The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [2]
back into the past, chasing the Sontaran; the trip to Parakon with its giant bats and butcher toads; and now the Exxilon affair – she’d come back convinced she’d got the story of her life, only to have Clorinda spike it on the grounds of implausibility. And when even she had to admit the truth of the dinosaurs – they’d been all over London, for Pete’s sake
– the Brig pulled rank as officer commanding the United Nations Intelligence Task Force in the UK, slapped a D-notice on the inside story and Sarah was scuppered again.
It was definitely last straw time; time to get out and make a fresh start. She didn’t care if she never saw Clorinda again. Or the Doctor and the Brigadier for that matter.
So when Jeremy, a colleague on the magazine, suggested that she come on a (purely platonic) holiday with him – a ticket was going begging, Jeremy’s Mama (as he called her) having cried off when she realized the dates clashed with the local horse show – she jumped at the chance to get away from it all.
But maybe it was going a bit too far to turn her back on journalism so comprehensively. Writing a bestseller (cunningly contrived to appeal to the romantic and the thriller market, and at the same time show such quality that it would undoubtedly win the Booker as well as being 7
hailed by the critics as the novel of the century) was turning out to be a rather more sticky job than she’d expected. She hadn’t even finished a rough storyline yet and they’d been in Sicily for over a week.
She opened her eyes and squinted at the lively scene below the hotel window, a kaleidoscope of colour (even though it was so early in the season) as the tourists paraded their holiday garb, or sat guzzling at the cheap and cheerful trattorias which lined the front. Across the harbour the little steamer which was the smallest of the boats which ran a ferry service to the islands to the north was puffing its way in, giving an occasional plaintive toot as it threaded its way through the sailing boats.
It certainly all looked considerably more attractive than the excessively flowered wallpaper behind her keyboard which had yielded such a small amount of inspiration all morning.
Go for a sail. That was the thing. Meet Jeremy for lunch as usual; a pizza, a glass of vino and then ho for the rolling main. Or whatever. Let Elspeth get on with it. She and Garcia deserved one another.
‘But I don’t like sailing!’
‘How do you know if you’ve never tried? It’s great. Just sit in the bottom of the boat and do as you’re told.’
8
‘Don’t be so bossy! You’re not my sister, you know.’
‘Thank heavens for small mercies.’
‘Well, if I’m sick, you’ve only got yourself to blame.’
It was a perfect day for sailing; as calm as the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens, with a brisk breeze from the west. Jeremy soon stopped grumbling. In fact, once they were well and truly under way and making for the middle of the harbour, he was sitting up, pink-cheeked and tousle-haired, with a grin on his face like a puppy’s on its first walk.
And as for Sarah…
Sarah was good at sailing, having undergone a period of intensive tuition (just after she left school) from a sub-lieutenant in the Royal Navy who’d called her ‘old thing’
and sworn undying love before thankfully disappearing Hong Kong-wards. Sarah, heart-whole and sun-tanned, had spent the rest of the summer in a dinghy and a glow of satisfaction.
Now, sensing the wind on her cheek, keeping an eye on the sail to note the slightest tremor, her body inches from the speeding water as she layout to windward, she could feel the boat, close-hauled on the port tack, pulling away under her hand like a racehorse at full gallop. A glimpse of Garcia’s moustachioed face flashed into her mind. Get lost, 9
she cried internally. What do I care how you get to Scunthorpe?
But her concentration had hiccupped. A gust of wind from an unlikely quarter swung the boat to starboard, revealing (what the sail had been hiding) that the little island ferry on its way out of harbour was bearing down on her menacingly and honking like a demented