CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Cabin

They opened the brokerage on Sunday morning and set about catching up on the items in David’s notes. On Monday their first visitor was Chris, who came down from his office with a wide grin on his face. He looked at Mary as he asked diffidently if they had any news.

‘More to the point,’ she said, after they had exchanged greetings, ‘have you any news? I’ve told Greg I knew you’d guessed ours when I spoke to you about the chances of a new caravan.’

Chris was still smiling. ‘Guessed what, Mary? Surely there’s not something you haven’t told me?’

‘Come on,’ said Greg, ‘you must be the only one round here who doesn’t know, but I can see you are keeping something back - spill the beans.’

‘You’re in luck, I think,’ Chris continued. ‘I’ve been advised that both the new caravan and the cesspit revival would almost certainly be approved. A surveyor from the planning department will be coming out today to look over the ground. A detail that I had overlooked, however, was to do with who occupies the caravan. I was told that we were in the business of boatbuilding - not property development. Permission for a dwelling would most likely be conditional on the resident being an employee and not paying rent. You qualify as a director, so there will be no problem all the time you continue to do what you are doing.’

‘Does that mean that if you fire me we have to move?’ said Greg.

They looked at each other in turn and broad smiles came over their faces.

‘Mmm,’ mouthed Chris, ‘we’ll meet that one when we come to it.’ And he burst out laughing.

Mary leaped up and gave Chris a huge hug. Greg grasped his hand firmly.

‘Pack it up, you two!’ exclaimed Chris. ‘You are embarrassing me. Oh, by the way, you still haven’t told me what I was supposed to have guessed?’

‘Late October’ was Mary’s reply.

‘Wonderful,’ said Chris. ‘We can have another double celebration. Last week the Sheikh signed for patrol boat number two. Delivery mid-October!’

Greg assured Chris that he would get straight on to finishing the work for Curnow that he’d started before he went away unexpectedly. This he did whilst Mary attended to more action required as a result of David’s notes.

Mary also faxed the manufacturers of the Bungalow to get a firm quotation for her specific requirements and installation costs, and, most importantly, the date for delivery if they placed a firm order.

At the end of that week Greg was summoned by David to be at Head Office in Lymington the following Monday. David said on the phone that he needed an hour or so with Greg privately before he went to Lymington but would not say why; he hinted that the “reward” had something to do with it. David told Greg to first meet him in the morning at his house near Brockenhurst, which would only take him a few minutes out of his way, and not to disclose this to QC.

Mary was very quiet when she heard Greg on the phone.

‘There seems to be something going on,’ she said.

‘Yes, I agree. I’ll find out on Monday, won’t I?’

It was Friday afternoon when the fax arrived from QC. It was a memo and accounts from Tom Sinclair, the company secretary. He had drawn up draft accounts of the Dartmouth branch for the first nine months of operations. He asked Greg to give him a ring to clarify a couple of points. Greg phoned him.

‘It’s remarkable,’ said Tom ‘for the last six months from October to March, to see that the sales performance is so close to your original forecast.’ Greg’s own bookkeeping had told him this already but it was Tom’s next remarks that made Greg wonder: ‘With the downturn in activity within the leisure-boat industry it would be helpful if you would give some thought as to whether you should maybe downgrade your sales forecast for the next six-month period. See you Monday as arranged.’

Mary was very quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Greg knew she had something on her mind. That evening in the caravan Greg asked her if anything was amiss. His first concern was for her health.

‘Are you OK - the pregnancy, I mean?’

‘No, my sweetheart’ she said, ‘nothing to do with that at all. It was your conversation with David that bothers me. I’m thinking that maybe he wants you, or me, or both of us for another operation. Obviously I haven’t spoken to anyone else about my objections on moral grounds but you know I am adamant. I think it’s time they were told how I feel. What should I do?’

‘I agree that they should be told as soon as possible, my love. Since you made it clear to me in Newtown River last week how you felt I also have done a great deal of thinking. You know I really do believe that the baby was buried in France. Only time will prove me right. However, I love you far too much to go against you. I have decided that I also am going to quit.’

