Nearly an hour later, Lucky realized he found himself in the awkward position of liking this man whose wife he'd dreamed of the night before. Though he shouldn't, he couldn't help but wonder at the nature of their marriage. Surely it wasn't normal. He just couldn't imagine that with the great disparity in age they could have anything in common outside of their work. And as the elder man spoke of his years beginning his yard with Ian's father and another man who'd given it up for the church, Lucky knew he probably should listen a little more closely than he was. Instead he found himself nodding at what he hoped were appropriate times as the elder man droned on.
He told Mr. Watkins about Ian's wife and daughter, and promised the man that Ian would certainly come in person at least once to sail his vessel home to England. At that time he could see what a fine man Ian had become. Then they got into the business end of their discussion.
From what it seemed, Watkins was leaving the architectural layout, structural engineering, selection of structural fittings—all the technical things—to Mrs. Watkins. Lucky thought this was highly unusual, but Mr. Watkins assured him of his young wife's competence. He'd trained her himself and he guaranteed he would supervise her closely on this job, as he did all the others.
Only after Lucky was comfortable with the plan, did they talk of contracts. "After you have signed off on the final drawings and specifications list, the final contract will be sent to you for signatures. When we receive our copies back, along with the second portion of payment, we begin actual construction," Watkins said.
Lucky nodded. "How soon could you have a final drawing and specifications list for review? I'm prepared to sign a contract before I sail back next week. Ian and I will have a narrow window of time to prepare for the upcoming tea run."
"Are you certain you've decided then?"
"I've seen all I need to convince me. You should know that your shipyard was Ian's first and only choice, as he's more familiar with the business side of construction. Though he did leave the decision to me, whether I choose another firm or stay with yours. I think he knew once I came here and saw your finished product I would go no place else."
He let the man know that he'd walked around his yard the day before, observing the construction and placement of ribs of the hull on the ways, and had gone onto the nearly finished construction to scrutinize the appointments. He also let him know that he'd done some asking around about his business practices at the local merchants, and the local bank he'd chosen to perhaps hold the funds for construction. "Everyone speaks highly of your firm, Mr. Watkins. I feel safe with the decision and think it shall be a pleasure to have you as our shipbuilder."
"Excellent," the elder man said as the two shook hands. "Let's ask Mrs. Watkins about her schedule for drawings." The man called for his wife, and when she opened the door and stepped in, the room suddenly got smaller and much, much warmer. "Mrs. Watkins, tonight we celebrate with champagne, for we are the new shipbuilders for the Empire Tea Importers." For just a fraction of a moment, Lucky thought he saw surprise flash in her eyes, then she smiled and congratulated them both.
"Captain Gualtiero is asking about your time frame for drawings, specifications lists, and such for him to sign off on, so we can get contracts written and he can be on his way to China."
Mrs. Watkins glanced out toward the drafting table in the other room, back at her husband, then at Lucky. "I already have some preliminary work I sketched last night, as I knew you were coming this morning."
She excused herself and returned with a large sheet of paper which she spread over her husband's desk. "Of course, I didn't know what layout you wished for accommodations, so this is a very rough design. But I've given you one hundred and eighty feet. Any longer and she may appear under-sparred."
Lucky looked at the intricate graphite drawing before him. It was beautiful to the point of breathtaking.
"This design has a long, raised quarter-deck and traditional American forecastle to give the illusion she's more in balance." Mrs. Watkins glanced at her husband, then at Lucky. "She's a solid wood hull and fully loaded she'll do eighteen to twenty knots easily, all day long. Well, with wind of course." She pointed to the breadth of the hull. "Also, I've increased your cargo capacity by approximately seventy percent."
Lucky could only stare at the drawing, mouth agape. It was perfect. Well, if there
were
any such thing as the perfect ship. The vessel sketched on paper appeared well-balanced and sleek in design. He began to imagine the reality of this vessel. "How do you know..." he began, unsure of what question it was he really wanted to ask.
