Ben admitted, ‘I haven’t crossed an ocean on a small boat yet. But there’s probably more danger from big trucks when riding a motorbike. However, I’ve done a lot of sailing round New York. I know the winds – what to do with them, how to harness them.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe my Jewishness – getting something for nothing. The wind, the elements, they’re free – and non-polluting. It’s very satisfying working with the sea. So clean. So … harmonious with Nature.’ He shrugged. ‘Sure, I can cross an ocean.’
Helen sighed. She believed him. ‘And how much will such a boat cost?’
‘Maybe forty thousand bucks. Depending on where you buy it, its condition and so forth. But I can fix just about anything.’
She believed it. His self-confidence was infectious. ‘And you can always make money out of a boat, huh?’
‘Well, you don’t pay rent, for a start. And if I run low on money I’ll look for yachtsmen who want their boats fixed up. Ten bucks an hour.’ He shrugged. ‘Easy, I’ve tried it. Walk along any marina and holler “Who wants jobs done?” Plenty of work. Anyway, I don’t need much. A bag of rice goes a long way, and the seas are full of fish.’
Oh, she envied him his freedom from worries. That reminded her of Billy. ‘I must radio Clyde at lunchtime about Billy. The bastard’s still drunk. Drunker. His wife too and you know what they’ve done? Torn the bloody door off the hut and used it for firewood!’ She waved a hand. ‘Plenty of wood out there. But no – the door.’
‘Really?’ He added: ‘And what will Clyde do about it, two thousand miles away?’
She glanced at him and sighed.
‘Nothing, I guess. He’ll tell me to get on with it.’
‘And do what?’
She nodded wearily. ‘What indeed? Give him a bollocking when he sobers up. What else? I can’t fire him – I’d just have to look for another Abbo stockman. The devil I know is better than the one I don’t.’
‘So you’re radioing Clyde for his sympathy?’
Helen raised her eyebrows wanly. ‘Guess so.’
Ben sat back and shrugged. ‘Sure. Why not? That’s what marriage is all about. And you deserve sympathy.’
She glanced at him. Was that sincere? She decided it was.
‘No, you’re right – I won’t call him. I called him only last week, and it’s quite a performance to get hold of him. I’ve got to radio the mine captain’s office and get them to tell Clyde to stand by the radio at a certain hour, then call back.’
‘Does Clyde ever call you?’
‘Occasionally. But it’s a favour really, to use the mine captain’s office – he doesn’t like asking too often. And it’s not very satisfactory – you can’t get too personal on the air, can you? Anybody can listen in if they find your frequency. He won’t discuss money, for example – he doesn’t like the neighbours to know we’re hard-up. Though it’s obvious – why else is he on the mines? And,’ she smirked, ‘he can never bring himself to tell me he loves me.’
Ben raised his eyebrows.
‘Well, as long as he tells you in private …’ He paused, then: ‘Does he?’
For a moment she wondered about that question’s possible direction. ‘Of course he does.’
‘Enough?’
She was taken aback by his persistence. No matter how grateful she was for his help and company, she didn’t like that. She frowned. ‘Yes. Why?’
He disarmed her with his impish smile. ‘Because I’m told it’s very important. And I’ve heard that Aussie men are often a bit too macho to show much affection. I’ve heard that the definition of an Aussie male’s foreplay is’ – he put on a creditable Australian accent – ‘“You awake, luv?” Heard that in a New York bar, from an Aussie girl.’
She smiled. ‘Yes, that’s an old one. And I believe it’s mostly true, unfortunately.’
‘But not in Clyde’s case?’
She resented that. Too familiar. ‘No!’
Ben sat back. ‘Sorry.’ He smiled self-effacingly: ‘Too familiar.’
Again she was disarmed, and surprised at his perceptiveness. Word for word!
‘It’s all right.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘But what do you mean you’re “told” demonstration of affection is important? Don’t you know?’
Ben grinned honestly. (No harm in honesty when you’ve got little else to offer.) ‘Well, look at me, I’m not likely to have had much experience in that area, am I? Let alone success.’
Helen was disarmed further, because it seemed so plausible. ‘Oh Ben … But you’re a lovely bloke …’
He grinned. ‘That’s what I tell all the girls – all the time. But nobody seems to believe me.’ He added sadly: ‘Except my mother.’
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘See? It works.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve got your sympathy. Your disavowal of my physical limitations. But, unfortunately, that’s all I get.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘Oh, I’ve got lots of women friends. I get along famously with women as a gender. But unfortunately sympathy only works that far.’
Again she wondered whether he was trying to steer the conversation in a certain direction, despite his expression. ‘You’ve never been married?’
‘Married? I’ve never had a woman I didn’t pay for.’
That took her aback. That was astonishing self-effacement. ‘Whores, you mean?’
Ben sighed cheerfully. ‘But even that’s not on these days, with Aids.’ He grinned at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been tested and I’m a Lloyds A1 insurance prospect.’
She blinked. Why should she worry? She began to change the subject, and Ben groaned: ‘Oh, my big mouth …’ He looked at her apologetically. ‘Sorry – again. Why should you worry? But that was just a figure of speech. Believe me …’ he put his hand on his breast solemnly and said, not entirely truthfully, ‘I have enough bitter experience of life not to be so presumptuous as to think I could talk you into the sack.’
Helen stared at him a moment. Then she dropped her head and giggled. ‘Oh, you’re funny.’
Ben nodded wearily. ‘Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?’
‘Both!’
‘I knew it,’ Ben sighed, ‘I knew I couldn’t just be funny ha-ha.’
‘I mean unusual—’
‘Almost
