A
s the taxi disappeared down the drive, Mum let out a sigh of relief.
‘What’s up, doll?’ Dad asked.
‘This is the first time in I don’t know how many weeks that we’ve had the house to ourselves.’
We were sitting out on the patio, having a quiet drink. Dad nodded and poured her another wine. ‘Stage three complete! I’ve said, from the day I set eyes on her, that
Erewhon
wasn’t going to be a museum piece, and we’re ready now to race her anywhere we can find an opponent. After the last two days, I’m even more convinced that’s what I want to do.
Erewhon
needs someone at the helm who can extract the best performance, and I was rather hoping my honorary daughter would take up that role.’ Dad looked meaningfully at Mic, who beamed back at him.
Dad laughed. ‘It’s a deal then?’
‘It’s a deal,
Dad
!’ she replied.
‘We need a campaign manager,’ Dad continued, looking at Matt. ‘Someone to negotiate and organise fundraising to finance the whole operation. Do you think you’d be able to cut the mustard?’
Matt pondered for a minute. ‘Will this be a full-time job?’ he asked.
‘With the plans I have for
Erewhon
, you might have trouble finding time to sleep.’
‘In that case, I’m your man!’ he replied.
‘And where do I fit into the scheme of things?’ Mum chimed in.
‘At home by the sink!’ Dad teased.
Mum picked up a pillow from the seat and threw it as hard as she could at him.
‘OK, a project this size needs a publicity manager. How about it?’
‘Do I get to sail on
Erewhon
?’
‘I’m not spending all this money for you to sit on the shore.’
‘Then publicity manager sounds fine to me.’
‘Right, now is everybody happy?’
‘Ye-e-s!’ we all chorused.
‘We’ve got about eight months to get
Erewhon
into race trim to be ready for her first big test. TJ’s going to talk his boss into bringing
Valhalla
back down here for a refit in August, so I’m picking they’ll be ready for a race in November.’
‘Having sailed both yachts,’ Mic said, ‘I don’t see
Valhalla
as a problem.’
‘She will be a different boat after a refit, so we don’t want to stumble at the first hurdle. TJ told me the refit would include a new mast and sails, so you can bet the work will include modifications to the keel. She’ll be a faster boat. The Texan won’t lie down! Now, Ben, you know what I expect from you?’
‘No, not exactly.’
‘If we’re going to take
Erewhon
offshore, you’ll need your ticket to do that, and as boatmaster you’ll be in charge of the day-to-day running and maintenance. I expect her to be in race trim all the time—if we want to attract sponsors for our adventure, we can’t afford to lose races because of broken gear.’
‘Right now, I can hear my bed calling,’ said Mum.
Matt and Dad slowly drifted off, too, leaving Mic and me to chat. ‘That was an extra-long kiss you gave TJ as he was leaving,’ I said, as she lounged back in her chair.
She smiled. ‘No longer than the one you gave Patty when you climbed on board
Erewhon
last night. But I’m not ready for another relationship right now. I really like TJ, but I don’t want him to think there’s any more to it than just being friends. What about you and Patty—are you getting serious?’
‘I really like her, too, but I don’t want a long-distance relationship, and neither does she, so we’ll see. Now, big sister, I’m going to get some sleep.’
I tried lying on my bed, but my mind was racing a million miles an hour and sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed and turned all night, and finally rose with the birds. I wandered down to the kitchen, where Dad was already eating breakfast.
‘What, you wet the bed?’ he said, surprised to see me so early.
‘No, just couldn’t sleep. Too many things to think about. Anyway, I want to get over to the boat. Paint said he’s going to strip the rest of the vang off.’
‘Good,’ Dad replied. ‘I’m still hoping to take the iwi out for a sail at the weekend.’
He returned to munching his bowl of cereal, stopping only to wash it down with a cup of coffee. ‘You need to start thinking about a permanent crew,’ he said, as he walked towards the door. ‘It will be a progressive thing, starting with volunteers. Then, as we get closer to the serious stuff and Matt gets the sponsors, we’ll hire twenty or so full-timers.’
‘That’s roughly what I had in mind. About thirty of my mates have expressed interest in joining the crew, so over the next few months we can give them all a try.’