"I did the calculations," she stated, as though he should have known that fact.
"My dear, I'm sure Captain Gualtiero is not interested in the actual formulas you use," Mr. Watkins said to his wife. "What he wants to know is when you might have official drawings for him to sign-off on."
"If I start now," she began, as she turned her golden brown-eyed gaze on Lucky for approval, sending his heart to skipping beats, "I should have it in... two days? I've finished the project I was working on, and I'm now free to work solely on this one."
"For finishes and such," Mr. Watkins said, "you'll need to sit with Mrs. Watkins and go over each appointment and decide the material and design. That alone will take an entire day as she lists each item on the specifications sheet for the different tradesmen in the yard. The contracts should be ready on Friday, late morning. I'll have Frank Baxter bring them over, along with someone to act as witness to the signatures."
Lucky again felt as though he'd stepped into a completely different world, one unfamiliar to his European sensibilities. Since when did a man's gentle wife work alongside him in a business such as this? Sometimes this country felt completely foreign to him. The language was the same, but the mores and business practices were more liberal than what he was accustomed to. "I look forward to working with you both," he replied, wondering if his world was about to turn upside down because of his fascination with this auburn-haired beauty. The one who was going to design the ships that would help him build his future.
"To seal the deal, you must come for dinner Friday night, as I leave for the farm on Saturday," Mr. Watkins said. "It's already past time for me to go inland to beat this heat. We shall have Sally prepare her delicious crab soup, and for dessert, her pecan pie. Many cooks can make both, but trust me when I say none in the world is better than my Sally's." He backed his chair away from the desk. "Mrs. Watkins, perhaps you can learn what the Captain might like as a main course and see that it gets on the dinner menu."
"I will do that, Mr. Watkins," Mrs. Watkins said from her seat across the desk from her husband.
"Well." The elder man stood and came out from behind his desk. "I'm off to take care of some other business. I shall see you at home later, my dear." The old man's benevolent smile at his young wife made Lucky hate himself at the directions his thought took each time he caught a glance of the woman.
She rolled her drawing, then straightened. "Yes, sir. I think I shall be home early, so I can begin working on this project." She turned to Lucky. "Do you have some time so we can go over some of your requirements for cabins, crew quarters and galley appointments? Knowing that will help me with creating the main deck layout."
He nodded and rose as Mr. Watkins excused himself, but before leaving the room, Watkins gave Lucky a wink as he made his way toward the stairwell, "Feel free to use my office, Mrs. Watkins."
Lucky quickly glanced back at Mrs. Watkins and for a fraction of a moment, he thought he saw fear, or perhaps uncertainty cross her brow. He hoped she wasn't afraid of being alone with him. God alone knew he'd never harm her. Quite the opposite, he wanted to bring her to his cabin and worship her body until the sun rose the following morning.
"I always do, Mr. Watkins," she replied.
Lucky noticed she treated her husband as an employer, rather than a husband or partner, which again made him wonder at the nature of their relationship. But, when it came right down to it, it didn't matter. The earthy and intelligent Mrs. Watkins had a husband who was a likable enough man. He was a man Lucky could respect and admire for his accomplishments. And Lucky had a long held stipulation when it came to dallying with married women—if the man was a friend he wouldn't tup the wife.
This woman might be the one and only time he ever violated his own rule.
M
ary-Michael smiled and turned to their new client. "I have an idea. Since it is already starting to get warm in here, perhaps you might like to walk through
Ajax,
as she is nearly done. You can get a feel for the fittings and layout, then tell me what you like and dislike."
Captain Gualtiero loosened the top button of his shirt and nodded. Mary-Michael was fascinated by the indentation revealed at the base of his throat when he parted the starched white collar. Sometimes she wished she could do the same, but no respectable woman would do anything of the sort. What she could do, though, was remove the jacket that was causing her discomfort. So she unbuttoned it and slid it off, hanging it on the coat rack in the corner of her office. Immediately she felt much more comfortable in her short-sleeved blouse. Placing her wide-brimmed hat on her head, she cleared her throat and collected her graphite pencil and writing board with a few sheets of paper. "Let's take a walk, Captain."
