‘Paying-off day, it's always a scramble,' said Ed, the following morning, handing Carole's bag up to her. 'Everyone wants to get home as soon as possible, the minute they've got their wages.' He patted his top pocket. 'In euros, too.'
‘You were lucky with the flights,' said Dora, partly wishing she was flying home with Ed and Carole instead of getting on a train to a music festival. Although she was happy that she was going with Tom. They had both been paid too, although they had protested vehemently that they hadn't expected anything.
‘Aye. And Marcus was excellent booking it all on the Internet,' went on Ed, pulling himself up the rungs set in the dockside and joining Carole on the top. 'Is the taxi here yet?’
As it wasn't, Dora stayed chatting up to him. 'What time will you be home?'
‘Not sure, but with luck I'll be there before the baby. That's the important thing. Did Marcus sort you out with a train?'
‘Yes, all on the Internet too. There's one that goes direct to the town.'
‘And you're sure you don't want to share our taxi to the station?'
‘I've still got things to do. We'll just walk up.’
Then the taxi arrived and everyone was suddenly waving, and saying goodbye, and 'See you in a fortnight!' and then Ed and Carole were gone.
There was hardly time to notice their absence before Jo was asking Dora for the hundredth time if she was OK camping. 'It's not the sort of thing you want to do without notice. We only went once and I spent a fortune in the camping shop buying bits of equipment.'
‘We'll have to be all right, but Tom says there'll be lots of shopping opportunities.'
‘Mm,' said Jo, 'but they'll be for wind chimes and didgeridoos, not useful things like baby wipes. Here you are.' Jo handed Dora a packet. 'I bought them in case the bathroom was suffering from overload,' she explained.
‘I think my rucksack is suffering from overload,' said Dora, stuffing the baby wipes into an already stuffed pocket. 'It's too small for more than one night away.’
Jo, who'd helped her pare her requirements down to spare clothes, a toothbrush, a pot of moisturiser and a novel, tried to sound upbeat. 'Well, you won't get a chance to wear your pyjamas, will you? You'll be dancing all night.'
‘Listening to bands,' said Tom, who was fretting to go, 'waving your arms in the air.'
‘We should be back in a couple of days,' said Dora, uncertain if she was reassuring Jo or herself.
‘You'll have a lovely time,' said Jo, sounding like a parent sending a child to a party it didn't want to go to.
Dora managed a smile. 'I'm sure. Just promise not to tell my mother where I'm going.’
'Well,' said Dora, sitting by the window on the train. 'We've got this far.'
‘Public transport is brilliant in Holland, isn't it?'
‘Mm. And so clean.' She paused. 'Do you think their festivals will be clean and well organised, too?’
Tom smiled teasingly at her. 'You're not looking forward to this, are you?'
‘Well..
‘When you pretended to be disappointed before, you were really relieved, weren't you?’
A guilty smile started at the corner of her mouth. 'A bit.’
‘Don't worry. You'll have a great time, and then you'll only have two more dares to do.'
‘Oh, those wretched dares,' she said, laughing. 'What're they going to be?'
‘Still haven't decided.' He looked around airily.
‘Well, don't make them too hard.' She thought back to the karaoke night with a certain amount of horror. 'You've been a real meany so far.'
‘"Meany",' he repeated fondly. 'I love the way you talk. Anyone else would have said "bastard".’
Dora smiled. 'I've been very properly brought up.' She couldn't help noticing her heart give a little skip at this slight show of tenderness.
Somewhere between Ed's falling in and the rest of the trip, Dora was aware her feelings had changed. Whether she'd always fancied Tom and had just been denying it because it was all too soon after John, or whether seeing him be heroic and Carole fancying him so obviously, or what, she now knew she wanted him to be more than a mate. She just didn't know how he felt about her and whether or not he still saw her as a kid sister.
‘I've noticed,' he said. 'Now, why don't you get some kip while you can? You won't get much when we get there.'
‘But I want to look out of the window and see Holland.'
‘Well, do that, but if you can nod off, I would. You won't be getting much sleep over the next two days. Don't worry,' he added, 'I'll make sure we don't miss our stop.'
‘I can't believe I actually did doze off,' said Dora as they waited in the door area to get off the train.
‘Things have been a bit hectic,' said Tom, 'what with Ed falling in and everything.'
‘We didn't talk about it much, did we? Considering how dreadful it was.’
Tom shook his head. 'No. Ed thought he'd been careless and Marcus thought it was his fault for not knowing that the catch was loose.'
