Going Dutch Read online

‘Some of these Thames barges are massive,' said Jo, 'more like loft conversions than boats, really. They offer a huge amount of living space.'

  ‘And those heavenly wood floors in that last one!'

  ‘Wood floors are nice,' agreed Jo, 'but they gather dust terribly. Carpet keeps it to itself until you hoover it. Wood floors need forever dusting. I've got them at home. I mean, I had them at my old house. Talk about dust bunnies – dust Shetland ponies, rather.’

  The image made Dora smile. 'That sounds rather sweet! It makes me feel cruel for sweeping them up. Oh my goodness, will they let us on this one? It looks fabulous!' She wasn't sure if Jo had referred to her old house as home from habit, or if it went deeper. She didn't want her to be sad, not just now.

  Jo didn't seem sad and negotiated the various rails and ropes that needed stepping over with efficiency. Dora, not so familiar with such obstacles, took a little longer to land on the deck of the Hildegarde.

  A young woman was there to receive them. She smiled with professional charm. 'Hi there, welcome to Hildegarde.

  She's a luxe motor, thirty metres long, with a beam of five metres.'

  ‘Oh, right. Nice,' said Jo and Dora, more or less together. 'I'm Carole. The owner's unable to be here right now, so I'm showing people round.'

  ‘Is it for sale, then?' asked Jo.

  ‘Oh no. I'm just showing it off for Marcus because he couldn't be here.’

  I wonder, thought Jo. Marcus wasn't all that common a name.

  ‘I used to know a Marcus,' she said, 'years ago, when Philip and I first got together. Probably not the same one though,' she added, noting how old Carole was and doing the sums.

  ‘Let me show you round the deck first.' Carole led the way.

  ‘Lovely,' muttered Dora, trying to work out how this woman fitted into the barge-owner's life. Was she a wife or just a girlfriend? Or even just a friend? She was slim, elegant and wore fabulous silk trousers with a matching camisole top. She was tanned, well made up with really good hair. Although Dora had no intention of becoming a hairdresser – far too skilled, in her opinion – she did fancy herself as someone who could tell when their hairstyle suited them. Carole was an example of someone with perfect hair. Jo, thought Dora regretfully, was not.

  ‘You see, here's the sitting area. Isn't it great? The awning is electric, goes up and down at the touch of a button.'

  ‘Gorgeous,' said Dora. For some reason she felt sorry for Carole. In spite of her stunning looks and lovely clothes there was an air of loneliness about her. She wondered if this Marcus was nice to her. What sort of man would leave his woman to show off his boat, unless they were married or something?

  ‘And there's a hydraulic lift for the car,' Carole went on. 'Marcus is using it now, but it means when you arrive in the middle of the countryside, you can just drive off to the shops or a hotel. Should you want to, of course.’

  It seemed to Dora that Carole did want to. The barge was probably Marcus's heart's desire and she just went along with it. More fool her.

  ‘Very useful,' said Jo. 'Er – can we go inside now? I'm much more interested in the inside of boats-'

  ‘Barges,' corrected Carole.

  … than the outside.' Jo smiled firmly.

  ‘Of course, so am I, really,' said Carole, 'but Hildegarde's got so many wonderful features, I don't want to forget any of them. This is the wheelhouse,' she announced proudly a moment or two later.

  Dora had by this time seen enough barges to stop being amazed at how different from each other they all were, but this wheelhouse was something else entirely. There were no plants here, for a start.

  It had what looked like a flight deck. There was a padded chair to sit on while steering, and a raft of electronic equipment that Carole was now explaining to a patient Jo.

  Dora wandered down the stairs, wondering vaguely why there was no one else looking at it. She would have assumed that most people would leap on to this barge as soon as possible. She liked the interior. The saloon had tongue-and-groove panelling in a pale coloured wood. There was an unlit wood-burning stove on which Carole (it would have to have been Carole), had placed a bunch of dried flowers. There was pale carpet on the floor, but the furniture was arranged with such perfect symmetry it could have been done with a ruler. It was beautiful but soulless, she thought.

