North Star by Hammond Innes Page B

these last few years. But when I saw the Duchess coming in round the end of The Taing …’ She stopped, turning and facing me. ‘You will never know what that meant to me.’ And then she asked me whether I had fed. ‘I hope you haven’t.’
    ‘No, I’ve come straight ashore as you suggested.’
    ‘Good. Because otherwise you would have to eat two meals.’
    ‘It’s not impossible.’
    She laughed. ‘You don’t know what I’ve cooked.’ Her teeth flashed white, her eyes sparkling. It crossed my mind that she was a widow now and flying some sort of flag, with the table laid for two, lace mats and rough-carved wooden candlesticks. And then she said, ‘If Jan were here, how he would have enjoyed it. Don’t you feel you deserve a celebration after all the work you have done? Now, take off your oilskins please and we will have a drink.’
    She went into the kitchen, returning with glasses and a bottle. ‘I found this when I am going through Far’s things – it is aquavit, real live aquavit. I think it came with the ship from Norway and he kept it against some happy day.’
    She was in a mood of strange elation, gripped by a sort offeverish belief that now the ship was back at her old mooring everything would be all right. ‘You bring me luck,’ she said, raising her glass, the too-wide mouth smiling at me. ‘Skål!’ And she tossed the drink back, her eyes on me, watching to see that I did the same.
    ‘Are you trying to drink me under the table?’ I asked as she refilled my glass.
    ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’ She was laughing, but at herself I think, at the invitation in her eyes that she didn’t bother to conceal. ‘You haven’t wished us luck.’
    I got up then, remembering how formal Scandinavian ships’ officers could be, and made a little speech. She clapped her hands, and after she had drunk, she put her glass down carefully, holding it cupped in her capable brown hands, her head a little bowed so that the fair hair cascaded over her face. ‘I think we are very strange partners, you and I, neither of us knowing what we want of life or where we are going. All I know is what I feel inside me, that tonight is different – the start of something. But I don’t know what.’ She raised her head and looked at me questioningly. ‘Don’t you feel that?’
    I shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ I said guardedly.
    ‘I think for you also this is a new beginning.’
    ‘What about that agreement?’ I asked her.
    ‘Have you thought about it?’
    ‘No. I haven’t had time. But I think we should discuss it now, while we are still sober.’
    ‘There is nothing to discuss.’ Her hand reached out to the bottle. ‘Will you have another drink?’
    I shook my head. ‘Not now. When we’ve settled this maybe.’
    ‘There is some wine to follow. What you would call plonk, I think. I bought it at the stores this morning. But now –’ She filled my glass again. ‘Now I think we have one last aquavit and drink to a partnership.’ She picked up her glass, not looking at me, but staring down into the heavy pale liquor. ‘You see, I have had time to think about it. There is no way that I can see to draw up a legal document between usthat is of any use. I am the owner. You hold the mortgage. Either we are partners or one of us must find the money to buy the other out. How much money have you got?’
    ‘Less than fifty pounds.’
    ‘You see? You cannot buy me out. And I have nothing. I am living on borrowed money. So what is the point of an agreement?’
    ‘I thought you didn’t trust me?’
    ‘I don’t. Your head is too full of strange ideas – about people and politics and the economics of the world. Oh, don’t think I have been spying on you, but they tell me everything, about what you eat, how much you sleep, what you talk about. And there is the gossip here, too. You came to see Hilda Manson, making enquiries about your father. The house where he was born is just up the road, and there is that tablet in the