‘I don't see how either of them could blame themselves, it was just an accident.'
‘No such thing in their book. Still, we don't need to think about it any more, we're here!’
Any doubts they'd had about finding the festival were banished the moment they got out of the station. There were signs and flags everywhere and there was a bus laid on.
‘This is all going so well! I can't believe how easy it's been to get here and everything,' Dora said as they jolted along in the bus.
‘Mm, it has gone well so far,' said Tom.
‘What?' His tone alerted her; there was something he wasn't telling her. 'What's the matter?'
‘Well, you know I said my friend had got tickets for the festival?'
‘Yes?'
‘Well, we haven't. We have to go over the fence.’
Dora wondered if she'd ever be able to speak to Tom again, she was so cross. This was jacking up the terror-factor in a bet that was already enormous. It was too much! She forced herself to take a few calming breaths.
‘Tom, I can't. I just can't gatecrash a festival. You can call me a wimp or a piker or any other term you can think of, but I just cannot go in without paying. It's stealing.' She could just see herself banged up in a foreign jail. What would her mother say? She'd never forgive her.
Tom fended off her outrage. 'Whoa, Dora! That's a bit of an overreaction, isn't it?'
‘Maybe, but I don't care. I have my limits. I don't mind being brave – or at least, I do, but I admit it's a good thing. Being dishonest isn't. Sorry.’
Tom sighed and looked around at the other occupants of the bus, anywhere but at her.
Dora watched him, convinced she'd put him off her for ever, certain he wouldn't even be her friend now. She felt utterly miserable and bit her lip. She stared out of the window too, so he wouldn't notice if she started crying. It was mostly because she was tired, she told herself.
The bus reached its destination and they filed off, following fellow festival-goers who all seemed to be in the spirit of it already. When they finally were off, they were still not speaking, and by now, Dora didn't know if they just happened not to be talking, or if Tom was seriously sulking. He said, 'Wait here. I'll do some texting.’
Not wanting to ask, or even know, why he wanted to get away from her to do that, she stood by the entrance, watching happy ticket-holders go streaming in.
All humanity – well, almost all – seemed to be passing before Dora. There were dreadlocked hippies wearing tie-dyed drapery; nice girls with blonde plaits, short shorts and tight pink T-shirts. There were groups of Goths, wearing black studded leather, big boots and, in the case of one woman, a surprisingly delicate black net tutu over ripped fishnet tights who reminded Dora of Bib. I wonder if she'll be here, she thought. Lads in jeans carrying ghetto-blasters and cases of lager mingled with a group of jugglers, who juggled as they walked. There were couples with buggies and babies strapped to their bodies who looked as if they led middle-class suburban lives most of the time, and grey-bearded, long-haired, black-garbed men who had probably never had much to do with mainstream society. In vain Dora looked for someone who, like her, felt out of place and anxious.
The sun began to get hotter and she became thirsty. She drained the water in the bottle she had with her and realised that soon she'd have to buy some more. There wasn't a stall selling it outside, but she could see one through the gates.
Had Tom abandoned her? Surely he wouldn't do something like that. But she couldn't help wondering if he found her refusal to gatecrash the festival so irritating that he'd want to.
Time passed. Had she just been waiting, she'd have found plenty to entertain her in the passing crowds, but the tiny shard of fear that she was alone in a foreign country and might have to make her own way back to the bus, the station and eventually the barge on her own niggled like a splinter.
‘Hi there.' A tall, blond, tanned man wearing jeans and a T-shirt came up. He looked clean and personable and unthreatening. 'On your own?’
He had a faint accent; what kind, Dora couldn't tell. It could have been from any European country. But he had a nice smile and she gave him a small smile back.
‘Only for the moment. I'm waiting for my friend.' The man grinned. 'Girl or boy?'
‘Boy, if it's anything to do with you.' She smiled a bit more this time, so as not to sound rude. She wanted him to think a big strong boyfriend was going to emerge from the crowd at any minute. She wanted to think that herself.
‘Well, he shouldn't have left you alone, pretty girl like you.'
'He had stuff to organise.'
‘Stuff to organise, huh? Want to organise it for yourself?' Dora would have dearly liked to have organised stuff for herself, but as she didn't know what Tom was up to, she couldn't. She decided she wouldn't wait for Tom indefinitely. In a minute she'd work out how long she'd been waiting and decide how much longer to give him, then she'd make her way back to the barge. 'It depends what you're talking about,' she said.
‘Well, is there anything you need?’
By now, Dora's need for a drink had increased consider ably. 'Have you got any water?' He had a large canvas bag with him, so it was possible.
