The Boat House

TEN

The boat house resembled a small chapel built into the sloping land that led down to the water's edge, except that it was windowless and the bell in the tower no longer rang. No lights came on when they tried the switch just inside the heavy oak door, but a minute's search with a flashlight found the main fusebox further in along the wall. Throwing the contact breaker caused the overhead lights to flare briefly, and a well aimed thump on the side of the box made them come back up. This time, they stayed on.

"High tech," said Pete.

"Another job for the list," Diane said gloomily.

They were standing on rough wooden boards. These extended like a hayloft about one-third of the way into the building. Beyond the rail, reached by a stairway so steep that it was almost a ladder, was the main lower level.

"There it is," Diane said as they moved to the rail. "Just don't ask me anything technical about it, that's all."

The lighting was from downward angled spotlights on the roof grid that gave the place an odd, studio-like atmosphere. Pete and Wayne looked down, and saw a sleeping princess.

It was actually a Princess 414, more than forty feet of white GRP hull with blue flashes and waterline markings. It had been run nose-first into the boat house where it lay like a huge, sleek beast in an undersized pen, the deep V of the forward end tucked under the gallery on which the three of them were standing.

Pete held out the clipboard. "Do your stuff, Wayne," he said.

After a moment's blankness Wayne took the board, and the hint that came with it. He slid down the stairway in one easy jump and hopped from the quay to the cruiser's deck, and within a minute he'd located the power switches and was down below, checking through the fittings.

Pete and Diane stayed at the rail.

Diane said, "What will happen after this?"

"Well, we'll get a list of everything on board plus the age of the boat, condition, everything like that. Then Ted can work out a market price and phone it through to you in a day or so. If you like what you hear, we'll put it in the yard and advertise it and take a commission on the sale. If you don't, there are other good yards you can try. But Ted's okay. He's dead straight."

"I know," she said, "I've met him. In fact, that's where I first saw you."

"You remember? I was pretty sure you didn't."

"Mind on other things. You'll have to forgive me."

"I'll think about it," he said.

Diane glanced at the cruiser, and lowered her voice in case Wayne should be able to hear. "Is that Ted Hammond's boy?" she said.

"His name's Wayne. There's another one, an older boy called Shaun. I never met him, he works abroad somewhere. I don't think they ever got along. Wayne's as good as you'll get, though."

"Didn't Ted's wife die young?"

"You heard about that?"

"Talk about gossip around here… you couldn't get the news faster with a satellite dish. I heard stuff about you, too."

"Really?" Pete said, suddenly getting extremely interested. "Like what?"

"I'm not telling you," Diane said.

And then Wayne climbed out onto the cruiser's deck, and they let the subject drop, and Wayne was left standing there glancing from one to the other, damned sure that something was going on, here, and equally damned if he could tell what it was.

Pete gave another look over the Princess, and wondered what Ted would have thought of the berthing arrangements had he been here to see them. It had been such a tight squeeze to get the Princess into the boat house at all, that someone had come up with the bright idea of removing the edge boards from the quay platforms on either side. This had given a couple of extra feet of clearance, but it had also left the steel ends of the support joists exposed. They'd been muffled with rags and pieces of tyre, but it was still a lashup. The Princess deserved better; a high-performance seagoing cruiser, it would be wasted on such a sedate stretch of inland water as the lake beyond the boat house doors. But what could anyone expect? Dizzy Liston had won the cruiser on a bet, or so the story went. It was hardly going to be any great wrench to part with something that had been picked up so casually.

"All okay?" Pete called, and Wayne signalled that it was. So Pete and Diane left the rail and stepped out of the boat house into the mild spring air to wait for him.

"What are they saying about me?" he said, but she stayed tight lipped and shook her head. Probably nothing, he was thinking, she's only winding me up, and the thought that she was gave him a pleasurable kick.

Wayne handed the clipboard to Pete, and then locked the boat house doors behind him.

Pete said, "Any problems?"

"No, massah," Wayne said, and then he turned to Diane. "Will you want us to hang onto the keys?"

"You may as well. No one else ever comes here, and you'll need them before I will."

"Okay," Wayne said, and he stuck the bunch into his jeans pocket.

The beeper alarm on Diane's watch sounded as they were driving back, the signal that it was time for her to go and collect the litterbug Jed from his minder. This meant a quick goodbye at the Hall, and an instant disappearance from Diane. Pete stood with the clipboard under his arm and his hands in his pockets, watching the dust behind her Toyota as she sped off down the service road.

There was no longer any sign of her when, with Wayne once more behind the wheel, the breakdown wagon emerged into the outside world in Diane's wake. Pete had arranged himself in the passenger seat so that he could get his feet up on the dashboard. Wayne said nothing for a while, and Pete allowed his attention to wander down the inventory list; his eyebrows raised at the mention of a waterbed, a hi fi system and a video hookup in the after stateroom. None of these was Marine Projects standard, and he couldn't help wondering what kind of water sports the original owner might have gone in for.

Just before they got to the village, Wayne cracked his silence. Pete had known that it was coming — the only question had been, when?

"She actually fancies you," Wayne said, almost unable to believe it.

"Of course she does," Pete said. "I'm a wonderful specimen of a man."

Wayne glanced at him, less than one hundred per cent certain that he wasn't being sent up.

He said, "She's all right, as well."

No response to this from Pete.

"A bit old, though," Wayne ventured again, and Pete slowly turned to give him a stony look.

"Just drive," he said.