  There was, however, a bookcase. Dora walked over to it to give herself something to look at while she waited for Jo and Carole to come down. The books, she noted with horror, were in alphabetical order and there were no novels. She shuddered. She didn't think she should go into the other rooms until she was ushered, it would seem like prying, so she went to the window, which was definitely a window rather than a porthole, and looked out. Across the water she could see The Three Sisters. From here, she looked quite elegant, and even Dora could appreciate she had lovely lines. Inside, however, she was definitely a boat. Thick, round portholes let light into the saloon but you couldn't stare out of them. The large windows in Hildegarde offered brilliant views.

  ‘Right, this is the saloon,' said Carole as she entered, Jo behind her looking tired. 'See how spacious it is?'

  ‘There is a lot of living accommodation in these barges, isn't there?' said Jo.

  ‘And the owner's cabin is to die for!' enthused Carole, convincing Dora that she had, if not actually died there, experienced what the French call 'the little death' in it. What was Marcus like? she wondered, pitying Carole for allowing herself to be used by him? But then she ticked herself off for being judgemental. She didn't know any thing about their relationship and, after all, she was hardly an expert on relationships herself.

  The bedroom was pretty wonderful, Dora had to concede. She noticed Jo wanting to hate it, too. They both thought the built-in mahogany bed was elegant, with drawers underneath that slid, in Carole's words, 'like silk'.

  ‘To match the sheets, presumably,' murmured Jo, to Dora's private amusement.

  ‘Oh yes, all the bed linen is silk,' replied Carole, and then she frowned, aware that something she'd said had not been quite right.'Goodness,' said Jo.

  ‘And all the drawers are all lined with scented drawer liners.'

  ‘Wow,' said Jo, obviously struggling to keep up the enthusiasm.

  ‘And this' – the ta-ra was unspoken but obvious – 'is the en suite.’

  Whatever she had been expecting, and today Dora's ideas of what you were likely to find on a barge had been hugely expanded, it wasn't a sunken bath on a raised plinth surrounded by tiles featuring naked gods and goddesses, not in turquoise blue, anyway.

  She glanced at Jo, hoping their eyes wouldn't meet. Her mouth was open and then snapped shut. Then she opened it again. 'How often do you have to fill the tanks to have a bath here on a regular basis?' said Jo.

  There was a moment of silence. 'We only fill the bath when we've got shoreside facilites. Otherwise, it's the shower. It's a power one, of course, and has multiple settings.’

  Dora and Jo both gazed at it admiringly.

  ‘So do you go cruising with her much?' asked Jo. They had left the bathroom and were back in the saloon. For someone who had declared herself as chronically seasick, not to mention terrified, she was giving a good impression of a person eager to take the barge across the Channel and explore the canals of Europe.

  Carole lost some of her confidence. 'Not really. At least, not since Marcus and I-’

  The sound of someone arriving on deck caused Carole to give a meerkat-like start.

  ‘I'll just go and welcome the next group,' she said, and made her way swiftly up the stairs.

  Dora had been expecting Jo to make their excuses and follow her up, but she had picked up a photograph and was staring at it. When she looked up, her eyes were full of laughter.

  ‘I think it's the same Marcus! Years older, of course, but I'm sure it's him! How funny!'

  ‘That's weird! How did you know him?'

  ‘I'm just trying to remember. He was a friend of a friend, I think, and joined o
ur social group, just after Philip and I became a couple.’

  `So what was he like when he was young – younger?' asked Dora.

  ‘To be honest, if I hadn't been so besotted with Philip, I might have been tempted to have a little fling. We had a long conversation once – I've no idea what it was about -and he looked at me in this really intense way that made me feel I was the only girl in the room.’

  `So he was attractive even then?' Dora asked, looking over Jo's shoulder at the photograph.

  ‘Oh yes. I remember us girls thought he was devastating, in a sort of rugged way. Not handsome, like Philip was. But dangerous. He was rather sure of himself too, I recall. And he had a reputation as a playboy. A commitment-phobe, I suppose you'd call him now,' Jo said, putting the photo graph back down.

  ‘I could do with a commitment-phobe,' said Dora thoughtfully. 'A playboy would suit me just fine.’

  Jo laughed. 'Carole must feel the same. And Marcus must be quite fit to keep up with her.' Her smile faded. 'I was just thinking, are any of those couples we used to know still couples? Michael was widowed but now has a younger girlfriend, Philip's got the Floosie, and Marcus has got Carole – although to be fair, he didn't have her then. But are all men programmed to want a new woman when their old one has passed childbearing age?’