With that Mary burst into tears. ‘You would do that for me?’

Greg went over and put his arms around her and drew her close.

‘Not just for you, my lovely Mary, but for the three of us.’ She dried her eyes.

‘Will you tell David or should we get on to Captain Montague first?’

‘David is our man,’ said Greg. ‘Leave it to me. We have to face up to the fact that he is also our boss at QC. I do think we owe him the courtesy, and of course I’m seeing him on Monday in private at his home, which makes it much easier.’

‘Oh, Greg, I am so sorry I have put you in this position.’

‘You have nothing to be sorry about, my love. Let me tell you something else: speaking to Chris yesterday I gleaned that he’d been talking to Brian Hope, the QC managing director, you remember. Chris got the impression from Bryan that something wasn’t quite right. Mary, my love, I’ve been thinking for some time that I’d rather be working for myself again. I just wonder if now is the time to see if I could somehow buy the brokerage from them. What do you say?’

‘You must do what you are sure is what you want. Is it affordable along with our plans for the new ’van?’

Mary went on to say that they had the weekend ahead of them to think before Greg saw David. On Saturday the quotation for the new caravan arrived in the mail complete with floor plan to Mary’s specification and an extensively illustrated brochure.

***

Greg easily found the house near Brockenhurst on Monday morning.

David opened the door and greeted him warmly. ‘Got the kettle on. Tea or coffee?’

Greg settled for tea and was invited to follow David into the kitchen. He explained his wife had gone up to London for the day and wasted no time in telling Greg why he was there. He produced a black leather briefcase and laid it on the kitchen table.

‘There’s fifteen thousand pounds in there. The sum reflects the risk taken by both of you and the use of your boat. The powers that be are well pleased with your part in the operation. When you leave here to see Brian you will have this case in your car and I will not have the slightest idea of its existence.’

Greg took a deep breath. ‘David, before you say any more I have to talk to you about the future. You may not want me to have that briefcase after I have said what I have to say.’

‘Go ahead,’ said David, frowning.

Greg came to the point. He made it clear to David that neither Mary nor he would undertake any further covert operations. He knew David was a man of few words and to keep faith with Mary’s request he did not give any reason for their decision. There was a long silence.

David looked Greg straight in the eye and said just one word: ‘Final?’

‘Absolutely,’ continued Greg. ‘I have great respect for yourself. You know that we will never discuss past missions with anyone. Can you tell me what the meeting at QC is all about?’

‘Ah,’ said David. ‘The summons to see Brian today happened to be a convenience for me to talk to you about your fee in private. No, I will not tell you; I will let Brian speak for himself. You go to Lymington now. You have not been here. You have never been here. I will turn up half an hour after you have arrived at QC. Yes, I do know what it’s all about, but you have to remember Brian is my boss as well as yours and it is to him that I owe my loyalty. However, Greg, because I also have respect for yourself and Mary I will give you one piece of off-the-cuff advice: listen carefully to what he has to say, especially in the light of what you will have locked up in the boot of your Rover. Furthermore, there is no question of you not keeping it. You have earned it. The future is another matter.’

Greg arrived for his appointment with Brian Hope well before noon. He was promptly ushered into Brian’s office. The greeting was friendly. Brian arranged for coffee to be brought and waved Greg into the seat opposite the desk.

‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ he said. ‘We have been reviewing our policy in the light of our group results for the year ending thirty-first of March. We have concluded that the economic outlook is uncertain. I am expected by our shareholders to maximise profits and pay dividends. It seems to me that our operation in Dartmouth cannot show a fair return until next year at the earliest. And that’s going by your original forecast. Am I right?’

Greg did some hard thinking before he replied. They want out and I have a three-year contract with over two years to go.

‘Yes, you are right. I could not in all honesty offer you increased sales beyond my original forecast. Our fixed overheads will not go down and I think the salary that Mary and I share is absolutely minimal.’

