Scanning the design, Kit nodded. “Yes. I remember it—Sandwich was thrilled and took us out on it when it launched.”
“Indeed.” Wayland nodded. “As you say, you were there for the launch. Do you remember when that was?”
Kit thought back, seeking other dates around that time that he remembered more clearly. “It had to have been in thirty-seven—July, thirty-seven.”
Wayland nodded. “According to the date written here”—he pointed to tiny figures written on the bottom right-hand corner of the design—“this yacht was launched on July twelfth, eighteen thirty-seven.” He gazed at the design for a moment more, then turned it in his hands and offered it to Hightham.
Hightham’s scowl had turned puzzled and wary. He stared at Wayland for a moment, then, almost reluctantly, reached out and took the drawing. His gaze fell to the lines, scanning the design...
Hightham paled. He stared at the drawing as if it were a snake, then he muttered a curse and shifted closer to the lantern, angling the sheet so he could study it more closely.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Wayland waited.
Gradually, the angry tension in Hightham’s body leached away. Eventually, he hauled in a breath that caught, then he looked up at Wayland, incomprehension and not a little despair etched across his face. “I...don’t understand.” He glanced at the design again. “This is my design...well, not absolutely exactly, but the critical design features of my keel are all here.” He raised his gaze once more to Wayland’s face. “But how?”
Standing at ease with his hands in his pockets, Wayland adopted what Kit mentally termed his friend’s lecturing expression. “The thing you’ve forgotten—or perhaps never knew as you’ve patently never run across it before—is that great minds really do think alike. It’s perfectly possible for two unconnected individuals to come up with the same, or at least very similar, design. Even identical designs—that’s not unheard of.”
Wayland tipped his head at the drawing Hightham still held. “That’s what happened here. Unbeknown to you, a year before I met you and might have seen your design—I didn’t, by the way, or I likely would have made some comment—I had already worked on and launched a design similar to the one you subsequently came up with. And apparently, my design incorporated the critical features you later re-created in your design.” Wayland paused, then more gently said, “Sandwich’s yacht wasn’t the only yacht I built that year. I’ve evolved and refined that design in several ways over the years. Indeed, virtually every yacht I’ve built since then incorporates some variant of that particular keel design.” Wayland glanced at the frame at Hightham’s back. “Even the keel of the hull we’re building now derives from it.”
Hightham seemed to have nothing to say; he stared at the drawing, but Kit would have sworn he was no longer seeing it.
Wayland reached out and gently tugged the drawing from Hightham’s grasp.
Letting the drawing slip from his fingers, the younger man sat unmoving. He looked shattered, his expression devastated. Then he licked his lips and, lowering his gaze to the floor, said, “So it wasn’t you who stole my design—it was me who stole yours.”
Wayland sighed and, in his lecturing voice, said, “You haven’t been listening, John. We independently came up with a similar design. You hadn’t seen my work any more than I’d seen yours—you couldn’t have known. No stealing involved.” Wayland shifted, his gaze on John’s now-desolate face. “Don’t berate yourself over it.” Wayland managed to catch John’s eye and fleetingly grinned. “As far as I can see, that you came up with a similar design just testifies to my brilliance.”
Far from relaxing, Hightham looked even more shattered. “I’ve spent so much c-coming after you, seeking my revenge—time, money, and effort.” He looked down and morosely shook his head. “And it was all over nothing.”
Wayland looked at Kit. Kit arched his brows; he suspected they were both thinking of their earlier discussion about ultimate goals. The truth was, everyone needed a purpose in life, an ultimate goal to strive for. Apparently in recent times, Hightham’s goal had been to wreak vengeance on Wayland. Now...
Hightham looked toward the door, where the open padlock dangled from the looped chain. He swallowed, then glanced at Kit and tonelessly said, “I expect you’ll want to send for the constabulary.”
His hopeless dejection made it plain he fully expected to be handed over to the authorities and charged.
Wayland looked meaningfully at Kit as he replied, “Given your talent, that would be a shame, not to mention a great waste.”
Kit nodded in understanding. He and Wayland held a firm belief that gathering the best possible talent was the surest route to steering Cavanaugh Yachts to success.
Wayland tipped his head toward Hightham. “Do you think we can give him a chance?”
Hightham looked up, blinking as if he’d lost track of the conversation.
Kit studied the younger man’s open face. He looked youthful, oddly innocent, yet Kit had seen the same passion Wayland possessed burning in Hightham’s eyes earlier, when he’d spoken of his design. That glimpse of passion decided Kit. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
Puzzled, disbelieving—not yet willing to allow himself to believe—Hightham stared up at them, his gaze shifting between them. “You’d do that? But...” He twisted to look at the keel behind him. “I tried to destroy your work.” Facing forward, he pointed at the jar and rags Wayland had found in his sack. “I was going to splash that under the keel and set it alight.”
“Luckily for you,” Kit drily said, “we decided to stay the night so we’d be here to welcome you.”
“Don’t worry,” Wayland said. “We’re not proposing to let you off lightly—not at all. We’ll work you hard, and you’ll pay your way by the sweat of your brow. You can work off your guilt while designing and overseeing the building of the very best ocean-going yachts the world has ever seen with me.”
If they’d whacked Hightham over the head with one of the hull’s massive ribs, he couldn’t have looked more stunned. He blinked up at them, then a faint frown formed in his eyes. “This seems all wrong—that I came here to burn your work, and you offer me my dream job.”
Kit rather thought Wayland was enjoying himself. Kit shifted and clapped a hand down on Hightham’s shoulder. “You might think that now, but trust me, Wayland’s a brutal taskmaster—he’ll make you live up to his expectations, which are often beyond the scope of mortal man.”
Wayland sent Kit a scoffing look, but then refocused on Hightham. “He thinks he’s being droll, but he’s not entirely wrong. We need a second draftsman now that construction is rolling along, and we could go faster—we could start a second hull in a week or two—but we’re limited in that, at present, I’m the only one able to oversee the work and also draw out the designs.” Wayland tipped his head toward his office. “You could take on the drawings while I continue des
igning and overseeing.”