  ‘Goodness, what a horrible thought!’

  Jo smiled. 'Never mind, I think of Philip leaving me as a lucky escape now. Come on, Carole's got a new lot of visitors to show round, we'd better leave. Where else shall we go and snoop?’

  They waved at Carole, who was busily explaining how the car lift worked to another couple, and headed off Hildegarde.

  ‘Do you fancy poking around that one on the end?' Dora asked.

  ‘It's a tug and I think they're mostly engine. I'm rather tired. Let's go back to Miranda and Bill's barge. They promised us cups of tea.’

  They actually had a glass of Pimm's. 'Come and rest on your laurels,' said Miranda. 'It's been such hard work, hasn't it? Being nice to people – so exhausting. We'll sit on deck and repel boarders.'

  ‘Mm, lovely idea,' said Jo, flopping down beside her. 'Do you know when the voting happens, all that stuff?’

  ‘Voting!' said Dora. 'What's all that about?'

  ‘We vote for the barge we like best,' explained Miranda, 'which is sometimes connected to the person we like the best.'

  ‘But we don't know when it happens?'

  ‘No, I'm not sure,' said Miranda, pouring lemonade. 'Don't care, really. Oh, I know I should care, but I don't think it's hugely important. What did you think of Hildegarde? Amazing, isn't she?' She handed them both glasses and Dora took a seat next to Jo.

  Dora closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. It was so nice being here, she thought, far away from recriminations, arrangements, cancellations and, most of all, guilt. She couldn't abandon the guilt completely, of course. John's heart was still broken, and she had broken it when she realised that while she loved him as a friend, she didn't want him as a husband. She couldn't even pinpoint when the change had happened, she just knew she had to stop the wedding before it was too late. She couldn't be completely at peace. Still, better now than after years of unhappy marriage, with children to think about. She pushed these uncomfortable thoughts to the back of her mind and concentrated on topping up her tan, or more accurately, getting one. Her mother had told her she must look pale to get married, and had kept her out of the sun and under a very high factor sunscreen. Another sort of guilt, this time a pleasurable one, superseded the other. She even felt guilty for not wanting to cry any more. But that, she was sure, was because she'd used up all her tears. She wasn't really shallow and callous, just worn out with weeping.

  ‘Are you asleep or just risking skin cancer?’

  A male voice, familiar and jocular, woke her. She blinked up at Tom. 'I don't think you get skin cancer in ten minutes, not in England.’

  He shook his head. 'Better not take the chance.’

  ‘Where did you spring from?' she asked.

  ‘Want a Pimm's, Tom?' asked Bill, who had appeared in the same mysterious way.

  ‘Great! Thanks,' said Tom. 'We were in the engine room. Bill's got a bit of a problem I was trying to help him with.'

  ‘I knew I was right not to look at it,' muttered Jo.

  ‘And did you get it fixed?' asked Miranda. She didn't seem greatly concerned, as if sitting around in the sun drinking Pimm's was more her thing than worrying about engines.

  ‘Mm, think so,' said Bill. 'Tom was very useful. Here you are, get that down you.’

  Dora felt it would be rude to sleep now there were five of them and sat up, blinking in the sun, still bleary from her short nap.

  ‘So, what's on tonight?' asked Jo. 'If anything? I might opt for an early night, myself.'

  ‘Nonsense,' said Bill. 'There's a barbecue. Bring food and wine and we all cook together. Miranda brought half a cow from home, so be our guests. You too, Tom.'

  ‘Actually, I might take Dora away from all this, if she'll come,' he said.

  Dora sat up straighter. 'What have you got to offer me that's better than half a cow?'

  ‘And a wine lake,' put in Miranda.

  ‘I want to show you my etchings,' said Tom. 'Or rather my gaff.'

  ‘What's a gaff?' asked Dora.

  Tom gave her a pitying look over his tumbler of Pimm's. 'It's a slang word for home,' he said.

  ‘Oh!' She flapped at him crossly. 'I knew that. I thought a gaff was some sort of boat or something.'

  ‘So did I,' said Jo.

