CHAPTER 24
The sun streamed through the window and into the galley, where Peter was up and making preparations for breakfast. He had decided not to wake Alice, considering that letting her sleep for as long as possible was the best thing for her, so he held off making her a mug of tea but had everything ready to respond as soon as she stirred.
Despite hardly sleeping a wink, he was bright and alert and felt better than he had for a long while. Most importantly, he knew he had work to do, even though he still had no idea how hard it would be. His objectives were clear, but there were still too many unknown factors to take into account and he would have to modify his tactics along the way. He heard a latch flick behind him and the sound of the for’ard cabin door sliding open.
He turned slowly so as not to alarm her. He didn’t want her to think he had been listening the door, but when he saw her his heart lifted. Alice was standing there, one bleary eye visible, the other concealed behind dangling hair which hung over one side of her face. She smiled at him and she glowed.
“Good morning!” he barked, unable to conceal the joy he felt at seeing her again. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Jess. “Sorry I dropped off. Couldn’t help it.” She had abandoned the army sweater and wore only the grey tee shirt, but it was more than adequate to cover her slight frame. He leant back, hands behind him on the sink, as non-threatening a pose as his bulk would allow in the confined space.
“Don’t be sorry, my dear, I expect you needed the rest. Now, the water’s piping hot if you want a shower. It’s back there by the aft cabin, and you’ll find a large towel and shampoo and all the bits and pieces in there.”
“Thanks,” she said without hesitation. The thought of a hot shower evidently filled her with delight.
“Breakfast is at oh nine hundred hours, then we tidy up, cast off at ten thirty hours and set course for a midday rendezvous with the Duke of Wellington,” he announced. She frowned, not understanding at all what he meant, but he was just playing with her. “Pub at Lower Croxley.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
***
The shower was heavenly. The water was hot, as he had said, and there was plenty of soap and shampoo and even conditioner, which made it the most luxurious she had had for as long as she could remember. The shower in the communal bathroom at The Navigation had been adequate, but nothing compared to this, even though by any normal standard it was rudimentary. The flow of water may have been weak, but to her it felt like a cascade and she let it flow over her soapy body until all traces of the awful last two days had been washed away. She felt cleansed and refreshed. Another new beginning.
She dried herself off as best she could in the confined space, wrapped the huge towel around her and slid open the door. She poked her head out and looked around where she could see down the saloon and into the galley. The colonel was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had been gentlemanly enough to vacate the premises whilst the lady was carrying out her ablutions, giving her maximum privacy. It was a delicious thought and she hoped she was right. It couldn’t have been a normal state of affairs for someone as old as him to share his boat with a young woman, so she was content to regard this as an act of chivalry rather than a simple necessity, which was probably more likely.
Jess scuttled through the saloon and the galley clutching her towel around her tightly and made it to the forward cabin without incident. Miraculously, a white tee shirt and a pair of black trousers, clean when she had left The Navigation, had dried overnight, hanging in a cupboard which housed the water heater, as had a set of underwear; and although all of it was crumpled, it was serviceable. Her boots, however, would take much longer to dry, and she decided they would best be left outside in the sun for a while.
She brushed her wet hair roughly with a hairbrush she found in one of the drawers and ventured out of her cabin to find he had come back and was busy in the galley frying eggs and making toast. What a gentleman!
“I forgot to mention, eggs on toast is my other signature dish; in fact, just about anything on toast would define my repertoire,” he chuckled.
“Lovely. Can I do anything?” she asked, eager to help.
“Yes, of course. I’ve set up a table on the rear deck, thought we would have our breakfast alfresco. You can take the cutlery and all the bits and pieces and lay the table. I’ll bring the food in just a minute.”
***
They had eaten simply but well, and she had done the washing up while he went about some daily checks to prepare the boat for departure. She poured herself another mug of tea and returned to the rear deck where she sat on a canvas chair immediately behind the cockpit.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had dragged herself under the tarpaulin like a drowned rat, not least because of the change in weather. The sun was out, the birds were singing and the trees were bright and vibrant. She heard Peter coming up the cockpit stairs, tea mug in hand. He stopped at the top and made a great show of sniffing loudly at the fresh air.
“Glorious!” he bellowed to no one in particular and then took a seat opposite. “The rain has certainly freshened things up.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “I didn’t realise how beautiful it is,” and she meant it. But she had to be realistic. This was not her world and her primary objective remained to find some form of civilisation, get a job and a roof over head and restart her life as Alice. She would not make the same mistake as she had at The Navigation. She was much wiser now.
