Sea of Lost Love by Santa Montefiore

chuckle.
    â€œThey’re young,” said Penelope. “I remember my first kiss to this day.”
    â€œDo you? Who was it?” Julia asked, flicking ash into the glass ashtray Soames had placed in front of her.
    â€œA man called Willy,” Penelope replied, then gave a little snort.
    â€œI hope kissing you was all Willy did,” said Pamela dryly. “A woman can never trust a willy!”
    Â 
    Celestria hurried down the path to the sea. Harry, Wilfrid, and Sam followed her, although they didn’t share her concern. Monty was the most reliable, solid man they knew. He was the hero who always saved everyone else. When there was a trap to be laid, Monty knew how to set it and where to place it. If there were camps to be built in the woods, Monty knew the best tree and how to stuff the cracks between the logs with hay. He knew how to light fires with flint and how to roast chestnuts. He could shoot rabbits from a distance, skin them, and fry them for dinner. Besides, he was a master sailor. Once he had made a pirate ship out of his small boat and taken them out into the middle of the sea in search of vessels from Spain, heavy with gold. They had worn eye patches and striped shirts and carried bottles of lemonade Monty called “liquor.” No one understood the tides better than Monty. It was unthinkable that he had drowned at sea.
    Celestria now knew why the sea had pulled at her that morning. It hadn’t been because of Bouncy, but because it had just digested her father. The serenity of its surface was simply the sleep of a satisfied belly. The air was damp and salty, the sun warm upon her face, the sky a resplendent blue, washed clean by the rain. Celestria felt a sickness in her stomach in spite of the perfection of the morning.
    While Celestria stood in the middle of the wide beach, a figure dwarfed by cliffs and rocks, gazing forlornly out to sea, a fisherman, drawing in his net, raised his eyes to where a small boat bobbed about on the horizon. “Oi, Skipper, you see that out there?” he shouted to his friend. Merlin, nicknamed Skipper, stood a moment, shielding his eyes from the sun with a callused hand.
    â€œLooks like a boat,” he replied slowly.
    â€œA fishing boat?” repeated Trevor.
    â€œMotorboat,” said Merlin knowledgeably. “See anyone in it?”
    â€œNo, ’less he’s sleepin’.” Trevor grinned, revealing a large hole where his two front teeth had been knocked out in a brawl outside the Snout & Hound a few years before.
    â€œWe’d better go take a look,” said Merlin. “Let’s get this lot in first.” They finished their business, pouring the fish into large barrels, where they wriggled about, gasping for breath, slowly dying. Then they motored over to the boat. They drew their vessel up alongside, causing the small boat to rock about on the swell.
    â€œWell, I’ll be damned,” said Trevor, leaning over the side to take a better look. “It’s empty.” He rubbed his bristly chin thoughtfully.
    â€œNot a soul,” said Merlin in wonder.
    â€œWhere’s he gone to, then?”
    â€œDunno. Eaten by a big fish.” Merlin began to laugh at his own joke. Trevor joined him. He thought everything Merlin said was funny.
    â€œWhat d’you make of it?” Merlin asked after a while, shaking his head.
    â€œSilly bugger got drunk and drowned. Look, there’s a bottle over there.” Sure enough, a champagne bottle lay discarded in one corner, rolling about under the seat.
    â€œAny left?”
    â€œLooks empty from where I’m standing.”
    â€œWhat’s that, then?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat gold thing, by the bottle.”
    â€œI’m gonna have to get in, aren’t I? Bugger!” Trevor stepped over into the little boat. He leaned down and picked up a gold watch on a chain. “Nice!” he said, turning it over. “Pocket watch.