They left her husband's office and walked past Andrew Nawton, who worked on another client's final drawings. Mary-Michael took the opportunity to introduce their draftsman to their new client, letting the captain know that this was the man who would produce the duplicates of her originals. "Like all the tradesman in our company, Mr. Nawton is the best at what he does."
They continued down the hallway and stairs to the main doors where her very handsome new client held the door open for her. Mary-Michael thanked him, calling him captain. Her breath caught in her chest when she detected his fresh soap-and-water scent as she walked past him. She caught his gaze as she passed and he smiled, causing her knees to weaken.
"Please, call me Lucky."
She felt an odd clenching in the vicinity of her lower belly.
It was too soon
. Even if she was going to wind up in his bed for that much-desired infant, it was too soon to give him this much intimacy. "I've never been on a Christian-name basis with a client before, Captain, and to address you in such a familiar manner goes against my upbringing."
"I'm sorry. I only thought to make the conversation flow more comfortably between us," he replied, the soft timbre of his voice revealing a trace of an accent other than English.
Mary-Michael let the comment pass. She wasn't going to enter into any conversation with him that did not pertain one hundred percent to the construction of his two clippers. Not yet. She led the way toward
Ajax,
knowing he followed. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back. She realized perhaps she wasn't dressed in the most conventional of clothes, but she had a job that entailed a great deal of outdoor supervision, walking and climbing. A woman couldn't do what she had to do daily, wearing a dress. Which is why she always wore breeks or trousers to the shipyard.
"One at a time up the plank. I'll go first." She strode onto the board they used as a gangplank and walked onto the main deck, her client behind her.
"I'm amazed that you did that so effortlessly," he said with a hint of admiration in his voice.
She would not succumb to his charm. She
would
not. "Captain, I climb aboard this boat every day. Just as I will climb aboard your boat every day while it is under construction. It's how I know the quality of work coming from our yard is the best it can be. And, if I may be allowed to brag, among the finest in the world."
"Have you ever fallen into the water?"
"Of course. The last time was two years ago, after we'd had a cold night. I didn't think it was cold enough to ice, but I stepped on the plank, slipped, and fell in. Because of that fall, every winter we now have a bucket of sand at the base of the ramp. First man up spreads sand for those who follow. And we continue to spread sand until the sun melts the ice."
"Ingenious."
"No, Captain Gualtiero, practical." She smiled at him. "If you wish to know anything about me at all, sir, it's that I am very practical."
Mary-Michael began the tour of the topside structures in the fo'c'sle, getting his opinions on the arrangement she'd designed here. Her head easily cleared the overhead, while her companion had to duck his head. "This is a general cargo clipper. The difference in design is not noticed up here but rather below, in the hold. The owner does not plan to house crewmen in this area under the anchor deck, but livestock for consumption." She pointed out the chicken coop on one side and the pens for pigs and sheep on the other. "There are two privies forward, one rear, and one in each of her two cabins." She delicately tapped a foot on the fore hatch as they came back into the light. "This opens to the sail locker which we will see from below." They continued toward the rear of the vessel and she pointed up for him to see the placement of the lifeboats on the roof of the deckhouse. "This freed up space on the main deck and got them out of the way. There will also be two gigs in the rear."
Seeing him stop and look into the glass of the deckhouse, Mary-Michael asked, "Would you like to go inside?" When he nodded, she opened the door and held it for him. "As I mentioned, this is a general cargo ship. The owner wanted his galley midship, in the deckhouse. So that is the entirety of this area." She pointed out the sandbox and coal box, and the space in the center for the cast iron stove placement. Construction of the tables and benches was underway, and she introduced the new client to the carpenters before moving toward the rear of the ship.