‘Thank you for an honest answer,’ said Brian. ‘Dartmouth was a good idea when I first thought about it a couple of years ago. I have changed my mind, because in the short term it doesn’t fit our company group profile. I thought it best to talk to you first before speaking to Chris Curnow, with whom of course we not only have a rental agreement for the office and pontoon space but it was me who persuaded him to invest in building our office.’

‘This is beginning’, interrupted Greg, ‘to sound as if you don’t want to carry on with Dartmouth. Where does that leave me?’

Brian continued: ‘Would you find it attractive to be relieved of your contract with us in such a way that the Dartmouth business became solely yours?’

Greg purposely hesitated before answering. He even managed a look of surprise. He could see things were going his way better than he could have possibly dreamed.

‘I understand where you are coming from, Brian,’ he said. ‘This has come as a surprise. I personally still have faith in the operation becoming profitable in the long term, so the answer is that if we can come to some agreement, then yes, I would like to run the office on my own account. A problem is that I don’t have a lot of spare cash. Chris will need the rent from the office. I need to think.’

‘Good. I think you and your wife could make a fist of it. I will draw up what we think is a fair offer to effect the transfer. I will talk to Chris Curnow before you get back.’

Greg nodded his agreement just as David entered the room with an apology about being delayed.

‘David knows what I had to say,’ continued Brian. ‘I have a lunch date, I’m afraid, but if you like to discuss this further with him he and I can talk later when I return. Subject to Chris Curnow’s approval, I will get our proposition in writing to you quickly.’ With that, Brian got up from behind his desk, shook Greg’s hand and departed saying ‘Buy our man a decent lunch, David.’

‘Come on,’ said David, ‘I’ll feed you before you drive back. I know a little place in Ringwood, which is well on your way, where we can talk in private.’

Over lunch Greg pointed out that Chris Curnow might not be happy about it. After all, he was getting his rent at the moment from a company of good standing.

‘Greg, I don’t believe there is any way that Chris will turn down the proposition. He has complete faith in your ability.’

Greg decided to take David into his confidence: ‘Mary believes that the baby’s body was in the bag we buried at sea. I believed Jacques when he told us it was buried in France. Mary calls any fee from that operation blood money.’

‘There is a term ‘white lie’, said David. ‘I certainly have no doubt that the baby was buried in France. I think that within a few months Natasha - and that is not her real name, as you might have guessed - will have successfully applied for American citizenship. She will then come back to Europe to arrange a legitimate burial of her son. When that happens I will let you know. Then your reward will no longer be seen by Mary as blood money.’

That was good enough for Greg. He thanked David. ‘We’ll have to cut this lunch short. I must get to my bank in Dartmouth before it closes.’

In the car park as they were saying their goodbyes and out of earshot of others David spoke quietly: ‘Don’t worry about the use of Curnow’s for future landings. I’ve been advised that Emsworth is perfect and in many ways more convenient than Dartmouth. We have you to thank for that one. I will inform Monty immediately of your dilemma and Mary’s decision. Like myself, I know he will think the problem is temporary. I look forward to our continued friendship.’ He gripped Greg’s hand. ‘Bon chance.’

Greg drove back to Dartmouth at a rather faster pace than his usual. He pulled into an isolated lay-by to check the briefcase. Not to check it was all there. He had no doubt about that. What he needed to do was to assess whether he had the necessary amount of space available in his bank deed box. He got to the bank with quarter of an hour to spare.

As he left the bank they closed the doors behind him and he found himself in the street holding the empty briefcase. He remembered that down a small side street was a pawnbroker. He got five pounds for the case, mumbling to the man that he’d be back.

He bought an enormous bunch of red roses, which he held out in front of him as he entered the caravan. Mary’s eyes lit up.

‘You’ve had a good day,’ she declared as she manoeuvred herself round the flowers to kiss him.

