Chapter 5 #2
She put on the bathing suit she had brought with her in her bag, and the life jacket he’d promised.
He didn’t wear one, and she gingerly stepped into the tiny sailboat with him.
He handled the sails expertly and told her where to sit.
He sailed it himself but had her help him, giving her a sailing lesson, and as she got the hang of it with him, she enjoyed it.
The wind filled the sails and they zipped along.
They didn’t go far, but he was having a ball and she enjoyed it more than she thought she would and never felt seasick.
She felt very accomplished when they sailed back to the Karma.
Charlotte got back on the platform and Ben handed the lead line to one of the crew and got out. He smiled down at Charlotte then.
“You are a very good sport,” he praised her, “and a very good sailor. I figured I’d have to fish you out of the water at least once.
Or you’d capsize us.” They had never been out of sight of Karma, and the crew would have sped to their aid if it was needed, but Ben was a very competent sailor, and Charlotte had been very careful and had done as he told her.
“I actually enjoyed it. I was scared at first, but you handled it masterfully.” He laughed when she said it, and they lay in the sun for the rest of the day.
They had leftover fried chicken and meat loaf from the day before for lunch, and Ben loved it.
He declared it a perfect Christmas, and she spoke to Hugh again on the phone, which made her happy.
“It’s going to be hard to go back to real life after this,” she said to Ben as they lay side by side on sunbeds.
“I feel like Cinderella.” She had such happy memories now of the trip, the gospel service on Christmas Eve, their long conversations and mutual confessions.
She liked talking to him. He was brilliant, but explained things plainly so she understood them.
“Then don’t go back,” he said. “I’m going to stay for a while. You’re welcome to stay on the boat if you want.”
His offer startled her, and touched her.
“That’s nice of you, but my managing editor only gave me two days’ vacation for two days’ work. I have to leave in three days, and I have an article to write,” Charlotte reminded him.
“You can write it here and send it in by email. If you can’t change your ticket, I can send you back on my plane.”
“Thank you for the offer, and I mean it, but that’s not how it works.
In Cinderella, the coach turns back into a pumpkin, not a private jet.
Although I like your version better.” Ben was so attractive, and so nice to be with, as it turned out, that she was doing everything she could not to fall for him.
He was the subject of her article, and she had a hard-and-fast rule never to get involved with her subjects, which was industry standard, and she knew better than to do that.
That was a novice’s mistake, to believe that the subjects were friends after sharing the intimacy of revealing themselves.
He had done that as part of the article, not because he was falling in love with her and wanted to be friends.
She was twice the age of the women he dated.
If she stayed on the boat with him, she would be considered MIA by her bosses, and she didn’t know if she could remain objective and impersonal, and she hadn’t written the article yet.
Everything about his offer was wrong, although very appealing.
“I mean it, Charlotte,” he said again. “You’re great company, I love talking to you. I’m going to miss you when you leave, so don’t.”
“Life is never that simple. It would be a breach of my professional ethics if I stayed here with you. I’d lose my objectivity and my credibility. The interview would be polluted and discredited. I’m sure it’s happened before to others, but I could even lose my job.”
“So don’t tell them. Tell them you’re sick.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t lie and play hooky. And it would sacrifice the interview,” she said, smiling at him. He made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t. In his position, he was used to doing whatever he wanted. He made the rules.
“What would you prefer? Writing a ‘non-polluted’ article, or being happy and seizing an opportunity that might never come again?” he asked her.
“The interview,” she said, and he laughed.
“I knew you’d say that. Are you always such a stickler about form and playing by the rules?” He looked at her.
“Yes. My reputation would be at stake, and my honor. I can’t screw around with that.”
“Even if no one knows?” he asked her.
“Even then. I would know.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” Ben said, sounding like a kid for a minute. “It will be boring when you go.”
“That’s nice to know.” Charlotte smiled at him, wondering if they could be friends.
She wondered whether, if she saw him in New York, away from the magic of the Caribbean and his boat, she would find him less attractive.
