An Unsuitable Wife

‘Well, I didn’t quite mean in that respect—is he reliable, respectable—that kind of thing?’

‘So far as I know.’ Mrs Watson opened her eyes wide. ‘He’s been coming up here for a few years now and I don’t know of any complaints. The opposite if anything; everyone seems to like him. And he’s a really good customer and he often brings me back some fish. Oh, no, he’s nice all right!’

‘Where does he come from?’

‘Somewhere down south,’ Mrs Watson said vaguely.

‘Well...’ Sidonie hesitated ‘...what does he do?’

‘Something to do with boats, I believe—oh, Jim—’ she looked past Sidonie to the policeman who had just come in ‘—this young lady is making enquiries about Mike Brennan, how respectable he is and so on.’

‘Mike Brennan?’ Jim said with a lift of his eyebrow. ‘One of the best if you ask me. Why?’

‘I think he’s asked her to crew on his boat,’ Mrs Watson murmured.

If she’d said Mike Brennan had asked a baby elephant to crew on his boat, Jim the policeman could not have expressed more surprise in a mostly silent way. His wide-eyed gaze roamed up and down Sidonie, his mouth opened to make some startled exclamation but he shut it sharply then coughed.

Sidonie closed her own eyes and counted to ten beneath her breath. Then she said tautly, ‘I should have thought it was only prudent to make some enquiries before one sailed off with a man one had never met before, however—’

‘Oh, it is,’ Jim said hastily. ‘Very wise indeed. So what can I tell you? Mike is an expert sailor and I’ve never had one word of complaint from anyone who’s crewed for him over the years, nor from anyone he deals with here, chandlers et cetera. Uh—naturally—’ He paused and looked at her probingly.

‘You can’t absolutely guarantee he won’t be tempted to take advantage of me?’ Sidonie queried with asperity.

‘Well, no,’ Jim said seriously. ‘But I have my doubts it would be a problem. I mean to say...’ he paused again ‘...he—’

‘I know what you’re trying to say,’ Sidonie interrupted. ‘He himself told me I couldn’t be less his type if I tried.’

‘I was actually going to say I don’t think he’s the kind of bloke who presses his attentions where they’re not wanted. There are also plenty of girls who— uh—’ Jim grimaced and Mrs Watson tried to look serious but failed.

‘Who would queue up for his attentions?’ Sidonie supplied sardonically. ‘I can’t imagine why he doesn’t get one of them, then, or two or three.’

‘He could be wanting a break from that kind of thing, love,’ Mrs Watson said brightly.

Sidonie regarded them both somewhat balefully and then did the silliest thing. ‘All right. I can’t think what else to do at the moment but if any harm comes to me be it on your heads!’ And she carted herself and her bag, which was beginning to feel as heavy as lead, out of the store with this parting shot.

She stopped on her way down to the marina at another general store, a very general store, where she made several purchases. A shady white linen hat, a powerful sunscreen and a couple of colourful T-shirts. She paused at a rack of bikinis but reminded herself she did have a swimsuit in her bag, a rather aged, very plain navy blue garment, and told herself it would have to do. But, out on the pavement again, she suddenly changed her mind and went back in and bought not one but two bikinis, a bright red one and a hyacinth-blue one with white flowers on it. She then took herself to the park bordering the beach and sat down on a bench because her heart was beating uncomfortably and she was very much afraid she’d been extremely rash.

As she pondered this, she made the startling discovery that she’d been goaded into splurging her slender resources on bikinis of all things out of sheer pique. As a shot in the eye for all those who had made her feel entirely unattractive, and there’d been three of them, she mused ruefully, in the space of one day. But of course the larger issue, she reminded herself, was, was she going to go through with this?

She stared unseeingly at the vista before her then her eyes focused on the boats anchored off the shore; she drank in the wonderful view of the waters of the Whitsunday Passage—and before she could take issue with herself further she jumped up and began the half-hour hike to the Abel Point Marina.

* * *

‘Mike Brennan? Yes, that’s his boat, Morning Mist, over there. He—uh—expecting you?’

Sidonie looked sternly at the marina manager. ‘I’m crewing for him,’ she said equally sternly and was moved to add, ‘Now I’m sure that might cause you some mirth but I’m in fact very good at it. Would you be so good as to as to stop staring at me with your mouth open and let me on to his jetty?’

Morning Mist was a sleek, beautiful ketch painted the palest grey with navy trim and her skipper was lounging in the cockpit drinking beer from a bottle.

‘Good lord,’ he said as she dumped her bag on the jetty, ‘so it is true!’

‘What is true?’ Sidonie queried stiffly.

‘That you’re going to do it.’ Mike Brennan put his bottle down and studied her quizzically. He had donned a faded blue T-shirt but otherwise looked exactly the same.

‘I don’t know what you mean—how did you know anyway?’ She stared at him nonplussed.

‘I received a visit from the local constabulary a short while ago,’ he said gravely. ‘Who informed me that I’d better take the greatest care of you or else!’

Sidonie blinked. ‘Jim?’

‘Jim,’ he agreed with some irony.

She tried to shrug offhandedly. ‘It’s only what a sensible person would do, I should imagine.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘Have I offended you, Mr Brennan?’ Sidonie then said tartly.

‘Not in the slightest, Miss—er—’

‘Hill. It’s Sidonie Hill—’

‘Ah, I might have known.’

‘What?’

‘That you would be called Sidonie or Prudence or Camilla, although I would have bet on Prudence.’

‘I have offended you,’ Sidonie said flatly.

‘Why should I be offended? As a matter of fact Jim often stops by for beer.’

‘Then why are you going out of your way to insult me?’

‘I don’t think,’ he said musingly, ‘it’s an insult to be called prudent by name or nature.’

‘It most certainly is,’ she replied vigorously, ‘the way you do it! Look,’ she added, ‘I’m very hot, I’m tired, I’ve been carting my bag around for hours and it wouldn’t be far from the truth to say that I’m nearly at the end of my tether one way or another, so do you want me to crew on your wretched boat or do you not?’

He regarded her entirely enigmatically for a long moment—her heated face, the damp curly wisps of hair coming adrift from her bun, the quite inappropriate clothes she was wearing. Then he surprised the life out of her by saying, ‘It would be an honour to have you crew on my boat, Sidonie Hill.’ And he vaulted over the handrail lightly and landed beside her on the jetty. ‘Welcome aboard. I’ll bring your bag up.’

* * *

‘Well?’

Sidonie looked around again. The interior of Morning Mist was deeply comfortable and wood-panelled with a jade-green carpet and padded velour seats in a matching jade with a tiny black dot. One such seat curved around a dining table and opposite was another, sofa-length and strategically placed for viewing television. The galley was probably a cook’s dream with a long island bench separating it from the main living area. There were two sleeping cabins, one fore, one aft, and they both had showers and toilets. But, apart from all the dark-panelled and jade splendour, it looked lived-in. There were polished brass lamps and full bookshelves, there was a bowl of fruit on the island bench, a compact disc player beside the television, and several maps and familiar instruments strewn over the chart table.

Her eyes came back to rest on Mike Brennan’s face. ‘It’s very nice,’ she said briskly. ‘What instruments do you carry, Mr Brennan?’