RACHEL
After Johnnie left the cafe to go to his cousin’s, Rachel ordered herself another cup of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully. Over the months since she’d been back in Dartmouth, she’d grown used to being economical with the truth. Used to mixing with incomers rather than the true locals. Used to shopping in the newer shops with their younger assistants. When people asked her about her past, or where she was from originally, she never named anything or anywhere specific. Never gave them any encouragement to ask more questions. Last night she’d broken her golden rule by telling Johnnie where she grew up.
The wine and the growing intimacy between the two of them had been her downfall, lulling her into forgetting the need to be careful. The need to keep her guilty secret hidden from nosey parkers. Not that Johnnie Le Roy fell into that category. He seemed a genuinely nice man. A sexy one too.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come on this trip. Being back on board a yacht again though was good. She’d thoroughly enjoyed the sail over and had been looking forward to the journey back. Now she couldn’t wait to get it over with. Their friendship had to stop before it had really begun. There would be no more crewing for him or sharing a coffee in The Royal, that was for sure.
After paying the breakfast bill and leaving the café, Rachel wandered around the town. She was glad Johnnie had elected to use the old harbour rather than the new marina just outside of town. It did at least give her a chance to explore somewhere she’d never been before. Beautiful granite and historical buildings were everywhere, many decorated with baskets full of red, white and blue flowers.
Scattered amongst the usual touristy shops with their postcards and souvenir items, there were art galleries, bistros, jewellers, takeaway food shops and boutiques selling nautical-influenced clothes. There was even Celtic music drifting out of an open window to add to the atmosphere.
From the tabac, Rachel bought a postcard with various views of Roscoff on it, quickly addressed it to Hugo before scrawling across it, ‘Surprise! Sailed across the Channel yesterday! Love, Mum.’
Slipping the card into the yellow post box on the wall, Rachel glanced at her watch. Nearly twelve o’clock. Better return to Annie in case Johnnie returned and wanted to get down to his cabin. Sitting on deck in the sunshine with her Kindle would pass the time if he wasn’t back yet.
At one o’clock, when he still hadn’t returned, she made herself a sandwich and a cup of tea and settled herself in the cockpit to eat. Clearly Johnnie’s family business must have been more difficult to deal with than anticipated – he’d been gone for four hours now.
Eating her lunch, Rachel watched the activity in the harbour, something she’d done many times before in various harbours in the south when Hugo and his father had gone off on some errand or other. Watching a fishing vessel return to its mooring, squawking gull circling above, the smell of fish and diesel mixed together drifting on the wind reminded her more of Dartmouth and its crab boats returning from Start Bay though rather than Antibes in the south of France.
Unlike Antibes, there wasn’t a single large yacht of the floating gin palace variety in the harbour as far as she could see whereas Antibes with its millionaire quay was a veritable honeypot of international, foreign-registered boats flying the flag of their tax haven registered country.
A few of the private yachts in the harbour here were flying the English red ensign, but in the main the boats were French registered and flying the French flag. If there were any super-yachts up here in this channel port, they were all probably moored against the pontoons in the new marina with its ‘Capitaine’ and twenty-four-hour security.
It was mid-afternoon before Rachel saw Johnnie marching along the quay towards her.
Carrying two large carrier bags and pulling a suitcase he wasn’t, judging by his body language, in the best of moods. Rachel eyed him warily. And who was the woman pushing a child in a buggy at his side?
‘Rachel, meet my Cousin Martha,’ Johnnie said, placing the two bags on Annie’s deck before heaving the suitcase on board.
‘We’ve got a passenger for the trip back,’ he said.
‘Pleased to meet you, Martha,’ Rachel said. ‘Welcome aboard.’
‘Martha’s not coming,’ Johnnie said.
‘So who is?’ Rachel asked, surprised.
‘Carla,’ Johnnie said as Martha unbuckled the safety harness and handed the child to him before folding up the buggy.
Rachel, stunned into silence, could only watch as he carefully climbed on board holding Carla tightly. She looked at Martha, hoping the woman would give her a clue as to what was going on but only got a shrug in response, followed by a sympathetic smile.
‘Johnnie, just think what Annie would want you to do. You’ll cope. Give Sabine my love. See you next trip. Pleasure to meet you, Rachel,’ and she was gone.
‘You look a bit shell-shocked,’ Rachel said quietly. ‘Give me Carla. I’ll hold her while you get things down into the cabin.’
‘Thanks. Then if it’s okay with you, I think we’ll start back. Going to be a long haul – wind’s not right.’
Rachel nodded. ‘Fine by me.’ The wind was not the only thing that was not right, that was for sure. Johnnie’s stiff body language as he sorted ropes and prepared to cast off was speaking volumes. He was clearly one unhappy man. Would he talk to her on the way home? Or would he do the British stiff upper lip thing, bottle everything up and pretend everything was under control?