‘Water?' He looked at her curiously. 'No, I haven't got water. But I have got coke.’
Dora had just worked out what he was saying when Tom appeared from nowhere, took her arm and swept her into the crowd that was going through the entrance.
‘I think he was trying to sell me drugs!' she said. 'Too bloody right he was. Sorry I was so long.'
‘What were you doing?'
‘Getting these.' He produced a pair of tickets just as they reached the man who was checking them.
‘Where did you get them from?' Dora whispered as Tom held his wrist out to have a band put round it.
‘A tout. Don't worry, there's nothing wrong with them.' Dora held her hand out and had a plastic bracelet snapped on.
‘They must have cost a fortune!' she went on as they walked. 'How did you pay for them?'
‘Spent my wages, not that it's anything to do with you.'
The time Dora had spent on her own, worrying, and then
being picked up by a drug-dealer, had made her anxious
and therefore shrill. 'Of course it's to do with me! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have to pay! Here.. She fumbled in her wallet, which was in the front pocket of her jeans. 'Have my wages. At least I can pay for my own ticket.'
‘Nape. It's my fault you're here. Now put your money away before you get hit on by more people trying to sell you stuff or someone nicks it.'
‘No! Tom! That doesn't make sense. If I hadn't been here, you'd have gone over the fence and got in for nothing.'
‘If you weren't here neither would I be. Now come on. I want to find the others.’
As Tom wouldn't let her pay, all Dora could do was trot along beside him hoping to goodness 'the others' weren't too terrifying.
But as they walked her anxiety subsided. Most of the people weren't off their heads on drugs, although there was one man staggering along, his eyes rolled back who Tom explained had probably taken ketamine.
There were stalls selling everything, including, in spite of Jo's predictions, useful things, like blankets and soap. There was a stall selling knickers with slogans on them that was doing excellent business and another painting on temporary tattoos and bindis. There were lots of places selling food – no culinary taste was left uncatered for. There was even a stall selling champagne and Pimm's which was a bit of a surprise to Dora, unlike the myriad tents selling what Tom described as Health Burgers.
When Tom finally said, 'There they are! By the Hexagon, like they said,' Dora's growing enjoyment diminished a little. She had quite enough to do getting comfortable with her surroundings without meeting a lot of new people who might well be more scary than her drug-pusher had been.
‘Hi! Tom!' A girl about her own age flung her arms round Tom and hugged him. 'It's so great to see you again! It's been ages. This must be Dora! Hi! I'm Lizzie! I was so pleased when Tom said he had a girl with him.’
Some of Dora's anxiety faded. Not only did Lizzie seem perfectly normal, she and Tom were obviously platonic friends only.
‘Hi, I'm Matt,' said a tall boy with short hair and a very wide smile.
‘And I'm Dave,' said another, smaller this time, and blond. 'We were at college with Tom. So, Tom!' They hugged. 'How's it going, mate?’
The greetings went on and another girl appeared bearing a carrier bag. 'Look what I've got!' she said when she'd said hello. 'Juggling balls.' To everyone's amazement, she took them out of the bag and instantly began juggling with them.
‘I didn't know you could do that!' said Dave.
‘I'll teach you. But come and get settled into the tent first. It's massive – or it was when we put it up. It might be a bit of a squash with us all in it.’
Dora didn't know if she was disappointed that she and Tom weren't going to be sharing a two-man tent, or relieved. She tried to decide all the way to the camping area.
‘Go to the loo now,' said Lizzie as they passed the toilets. 'It's still quite early and they'll be really disgusting later.' Dora took her advice.
It seemed to Jo that one minute they were arriving, tying The Three Sisters up outside the dry dock the barge was due to enter, and the next it was only she and Marcus, left alone in a space that suddenly seemed far too big for two. And this in spite of the fact that until quite recently, she had lived on The Three Sisters all on her own.
‘I can't believe they all disappeared so early. It was as if the ship had the plague or something,' she said to Marcus when he found her clearing up in the galley.
‘They all had places they wanted to get to in a hurry.'
‘I know and I perfectly understand. I just think it would have been nice to go out for a celebratory meal or something.'
‘We can still do that.’
Jo mentally kicked herself. She'd more or less invited herself out to dinner with Marcus. How embarrassing! 'It won't be quite the same.'
‘It'll be better,' said Marcus.
‘What?’
He ignored this. 'The first thing we should do is get you established in the back cabin.' Before she could faint with shock at the thought that he was inviting her into his bed, he went on smoothly, 'I'll move into your cabin.' He was apparently unaware that Jo's perimenopausal symptoms had shot off the scale and back again.