  ‘Well, it is a sort of rigging,' Tom conceded, 'and my gaff is a boat, but I didn't mean it like that. Come and see.' He drained the last of his Pimm's, took Dora's glass out of her hand and put it down. Then he pulled her to her feet.

  ‘It looks like we're going,' she said apologetically to the company.

  ‘Have a nice time, lovey,' said Jo. 'I know Tom will get you home safely, if late.'

  ‘Oh, Jo! I promise not to be too late and wake you again.' Another reason to feel guilty flooded over her.

  ‘You'll have to come back and eat,' said Miranda. 'You might as well take advantage of the free food.'

  ‘You're not accusing me of being a ligger, are you?' said Tom indignantly.

  ‘Yes,' said Miranda calmly.

  Dora decided not to ask what a ligger was, and followed Tom up the ladder and on to the dockside.

  Chapter Five

  Dora decided she liked Tom. He was very different from John, who was kind and gently funny, but not fun in the way that Tom was. And the joy of Tom was the fact that he was going travelling. In the unlikely event that something did develop between them, the relationship would have a natural end, which made it all the more exciting to be going somewhere with a boy she hadn't known since she was seventeen.

  ‘Give us your hand,' said Tom, and he hauled Dora up the last bit of ladder. 'It's a little way away, is that OK?'

  ‘Cool,' said Dora. She also liked being with Tom. She didn't feel quite so safe as she had with John, who had looked after her, but he was introducing her to new things and hadn't indicated that he wanted anything more than friendship. And that could easily be because there was no one else his age around.

  ‘There are some people off the other boats who'll probably come over.'

  ‘You mean, people who live on the moorings, like Jo?' Tom laughed. 'No, not like Jo. They're nice, but -well…' He hesitated. 'You'll see.’

  It was quite a long walk to 'Tom's Gaff'. They went out of the dockside area, with the pub, corner shop and down a road leading to some trees.

  ‘There are some boats tied up on an island,' explained Tom. 'You can't get cars to it, and it's a bit unofficial, but we like it.'

  ‘How do you mean, unofficial?'

  ‘It means they could throw us all off with no notice, but it suits us. Not as handy for work as my official mooring with the boatyard, but worth a bit of inconvenience,' he added, perhaps sensing Dora's hor
ror at the thought of such an insecure life.

  ‘I don't think I could cope with that,' she said, almost to herself.

  ‘You should get out more,' said Tom and Dora laughed. He was right, she should.

  In spite of this resolution, she still felt nervous as he led her over a very rickety wooden bridge on to the island. It was covered with tall trees, so much so that there hardly seemed space for the slimy path that led round to the other side, where the boats were. However, it was still only late afternoon and nothing too dreadful could happen – she hoped.

  ‘It's a nature reserve really,' said Tom, 'which is why we're not supposed to be here, but we don't bother the birds.’

  ‘How do you know? Have you asked them?’

  Tom nodded. 'Yeah. They were cool.’

  Dora bit her lip. It wasn't good for Tom, or indeed any man, to think that their jokes worked all the time.

  Tom's boat was not easy to get on to. It was a boat of the type Dora felt should have been made of plastic and floated among the bubble bath. It was small and wide for its length and was draped in old and faded tarpaulin. She regarded it dubiously.

  ‘Here,' said Tom, who had leapt aboard without her noticing how he did it. 'Put your foot on the gunwale. It's that bit there,' – he pointed to the side of the boat – 'and I'll pull you up.’

  It took several ungainly efforts. Eventually Dora overcame the restrictions of her jeans and got her foot up high enough. Then Tom heaved her on to the boat in a jumble of arms and legs and a coil of rope that somehow got involved.

  ‘I'm not really designed for boats,' Dora said apolo getically once she'd reconnected with her limbs and got to her feet.

  ‘Nonsense, you just need time to adapt. And looser jeans.’

  Dora brushed herself down. 'If I'd known I'd be doing acrobatics, I'd have worn my leotard.'

  ‘Oh, have you got one?'

  ‘Of course, red with spangles,' she said, thinking of Jo's top.

  ‘And doesn't it go up the cra- Well, never mind.’

  Dora knew perfectly well what he had been going to say but was grateful that he didn't finish his sentence. He seemed aware that she was out of her comfort zone, and while he blatantly intended to stretch those boundaries, he had the sense not to move too fast and cause her to dig her heels in.