Medusa

A big cat had come in that morning. I had seen it running in under jib alone when I was talking to Petra, dark blue hulls with the paint flaking and a bad scrape along the port side. But she had still looked beautiful and very purposeful, a real thoroughbred.

I zipped up my trousers, pulled on a light sweater, Ramón still standing there and my mind in a whirl. The fishing boat wasn’t worth much, not here in Menorca, and running it for charter was a lot of work with very little in it for us. It had never really paid its way. ‘How big is this cat?’

Ramón shrugged. ‘You phone Señor Flórez, then he tell you everything you want to know.’

But when I rang Flórez, all he said was, ‘Come and see it for yourself.’ He and the owner would be on board that evening. ‘Then we talk about it, eh? I have a very good deal for you, Mr Steele.’ And he had put the phone down, leaving me with all my questions unanswered and the deal not specified.

I would like to have driven over to the commercial dock right away. Looking through the yachting magazines, I had often thought what a perfect charter vehicle a big cat would be, and now I was being offered one, right here in Mahon. But the phone began ringing and I couldn’t get away. There were two calls from England, as well as letters. Spring was in the air and people suddenly anxious to be sure their boats or their villas would be ready for the holidays.

I worked right through lunch, sending Ramón out to the restaurant at the corner for the fish-and-rice dish they often put up for us when Soo was too busy to cook anything for herself. It was shellfish this time, arroz de marisco, with calamares tentacles finely chopped to give it body. All the time I was eating, and afterwards, I kept thinking about that catamaran, wondering what it would be like, what condition it would be in, what accommodation it would have, the navigation equipment and the state of the sails, excitement building though I knew bloody well the Mediterranean was a graveyard of shattered dreams.

It was late afternoon before I finally caught up with the office work and then it was time to visit the hospital again. I didn’t mention the catamaran to Soo, even though I found her sitting up in bed reading a Spanish novel she had been lent. She looked much better, the dark patches under her eyes almost gone, some of the old sparkle back and her face more animated. The doctor had said she would be fit to leave the following day. ‘Eleven o’clock. Will that be all right? Can you come for me then?’

I said ‘Of course’, and then she talked for a bit, about the friends who had been to visit her, the gossip they had passed on, and particularly about the Renatos’ Red Cross party in the Quarries. ‘What will you say when you speak at the opening of that Albufera development? You never told me the Alcalde had asked you. Am I invited?’

‘I imagine so.’

‘But he didn’t ask me, did he?’

‘I’m sure he will. When they send out the official invitations.’

She was silent then and I feared she was going into one of her sulky moods. But after a moment she brightened and began asking questions about the business — how Lennie was getting on with the villa out at Binicalaf, whether the equipment for the extra bathroom in another of the villas in our care had been flown in yet, had I remembered about completing the forms for customs clearance, and the accounts to settle with two of our suppliers. ‘You know, I’m really looking forward to being back. Lying here with nothing to do but read and listen to the radio and think.’ And she added darkly, ‘I’ve had all the time in the world to think these past few days.’ And almost without a pause: ‘Did Gareth come and see you before he left? No, of course — I remember. He said it was bad enough seeing me, feeling it was his fault I’d lost the child, and though I told him I might have lost it anyway, he still said he couldn’t face you. You told him it was his fault. I have a distinct memory of that. Why the hell didn’t you stay with her? you shouted at him, and accusing him like that …’

Her voice trailed away. Then suddenly she said, ‘Did you know, he came up through the lower deck — Ganges, Dartmouth, the Fleet Board. Just like Papa. It makes a difference, doesn’t it? You’re more vulnerable then. Everything that bit harder. No admiral ever came up through the lower deck that I can remember. And it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.’ Tears welled. I went to comfort her, but she pushed me away. ‘I know what you think. And you’re probably right. I’ll never have a child now.’

I didn’t know what to say. Life doesn’t make sense. There was Petra who didn’t want a child, but would almost certainly have no difficulty if she did find herself with a bun in the oven. And Soo’s mother, she had had five, one every two years, regular as clockwork. Then, being a devout Catholic, she must have gone on strike. That was probably why Soo and her father had been so close.