63
Stone managed a couple of hours’ sleep, but he was up at dawn, looking over his new yacht. He went through all the cockpit lockers, making a mental inventory of the gear aboard, then he walked fore and aft, checking the way the lines led and what each was for. He thought that for such a large yacht, she would really be very simple to sail. The mainsail had been repaired, and he hauled it back to the cockpit. It took him the better part of an hour to get it bent on. Then he hauled on the line that rolled the mainsail up into the mast like a giant window shade.
Finally, he unreefed the roller-reefing genoa and hauled it down. Paul and Allison had had problems with the top swivel separating into two pieces, and he wanted to think about repairing it. To his surprise, he found that it had already been repaired, and very elegantly. Someone, in an impressive display of seamanship, had seized it together with fine whipping wire. It looked as though it was better than new. He hauled the sail up, then reefed it around the forestay. Expansive seemed pretty shipshape, he thought.
“Stone!” The cry came from the lawn, and Stone looked up to see Thomas Hardy running toward him. Behind Thomas, traveling more slowly, came Leslie Hewitt, back in his accustomed shorts and T-shirt. Thomas jumped aboard and turned to give Leslie a hand up.
“What’s up?” Stone asked. “You both look very excited.”
“You tell him, Leslie,” Thomas said.
“I’ve had a call from a friend at Government House. When Allison…when her case was resolved, the yacht, as her bail bond, reverted to her…estate. But my friend says that Sir Winston Sutherland has filed a petition with the Admiralty, which administers maritime affairs, claiming the yacht for the Ministry of Justice, supposedly to defray the costs of Allison’s trial. It’s just a naked grab of someone else’s property, but he can probably bring it off.”
Thomas grinned. “I hear you are a boat owner now.”
“Well, for a few hours, anyway,” Stone said. “Leslie, how much time have I got?”
Leslie looked at his watch. “It’s just past ten. Lord, I don’t know; Winston could be here with an order any minute.”
“Thomas, can you put together a week’s provisions for me in a hurry?”
“I’ll see to it,” Thomas said. He jumped down from the deck and sprinted back toward the Shipwright’s Arms.
Stone looked at Leslie Hewitt. “Well, Leslie, I hear that my co-counsel hasn’t been absolutely frank with me about the way Allison’s case was conducted.”
“What? What do you mean? I surely…”
Stone held up a hand. “Don’t bother; Allison came to see me last night.”
Leslie looked embarrassed, but he managed a grin. “Well, perhaps I wasn’t entirely candid with you, Stone, but all’s well…”
“That ends well,” Stone said. “It did end well, I suppose; you’re just lucky I didn’t die of a heart attack last night.”
“Myself as well,” Leslie said. “I was frantic when I couldn’t get anyone on the phone at the prime minister’s residence or in his office. I was nearly as much in the dark as you, right up until you asked about the disposition of the body, and the policeman gave you that malarkey about cremation. There’s no crematorium on St. Marks, so I figured I must have brought it off after all.”
“You certainly did, but you aged me ten years in the process.”
“Well, I’m glad it came out all right. I got a lovely fee, the prime minister got his, ah, pension fund, and you got a very fine yacht.”
“If I can hang on to it,” Stone said, laughing. “I’d better get the engine started.” He went aft to the cockpit, switched on the ignition, and prayed that the thing would start. The starter ground on for a good ten seconds before the engine caught and ran smoothly. He looked up and saw Thomas running across the lawn again, carrying a cardboard box and followed by an employee carrying a second one.
Stone checked the fuel gauges. Full. He hoped to God the water tanks were full, too.
Thomas and his man ran down the dock and set their boxes aboard, then Thomas ran back down the dock, untied a dinghy with an outboard, pulled it to Expansive, and tied it to the stern. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand getting out of the harbor,” he called.
Stone embraced Leslie again, then lifted him over the lifelines and set him on the dock. “Good-bye, old fellow!” he called out. “Let go our lines, will you?”
Leslie and Thomas’s employee untied the lines and tossed them on board, then gave the big yacht a shove away from the dock. Stone put the engine in reverse and began backing out.
“Look up there,” Thomas said, pointing with his chin, “but pretend you don’t see.”
Sir Winston’s elderly Jaguar had pulled into the inn’s parking lot, and the minister of justice was striding toward them, a piece of paper in his hand. They could hear a faint shout over the engine.
Stone shoved the gear lever to forward and spun the wheel to port; Expansive accelerated quickly through the smooth water of the harbor. They were about to turn past a point of land when Stone looked back and saw Sir Winston on the dock waving his piece of paper and shouting. He made a show of cupping his hand to his ear and shrugging, indicating an inability to hear, then they were around the point, and the harbor entrance lay ahead. “Thomas, you take the helm, and I’ll get some sail up,” he called.
Thomas tossed the mooring lines into the cockpit and took the wheel. Stone unreefed the headsail first, and when it was full and drawing, he unwound the big main from the mast. He went aft and switched off the engine, and everything grew quiet, except the fresh breeze in the rigging and the burble of water slipping past the blue hull. He stowed the mooring lines and went below, wrote Thomas a check, then came back on deck.
“I guess that’s it,” he said, handing Thomas the check.