‘Um, it's hardly worth it, is it? It's only for about ten days to a fortnight, isn't it?'
‘Nothing to do with boats and dry docking is ever set in stone. It could be a month, it could be a week. If you find me some clean bedlinen I'll put it on for you.’
The thought of Marcus wrestling with a duvet cover, stretching across the bunk so he could tuck in the sheet and putting pillow cases on was beyond the limits of her imagination. 'It's all in there, in the cupboard.’
He smiled a little apologetically. 'I'm very domesticated when I have to be, but I think I'll need you to come and find it for me.'
‘Of course. I'll strip my bed first.'
‘Don't do that, I don't mind your sheets. Just come and find new ones for your bed.'
‘It would really be a lot easier if we both just stayed where we were,' she said. Now she'd got over the shock of being invited into the captain's quarters and the realisation that he wouldn't be in them at the same time, she sounded perfectly rational.
‘I insist. I need to be there while we're on passage, but there's no need for it now, until we go back.’
These words pierced a bubble of denial that Jo had kept intact until now. She'd spent so much energy thinking about the journey to the boatyard, Holland and across the sea etc., she hadn't made herself think about the journey back. It was probably just as well. If she'd thought of herself being alone with Marcus, with nothing much to do for over a week, she'd have been chewing her nails with anxiety.
‘Ed and Tom are coming back, aren't they? And Dora?' she said feebly.
He laughed softly. 'Don't worry, Joanna, I'm not planning to train you to be my first mate while we're here so we can bring her back alone.'
‘Thank God!' she murmured, feeling sick. She knew perfectly well that a first mate did what Ed did, but the terminology was unfortunate just then.
‘Ed will certainly be back; Tom, too, possibly; and Michael said he might come down as well. We'll see who's available.'
‘Michael should come. All this trouble is for his barge, after all.'
‘Was it a lot of trouble?’
Jo blustered. 'Sorry! Did I sound ungrateful? It's just when Michael lent me the barge he never said it would have to go anywhere.'
‘Not what you signed on for, you mean?'
‘No. And it took a lot of organisation and you had to work really hard.'
‘But this is my work. It's what I do, with Ed when necessary.’
She was about to comment that it was funny sort of work when she remembered that gilding cherubs wasn't a run-of-the-mill way to earn a crust either. 'I suppose so,' she said instead, and went down into what had been, until very recently, her bedroom.
It was full of his being: his smell, his things were scattered about, but mostly it was just him. Determinedly, Jo looked in the cupboard for clean sheets and a duvet cover. As she had sneakily taken her own, goose down pillow, when she'd first moved out, she would just swap it back. It would save on washing.
Marcus was not particularly tidy, she realised. Philip, her husband, had been on the verge of being obsessively organised. As Jo was anything but, it had been a point of conflict between them. Until his defection, she had always seen this difference as good – they balanced each other and stopped either becoming extreme. Since then she had wished the Floosie joy of his neat-nik ways.
There was a pile of change on the tiny folding table, and a heap of clothes in the corner. She was just wondering what, if anything, she should do about them, when he came down the steps and appeared behind her, bending his head so he didn't collide with the roof. The space had never been large, now it seemed slightly more cramped than a Wendy house.
‘I don't want you to do anything except find the sheets,' he commanded, 'It's a mess.'
‘It's OK.' Instantly Jo had to argue. 'It's only some dirty clothes.'
‘Yes, but you shouldn't have to deal with them. Go and relax while I change the sheets,' said Marcus, tugging at the duvet.
She and Marcus spent the rest of the morning reading and resting. At least, that was what Jo did. She revelled in the lazy pleasure of just lying around, doing very little. Marcus heated up leftovers for lunch which they ate drinking lager and reading their books. Afterwards, Jo went for a little walk thinking how restful Marcus could be, and how much of a surprise this was to her.
When she got back he said, 'Right, time to get ready.’
‘Get ready for what?'
‘I'm going to take you out to dinner.’
Frantically she tried to find a reason not to go. 'It's still early!’
He grinned at her. 'We may have to walk a long way to find somewhere nice.’
With the bathroom door locked, Jo looked at herself in the mirror and wished she'd had a chance to see if Carole had left anything useful behind. Some evening primrose would have been something. She didn't expect a girl of Carole's age would have anything really hard core, like red clover, but Jo felt so agitated she would have clutched at any straw – even extract of wheat-grass.
