Chapter V
V
Each day brought a new sensation of excitement and purpose.
Bess spent much of her time up on deck, staring out at sea and making sketches in her notebook, ever aware of his presence and whereabouts on the ship.
She lived for his smile, and the occasional exchanged word – especially when he praised her sketches and it was clear they shared a love of art and making things.
One evening at sundown when the sea was as calm and glassy as a mirror, he showed her the little area of his quarters where he made miniature ships in his spare time, their hulls carved from wood and glued together, their sails sewed from real sailcloth, and the riggings made from thin strands of twine.
He then assembled the entire thing with small hinges, so that it would fold flat.
She watched, amazed, as he put the small contraption into the neck of a brandy bottle, and pulled a string.
Like magic, the bundle of materials became a ship again.
‘I can’t believe you can make such things,’ she said. ‘You’re very skilled.’
He beamed at the praise. ‘I learned the craft from a Dutchman – they pioneered the idea. But I like to think I’ve added a few touches of my own to enhance it.’
‘It’s perfection,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not perfection. To me, only one thing in the world fits that description. One person.’
His hand brushed hers, and her skin tingled with electricity.
That night, he invited her up on deck again after supper.
For a while they talked, watching a pale crescent moon rise above the horizon.
With his coat about her, the smell of him in her nostrils, the wind in her face and hair, it was a truly perfect moment.
As the waves lapped gently against the boat, with a muttered apology, he drew her to him and kissed her.
Her body trembled in his arms, and her joy knew no bounds.
But he quickly pulled away. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is wrong. You are pledged to another.’
‘And yet,’ she whispered close to his ear, ‘it is you that have my heart.’
How it had happened – how she could have allowed it to happen – she could not say.
Only that she’d had no choice in the matter, no free will.
Her heart had followed its own celestial map that had led her to this man, James.
Her desire for him eclipsed all reason, all notions of right and wrong, and she banished any phantoms of shame.
‘If that’s true,’ he said, ‘then what shall we do?’
‘Show me what it means to honour this love,’ she said.
Gently, he fingered a lock of her hair. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, speaking the words her heart demanded. ‘Yes, I am.’