on her boots. If Aristide was up and about she could put the kettle on and make coffee, although she would have loved a cup of tea, and perhaps she could toast what was left of yesterday’s bread. She made her way towards the stern, but came to a sudden halt at the sight of Aristide, naked as the day he was born, apart from his peaked cap, boots and a red and white spotted neckerchief. He was standing on the deck, staring out over the fields with a plume of tobacco smoke rising above his head. He turned to look at her and smiled, taking the pipe from his mouth.
‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle.’
‘Er, good morning, Monsieur Durand.’ Nettie averted her eyes. ‘Breakfast,’ she said tentatively. ‘Coffee.’
He said something in rapid French, laughed and strolled off towards the cabin. Nettie followed at a distance, trying not to look at the vast expanse of pink flesh wobbling along in front of her.
‘Byron,’ she called in a hoarse whisper. ‘Wake up, please.’ But there was no sound from where her father and Byron were sleeping and she had little choice other than to follow Aristide into the accommodation. She hung back as long as possible, and when she eventually set foot in the cabin she was relieved to see that he had pulled on a pair of baggy trousers. He indicated the stove, and she could feel the heat from the doorway. A kettle was bubbling away and he pointed to a coffee grinder and a bag of beans. Nettie knew then what she must do, and she edged past him to make a start on the coffee.
He was talking to her as if she understood what he was saying and, to keep him happy, she nodded in what felt like the right places and shook her head when he paused, eyeing her expectantly. It seemed to work, and he tapped the dottle from his pipe, refilled it from his tobacco pouch and lit it with a spill from the fire. He sauntered out on deck, slipping on his shirt and leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. Nettie heaved a sigh of relief and concentrated on making a pot of coffee, and toasting the bread left over from last night’s supper on the hob. The aroma of toast and coffee must have filtered out on deck as Byron was the first to appear, followed by Robert. Both looked bleary-eyed, but Nettie suspected that it was due to the rough red wine they had consumed rather than a lack of sleep.
Nettie sat on the bench, sipping the strong black coffee. ‘We’ve left Paris and we’re headed north, is that right, Pa?’
Robert bit into a slice of dry toast and pulled a face. ‘I want some butter and marmalade.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Yes, dear. You know we had to leave Paris.’
‘Of course, and we’re trying to find Byron’s family as well as making sure that Constance is happy to be with Duke, but what then?’ Nettie looked from one to the other. ‘When we reach Beauaire, where do we go from there? Are we going back to England, or are we going to become water gypsies and go on to Le Havre with Monsieur Durand?’
‘I haven’t quite decided,’ Robert said vaguely. ‘It depends on whether the police have given up the chase. I can’t think that they would waste their time hunting for someone like me. It’s not as if I’ve committed murder or treason.’
‘So we might be going home?’
Robert picked up his cup and drank thirstily. ‘We’ll see.’
‘I’d better go back on deck.’ Byron made a move towards the doorway. ‘According to Aristide, we’re nearing a lock and that’s where I have to leap into action. I haven’t the slightest idea what to do, so it should be interesting.’
Nettie followed him out into the warm spring sunshine. ‘Everything moves so slowly on the river. We might be on this barge for weeks, so will you teach me to speak French? It will make things much easier.’
A slow smile lit Byron’s eyes. ‘Of course I will, and I’m sure that Aristide will co-operate fully. He’s not a bad chap when you get to know him.’
Nettie stifled a giggle. ‘I saw rather more of him that I wanted to this morning. He was standing in the bows, smoking his pipe and staring at the view with nothing on.’
‘You mean he was undressed?’
‘Exactly, although he was wearing his neckerchief and his cap.’
Byron’s lips twitched but his brow was creased in a frown. ‘I should speak to him. It’s not the done thing when there’s a young woman on board.’
‘You can’t tell him what to do on his own barge.’
‘He would be mortified if he knew you’d seen him naked.’
‘He saw me and he wasn’t at all embarrassed. I’ll just try to avoid him tomorrow morning. Anyway, I know now what to do for breakfast, and maybe we might have the opportunity to go ashore at some point. He must buy food from somewhere and there’s precious little in any of the cupboards.’
Nettie was about to return to the cabin when Byron caught her by the hand.
‘You don’t have to trail around after your father. Say the word and I’ll take you back to England. You’re not involved in Robert’s crimes.’
‘He’s my father, Byron. You’ve seen how he is, and heaven knows what would happen to him if I went home. I can’t desert him.’ Nettie withdrew her hand, giving him an apologetic smile. ‘You’re a good friend, Byron. I’m so glad you came with us.’
‘I do care about you, Nettie,’ he said slowly. ‘You must know how I feel about you.’
This time her smile was wholehearted. ‘I do, and it’s wonderful to have such a good friend.’ She stood on tiptoe to brush his cheek with a kiss. ‘Oh, heavens,’ she added, sniffing the air. ‘Someone has burned the toast and we were already low on bread.’ Without giving Byron a chance to respond Nettie returned to the cabin to find her father staring glumly at a slice of charred bread.
‘That’s the last of the bread, Nettie. Remind Aristide to buy some when we go ashore, although heaven knows when that will be. The fellow chatters away, but I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s saying.’ Robert took his pad and tin of charcoal from the shelf where he had placed them the previous evening. ‘I’m going out to sketch the view. Charming countryside – I think I could quite happily live in France for the rest of my days.’ He hesitated in the doorway. ‘I believe Aristide has a consignment of wine in one of the holds, and grain in the other. This is the life, my dear. I might have been born to it.’
He wandered out onto the deck, leaving Nettie to clear away the mess he had created.
Having tidied the cabin, swept the floor and the deck, Nettie found herself with nothing to do other than sit and admire the scenery. Aristide was at the tiller and Byron was kept busy stoking the boiler and cleaning the hatch covers, while Robert sat in the stern, sketching and sometimes dozing in the warm sunshine. Nettie found a secluded spot and took out her notebook. She sat for a while, chewing the end of her pencil as she tried to think of a suitable title for this new novel, and in the end she simply wrote Belinda, which was the name of her wayward heroine. Then she started to write.
Writing about the trials of the beautiful but headstrong young woman, Nettie lost track of time, but was brought back to reality by a sudden jolt as the barge bumped gently against the river bank.
‘This isn’t the time to be writing your diary,’ Robert said impatiently. ‘I’m going
