a glorified taxi driver? And in Bertha? Four hours out and four hours back, with overnight stays? Is she even safe?’
‘She’s safe as houses.’ Charlie’s voice was smooth as silk as he patted the reservation book with satisfaction. ‘This is a last-minute booking, Bertha’s the only boat available and Jeff’s rung in sick. Have you any idea how much this guy’s prepared to pay? Never mind,’ he added hastily, no doubt figuring Meg would up her wage demands if she knew. ‘But it’s enough to give you a decent bonus.’
‘Charlie, I’ve been out since dawn on a fishing charter. I’m filthy. I’m off for the next three days. I have five acres of grass to slash and it’s almost fire season. If I don’t get it done now the council will be down on me like a ton of bricks.’
‘Sell that place and move into town,’ Charlie said easily. ‘I know it was your grandpa’s, but sentimentality gets you nowhere. Look,’ he said placatingly. ‘You do this job, and I’ll send Graham out to slash the place for you.’
Charlie’s son. Not in a million years.
‘You’re kidding. Knowing Graham, he’d slash the house before he touched the grass. Charlie, I’m not about to drop everything and spend the next three days ferrying some cashed-up tourist with more money than sense. Why does he want to go to Garnett Island anyway? No one goes there.’
‘I do.’
The voice made her jump.
She’d been leaning over the counter of Rowan Bay’s only charter boat company, focusing on Charlie. Not that Charlie was anything to focus on. He was flabby, florid, and he smelled of fish.
The guy who’d walked in was hitting six feet, maybe even more, lean, ripped, tanned. Sleek? The word seemed to fit. In the circles Meg O’Hara moved in, this guy was...well, a fish out of water.
Or a shark? His smart chinos, his butter-soft leather jacket, his brogues all screamed money. His hair looked as if it had been cut yesterday, conservative and classy, every jet-black wave knowing its place.
And his eyes...
Dark as deep water, they were watching her and asking questions. She found herself getting flustered just looking into those eyes.
‘I’m Matt McLellan,’ he said softly, but there was a growl underneath, an inherent threat. Was it...don’t mess with me? ‘You’re booked to take me to Garnett Island. Is there a problem?’
Charlie stood up so fast his chair fell over behind him. He grabbed a grubby notepad from beside the phone, wrote a figure on it and shoved it across the desk at Meg.
She glanced down at it and turned bug-eyed.
‘That’d be my cut?’ she asked incredulously. What had this guy offered Charlie?
‘Yes,’ he said hurriedly and surged around the desk to take the stranger’s hand. ‘There’s no problem, Mr. McLellan. This is Meg O’Hara, your skipper. She’ll take you out, anchor until you have the little one settled and then bring you back.’
‘Little one?’ Meg asked.
‘He’s taking a boy out to his grandmother,’ Charlie said, talking too fast. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, sir?’
‘That’s right.’ The man dropped Charlie’s hand and glanced at his own. She saw an almost-instinctive urge to wipe it.
She didn’t blame him. Charlie’s hands... Ugh.
Though she glanced down at herself and thought... I’m almost as bad.
‘But you have reservations?’ he said. He’d obviously overheard. ‘The boat?’
‘We had the boat in dry dock just last week,’ Charlie said. ‘I checked her personally. And Meg here is one of our most experienced skippers. Ten years of commercial fishing and another two years taking fishing charters. There’s nothing about the sea she doesn’t know.’
‘She doesn’t look old enough to have done any of those things.’
‘Is that a compliment or what?’ It was time she was part of this conversation, Meg decided. She knew she looked young, and her jeans, baggy windcheater, short copper curls and no make-up wouldn’t be helping. ‘I’m twenty-eight. I started fishing with my grandfather when I was sixteen. He got sick when I was twenty-five so we sold the boat and I took a part-time job helping Charlie with fishing charters. My granddad died six months ago, so I can now take longer charters.’ She glanced at the note Charlie had given her. This amount... She could even get the leak over the washhouse fixed. ‘The boy... Is he your son?’
‘I don’t have a son.’
Hmm. If she was going to be forthcoming, so was he.
‘I’m not about to let you take a kid I know nothing about and dump him on Garnett Island.’ She planted her feet square and met him eye to eye. ‘Garnett Island’s four hours off the mainland. As far as I know, Peggy Lakey lives there and no one else.’
‘Peggy’s Henry’s grandmother.’
‘Really?’ Local lore said Peggy had no relatives at all. ‘How old’s Henry?’
‘Seven.’
‘He’s going on a holiday?’
‘To stay.’
‘Is that right? Are you his legal guardian?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘If you want my help it’s very much my business.’ Behind her she could see Charlie almost weep. The figure he’d scrawled represented a month’s takings and that was only her cut. But she had to ignore the money. This was a kid. ‘You’re American, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Henry’s American, too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you must have had documentation allowing you to bring him out of the country. Giving you authority. Can I see?’
‘Meg!’ Charlie was almost wringing his hands but Charlie wasn’t the one being asked to leave a child on an almost-deserted island.
‘You can see,’ he said and flipped a wad of documents from an inside pocket and laid them on the desk. Then he glanced outside, as if checking. For the child?
‘Where’s Henry now?’ she asked.
‘We just had fish and chips. He’s feeding the leftovers to the seagulls.’
‘Greasy food before heading to sea? Does he get seasick?’
That brought a frown. ‘I didn’t think...’
She was flipping through the documents. ‘These say you’re not even related.’
‘I’m not related,’ he said and then obviously decided the easiest way to get past her belligerence