‘You're going to a restaurant to have a meal, at the same time, presumably at the same table,' she told herself. 'It is not remotely a date. You'll go halves.' Then a smile appeared. 'Going Dutch is the expression; how appropriate that it should happen while we're actually in Holland!' And then she began the anxiety-inducing experience of getting ready to go out with a man she really, really fancied without a single wild yam for support. The certain knowledge that he couldn't possibly fancy her, given his taste for young things, did not help.
The hard part was not looking as if she'd tried too hard, she decided, wiping off the eyeliner that had got out of hand. Definitely no blusher. That was bound to clash with her first hot flush that would come tonight, sure as eggs were eggs. She had caught the sun a bit, which brought out her freckles – that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it had also made her nose a bit red. Could she convert the red into the sun-kissed look she would have preferred? By the time she had put on and washed off a lot of make up she looked sort of OK, certainly healthy, and with enough eye make-up to bring attention to what were once her best feature. If they still were, when a fine mesh of laughter lines fanned out from the corners, she couldn't possibly say, but it was the best she could do. Jo couldn't help remembering that the last time Marcus had gone out to dinner with a woman, it had probably been with Carole. Looking over the table at a woman of fifty would be very different from gazing at twenty-something skin and bright, wide-open eyes. It wasn't that she was trying to compete -she couldn't possibly do that – she just didn't want the contrast to put Marcus off his dinner.
‘You look wonderful,' he said, when she appeared in the wheelhouse.
Jo clamped down her instinct to say something dis missive and forced a smile. 'Thank you, you're looking pretty cool yourself!’
Now she looked at him she realised that a plain white linen shirt tucked into a pair of navy chinos were indeed rather attractive. They set off his tan and his curly grey hair. She noted this with a disinterest that pleased her. Any woman would have found him attractive just then, not just one suffering from hormone-induced illusions.
Jo had been leaping on and off The Three Sisters for months with no problems. Somehow Marcus standing on the dockside holding out his hand to help her made it incredibly difficult. She stumbled, he caught her and didn't let her go. He took her arm and they set off along the quay as one, Jo wishing she didn't keep bumping into him.
‘Where are we going?' she asked, when she felt sure she could speak without revealing her swimming senses.
‘Into town. There's a nice little restaurant I know there. It's a bit of a step but we can take a taxi back.'
‘I wish I'd worn my pedometer,' she said and then felt foolish.
‘Your what?'
‘You know, it's a thing you wear on your belt, or in my case my knickers.. Oh, why had she mentioned her knickers? They were nothing to do with him! 'You're supposed to take ten thousand steps a day, but it's really hard because the pedometer doesn't register every step,' she wittered on. 'It doesn't like going up hills and if you're just moving around the house it doesn't notice at all. Very frustrating.'
‘I can imagine.’
Jo decided not to try to make conversation and managed to keep silent up until they reached a street that was full of wonderfully tipsy old houses and antique shops. 'Oh, heaven!' she said. 'Look at the way those houses are leaning out into the street! It's a wonder they don't fall down! And those windows! Do you suppose they have shutters on the inside, or you'd never have kept warm in winter. And look at these shops! Can I cross over?’
She'd had forgotten she was with Scary-Marcus or she would never have suggested zigzagging down the street, running from one shop window to another.
‘Is Dora right about them having flea markets in Holland, do you know?' she asked.
‘She certainly is.' Marcus sounded amused, as if he was humouring a young child, but Jo found it endearing.
‘It's just I've started repairing small decorative items for Miranda's shop-'
‘I know.’
‘
. . . and if I could find some items for myself while I'm over here it wouldn't be such a waste of time.'
‘Waste of time?' His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked down at her.
She smiled up at him, a little rueful. 'Did that sound rude? It wasn't meant to, but you know what I mean.'
‘You mean hanging round in Holland with me would be too boring for words.’
She bit her lip to suppress her smile. 'Oh no, I could put it into words, but it wouldn't be polite. After all, you are practically St Marcus of the Barge, fount of all knowledge and skill in that department.’
He chuckled with pleasure and Jo realised that probably not all that many people teased him. The men were all too in awe of his boat-handling skills and the women probably too keen to catch his attention. How wonderful that she was above all that! But her complacency was short-lived. 'I do assure you that I have other skills.’
His face was perfectly serious; there was no sign that he was teasing her but she knew that he was and couldn't, at that moment, respond. She gazed intently at a perfectly ordinary electric kettle that had found itself in an eclectic collection of old radios and wished for sanity.
