an ancient, timeless sort of...looking back. This is the kind of place that really steeps you in it—do you feel that?’
He took a moment to reply, then, ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself; yes, I do. It happens to me every time I come here.’
‘I’m so glad,’ she said simply. ‘It makes it even more—significant—oh!’ She jumped as a sulphur-crested cockatoo erupted out of a tree, squawking stridently.
Mike Brennan laughed and held down his hand to her. ‘Noisy devils, aren’t they? I think we’ve come as far as we can go—shall we get back for that swim?’
* * *
Back in her cabin, Sidonie considered two things—the fact that she couldn’t swim properly and the fact that this was the occasion she’d purchased not one but two bikinis for. She’d been turning over in her mind for the last couple of days whether to tell him about her lack of aquatic ability in case the need should ever arise but had balked at the thought of exposing yet another deficiency. She had hoped that the gentle few strokes of dog paddle she was capable of would take care of all such cooling-off occasions as might arise.
It now struck her that it wasn’t that simple off the back of a yacht and this was demonstrated further as the boat rocked and water splashed, indicating that Mike had just dived into the lovely waters of Nara Inlet.
She swallowed then stood up determinedly. She was hot and dusty but faint heart had never won anything and she donned the red bikini, glanced at herself briefly, raised a surprised eyebrow because she didn’t look too bad, and went aloft.
All that was to be seen of Mike was a dark head bobbing in the water some distance away and she thought, Good, I can get this over and done with before he comes back. So she climbed down the metal stern ladder that was riveted to the boat, discovered herself still a foot above the water, hesitated poised with one foot and one hand off the ladder, but the decision was taken literally out of her hands as a powerful dinghy shot past, throwing up a wake that rocked Morning Mist and caused her out of surprise to lose her single hand-hold and topple into the water.
I don’t believe this but I’m drowning, was the next coherent thought that came to her as she entered a green-filtered world, rose to the surface once, choking and coughing, only to sink again with the awful feeling that the water was actually pressing her down and she’d never see the light of day again. But only moments later, although her lungs felt like bursting, a pair of strong arms gathered her up and she and Mike Brennan broke the surface together.
‘You idiot,’ he yelled right into her ear, ‘what the hell are you doing? Trying to drown yourself?’
She coughed and retched. ‘No. But I can’t swim...’ And she slumped against him.
She had vague recollections after that of him slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman’s grip, somehow climbing the ladder with her and depositing her on the deck then bending over her and applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
‘I’m fine,’ she said groggily after a few minutes. ‘I don’t think I swallowed any. Thank you very much—’
‘You blasted, bloody little fool,’ he broke in, sitting back on his heels. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?’
‘I can swim a bit—’
‘For that matter, why did you ever come on a trip like this, let alone ever set foot on a yacht, if you can’t swim?’
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