LITMIR.BIZ

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with her while he did it. That way she could monitor his alcohol, keep an eye on him and feed him regular meals.

      Nine hard months it took, but at the end he’d hammered and sawn his way out of his grief and Sabine had a studio in the attic with a view of the river. More important, Johnnie was on his way back to living life. These days he lived mostly on board his boat despite still owning the cottage he and Annie had bought tucked away in the old part of town.

      Lack of exercise over winter meant she was panting by the time she pushed her key into the front-door lock. Still, the summer routine of walking into town and being on her feet for most of the day would soon have her fit again.

      After organising supper for her and Johnnie – Peter was out with his girlfriend tonight – she made a mug of coffee and went upstairs to her studio. Her favourite place in the house.

      Pressing a button on the CD player, Sabine sank down onto the settee and let the relaxing sounds of her favourite Miles Davis recording wash over her. Missy, her old tabby cat, immediately left the comfort of her basket in the alcove and sprang onto her lap.

      A light and airy room courtesy of the dormer window she’d fought hard to get planning permission for, the room was exactly as she’d dreamed. A comfy two-seater settee with creamy loose covers over it and its feather-filled cushions, a bookcase down one wall holding her collection of art and teach yourself books, a wooden cabinet whose drawers and shelves held her paints, paper and other arty stuff as well as a combined radio and cd player. A small cane coffee table standing on a scarlet scatter rug on the wooden floorboards, polished and varnished to the nth degree by Johnnie, added a splash of colour to the room. An easel with her latest painting on it stood to one side of the dormer window and a few framed family photos were pinned to the ceiling beam that ran the width of the house. A small wood-burner on the side wall kept the room cosy in winter. Stacks of finished paintings were lined up wherever there was wall space.

      Tristan at Churchside Gallery had offered to hang half a dozen or so of her paintings in a local artists’ exhibition he was planning for May. For the last few months she’d been working on getting enough to sell over the season and to have some different ones to offer Tristan. It would be the first time her work had ever been hung in a proper gallery. Tristan had asked her to do some larger paintings of the river, ‘romanticise the scene’, he’d said. ‘People can’t get enough of pictures like that. An old boat or two is good – go for a nostalgic feel.’

      Sabine had enjoyed painting the larger scenes and, as she’d grown more confident, she’d painted a couple of bright abstract ones, not knowing how Tristan would receive them. If he didn’t want them, she’d give one to Johnnie and one to Owen.

      Absently, Sabine stroked Missy. Normally in March she was full of energy and looking forward to the season. This year though, all the talk of the kiosk closing had un-settled her. Making her question what the future might hold. And, if she were honest, made her feel old. Which was ridiculous. She still had plenty of years ahead of her. It was just a question of deciding how she was going to live them.

      After all, her life so far had failed to be anything spectacular so that was unlikely to change. The one chance she’d had to change things had come at a wrong moment in her life. Now it was too late. The opportunity gone for ever. Owen, at least, had never given up on her. Owen, apart from Johnnie, was the one person Sabine knew she could call in any emergency and know he’d be there for her. He would have made a wonderful father, she knew, from seeing him with Peter – she’d even deprived him of that. Had never married anyone else. If only he’d met someone else, the pressure would have been off her, but no. Owen had proved steadfast in his love for her. Sabine remembered with gratitude Owen ‘being there’ for her and Peter through the years. He was a good man, still quite fit in his individual rugged way.

      Sometimes, in the studio late at night when she felt lonely and vulnerable, she fantasised about accepting his proposal. Mrs Sabine Hutchinson had a good ring to it, but resolutely she always pushed the thought away. It wouldn’t be fair to Owen.

      Back down on the quay an hour later, she waited as the Queen of the River, with Peter at the helm, gently draw up alongside the pontoon.

      Owen followed the last of the passengers up the pontoon gangway, leaving Peter and the other crew member to take the boat out to its mooring in the middle of the river.

      ‘You got time for a quick drink?’ he asked. ‘Something we need to talk about.’

      ‘Sounds serious,’ Sabine said, her heart sinking. The beginning of the summer was not a good time for Owen to need to talk. ‘Why not talk here?’

      Owen shrugged. ‘Rather sit in the pub in comfort. Besides, this way I get to enjoy your company for longer.’

      ‘Have to be a quick one, Johnnie’s coming for supper.’

      ‘Won’t take long what I’ve got to say,’ Owen said. ‘Ready?’

      Ten minutes later, with a glass of chardonnay in front of her and a pint of beer in Owen’s hand, Sabine looked at him. ‘Well, what’s this all about, Owen?’

      ‘Will you marry me, Sabine?’

      She shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘In that case, it’s just two things. Peter and Hutchinson River Trips is the first.’

      Sabine took a sip of her wine and waited. Was he regretting offering Peter a job and wanted out?

      ‘I’ve been talking to the solicitor about Peter inheriting the business.’

      It took a few seconds for his words to sink in.

      ‘You want Peter to have the business? You’re not ill, are you? You don’t look ill but…’

      ‘No I’m not ill,’ Owen said.

      ‘Thank god for that.’

      ‘I just want to get things sorted and Peter’s like the son I’ve never had to me.’

      ‘Does Peter know about this?’

      ‘Not yet. I wanted to make sure you didn’t have any objections. Accuse me of forcing him to stay put before he’s seen the world.’

      ‘He’s a real home bird,’ Sabine said. ‘I can’t see him ever leaving for a life somewhere else. Besides, he loves his life on the river. But what about your dad’s relatives? Surely there’s a cousin or two out Stokenham way who have a claim to the family business?’

      Owen shook his head. ‘No. So what do you think? Good thing or not?’

      ‘I think it’s an incredibly generous action on your part, Owen,’ Sabine said. ‘But I hope he doesn’t get to inherit too soon.’

      ‘So do I, darling, so do I.’ Owen laughed before taking a swig of his beer. ‘Right, I’ll get on to Trevor Bagshawe to do the necessary. Once that’s done, we’ll tell Peter, OK?’

      Sabine nodded. ‘You said there were two things – what’s the second?’

      ‘I’ve been talking to your Johnnie about all the places he’s been. The sights he’s seen. I’ve decided I’ve missed a lot so…’

      ‘You’re going to become a yacht deliverer?’

      ‘No, of course not. At the end of the season I’m off touring Europe for six months.’ Owen looked at her, a serious look on his face.

      ‘Want to come with me? No strings. Just two old friends having an adventure together before it’s too late.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      HARRIET

      Harriet drew up outside The Captain’s Berth with a sigh of relief. She’d made it. The longest drive she’d done on her own for years was finished. All four hours of it.

      To say she’d been nervous when she set off this morning on her marathon

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