‘You bet,’ was his reply. ‘David took it well when I told him we were quitting intelligence operations,’ Greg went on to explain everything, except the briefcase. He said that the meeting at David’s house was in the way of a favour to tell him to listen carefully when he met Brian Hope. They spent that evening discussing details of the tactical advantage gained by QC approaching them, rather than the other way around.

The next day Greg’s first duty was to see Chris.

‘Look, Greg, I can tell you now, we did not expect to get back costs involved in building the sales office for at least three years. If you and Mary believe that you can keep up the rent payments, I am happy to have you as tenants. We do not want ownership of the brokerage ourselves if we can avoid it.’

‘Good,’ said Greg, ‘because they really want out. I believe I will get a good deal from QC. I know that I will have the bank behind me.’ (When he said this he smiled to himself as he thought of his deed box.)

Chris looked pleased.

‘Big moment for you, Greg. I think it’s all going to work out fine. Now, here’s some more good news: my informant tells me that planning permission will be granted for your new caravan, but, before you put down any money, sweat it out till I get confirmation from the council in writing.’

Greg went straight to the office to tell Mary. ‘What did I tell you, Greg, my love? It’s going our way. Nothing is going to spoil our future family plans.’

Two days later they heard from Lymington. The offer was to sell the brokerage to Greg: “Goodwill, sales records and data, plus all the hardware in the office including fixtures and fittings, for the sum of ten thousand pounds.” A clause in this offer was that Greg’s company would become an agent for QC and that one of the four sides of the display boards in the office would be dedicated to QC sales and successful referrals from either company to the other would result in a 3.5% commission subject to an annual review. The date for commencement of the contract to be the 1st of July.

They had a meeting in Chris’s office.

‘Sign it, Greg. It looks in order to me. I’m happy with the terms.’

‘We are nearly home and dry, are we not, my love?’ said Mary, all smiles. ‘The furnishings and equipment alone in the office are worth what they are asking. Add the value of the goodwill and continuing association with the company - it’s a great deal.’

‘No doubt about it,’ said Greg.

The three of them shook hands all round.

‘Just one thing, Chris,’ continued Greg: ‘Let me have a word with the bank before you and I sign anything.’

In the caravan that evening Greg and Mary talked over the new plans. Greg told her that he could pay QC and that he would make all the arrangements with the bank manager as soon as possible.

‘Promise?’ she said with a smile.

‘Promise what?’ was his reply.

‘Promise that even if you pay them from your previous ill-gotten gains, not a penny will have come from our Cherbourg trip. AND promise that you will let me arrange the financing of all the initial costs of our new home from my own resources?’

Greg was choked with emotion. He had wiped his past clean as far as she was concerned. He was certain that, if it took years to prove it, he would be able to wipe the ‘blood money’ idea from her mind. He laughed as he reached for her and held her tight.

‘I promise. And I promise that I will love you for ever and ever.’

Only when Greg woke in the morning did he realise that he had to think of a way of converting his used banknotes into currency that QC could accept. He made an appointment to see the bank manager that afternoon.

‘Got any idea what we should call the new company, my love?’

‘How about Devon Yachts? Got a nice ring about it,’ she said.

Armed with this suggestion Greg set off for the bank after lunch.

He was ushered into Mr Haythornthwaite’s oak-panelled office. The walls were covered in black- and-white photos of men, presumably previous managers. The branch had been there for over a hundred years. He had only met the manager once before but remembered him well, mainly because anyone meeting Mr Haythornthwaite would instantly guess he was a bank manager. Apart from the pinstripe trousers, dark grey jacket, white shirt with stiff collar and maroon bow tie, he was rather rotund with hair swept over to cover a balding pate.

He had a jolly and welcoming ruddy face, and he peered at them over glasses on the end of his nose. He signalled Greg to sit down, placed his elbows on the desk with his hands as if at prayer and asked what he could do to help.