A few weeks ago she'd have gone into town and out to dinner with a man she didn't know very well without difficulty. Of course she'd have been a bit shy at first, but she'd have chatted away until she found what his obsessions were and then been a good listener. After all, she was pretty grown up now, her social skills were honed from years of experience of getting people to feel happy and at ease. So it shouldn't be any different with him.
‘Where's this restaurant then?' she asked, planning to ask him all about himself the moment they got there. Then she would only have to nod and murmur for the rest of the evening. It would be a piece of cake.
The restaurant was in the old part of the town in one of the narrow, leaning, half-timbered buildings that Jo had so much admired. Outside was a bench with a mannequin dressed as an old lady seated on it. Its name translated as 'Granny's Kitchen', Marcus told her. They went in.
One of the many joys of Holland was that everyone spoke English, thought Jo, ashamed of her inability to say even the simplest sentence in Dutch. They were ushered into the dining area by a beautiful young woman wearing tight jeans and a tiny apron. A little part of Jo sighed with envy.
They were given menus and looked at them. 'It's rather like Sudoku, isn't it?' said Jo. 'Trying to work out what everything is. Of course that lovely girl will tell us, but it's quite fun trying to see if anything makes sense.'
‘I think the puddings are easier than the main courses,' said Marcus after a bit. 'It helps that I happen to know that Dame Blanche is what they call ice cream and hot chocolate sauce here.’
Jo read the description. 'Oh yes, you can work it out, especially if you know what it is already.' She looked up at him, smiling. 'What's slag, do you suppose?'
‘Whipped cream.’
Jo sighed. 'I know it's awfully bad for you but I love cream with ice cream, the way it hardens as it hits the cold. One of those puddings that people say are better than sex.' Whoops! She'd dropped her guard for a moment and said something silly again. She tried to retreat. 'Mind you, I do hate that expression, don't you? I mean, you might really prefer a chocolate bar or something at four o'clock in the afternoon, but a few hours later – well, I wouldn't want chocolate.' Colour flooded over her like the sea flooding the Netherlands, in an unstoppable wave. If she didn't know perfectly well what had caused it she would have thought it really was a hot flush this time.
‘I'm very glad to hear it.’
A sort of croak emerged from Jo and she reached for her water.
‘Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I've embarrassed you,' he said.
She drained the glass.
‘It would have helped if you hadn't brought up the subject of sex in the first place, so you do have to take your share of responsibility.’
She swallowed and pulled herself together. 'I didn't, really. I was talking about pudding.'
‘Once the word has been tossed into the arena, so to speak, it's quite hard to take it out again.’
She sighed. 'So I've just discovered.’
He raised an eyebrow and then looked down at his menu again without saying anything.
An internal warmth flickered somewhere within Jo's solar plexus. Her radar with regard to men was rusty – she was very dumb when it came to realising when she was being courted but even she felt that there might be something behind his flirtation.
He looked up and stared into her eyes for long seconds before he said, 'What would you like to eat?’
A laugh rippled inside her, revealing itself only slightly. She studied the menu once again.
The proprietress appeared. 'Hi, guys,' the girl said in charmingly accented English. 'Have you decided? Shall I talk you through the menu? Or can I tell you about our special tonight? Fresh Dutch asparagus with ham and eggs. Very traditional.'
‘It sounds wonderful,' said Jo, very relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands.
‘I'll have the same,' said Marcus, 'and could we have a wine list?’
Alcohol, that was what she needed – Dutch courage, obviously. Her private pun amused her and she relaxed enough to look around her. The room was arranged as a facsimile of an old Dutch kitchen. There was a shelf with cookery books, an old wireless, a coffee grinder and a grater on it. On another wall pictures were painted directly on to it, and everywhere were simple, household objects that were decorative and amusing. Above the stairs to the upper room was a rack of very authentic-looking underwear.
Unexpectedly, Jo didn't feel obliged to make conver sation. She just sat, wondering if she'd misread the messages he seemed to be sending. Could he really be trying to get off with her? She hoped the wine would come quickly when it had been ordered.
Marcus produced his reading glasses to examine the list when it arrived. Jo, who had hardly dared even glance at him in the last few minutes, couldn't help observing that she always found men in glasses very attractive. Karen did too, and they had discussed this phenomenon. Her daughter, now that was a good occupation for her brain -Karen could keep her out of trouble even without being there.
The owner came back and Marcus murmured to her. 'I've ordered a nice bottle of Rioja,' he said. 'I think we need something sustaining.’
