Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [57]
‘Of course it does,’ smiled Olivia and she warmly embraced her husband.
Tyndall was sitting on the port gunwale engrossed in splicing a rope when the carpet bag thudded to the deck beside his feet. He looked at it intently for a moment and thought, ‘My God, she’s done it,’ then slowly turned to look up at a grinning Ahmed standing on the wharf with Olivia a little behind him.
‘Well, I’m here,’ she announced with a note of challenge in her voice.
Tyndall smiled. ‘Indeed you are. Welcome aboard.’ He extended a hand and with Ahmed taking her other arm she was lowered onto the deck.
‘I really didn’t think this madcap scheme was going to come to anything,’ confessed Tyndall. ‘But I’m pleased it has,’ he added warmly.
‘I suppose it is madcap, but somehow it doesn’t bother me, even if it raises eyebrows in town. Practically everything that has happened to me since I arrived in this country seems slightly unreal to be quite honest.’
Her countenance changed slightly and Tyndall saw signs of sadness in her eyes and the firmer set of her mouth. He quickly changed the subject as he took her bag and turned to the cabin hatch. ‘Well, the weather is looking good. With luck we’ll have a smooth passage. Come and I’ll help organise the state room for you.’ He was pleased that the exaggerated description of the cabin made her smile, albeit fleetingly.
At his office window Conrad watched the Bulan sail down the mangrove–lined channel into the bay and out to sea. The image of Olivia standing in the stern, looking back, her skirt billowing in the breeze, one hand holding her straw hat, the other giving a brief wave in his direction, burned into his mind. He had a swift, gut–tearing feeling that his wife was sailing out of his life, but dismissed the thought at once. No, he reasoned, Olivia was simply growing … changing … that was to be expected. But, good Lord, she was becoming unpredictable, and yes, unconventional. But the grief they had suffered, the pain, that must be the explanation. A little madness, perhaps. Quite understandable. But it will pass. Conrad sighed and turned to his desk, much comforted by his rationalisation.
The sails filled with a steady breeze, a white–capped foamy wake on either side of the bow as the Bulan cut through the aqua water. Olivia stood by the main mast holding on to a halyard and taking deep breaths of the salty air. Once they had cleared the creek and were in the bay, she had slipped below and emerged in her ‘sailing gear’. Dispensing with the impractical long skirt and restricting blouse, she had made herself an outfit of loose black pyjama pants teamed with a long white top that hung over the pants. She had copied the outfit from that of her Chinese cook. It was cool, comfortable and practical. On her feet she wore canvas plimsolls.
Tyndall disguised his initial shock. ‘Very sensible outfit,’ he commented with raised eyebrows.
Ahmed said nothing and displayed no obvious reaction, but Olivia thought she detected a faint glint of amusement in his dark eyes.
The lugger rode smoothly over the slight swell and heeled to port as the sails were set for the run south–west with the wind almost on the beam. Olivia closed her eyes to focus more keenly on the feel of the wind, the rolling, surging movement of the boat, the soft vibrations of the hull that came from the deck, the quivering of the rigging and the sound of singing in the stays. There was an occasional flap of sail, a slap and splash of water as the bow dipped and cut through the sea. There was a fresh smell to the air and she licked a faint saltiness from her lips.
She found the whole experience exhilarating. A sense of elation, freedom and contentment took hold of her. For the first time since the death of James she felt really relaxed, almost peaceful. She stayed there undisturbed for almost an hour, the crew sensing her need to be alone.
When she finally broke her reverie Olivia looked astern. Ahmed was at the helm,