Peter Lovesey - The Reaper

He went down to loosen the mooring lines, then cast off and rejoined her. The Revelation got under way in a stately exit from the marina and into the Back Water Channel, well marked by stakes and leading to Poole Harbour. Approaching the lifting bridge he gave three toots.

"Would that be Poole on our left?" Cynthia asked, getting his attention with her hand on his arm.

"To port."

"You're really up with this sailoring lark, darling. The only port I know is Sandeman's."

He pretended he hadn't heard. "You'll see the customs steps and the Town Quay presently. Oyster Bank Beacon up ahead marks the edge of the mud we don't want to visit."

She offered him the hipflask. "It's Courvoisier."

"No thanks."

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but isn't it expensive running a boat this size on your stipend?"

"Iniquitous," he agreed. "The berthing fees alone would horrify you."

After some thought she said with a strong note of doubt, "I suppose if this is the only thing you spend your money on …"

"Right."

He steered into the Main phannel with its wide curve around the east side1 of Brownsea Island. \

"I had no idea it was such an enormous harbour."

"Second biggest in the world."

"You must have some private income. You'd never do this otherwise."

"Bit nosy, aren't you?"

"Anyone would be, I should think."

"The boat cost two hundred grand."

"Well, I'll be …"

He smiled. "The Good Book tells us that the Lord will provide, and he did."

"As much as that?"

"After my wife died there was a lump sum in insurance."

"Oh."

There was an interval not of silence, but of the hum of the turbines and the sputter of water.

Eventually Cynthia said, "I bet she'd rather you spent it on a boat than another woman. I would."

He let that pass and pointed out more landmarks. "The race platform for Parkstone Yacht Club. Poole Harbour Yacht Club beyond, with the marina. All very civilised now, but in bygone days these waters were thick with smugglers and pirates. The French and Spanish merchantmen went in terror of the local Blackbeard, a ruthless character they called 'Arripay.' "

"Come again?"

" 'Arripay.' Round here, he was just Harry Page."

She giggled at that. "Wouldn't you like to be a pirate? All girls dream of being captured by one."

"Pirates weren't romantic at all."

"Doesn't matter. You could be one and get away with it. No one knows who you really are-well, no one except me, and I'm your prisoner now. At your mercy, on your pirate vessel."

"What am I supposed to do? Make you walk the plank?"

"Lord, no. I can't swim. But you could have your wicked way with me. A Jolly Roger."

"That's a flag."

"Not in my phrasebook, darling." Quickly, she added, "Pure fantasy, of course."

"1 hope so."

"That's not very gallant, Otis."

He concentrated on his helmsmanship. The streams can be strong at the harbour exit between Sandbanks and South Haven Point. Lining up the beacon at the end of the training bank, he took them into Poole Bay by the route known as Swash Channel. "We'll open up a bit now."

"Us-or the engines?" asked Cynthia, laughing. She was steadily knocking back cognac.

"She'll do thirty-five knots."

"What's that to a landlubber like me?"

"About forty. Doesn't sound much, but on water…"

"Go on, then. Scare me."

He gave the pair of 660 horsepower engines more power and the five-bladed propellors fairly whipped the big boat over the water. It was reasonably calm today and he could motor into the waves without too much of a pounding.

"Brilliant!" shouted Cynthia.

He knew these waters well, the overfalls from Handfast Point down to Anvil, and the tide race off Old Harry on the ebb. Often he would steer a challenging course along the coast and test the boat in onshore winds. Today, he headed resolutely out to sea. After a while he eased the throttle imperceptibly- enough for easier conversation.

"Keep a look out for dolphins."

"Really?" she said. "I've never seen one outside an aquarium."

"You could get lucky."

Over to the east, they got a clear view of the Needles in sunlight off the Isle of Wight. He pointed them put. "I'd like to take you closer, but this is a south-west wind and it can be tricky."

"Better safe than sorry," she said. "Can we stop?"

"Heave to, you mean. If you like."

"It's not as if we're in anyone's way. I'd like to enjoy the scenery."

Suits me, he thought as he cut to dead-slow.

She offered the hipflask again. He shook his head.

"So what do you think of me?" she asked. "1 know I shouldn't have been so nosy, following you this morning, but can I be forgiven? I won't tell a soul. Promise."

"You'll tell anyone who wants to know," he said. He was in a candid what-the-hell frame of mind. "I don't blame you. I thought I was safe using another name all this way from the village."

"Does it matter if they find out?"

"Yes. It matters. Come on, you know the score. They'll ask how I can afford a motor cruiser. They're suspicious of me already, some of them."

"How do you afford it?"

"By diverting church funds."

A gasp. "Oh, my God-you're kidding."

"No. As you said, my stipend wouldn't pay for it."

She stared at him, saucer-eyed. "Let me get this clear. Are you telling me you're a crooked vicar?"

"That's a bit harsh, but yes. I take a cut of the parish income."

"In expenses?"

He laughed. "This is some expense."

"Jesus. How do you square it with your conscience?"

"No problem. It's money we'd pay the diocese to keep the bishop's wine cellar stocked."

"How do you square it with God, then?"

"He hasn't raised it with me, so I don't trouble him."

Cynthia stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. "Half the time I don't know whether to believe you. Isn't it one of the Ten Commandments: Thou shalt not steal?"

He gazed out to sea. "Yes, I'm not too strong on the Commandments. I can truly say I've never coveted my neighbour's ox, but as for the rest…"

She wagged a finger. "Otis, you're a wicked boy. Someone ought to teach you a lesson."

She couldn't have picked a worse thing to say. Muscles were twitching in his face.

Her hand grabbed his wrist. "Well, if you don't fancy playing the pirate chief, maybe I should. After what you just told me, sailor, I think you should feel the cat o'nine tails across your flanks."

"Leave it, Cynthia." He turned to glare at her and twisted his arm free.

"Cyn, if you like, since we're on the subject." She must have used that joke before. Her mouth was curved into a seductive smile. "If you can't take the cat, you'll have to settle for a spanking."

"I'll pass on that."

"I thought that was why men bought these huge boats, to have fun with their girlfriends. I wouldn't hurt you-much."

She was giving enough openings for an orgy, only he had a different agenda.

"Why don't you put it on autopilot?" she suggested.

At last he sounded more enthusiastic. "Top idea. Would you like to come up to the flybridge?"

"Naughty. What are you suggesting?"

"The deck above. Out in the open. Better view."

"All right."

"You'll need your coat." He could have added, "And a life jacket," but he didn't.

After the build-up he'd given the carol singing, there was puzzlement when the rector failed to appear on Tuesday evening. Almost everyone else was there in warm clothes, some carrying lanterns, some their musical instruments. For twenty minutes they waited in the crisp evening air outside the church door. "Happen he's not well," somebody suggested, so Peggy Winner offered to knock at the rectory door. She got no reply. The place was in darkness. Then George Mitchell remembered that this was normally the rector's day off.