The colonel had been very kind and generous, and although he had frightened her initially, he had quickly mellowed, and she felt at ease in his company. But a lingering doubt remained. There was nothing she could do for him, and while she hated to think he might have sinister designs on her, she could not rule out the possibility. In any event, even if she was wrong, and she was almost certain she was, she couldn’t impose upon his hospitality a moment longer. She looked at him.
“Look, I really must get going,” she said reluctantly. But if she had been thinking about it, then so had he, and he was ready for her.
“In case you’d forgotten, my dear, your home floated down the river last night,” he said in mild admonishment, and she immediately felt embarrassed at having indeed forgotten this crucial detail. “Even if we were to chase after it, it will have gone over the weir by now.” Jess let her shoulders sag a bit but she had to admit this was a problem; and anyway, she also had to admit she was willing to be persuaded.
“Look,” he said, encouraging her to see some common sense. “We’re going the same way, why don’t you cadge a lift? I live just a couple of days’ cruising from here and it’s always tricky managing the locks by yourself, so you will be doing me a favour and paying for your passage at the same time. And then, when we get there, you can go on your way. How does that sound?”
He had had it all planned and he had executed it perfectly. She couldn’t think of any reason to object, and she smiled shyly at him.
“Sounds ... good.”
“Excellent! That’s settled.” And they clinked their tea mugs as if in celebration.
***
Jess lay back in the sunshine, supported by her elbows, and stretched out on the front deck as Carician glided almost silently along the river at a stately and serene three knots. She could hear the water caressing the bows and sense the distant vibration of the engines, but otherwise she was lost in the tranquillity and the warmth and she was thankful for this escape from the world, her world, whatever that was.
Periodically she saw moorhens, ducks, swans, coots and geese gliding gracefully across the path of the boat or else scurrying for cover in the reeds that lined the banks. Occasionally they passed fields of inquisitive cows, chewing remorselessly, regarding the vessel with disdain, and she briefly saw an iridescent flash of blue on the branch of an overhanging tree. A kingfisher, maybe? She didn’t know for certain, just used her imagination.
They had stopped at The Duke of Wellington as the colonel had decreed, and she had been treated to a hearty lunch of bangers and mash, which she quickly realised was one of his favourites. She had struggled to finish it, but as he insisted on paying, had made the supreme effort. She still had £15 in her pocket, which thanks to the invention of plastic banknotes would otherwise not have survived the rainstorm, but he would have none of it.
She could still feel the weight of the food in her belly, alien but nevertheless comforting, and it raised her spirits. She had studiously avoided alcohol, preferring sparkling water, which to her was just as exotic. The only “drink” she’d had in the last few years had been the bottle of cheap sparkling wine the day before she left home, so she wasn’t used to it. Something told her that she should remain in control of her senses and not take the colonel’s generosity for granted. Her instinct remained to go her own way. That was what brought her here, and that was what would take her away.
She turned to look back down the boat and the colonel stood tall in the cockpit, wheel in hand, soft, wide-brimmed hat flapping in the breeze, smiling broadly. He waved at her like a schoolchild and she could do nothing other than smile and wave back. The moment would end, of course. She knew that. But for now, it couldn’t get much better.
On the rear deck, Peter’s exhilaration was complete. Bangers and mash and two pints of Old Hooky, the sunshine, piloting his beloved Carician along the river he loved and, above all, this extraordinary creature as a passenger, accompanying him on a voyage to … who knows where?
He considered the limited conversation they’d had so far. He had done most of the talking, which Michael would have declared normal practice had he been there. But she had said little about herself and he had not probed further because he wanted her to feel comfortable; and anyway, there was plenty of time, provided he could manage the situation properly.
He was minded of his time in the Intelligence Corps when he had always believed the best way to draw information out of a target was to allow them the space to talk openly. Put them at their ease, remove the threat and, in time, they were far more likely to open up. Meanwhile, observe, respond, manoeuvre and steer the target to the conclusion. He was a past master at the “good cop” routine. Regrettably, he could play the “bad cop” even better if necessary, but it would never be necessary in Alice’s case. She was neither a suspected terrorist nor a member of a factional militia, but he was intrigued, and his professional training demanded he think through and assess the facts as he knew them.
He had introduced himself, full name, rank and status, to which she had replied, “Alice.” Nothing controversial there, but the absence of a surname could be significant. An alias, perhaps? He had asked her where she thought she was going and she had replied, “wherever the path took me.” She was wandering aimlessly. She had no food and apparently little money. She had no phone, which was notable in itself, had not wanted to call anyone or expressed any desire to go anywhere other than to get away, be by herself.
