Dead Man's Grip

115

The office of the Yacht-Club Rheindelta was a small white wooden building on the edge of the vast Bodensee. They were taking a week’s vacation and she thought it would be fun if they did a dinghy-sailing course together. He had been really keen when she had mooted the idea.

The fit-looking young German manager behind the counter was pleasant and helpful.

‘So, do you have any sailing experience?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, my – my ex-husband was very keen. We used to sail a bit in England – off the south coast around Brighton. And we did a flotilla sailing holiday in small yachts in Greece once.’

‘Good.’ He smiled, and started to fill in a form on a clipboard. ‘So, first the young man. He is how old, please?’

‘He’ll be ten, next birthday.’

‘Which is when?’

‘March, next year.’

The German manager smiled at the boy. ‘So you have your father’s sailing genes, perhaps?’

‘Oh, he has a lot of his father’s genes, don’t you?’ she said, looking at her son.

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never met him.’

The smile momentarily changed to a frown on the manager’s face, then he said, ‘OK. So if I may have the young man’s full name, please.’

She wrote down Bruno Lohmann and handed him the form back.

‘Sorry, I need the full name. Does Bruno have a second name, perhaps?’

Sandy smiled apologetically. ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

She turned the form back around and in the space provided in the middle she wrote, Roy.