Greg explained what was going on between him and QC, fully aware that it probably called for more than usual attention from the manager because this was the same bank where Curnow had their account. He also knew that Greg was now a director of Curnow’s. Greg told him that he would like a personal loan for his wife and himself for the purchase of the static caravan plus two new accounts for “Devon Yachts Ltd”, the company they were going to form to own the brokerage. Greg didn’t need to explain it was best practice to separate the “client account” from the current business account.

‘As regards the loan, Mr Norfield, I will grant it provided that you and your wife pay 20% toward the cost of the new caravan first. I take it that it will be in your joint names?’

‘Ah. You see, Mr Haythornthwaite, I have to confide something very personal to you about my past.’

The manager raised an eyebrow.

‘I have only been married to my lovely Mary for less than a year. She is now pregnant; the baby is expected in October. She is a person of high Christian morals and I love her dearly. You will realise that she is much younger than me. What I have to confess to you is that in my past I was a bit of a gambler - horses, you know. I’ve put all that behind me now of course, but she would not take kindly to knowing what I am telling you. Even more so as to how much I had won. She does not believe in gambling - do you?’

When the bank manager replied that he had a flutter himself from time to time Greg knew he was nearly there.

‘Please, Mr Norfield, would you tell me how this is relevant to your reason for our meeting?’ said the manager.

‘Yes, indeed,’ was Greg’s answer. ‘My money is in my box in your vault. My wife would, in her present delicate state, not like to know about that. It is all in cash. I’m telling you because I need to draw twelve thousand pounds from the box and place it into our account. Once I have formed the company I will transfer that sum into the new company account and write QC Ltd a cheque. May I do that initial cash transfer now?’

The manager raised both eyebrows.

‘Mr Norfield, it is not my business to know how you got your money in the past, provided it was honestly obtained. I assure you that what is discussed in this office is entirely between us two. I would also add that it is also not my business to know what is in your deed box. I will confirm the loan for your dwelling when I have proof from you that you have put down the 20% deposit. I will write to you in a couple of days to confirm the new company accounts and as soon as you have the company registered at Companies House let me have a copy of the certificate so that I can order the necessary printing.’

‘Thank you, Mr Haythornthwaite. I understand.’

‘Meanwhile, I will phone through to my head cashier to tell him that you will be making your cash transfer right away. I will tell him to use our interview room for this purpose. May I wish you and your wife the very best for the future, both in the new business and personally.’

Once outside the bank the face that Greg had managed to constrain in the manager’s office broke out into a grin. He had slain his worst fears about being able to use his cash and cleared the air with Mary. He went into the off-licence, bought a bottle of Moët, and went home to tell Mary the good news.

She was obviously pleased with what he told her. Very interesting was the fact that Tom Sinclair had phoned whilst he was at the bank to ask about their initial reaction to the offer. She had cautiously said ‘favourable’ and told him that her husband was discussing the matter at the bank ‘right at this moment’.

‘You are a genius,’ said Greg. ‘Let’s go through it all again. We can fax the signed agreement tomorrow.’

***

A busy few days followed. By the end of the following week Mary had completed the paperwork with Companies House and the name ‘Devon Yachts Ltd’ had been registered. The bank had opened the new brokerage accounts and transfered Greg’s twelve thousand. They then faxed Brian Hope their acceptance of the proposals to take place officially from the 1st of July and told him they expected to send him a ‘Devon Yachts’ cheque in a few days.

The Dartmouth Chronicle reporter turned up one day and reminded them that he’d been at the QC opening the previous September. He said that he’d since dug into the paper’s archives and would like to do an article about the Curnow shipyard site going back over one hundred years. Greg had used this paper to advertise boats for sale locally but this was going to be a timely piece of free publicity.

Two weeks later, in mid-June, they received approval to go ahead with their residential plans. Mary paid the deposit on the new caravan. They now owned the brokerage. The caravan builders sent a man to check the site and access for the delivery. The contractor moved onto the ground at the back of the caravan and started work on the waste water and sewage sumps.

Harry turned up at the office the morning that Greg and Mary were busy changing various name signs from “QC” to “Devon Yachts”.