I was glad I was early: by the time I’d picked up Paint and
his gear and we’d made our way to the Basin, a crowd had gathered at the jetty gate. When I opened it, the throng tried to surge in to get a closer look. As they did, Paint turned to face them, and in a low voice said, ‘That’s close enough, thank you!’
The crowd took one look at him and backed off.
‘You’ve just appointed yourself head of security,’ I said.
‘Do I keep my job as motorman?’
‘Is anyone else allowed to touch that engine?’
‘
No!
’
‘Then I guess you’re head of security
and
motorman.’
‘Thanks, bro.’
The crowd spread itself along the quay, watching with interest as we worked to strip the remains of the broken boom vang. Paint studied it closely. ‘Bloody mugs!’ he said, as he looked at the broken end.
We loaded it into my car, and I handed him the keys. ‘I’ll stay here. Terry Espie and his man are coming down soon to measure the extra spreaders.’
As I walked back to the security gate, a quiet voice caught my attention. ‘Could I ask you a couple of questions?’
I turned to find a beautiful face to match the gentle voice. ‘Hi! I’m Veronica Smith, a reporter for
Ocean Spray
magazine.’
‘Hi!’ I replied. ‘I’m Ben Standish, boatmaster of
Erewhon
.’ I liked the sound of that.
‘I’m looking for a story on
Erewhon.
Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’
‘Fire ahead,’ I replied, trying not to give her the idea I was giving her the once-over. She looked so like Mic, even down to the mannerisms, that she could have passed for a younger sister. With her looks, she had my full attention.
‘Come on board,’ I said, beckoning her through the security gate. She followed me down the jetty, kicked her shoes off,
and stepped confidently onto the deck. She obviously knew her way around a yacht, running her eyes over
Erewhon
’s deck layout. She looked at the ensign fluttering on the stern and turned back in my direction.
‘Where are you and this yacht from?’ she quizzed.
‘Auckland,’ I replied.
‘Is she new?’
‘No, she’s about seventy years old.’
Veronica looked puzzled and was about to ask another question.
‘Listen,’ I said, with a smile. ‘There is a lot more to
Erewhon
’s story than I have time to tell you this morning. I’m sure our publicity manager, Jenny Standish, will be only too glad to talk to you.’
‘Can I have her number?’ she asked.
I gave her the home number, and she jotted it down on her pad.
‘Tell me more about yourself, then. You’re young to be boatmaster of a yacht of this size.’
‘I always talk better over dinner. Are you doing anything tonight?’
She smiled, reached into her handbag, and withdrew a small red diary. She flicked through the pages. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘nothing I can’t change. Dinner would be nice.’
‘Good, I’ll pick you up around half seven.’
She nodded and handed me her business card with her address handwritten on the back. I watched discreetly as she bent down to slip her shoes back on. ‘Half seven,’ she confirmed, as she stepped off the yacht and disappeared along the jetty, her tiny skirt flicking up as she walked.
I sat down in the cockpit. She was gorgeous! I started to panic. Had I played it too cool?
‘You don’t muck around, do you?’ I swung around to find
Mic sitting in the cockpit. Dad had dropped her off, and I’d been too preoccupied to notice. If I was embarrassed last night by our conversation, then I didn’t know which way to look this morning. ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked, my face glowing again.
‘Long enough to see how much you fancy her!’
The security gate rattled, and Terry and his foreman came down the jetty. ‘Morning!’ Terry yelled, as he stepped on board. ‘Reckon I need a flag on that mast and boom with this crowd looking on.’
‘I’m sure you could come to some arrangement with our business manager,’ I replied, with a chuckle.
‘Business manager? Who’s that?’ Terry asked.
‘My brother, Matt. He’s looking after sponsorship and advertising.’
‘Why do you need a business manager?’
‘Dad’s keen to campaign her internationally.’
‘That puts a different light on the standing rigging. You’ll need running backstays if you go offshore.’
I nodded. Terry’s knowledge of rig requirements was incomparable. He continued to look around the rig until he came to the base of the mast. ‘Where’s the vang?’
‘We pulled the end off it just before coming home yesterday, and Paint didn’t think much of your fitting, so he took it away to repair it.’
‘That’ll be interesting,’ Terry replied, somewhat cynically.
The two men headed to the mast to measure the spreaders.
