The Lonely Sea Read Free

spotless deck of white pine. After all, in the days of his youth, he had been criminally guilty of the same thing himself. Why, only three months ago—
    â€˜Look out! You’re going to hit me!’
    The high-pitched, urgent shout cut through George’s painful daydreams like a knife. He hurriedly straightened himself to the full height of his painfully lean six feet, clutched at his spectacles and blinked myopically ahead through his thick-lensed glasses.
    â€˜Quickly, quickly, you idiot, or it’ll be too late!’
    George had a momentary impression of a barge, its bows fast on the bank and blocking threequarters of the canal, and, in its stern, a noisy and wildly gesticulating young female. All of this registered only superficially. George was not a man ofaction and his upper centres were momentarily paralysed.
    â€˜Starboard, you fool, starboard your helm!’ she yelled frantically.
    George awoke to life and grabbed the wheel. But, as said, he was not a man of action. He was not at his best in emergencies. Spin the wheel he did, and with tremendous speed and energy. But he spun it in the wrong direction.
    A mile away on the Upper Dipworth green, smock-coated octogenarians stirred uneasily in their sleep as the sound of the crash reverberated across the peaceful meadows. But in no time at all they were again sunk in peaceful slumber.
    Back on the canal, however, matters showed every sign of taking a much more lively turn. The shock of the collision had flung the female bargee, in most unladylike mid-sentence, on to the bows of George’s cruiser. At the same time, George had been catapulted forward. For the space of ten seconds they eyed each other malevolently from a distance of two feet.
    The lady spoke first.
    â€˜Of all the bungling fools! Are you completely blind, you—you—you roadhog?’ she demanded fiercely. ‘Or perhaps, poor man—’ this in a tone of vitriolic sweetness—‘too much of the sun?’ She tapped her head significantly.
    George rose to his feet in a hurt and dignified silence. With this latest injustice his cup of bitternesswas full to overflowing. But he had been brought up in a stern school. He hoped he knew how to behave like a gentleman.
    â€˜If either your boat or yourself is in any way damaged, please accept my apologies,’ he said coldly. ‘But you must admit it is unusual, to say the least of it, to see a barge sailing broadside up a canal. I mean, one doesn’t expect that sort of thing—’
    Here George suddenly broke off. He had adjusted his spectacles and now saw the lady clearly for the first time.
    She was well worth looking at, George admitted to himself dispassionately. Burnished red hair, intensely blue—if unfriendly—eyes, long golden limbs, a sleeveless green sweater and very abbreviated white shorts—she had, he privately confessed, everything.
    â€˜Sailing broadside, you clown!’ she snapped angrily, brushing aside his proffered hand and climbing painfully to her feet. ‘Broadside, he says.’ She flexed a speculative knee, while George stood by admiringly, and seemed relieved to find that it still worked.
    â€˜Can’t you see I’m stuck right into the bank?’ she enquired icily. ‘It’s just happened and I haven’t had time to move. Why on earth couldn’t you pass by my stern?’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ said George stiffly, ‘but, after all, your boat is lying in a patch of shadow where these treesare. Besides—er—I wasn’t paying much attention,’ he concluded lamely.
    â€˜You certainly wasn’t—I mean weren’t,’ retorted the redhead acidly. ‘Of all the inept and panic-stricken displays—’
    â€˜Enough,’ said George sternly. ‘Not only was it your fault, but no damage has been done to your old barge anyway. But look at my bows!’ he exclaimed bitterly.
    The redhead