‘It has occurred to me’, he said, ‘that you two might have a problem of somewhere to live during the changeover. I would be happy to put you up in the cottage, and there’s plenty of room for you to temporarily store all your personal stuff.’

Mary gave him a hug.

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Harry. We’ll take you up on that, but it might be for two or three weeks if that’s OK. The cesspit and soakaway should be finished in a few days. Greg has found a buyer for the old caravan and is busy checking over its roadworthiness. Our new home can be delivered before the end of July. We ought to allow a week for connecting up the services and teething troubles and then you and your brother shall be our guests of honour at the house-warming.’

‘You’re on,’ said Harry.

The next two weeks flew by for Mary and Greg. The high point of the brokerage was the return of L’Enterprise. Alan Lucas expected to get what he paid for it. He also expected them to come and fetch the boat from Fowey.

Greg asked Nick Wroughton to crew for him when he brought it back from Fowey. He guessed Nick would enjoy the trip. He wasn’t wrong about that, and soon the fine Dutch steel cruiser was tied up again on their pontoon “For Sale”.

Greg knew that this boat was in a price bracket that would have more appeal to QC customers. Three and a half per cent on a craft that would return more than treble his average sale didn’t require a genius to work out that his new deal with QC was a winner. He phoned David to get it on their books.

With fifteen weeks to go Mary had a good report at her next visit to the prenatal clinic and she was booked in for the birth at Torbay Hospital. What thrilled her more was the news of the delivery date of their new home at the end of the month. Mary and Greg, with Harry’s help and the loan of the Curnows’ van, moved out of the “old caravan” and into Harry’s cottage one Wednesday when the office was closed. The “old caravan” was collected by the new owner, and Greg cleaned up the concrete apron ready to take their new home.

The main double gates into the yard had to be opened to accommodate the width when it arrived on a low-loader. They were amazed that this huge (to them) construction, ten feet by thirty feet overall, was winched on its own wheels into place by just the crew of two that came with it. Within a couple of hours they had it jacked up level and showed Greg how and where to place brick supports for a more permanent installation.

Bill Fossett, as he had promised, sent a couple of his guys round with a set of three stout wooden steps complete with handrail that had been made in the workshop for the door access. Mary would not let the delivery crew leave until she had checked every nook and cranny inside. Greg sat down with her in the “living room”.

Inside was more like a luxury yacht than a caravan. To add to their pleasure it received the highest praise from Bill Fossett after he had inspected the quality of the joinery. The woodwork was in ash and gave a light and airy feeling. The many drawers and fitted cupboards in all rooms had a quality “feel” about them. Yacht-like, every seat, bunk, and bed had stowage space underneath.

However, there was much to do before they could move in: connecting up the mains services as well as installing all their possessions. Over the coming few days Greg was allowed to man the office whilst Mary prepared their new home.

Three days after the delivery Bill came into the office and gave Mary a varnished mahogany name plaque that said quite simply “The Cabin”. Greg attached this beside the door and put it around that from henceforth they would be living in The Cabin and not in “the caravan”.

In reality it took another week before they could actually move in. They chose a Wednesday, when the office was closed, to move. Pride of place in the saloon was the little silver ship. Mary saw to it that her father’s crucifix was above the baby’s room bedhead. Moving day was the second Wednesday in August. Every time they had come to work from Harry’s cottage in Buckfastleigh they had brought some of their belongings with them.

They sat with their coffees, holding hands, surveying the new surroundings. The view was better. The windows were larger and lower. The floor was about a foot higher than the old caravan. That small increase in elevation made a huge difference. They could better see the craft moored in the river and beyond to the wooded hills on the other side, atop which sat the impressive Royal Naval College.

‘I just want to sit here with you and do nothing,’ Mary said.

‘And that is exactly what we will do, then.’

‘You are forgetting that we’ve invited half the yard over later.’

