had a feel for Her Grace , and adjusting for wind and current, he maneuvered the tiller and throttle toward an empty slip.
A man in ripped jeans starting shouting, “You can’t leave your vessel here. This is a private dock.”
Travis cut the engine.
“We have a reservation,” I shouted. “Geneva McCarty booked a slip for Her Grace .”
Removing a brown tweed flat cap from his head, he scratched sparse pieces of blond hair. “Throw me a line.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Securing the ropes in front and back, he motioned a hand. “Wait here, while I check with the gaffer.”
“Rachael, what if we get booted from here? We’re on a quarter of a tank.”
I started closing cabin windows. After slipping the oyster brooch into an inside pocket of my jacket, I counted four hundred pounds and handed a portion to Travis. “If we can’t stay, we’ll have to ask where we can get fuel and a dock for the night.”
A clanging bell tolled. Besides our boat docking, there wasn’t any late afternoon activity under the shadows of the Blackfriars Bridge.
Planks around the slip creaked and the fellow with the cap returned. “You’re all set.” He held a clipboard. “Just need a signature.”
“What do we owe you?”
“All been pre-paid. We’ll get you some fresh water, groceries, flush the sanitation tank, and re-fuel her before you depart. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”
I tinkered with the eye of Horus I wore around my neck. “Clothing, food, a shower, and serious luck.”
The dockhand scratched his bearded chin.
Travis gripped my elbow and guided me onto the dock. “Can we get a taxi from here?”
LONDON’S GOT EVERYTHING. Not ten miles beyond Victoria’s Embankment, where we’d caught our taxi, we hit the jackpot: a Marks and Spencer department store. Travis agreed on a forty-minute time limit to find and purchase all the clothes and underwear we needed to get through the boat trip. I finished shopping in thirty, and found him drooling over a Barbour jacket that he claimed was to die for. The price tag popped my eyes wide. Tugging his arm, I dragged him away. “Let’s get to Regent Street before the shops close.”
“What’s the rush? There’s still tomorrow.”
“Let’s get all the shopping and jewelry inquires over with. Tomorrow, we can be tourists.”
“I can’t believe your grandmother sent us up the river without our luggage. Some of my favorite clothes were packed. I hope she didn’t leave it behind at The Oakley.”
My feet locked. “Let’s call the front desk.”
He pulled my arm. “Call and ask to have our luggage delivered?”
I shook loose. “Exactly.”
“Is that code for something?”
“GG may have left a message, in case we call. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before now.”
He squinted at me.
Passing through cosmetics, a woman spritzed me with Calvin Klein Eternity . “I saw a red phone box on the street corner. It can’t hurt, right?” I liked winning him over.
“Stop rushing. We don’t even have the phone number for the hotel.”
Pushing through the front glass doors, we landed on the sidewalk in Covent Garden where shops butted against brick pavers and a bustling street. To the left was the telephone box. I dug in my pocket, past the Pall Malls, I clutched a pack of matches. A gargoyle like the ones on top of The Oakley Court smirked on the match pack front flap.
Peering into my hand he flipped the matchbook over. On the back was the address and phone number. “You smartass.”
I gloated, of course.
The two of us squeezed into the red box and I held out my hand. He removed a palmful of coins from his pocket. “Which one?”
“The one with the queen on it.”
“All the coins have the queen on them.”
“The gold one.”
After I dialed the number, I got rapid beeping and finally figured out by reading the information on the phone that I needed to dial 020 first. The sound wasn’t at all American, but a bling-bling in
A man in ripped jeans starting shouting, “You can’t leave your vessel here. This is a private dock.”
Travis cut the engine.
“We have a reservation,” I shouted. “Geneva McCarty booked a slip for Her Grace .”
Removing a brown tweed flat cap from his head, he scratched sparse pieces of blond hair. “Throw me a line.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Securing the ropes in front and back, he motioned a hand. “Wait here, while I check with the gaffer.”
“Rachael, what if we get booted from here? We’re on a quarter of a tank.”
I started closing cabin windows. After slipping the oyster brooch into an inside pocket of my jacket, I counted four hundred pounds and handed a portion to Travis. “If we can’t stay, we’ll have to ask where we can get fuel and a dock for the night.”
A clanging bell tolled. Besides our boat docking, there wasn’t any late afternoon activity under the shadows of the Blackfriars Bridge.
Planks around the slip creaked and the fellow with the cap returned. “You’re all set.” He held a clipboard. “Just need a signature.”
“What do we owe you?”
“All been pre-paid. We’ll get you some fresh water, groceries, flush the sanitation tank, and re-fuel her before you depart. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”
I tinkered with the eye of Horus I wore around my neck. “Clothing, food, a shower, and serious luck.”
The dockhand scratched his bearded chin.
Travis gripped my elbow and guided me onto the dock. “Can we get a taxi from here?”
LONDON’S GOT EVERYTHING. Not ten miles beyond Victoria’s Embankment, where we’d caught our taxi, we hit the jackpot: a Marks and Spencer department store. Travis agreed on a forty-minute time limit to find and purchase all the clothes and underwear we needed to get through the boat trip. I finished shopping in thirty, and found him drooling over a Barbour jacket that he claimed was to die for. The price tag popped my eyes wide. Tugging his arm, I dragged him away. “Let’s get to Regent Street before the shops close.”
“What’s the rush? There’s still tomorrow.”
“Let’s get all the shopping and jewelry inquires over with. Tomorrow, we can be tourists.”
“I can’t believe your grandmother sent us up the river without our luggage. Some of my favorite clothes were packed. I hope she didn’t leave it behind at The Oakley.”
My feet locked. “Let’s call the front desk.”
He pulled my arm. “Call and ask to have our luggage delivered?”
I shook loose. “Exactly.”
“Is that code for something?”
“GG may have left a message, in case we call. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before now.”
He squinted at me.
Passing through cosmetics, a woman spritzed me with Calvin Klein Eternity . “I saw a red phone box on the street corner. It can’t hurt, right?” I liked winning him over.
“Stop rushing. We don’t even have the phone number for the hotel.”
Pushing through the front glass doors, we landed on the sidewalk in Covent Garden where shops butted against brick pavers and a bustling street. To the left was the telephone box. I dug in my pocket, past the Pall Malls, I clutched a pack of matches. A gargoyle like the ones on top of The Oakley Court smirked on the match pack front flap.
Peering into my hand he flipped the matchbook over. On the back was the address and phone number. “You smartass.”
I gloated, of course.
The two of us squeezed into the red box and I held out my hand. He removed a palmful of coins from his pocket. “Which one?”
“The one with the queen on it.”
“All the coins have the queen on them.”
“The gold one.”
After I dialed the number, I got rapid beeping and finally figured out by reading the information on the phone that I needed to dial 020 first. The sound wasn’t at all American, but a bling-bling in
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