and in the contentment of sleep he looked so very young, with glossy hair and beard, and soft dark curls across his chest. His skin was smooth, his muscles firm to the touch, and he seemed such a boy to me. I had to remind myself that he was older than I: by only a year, but older, nevertheless.

I fell asleep, and woke some time later to find him leaning over me, fully dressed. ‘It's all right,' he whispered, ‘not yet midnight. I woke and thought I'd better go up top, check all was well. I managed to scrounge a hot drink. Cocoa, I'm afraid, not coffee. Do you want some, or will you go back to sleep?'

I was alert at once, feeling strangely relaxed and complete, as though I'd had an excellent night's sleep. It was impossible to recall the last time I'd felt like that. I sat up with the sheets around me, drinking hot, sweet cocoa while Jonathan made notes.

‘Wind westerly, force 3, slight sea running,' I intoned, inventing an entry for the log book. ‘Unexplained appearance of female passenger in the Master's bed...'

‘...with gorgeous red hair, white skin, and a pair of
very
pretty breasts,' he continued, grinning. ‘Must investigate further...'

I chuckled at that but he shushed me, pointing upwards. ‘They'll be changing the watch soon – and the 2
^nd
Mate's got a bit more about him than the young lad . . .'

‘Oh dear, perhaps I'd better be going?'

He stopped writing at once. ‘Don't you dare! It's not every night I manage to entice a beautiful woman into my bunk – please permit me to make the most of it!'

And he did – we did – finally parting just before dawn. He dressed and came down with me, and for a few minutes we stood out on the boat deck, watching the sky grow lighter along the horizon, the black sea turning to gunmetal as we watched. And then we kissed and he climbed the steps to the bridge, while I crept indoors to bed.