Harry, Chris, John Dalton, Tom Fossett and the crane crew all came over at about five o’clock. Flossie followed. Then came Joan and Frank, and Robert Trehairne. A little later Mr Haythornthwaite, the bank manager, arrived. A complete surprise was the arrival of David with several bottles of champagne in a cool box. He opened one and made a short speech. He finished with ‘And may God bless all who sail in her.’ He then dribbled the first rush of champagne out of the bottle over the name plaque.

Tom had loaned them his elaborate Calor gas-fired barbecue and volunteered to be chef. Clad in a large blue and white striped cook’s apron he dispensed succulent fare from just outside The Cabin front door, where all the tables and chairs they could beg or borrow had been placed.

The party went on for a couple of hours. Nobody was in a hurry to go. David was staying nearby overnight and in the morning he took more photos of L’Enterprise for a prospective customer.

‘Give her a good clean-up, Greg. We’ll leave her here until I have time to take her back to Lymington for my customer to inspect. My guess is’, he said, ‘you’ll be banking over three grand on this one.’

‘My guess is that you will be banking double that’ was Greg’s reply, and they both grinned knowingly.

***

What with the new home, a great deal of welcome activity at Devon Yachts, and the forthcoming baby, Mary and Greg knew there would be no time for sailing Amity; so when Chris wanted to lift her out, before the crane got busy at the end of the season, they readily agreed.

As promised, the boat was put down on wooden railway sleepers adjacent to The Cabin with the mast down on trestles above the deck. With a big tarpaulin over all she was snug for the winter and placed where Greg could do the hull work conveniently. No way was Greg going to allow Mary, now six months pregnant and showing it, to do antifouling as she suggested.

‘Come on over to No.1 Shed when you can,’ said Bill Fossett when he stuck his nose into their office about three weeks after they had moved into The Cabin.

No, it wasn’t the patrol boat Bill had invited them to see. Bill had designed, and the guys had built, a porch with a four-foot overhang to keep out the rain. They were going to fit this in front of The Cabin. They had also built a low shed with sliding doors to go alongside, big enough to take a pram and a pushchair, all finished to master-shipwright standard.

‘If it’s alright by you,’ said Bill, ‘the lads would like to come in on Saturday morning and carry this lot over to The Cabin and fit it into position.’

Mary addressed Greg: ‘Now perhaps you know what I meant when I said the other day that we should count our blessings.’

Greg’s reaction, when he learned that the porch/shed was a present from Chris and that the workforce had made it in their own time, was to phone Frank Trehairne. He chose a moment when Mary was not in the office. He gave Frank the news about all that was going on, including the fact that the boat was out of the water.

‘I need four dozen bottles of champagne to give as presents to all the staff here for Christmas. Do you think Robbie could fulfil my order?’

There was a bit of a pause and spluttering. ‘Did I hear right? I thought you were going straight.’

Greg replied, ‘So I am; it’s not for me!’

There was a roar of laughter from the other end of the phone, followed by ‘I bet you don’t tell Mary.’

‘Too bloody true. I’ll work out a way of picking the stuff up from Salcombe if Rob’s answer is in the affirmative. I’d rather you kept it for a bit. I don’t want it here until nearer Christmas,’ said Greg.

‘That’s OK,’ answered Frank barely suppressing more laughter. ‘I’ll get him to leave it at the local police station for safe keeping!’

Mary’s big day grew nearer. The clinic gave her a date and each visit to their GP reported all was progressing well. They had fun with the expected date of November the 5th but Greg’s attempt at a joke about if it was a boy calling him Guy was met with withering contempt from Mary. She reminded him that they had agreed on Alexander.

Mary drove over to the Naval College. She had no problem getting to see the chaplain after telling them her father’s history.

On returning to The Cabin that evening she told Greg she had arranged the christening in the chapel and, perhaps more importantly to her, beforehand a short private blessing of their marriage - something she had wanted when they discussed their wedding the previous year.

The conversation turned to choosing godparents. They asked Chris and Rosemary Curnow, who were delighted, particularly as they had no children of their own.