While most of Jo agreed she definitely needed sustain ing, part of her panicked – why did he need sustenance? Just let go, Jo, she ordered herself, just put his foolish words out of your head, you're likely to be misinterpreting them anyway. He was probably just trying to put her at her ease.
Marcus went through the process of trying the wine. Not too pretentiously, Jo was glad to note, considering how snooty he was about her wine. Remembering this old grudge gave her a little backbone and she dared to glance up at him when he raised his glass.
‘What shall we drink to?' he asked.
‘Oh, to absent friends and to arriving safely – and getting back safely too.' That was an easy one. The wine was soft and delicious. Maybe there was something in all that wine nonsense after all, she thought.
‘And to you, for being you.' Marcus didn't take his eyes off her while he drank. Jo wished she dared take off her cardigan but she had never liked her upper arms.
She fitted her glass in among the cutlery and plates on the table with care.
‘Joanna,' Marcus sounded serious. 'I think I may have frightened you earlier.'
‘Mm. Well, a bit, I suppose,' she mumbled.
‘You have no idea of how I feel about you, have you?’
‘No! I mean, if you don't just see me as an old friend you've crossed the sea with.’
He took a deep breath. 'I really don't see you as that. Apart from the crossing-the-sea part.'
‘So…?' She was very tentative.
He swallowed, rearranged his cutlery, scratched his nose and said, 'Actually, I think I fell for you when I first met you, in that pub, all those years ago. You were already with Philip.'
‘Oh.' Her mind flew back. Would she have given up Philip for Marcus had he made a move? She couldn't say for sure, but she feared she wouldn't have had the confidence.
‘Yes. I was too scrupulous to do anything about it. I might have done, eventually, but you got engaged, and so that was it. I went away.'
‘Yes,' she said eventually.
‘The thing is…' He hesitated and then suddenly said, 'Are you still with Philip? Emotionally, I mean. Do you still care about him?’
He was being very direct and she had to respect him for it, but she still found it unnerving. 'No… Well, I wish him no harm, I want him to be happy – which is nice of me, considering – but I no longer love him in that way.’
A deep sigh went through him. 'Oh! I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that.'
‘What about you and Carole?' she asked gently.
He smiled. 'I think she'll move happily on to the next man who'll give her a good home. I think I lost interest in Carole the moment I saw you again.'
‘Really?'
‘Oh yes. Seeing you again reminded me what an attractive woman you are. I realise I had kept you in the back of my mind for years, but sometimes when you meet people again, everything has changed and you can't imagine what you once saw in them. With you, all my feelings came back in a rush.'
‘Oh?' It came out as a squeak. Did he really mean it? After all, he was a bit of a womaniser and he might just be looking for a change before returning to a younger woman. She could just be a challenge for him. And then she told herself not to be so cynical.
‘Yes,' he went on, smiling warmly at her. 'You're as sexy and as lovely as you ever were, only now you're wise and kind and loving too.'
‘Am I?' She sipped her wine, hoping it would help her stop squeaking. He was very seductive.
He nodded. 'Oh yes.’
She started to smile, and although she tried to stop it, she just found she wanted to keep smiling at him, very much. 'Golly, I'm hot!'
‘Take off your cardigan.' He eased her cardigan down over one shoulder, and the other side fell off in sympathy.
‘I hate my arms,' she murmured as she hung it on the back of her chair.
‘I love your arms!' said Marcus, surprised, as if hating them was a strange thing. He ran his fingers down the top of one as if he couldn't help himself and then put his hands firmly in his lap. 'So didn't you guess how I felt – feel about you?’
She shook her head. 'How could I?'
‘You didn't wonder why I took such trouble to talk you out of your fears, why I was so insistent that you came on the trip, all that?'
‘I just thought you were being kind – at least when you stopped me being so frightened.' She frowned. 'Why did you bring Carole, then?'
‘Because when she asked me if she could come, I thought you'd bottled out. I was furious – with you – with myself for being such a fool, everything. And I guess I didn't really trust my feelings, if I'm honest,' he added rather ruefully.
‘I hope Carole didn't regret coming.' So inviting Carole was slightly out of pique. Well, she couldn't really blame him.
‘I shouldn't think so. She'll realise the trip was the catalyst that made her get rid of me, and she'll be glad about that.'
‘Would you have got rid of her, if she hadn't dumped you first?’
He hesitated before he answered. 'I can see why you're asking the question and yes, I would have got rid of her, if I had to. I would have done it in a way that she thought it was her idea.' He suddenly grinned sheepishly. 'It's a technique I've developed over the years.’