It was all she could do to stay on track now, and not give in to his charm.
He had a natural simplicity that was incredibly appealing.
She had been trying to stay objective since she met him.
He was an extraordinarily charismatic man.
It was why women fell for him. He was stunningly bright, unconsciously sexy, drop-dead handsome, and a nice person.
It was a deadly combination. All she had to do was hold on for two more days, and escape without letting her feelings run wild and her attraction to him show.
She kept telling herself she could do it, but it got harder by the hour.
She had only just met him, and her attraction to him didn’t even make sense.
It was visceral. She felt like she was shaking every time she saw him, and she loved talking to him.
She thought that he would think she was an idiot if he knew.
Women fell for him all the time. It wasn’t new to him, although many of them were after his money, and she wasn’t.
“Besides,” he said, still trying to convince her to abandon her responsibilities and stay, “you’re the only woman I know who likes meat loaf and will admit it. I think you should stay,” he said, with a pleading look. “I want you to stay,” he said, sounding imperious, and she laughed at him.
“I’d lose my job.”
“No, you wouldn’t, you’re the most important writer they’ve got. I made your writing the article a condition of my doing the interview,” he said proudly.
“I know. They told me. That was nice of you.”
“I read your articles. You’re never mean.
Tough sometimes, and truthful, but not mean.
You don’t have a chip on your shoulder or an axe to grind.
You just call it the way you see it.” What he said was true.
“And you get me. Most people don’t.” He had been touched by the way she’d responded to his history when he told her truthfully what his life had been like.
“All they see is money when they look at me. They don’t care about the rest.”
“What if you don’t like the article when I write it?” She was worried about it.
“It won’t change anything. I’ve had a lot of bad things written about me. People are jealous, and some hate success. I hope you won’t write a bad one, but it won’t kill me if you do.” He looked more curious than worried. “Do you think you will?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But I write what I see and hear and feel. It’s not entirely objective, although I try to be. And I can be wrong.”
“I can live with it if you slam me. I’d be disappointed but I wouldn’t hate you for it.” She nodded, thinking about what he said. So far, most of her impressions were good ones, almost too much so. She didn’t want the article to be too sweet, or dull.
After they lay in the sun, not talking for a while, it was comfortable just being with him, even without speaking. When they returned to port, he asked if she wanted to go for a walk. He was feeling restless.
“Sure. Do you want me to go and give you some space?” They had been together all day and he might have other things to do, or need time alone.
“No. I like being with you. I just want to get off the boat for a while.” He put on shorts over his bathing trunks, and a T-shirt, and she put on jeans.
Their suits had dried in the sun. They walked down the stairs and across the gangway onto the quay.
Other people were strolling, from the yachts or to see the yachts and ogle the owners from shore.
They were hoping to see something exceptional like furs and tiaras, or people doing things that very rich people did, whatever they thought that was.
Charlotte and Ben looked like ordinary people in scruffy clothes as they walked down the quay.
They had walked almost all the way to the other end, when Ben saw a familiar person, and turned his face away.
“Oh shit, I know that guy. John Williams. Do you?”
“I know the name. I’ve never met him,” she said vaguely.
“They say he’s a monster, the worst man in shipping. He’s a natural-born killer. Ruthless. Men have taken their own lives after he destroyed their business. You should interview him.”
“If what you say is true, I don’t write about guys like him.
It depresses me.” Ben nodded. They were about to pass each other, and Ben noticed that Williams was with a young girl, maybe his daughter.
She was very pretty, with her hand tucked into his arm, and Williams was smiling at her in a possessive way.
Maybe not his daughter, Ben decided. He was thinking it when Williams caught his eye and nodded, and then headed toward him.
“I saw the boat. I didn’t know you were here,” John Williams greeted him. Ben thought about saying he was sorry to hear about John’s wife, but it didn’t seem appropriate with a girl with him. They knew each other slightly from yachting circles, not through business.