She hadn’t offered an opinion on anything, was just taking it one moment at a time. Nor had she asked anything about him, presumably because she had already decided her stay was temporary and she didn’t need to know. But questions provoke questions which demand answers, and she showed no inclination to talk about herself.
And she looked haunted. Haunted by something or someone or some place. She had reacted quickly and apparently without logical thought to the slightest threat to her independence, the merest suspicion of danger, and he had done his utmost to tread carefully, keep a wide berth. He would get to the bottom of it in time, but it was not a priority. His priority was to make sure she did not disappear and that she was safe.
But at the same time, he wrestled with his own emotions and continuously challenged his motivation. What was he trying to do? And the answer was clear and simple. He was going to put things right.
***
Jess was sitting in the same canvas chair on the rear deck, taking in the evening sun, reflecting on the best of days and wondering at what point she would take her leave. Her tent was gone and she had £15 to her name, so that was a logistical problem to which, at the moment, she had no answer.
In truth, if she could spend the rest of her life here, on this boat, on this river, with the colonel, then she would have no complaints. But she knew enough about life to know it was not like that. All things come to end. Good things as well as bad. She would be forever grateful for the colonel’s help, for his consideration, generosity and kindness, but he had his own life to lead and she had hers and they could not be more different.
While she had been alone that afternoon, basking in the warmth of a perfect English summer’s day, floating along and watching the countryside go by, she had wondered who the colonel really was. He mentioned living “a couple of days downriver”, but where? He had talked a lot about current things, the stuff of the moment, but there was no mention of family. What was he doing out in his boat, doing this all alone, if it was so difficult? And he must be well off, she thought, having a boat as grand as this; but then she didn’t think you got rich being an army officer.
Anyway, she didn’t dare ask in case that might prompt him to ask her questions she didn’t want to answer. Alice’s life had begun only six weeks ago, so there was literally not much to tell apart from her unfortunate experience at The Navigation, and that was not a story she wanted to relate or relive.
The colonel appeared up the steps from the saloon carrying two glasses of white wine. They had had a simple dinner of cold meat and cheese, all they needed after their big lunch, and she had stuck to tea.
“I thought you may like a glass of wine?” he said, offering her one of the glasses. She decided it could do no harm and she didn’t want to offend him now he had poured it out, but resolved to go slowly and remain on her guard.
“Thank you,” she said unconvincingly, and he took the seat opposite. They clinked glasses and she took a sip. It was cold, fresh and fruity, and when she swallowed it tingled her throat and filled her head with a warm glow that was both delicious and instantly soporific. They would get to his house sometime tomorrow afternoon, he had said, so she had less than twenty-four hours to enjoy the experience. It would be memorable for many reasons.
“Now, you haven’t told me where home is?” he said casually. The wine had caught her off guard and she wondered whether it had been deliberate ploy on his part. But it was a perfectly reasonable question, reasonably put, without any sense of impertinence or intrusion, and it was inevitable that he would ask her something about herself in normal conversation.
But it was a question to which she did not have an acceptable answer. In fact, any question about herself or her background was impossible to answer without risking a flurry of further questions. It was just too difficult. She opted for one version of the truth.
“Nowhere I can call home, really.” She shrugged and made it sound as casual and ambiguous as she could. It didn’t mean she didn’t have a home; just not one she considered as such.
“Then how do you know you’re going the right way?” he persisted gently.
“I’ll know when I get there.”
“By yourself?” he said with some concern, but she spotted the leading question, concealed in innocent curiosity.
“I’m perfectly happy with my own company,” she said, skilfully evading the point, and then, conscious she may have sounded ungrateful, “which doesn’t mean it hasn’t been a pleasure meeting you, Colonel.”
“Peter,” he corrected her.
“Peter,” she smiled, and they clinked glasses again.
***
After the girl had retired to her cabin, Peter thought again about their latest exchange, and to his analytical mind, something had become instantly clear. She had no home. She was running away from something, maybe even towards something, but she didn’t know what that was. Everything she owned was in that rucksack, on this boat, he was sure. She didn’t even have a real name. He hadn’t blinked when she had originally introduced herself as “Alice” but he was sure that was not her real name, and he wanted to understand if there was anyone else in her life: family, friends, perhaps, but she had dodged the question and left the impression she was totally alone.
He decided he would tread carefully and not risk pushing her into a corner by asking too many questions. He did not want to distress her and, for the moment at least, she appeared relaxed in his presence and, at times, even happy.
And he was happy too, because when she had smiled at him, his heart had lifted and filled with a joy he thought had gone forever.