She chuckled slightly. 'I'm sure you've developed lots of techniques over the years.’
He nodded, still rueful. 'Tell me about your daughter.’
‘Is that one of them? Changing the subject to something safer?'
‘Definitely.'
‘OK, I'll indulge you.' She let herself get well into one of her favourite subjects for a while and then said, 'Your turn.' He chuckled softly. 'I haven't got a daughter, or any children, come to that – or not that I know of. I never said I was a saint,' he added, noticing Jo's raised eyebrow. 'You obviously love Karen very much.'
‘Oh yes. More than anything or anyone in the world. Even when I still loved Philip, I would have said the same.’
‘And you definitely don't love Philip any more?’
Jo nodded, aware she knew it now with more certainty than she had at any time since he'd left her. 'Loving someone is quite hard to stop doing but when he went off a part of me died. My love for him sort of withered away, without its blood supply.' She looked up at him ruefully. 'I'm talking gibberish. Too much wine probably.'
‘You haven't had enough wine for that.’
He topped up her glass and she suddenly thought that perhaps he was trying to make her drunk so he could have his evil way with her. Then she realised it would be her evil way too. She took a cautious sip.
‘I will never let anything bad happen to you, Joanna. I give you my word,' he said.
Touching as this statement really was, Jo did not receive it with unalloyed joy. She had just begun to look forward to being seduced by this very, very attractive man and he'd gone all noble on her. How typical. He's probably seduced hundreds of women, why should he decide to give it up now? Still, with luck, he wouldn't consider getting her into bed as bad, exactly.
The food arrived just in time to prevent her having to say anything meaningful in return. 'My goodness, there's enough here to feed an army!' said Jo.
‘Nearly enough to feed a barge full of hungry boaters,' agreed Marcus.
Jo laughed. She did like being with him. He might say totally unnerving things from time to time, but he didn't dwell on them, or insist on a response. For the first time in a very long while she was enjoying the company of a man who she felt really did want to be with her – at least for this evening.
When at last their plates had been taken away, Marcus inspected the pudding menu. 'Do you want a pudding?’
Jo sighed. 'Sort of. I'm so full I can't move, though.'
‘We'll share one, then. Shall we have slag?'
‘Definitely.' Jo laughed.
‘And then we'll have brandy. How often is it that one doesn't have to do anything much in the morning?'
‘So they won't want to put her into dry dock at the crack of dawn?'
‘I don't think they're planning to put her in dock until about ten, so that's not too bad. This dock is very good about letting families live aboard while there's work going on, but it's better to be out while they're actually working.'
‘Does that mean we have to wander the streets until dark?'
‘Not at all. We'll hire a car and tour Holland, go to Amsterdam, Delft, all the touristy things, and then some non-tourist ones.'
‘Perhaps we might find a flea market?'
‘Of course. You can load up with suitable bits of china, restore them and sell them with a huge mark-up.’
‘And make my fortune! What more can a girl want?’
‘I can think of a couple of things one might want a girl tc want.’
She twinkled at him. 'I think ice cream and chocolate sauce might be enough for now.' She was enjoying flirting openly with him.
The sauce came in a separate jug, as did the cream. Even without all the connotations it now had for Jo it would have seemed like a little piece of heaven. Marcus picked up a spoon and loaded it with a combination of ice cream, sauce and cream before carrying it to Jo's mouth. 'Open wide.’
Giggling, she did as she was told. 'That was to die for,' she said.
‘But not better than sex?'
‘It depends on the sex.' She spoke flippantly, but she did remember that there were times – quite often – when she had occupied her mind with shopping lists and what to do in the garden while Philip had made love to her.
Marcus ate a spoonful himself. 'Wow. That has set quite a high standard.’
Jo sipped the brandy that had appeared at her elbow without her noticing. 'I'm not really comparing like with like. Don't worry.' Then she realised that sometime during the evening she had decided that if the opportunity arose, that if he wanted to, she would put aside her years of conditioning, of being sensible and thinking about the future, and have sex with him, whatever the consequences. It came as a huge shock. Her shock must have showed because he laughed.
‘Don't worry, I won't hold you to anything, except perhaps my manly chest.’
Now Jo was really giggly and accepted another spoonful of pudding. 'It's just as well we don't know anyone here. Imagine the scandal, a respectable middle-aged, middle-class woman dining with…' she paused for an apposite description.
‘A middle-aged, middle-class reprobate?'
‘Mm, that's quite accurate.'
‘But as we don't know anyone, drink up, it's time we were going home.’