Angus laughed. ‘Perhaps you should move to Jersey. At least that way you would avoid . . .’
‘We ought to think about getting changed, if we’re not going to be late for the boys’ concert,’ interrupted Ruth.
Henderson checked his watch. ‘Sorry, Max,’ he said. ‘Nice to talk to you, but Ruth’s right. Perhaps we’ll bump into each other again.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ replied Max. He smiled, placed his glass on a nearby table and clambered back onto his own boat as the Hendersons disappeared below deck.
Once again, Max picked up his much-thumbed novel, and although he finally found the right place, he discovered he couldn’t concentrate on the words. Thirty minutes later the Hendersons reappeared, suitably dressed for a concert. Max gave them a casual wave as they stepped onto the quay and into a waiting taxi.
~
When Ruth appeared on the deck the following morning, clutching a cup of tea, she was disappointed to find that Sea Urchin was no longer moored next to them. She was about to disappear back below deck when she thought she recognised a familiar boat entering the harbour.
She didn’t move as she watched the sail become larger and larger, hoping that Max would moor in the same spot as he had the previous evening. He waved when he saw her standing on the deck. She pretended not to notice.
Once he’d fixed the moorings, he called across, ‘So, where’s Angus?’
‘Gone to pick up the boys and take them off to a rugby match. I’m not expecting him back until this evening,’ she added unnecessarily.
Max tied a bowline to the jetty, looked up and said, ‘Then why don’t you join me for lunch, Ruth? I know a little Italian restaurant that the tourists haven’t come across yet.’
Ruth pretended to be considering his offer, and eventually said, ‘Yes, why not?’
‘Shall we meet up in half an hour?’ Max suggested.
‘Suits me,’ replied Ruth.
Ruth’s half-hour turned out to be nearer fifty minutes, so Max returned to his paperback, but once again made little progress.
When Ruth did eventually reappear, she had changed into a black leather mini-skirt, a white blouse and black stockings, and had put on a little too much make-up, even for Brighton.
Max looked down at her legs. Not bad for thirty-eight, he thought, even if the skirt was a little too tight and certainly too short.
‘You look great,’ he said, trying to sound convincing. ‘Shall we go?’
Ruth joined him on the quay, and they strolled towards the town, chatting inconsequentially until he turned down a side street, coming to a halt in front of a restaurant called Venitici. When he opened the door to let her in, Ruth couldn’t hide her disappointment at discovering how crowded the room was. ‘We’ll never get a table,’ she said.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Max, as the maître d’ headed towards them.
‘Your usual table, Mr Bennett?’
‘Thank you, Valerio,’ he said, as they were guided to a quiet table in the corner of the room.
Once they were seated, Max asked, ‘What would you like to drink, Ruth? A glass of champagne?’
‘That would be nice,’ she said, as if it were an everyday experience for her. In fact she rarely had a glass of champagne before lunch, as it would never have crossed Angus’s mind to indulge in such extravagance, except perhaps on her birthday.
Max opened the menu. ‘The food here is always excellent, especially the gnocchi, which Valerio’s wife makes. Simply melts in your mouth.’
‘Sounds great,’ said Ruth, not bothering to open her menu.
‘And a mixed salad on the side, perhaps?’
‘Couldn’t be better.’
Max closed his menu and looked across the table. ‘The boys can’t be yours,’ he s
aid. ‘Not if they’re at boarding school.’