It came to her that she’d forgotten to do anything at the party about asking Will to adopt Karen. In the taxi, Angeliki had again mentioned that the young cat was ready to be rehomed. Karen had had all her injections, and her slight eye infection had cleared up. Angeliki needed to free up space in her surgery as soon as possible. But Grace had let the night get away from her, not helped by the fact that Will had been surrounded by various women most of the time, and not available to chat. Slammed up against his chest during the dance and having to whisper in his ear wouldn’t have been quite the right time to broach it either.
Her phone had been on silent while she slept, but when she checked it, there was a message from the party giver.
Hope you enjoyed the party. Still not thanked you properly for the other night. Know you’ll have work tomorrow. Care to meet me at four down by the port? Usual café?
She wasn’t quite sure what was on offer, but a leisurely coffee and maybe a club sandwich would do.
Yes, fine.
Fine? Let’s aim for something a bit better than that. Make sure you’ve got hat and swimming stuff.
Just what was she letting herself in for? Grace thought about making an excuse– she could do with a quiet afternoon– but the thought of Karen’s little face at the bars of her cage stopped her. It would be more difficult to meet up and persuade him to take Karen while she was working. He was already a few days into his holiday, so the sooner he settled Karen in, the better.
Ok. See you then.
Grace took her seat at the café at five to four, but there was no sign of Will, which was unusual. Usually, he was the early bird. She’d wait for him before she ordered. Repeated honks of a boat horn a few feet away made her look up. She could see a man standing up in a small wooden boat. Why was he making all that noise on a Sunday afternoon?
The penny dropped as the man waved in her direction. Oh, no, not a boat. He’d surprised her with a motorbike, now a boat. How many toys did this man have? Was he going to land on the roof of the language school in a helicopter next? Boats were her least favourite thing. She’d better go over and explain that the afternoon was off.
‘Grace! Over here.’
Grace made her way to where Will stood on the quay.
‘Surprise!’
‘Yes, and I wish you’d told me. I hate boats. I would have said no straightaway if you’d warned me.’
Boats had been Phil’s thing. Not hers.
Will’s face fell.
‘Ah, I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Well, you thought wrong.’
Grace was aware she was being rude, but really Will couldn’t have picked a worse idea.
He pointed seawards.
‘If you’re worried about the water, it’s calm as a millpond out there this afternoon. There won’t be any waves, and I’ll stick close to the shoreline. I just thought it would be a nice idea to potter around the island, get away from the crowds and see the beaches from a completely different viewpoint.’
His face was that of a small boy’s who’d been told that no, he couldn’t go out to play with his friends, but still thought it was worth trying it on.
‘I’ve got my captain’s licence if that’s what’s worrying you. We’ll be perfectly safe. Why don’t you give it a go, and if you still hate it, I’ll bring you straight back and we can go for lunch in town.’
His sales pitch was impressive, she had to give him that. And she had only been out on a boat once, in the middle of a roaring gale in the Channel, with the rain driving into her face like nails. She had no idea what it would be like to be out in a boat in the Greek sunshine on a calm sea. Maybe he had a point. And she mustn’t forget the whole reason for seeing him was to persuade him to take Karen.
‘OK, five minutes it is. And you promise to bring me back if I hate it?’
He did the sign of the cross on his chest.
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘Slightly dramatic.’
Will put out a hand to help her onto the boat. She sat down as directed on a polished wooden seat at the back of the vessel while Will manoeuvred out of the busy port. The boat was certainly well looked after. Everything gleamed. It reminded her of Will’s shoes. It was like one of those boats you’d see in films from the sixties with Sophia Loren in a silk headscarf being piloted along the Riviera by a hunky Italian. Grace wished she’d brought a headscarf with her. Her hair would no doubt be a tangled mess by the time they’d finished.
Within minutes the craft was hugging the coast and Grace sat back and let the hot sun beat down on her. The occasional spray thrown up by the motion of the boat peppered her body with welcome droplets of water. She had to admit that so far it was nothing like her previous experience off the English coast on a grey Sunday in March.