‘What do you reckon, Bill?’ he asked, as they produced tapes to measure the gaps. I listened as they bounced ideas off each other and came up with a sketch of what they thought was necessary. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow to fit the new spreaders,’ he said, as they walked back along the deck.
‘We won’t need runners while we’re harbour racing, will we?’ I asked as he left.
‘No, lad, the extra spreaders will do all you want.’
Mic reappeared. ‘Big night tonight, then?’ she asked.
‘Yes, sis, do you want to come along?’
‘What, and be the gooseberry?’
‘What do you think of her?’
‘She’s very pretty.’
I nodded. ‘She seems to know her way around a boat too,’ I added.
‘That’s lucky if she wants anything to do with you.’
‘You approve, then?’
‘You can keep me informed, but why don’t we look at your business plan now?’ she said, to change the subject. We spent the rest of the day doing that, and I was impatient for Dad to pick us up by the end of it.
‘What’s the rush?’ Dad asked, as we piled into the Lexus and I urged him to get cracking.
Mic smiled. ‘Ben’s got a hot date.’
‘If she’s any good, she’ll wait,’ Dad replied. ‘Your mother soon got used to me, and I was never on time.’
‘That may have worked in the Stone Age, but it’s not the same now, so will you put your foot on it?’ I said, pointing to a gap in the traffic. Rush hour was at its very worst and, as we crept towards home, I got even more wound up.
I set the land speed record for a shower and change, Mum gave me the keys to her Merc, and I was off down the drive. As I headed towards the city, I tried to compose myself. I checked my watch. As long as there were no hold-ups, I was going to make it. I pulled Veronica’s card out of my pocket, rechecked the address, flicked the stereo up, and eased back in the seat.
Parking in Parnell at this hour of night was almost impossible, so I couldn’t believe my luck when a car pulled out of a spot
right in front of her apartment.
The door opened gently as I knocked. It wasn’t locked. ‘Hello, come in,’ Veronica called. ‘I’ll be with you in a tick. I’m in the kitchen.’
I stepped into a very neat lounge and took a few paces in the direction of her voice.
‘Hope you haven’t made plans,’ she said, as I rounded the corner. ‘I’m cooking us dinner. Could you open the wine?’
I pinched myself.
Conversation came easily, and we talked well into the night. I didn’t want the evening to end, but the Merc finally found its way up the drive just before morning.
I hitched a lift back to the Basin with Matt. Paint was standing at the security gate with the new vang at his feet.
‘Not much use if our security manager doesn’t know the combination,’ I called, as we approached. Paint seemed a little edgy. He’d had a run-in with the security guards, who didn’t like the look of him. Matt disappeared in the direction of the security hut as I showed Paint the combination. We carried the parts to the vang down the jetty and placed them on board. Matt arrived back with two burly security guards and jumped onto the deck.
‘Paint,’ Matt beckoned, ‘these guys would like to apologise for giving you the third degree this morning.’ He nodded in their general direction.
‘He’s our head of security,’ I explained, ‘and he has our full sanction to be around the yacht at all times.’
One of the guards thrust out his hand in Paint’s direction. ‘No hard feelings, bro.’
‘Nope!’ Paint replied and shook the other guard’s hand as well.
When the guards had gone, we took a look at Paint’s handiwork. ‘Reckon it’s strong enough now?’ I asked.
‘You could lift the whole bloody yacht out of the water on that fitting and even have the fat Maori sitting in the cockpit!’ he replied.
‘That strong?’ Dad said, as he appeared from nowhere on the dock. ‘Just came to see if anything was happening down here.’
‘You won’t break it, I guarantee!’ Paint confirmed.
The security gate rattled, and Terry Espie and his mate came down the jetty.
‘Morning, Terry!’ Dad bellowed, as we watched the two men staggering along with the new spreaders.
‘Morning,’ Terry replied, gasping for breath as they placed their load on board. They scrambled onto the deck and collapsed in the cockpit.
‘You’ll have to knock off the fags,’ Dad advised, as the two men restored circulation to their arms. Finally, Terry got up and walked forward along the deck, eyeing the new vang. ‘My, my!’ he said, as he studied it. ‘I’m impressed. Who designed it?’
Paint’s chest swelled. ‘Me.’
‘That’s a bloody good job. Where did you learn your trade? Do you want a job?’
‘You can’t have him. He’s contracted to Standish!’ Dad interrupted.