much trust in one man.
Squinting against the sun, Harry turned her attention back to the task in hand. It was a fiddly job and past experience had shown her that George, who was not blessed with vast reserves of patience, would not be the ideal assistant. She’d probably complete it quicker without him. There were times when she longed for a crack team of fit young men round the place to do the heavy work. There were even some occasions when she had the tiniest pang of thinking that it might be nice, sometimes, to have someone to turn to. Taking on the business had put a stop to anything resembling a social life; the demands of the sea didn’t fit conveniently round theatre trips, dinner dates or weekends away. But Harry didn’t stop to think about what she might have missed – she was simply proud to have made it on her own.
Hoping that the sail would set smoothly, Harry was irritated when it jammed at the top of the reefing. She gave it a couple of experimental tugs to see if that would free it and, when nothing happened, went for brute force – only to see the plastic swivel at the top shear cleanly in half.
‘Oh, fuck!’
‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
Harry groaned to herself and peered down over the edge of the sail to see who she might have offended. She was instantly intrigued: in his white shirt, skinny black tie and tight black trousers, the guy staring up at her didn’t look the type who was easily affronted. With floppy dark hair falling over dark glasses, a knowing smile and the sallow skin of someone with scant experience of fresh air, it was easy to imagine him on stage, strutting his stuff before a sea of fans. Harry shot back behind the sail and resisted the urge to punch the air; if her adverts had succeeded in attracting a wealthy rock star in search of a mooring for his luxury yacht, she ought not to jeopardise the proceedings by acting like an impressionable teenager.
‘Hang on!’ she sang out, in case he dematerialised. ‘I’m just coming down!’
Chapter Nine
From deck height he’d looked rather waif-like; but, having scuttled down the ladder, Harry was surprised to discover he was much taller than she’d expected and very toned. At closer quarters he crackled with energy; the fashionably thin look, she reckoned, was one that he worked at.
‘Hello! Have you come about the advert?’
He frowned and took off his sunglasses, surprising her with mesmeric, slanting dark eyes, which added to his already striking appearance.
‘I wasn’t aware there was an advert. As far as I’m concerned, the position’s mine if I want it.’
He sounded a bit petulant, like someone used to getting his own way, and seemed to find the suggestion that this might not be the case rather offensive.
‘Oh.’ Harry was more disappointed than curious. ‘You’re not enquiring about moorings then?’
‘’Fraid not.’ He gave a short laugh, apparently recovering his sense of humour. ‘Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who’s confused today!’ He gestured towards a black sports car stretched out next to her white van. ‘I turned in looking for directions. I assumed the old boy back there was the Harry Watling on the sign. He, er, put me right.’
Oh, George would have done that all right, thought Harry, reflecting that on another day she might have had some fun trying to guess exactly what was said.
‘After that I had to come over to see what the real Harry Watling looked like.’
American? Australian? It was hard to place his accent. ‘Yeah, well,’ she said, outwardly calm whilst her mind worked frantically to place him, ‘now you know.’
‘No offence,’ he smiled. ‘You’re not quite what I was expecting; I mean, you’re tiny and you’re a chick. And you’re getting your hands dirty.’
Harry tried not to scowl at him. He wasn’t to know she’d spent her whole adult life watching eyebrows rise in dull surprise when she emerged from an engine bay.
‘How did you get stuck
Squinting against the sun, Harry turned her attention back to the task in hand. It was a fiddly job and past experience had shown her that George, who was not blessed with vast reserves of patience, would not be the ideal assistant. She’d probably complete it quicker without him. There were times when she longed for a crack team of fit young men round the place to do the heavy work. There were even some occasions when she had the tiniest pang of thinking that it might be nice, sometimes, to have someone to turn to. Taking on the business had put a stop to anything resembling a social life; the demands of the sea didn’t fit conveniently round theatre trips, dinner dates or weekends away. But Harry didn’t stop to think about what she might have missed – she was simply proud to have made it on her own.
Hoping that the sail would set smoothly, Harry was irritated when it jammed at the top of the reefing. She gave it a couple of experimental tugs to see if that would free it and, when nothing happened, went for brute force – only to see the plastic swivel at the top shear cleanly in half.
‘Oh, fuck!’
‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
Harry groaned to herself and peered down over the edge of the sail to see who she might have offended. She was instantly intrigued: in his white shirt, skinny black tie and tight black trousers, the guy staring up at her didn’t look the type who was easily affronted. With floppy dark hair falling over dark glasses, a knowing smile and the sallow skin of someone with scant experience of fresh air, it was easy to imagine him on stage, strutting his stuff before a sea of fans. Harry shot back behind the sail and resisted the urge to punch the air; if her adverts had succeeded in attracting a wealthy rock star in search of a mooring for his luxury yacht, she ought not to jeopardise the proceedings by acting like an impressionable teenager.
‘Hang on!’ she sang out, in case he dematerialised. ‘I’m just coming down!’
Chapter Nine
From deck height he’d looked rather waif-like; but, having scuttled down the ladder, Harry was surprised to discover he was much taller than she’d expected and very toned. At closer quarters he crackled with energy; the fashionably thin look, she reckoned, was one that he worked at.
‘Hello! Have you come about the advert?’
He frowned and took off his sunglasses, surprising her with mesmeric, slanting dark eyes, which added to his already striking appearance.
‘I wasn’t aware there was an advert. As far as I’m concerned, the position’s mine if I want it.’
He sounded a bit petulant, like someone used to getting his own way, and seemed to find the suggestion that this might not be the case rather offensive.
‘Oh.’ Harry was more disappointed than curious. ‘You’re not enquiring about moorings then?’
‘’Fraid not.’ He gave a short laugh, apparently recovering his sense of humour. ‘Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who’s confused today!’ He gestured towards a black sports car stretched out next to her white van. ‘I turned in looking for directions. I assumed the old boy back there was the Harry Watling on the sign. He, er, put me right.’
Oh, George would have done that all right, thought Harry, reflecting that on another day she might have had some fun trying to guess exactly what was said.
‘After that I had to come over to see what the real Harry Watling looked like.’
American? Australian? It was hard to place his accent. ‘Yeah, well,’ she said, outwardly calm whilst her mind worked frantically to place him, ‘now you know.’
‘No offence,’ he smiled. ‘You’re not quite what I was expecting; I mean, you’re tiny and you’re a chick. And you’re getting your hands dirty.’
Harry tried not to scowl at him. He wasn’t to know she’d spent her whole adult life watching eyebrows rise in dull surprise when she emerged from an engine bay.
‘How did you get stuck
Similar Books
