An Unsuitable Wife. Lindsay Armstrong
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why are you going out of your way to insult me?’
‘I don’t think,’ he said musingly, ‘it’s an insult to be called prudent by name or nature.’
‘It most certainly is,’ she replied vigorously, ‘the way you do it! Look,’ she added, ‘I’m very hot, I’m tired, I’ve been carting my bag around for hours and it wouldn’t be far from the truth to say that I’m nearly at the end of my tether one way or another, so do you want me to crew on your wretched boat or do you not?’
He regarded her entirely enigmatically for a long moment—her heated face, the damp curly wisps of hair coming adrift from her bun, the quite inappropriate clothes she was wearing. Then he surprised the life out of her by saying, ‘It would be an honour to have you crew on my boat, Sidonie Hill.’ And he vaulted over the handrail lightly and landed beside her on the jetty. ‘Welcome aboard. I’ll bring your bag up.’
* * *
‘Well?’
Sidonie looked around again. The interior of Morning Mist was deeply comfortable and wood-panelled with a jade-green carpet and padded velour seats in a matching jade with a tiny black dot. One such seat curved around a dining table and opposite was another, sofa-length and strategically placed for viewing television. The galley was probably a cook’s dream with a long island bench separating it from the main living area. There were two sleeping cabins, one fore, one aft, and they both had showers and toilets. But, apart from all the dark-panelled and jade splendour, it looked lived-in. There were polished brass lamps and full bookshelves, there was a bowl of fruit on the island bench, a compact disc player beside the television, and several maps and familiar instruments strewn over the chart table.
Her eyes came back to rest on Mike Brennan’s face. ‘It’s very nice,’ she said briskly. ‘What instruments do you carry, Mr Brennan?’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘I think you’d better call me Mike—uh—radar, GPS, auto-pilot; twenty-seven meg, VHF as well as Single Side Band for radios, Auto-Seaphone and the motor is a Gardiner.’
Sidonie’s grey eyes suddenly shone with enthusiasm. ‘Lovely,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I had something to do with a very old Gardiner once but it was a gem. GPS? Do you know I’ve always been fascinated by satellite navigation—I know the old salts think they’re expensive toys but I think it’s thrilling!’
He said nothing for a moment but there was no disguising the surprise in his eyes. ‘So you do know something about it?’
‘Quite a bit,’ she confided. ‘My boyfriend and I used to do a lot of sailing on Port Phillip Bay—that’s off Melbourne—’
‘I have had some experience of Port Phillip Bay,’ he murmured.
‘Then you’ll know it’s no kindergarten!’
‘Definitely not,’ he agreed and narrowed his eyes. ‘What does your boyfriend have to say about you doing this?’
Sidonie sobered. ‘He’s no longer my—that.’
‘Why?’
Sidonie stared at him haughtily. He shrugged and a wry smile twisted his lips. ‘You might as well tell me. What possible harm could it do?’
She frowned then said reluctantly, ‘I suppose you’re right—although I don’t think crewing means I should have to bare my heart to you or that kind of thing. I—’
‘By no means. OK, it’s up to you.’
Sidonie thought for a bit then she said matter-of-factly, ‘He fell in love with someone else, someone who was all the things I’m not, I guess, although she’s hopeless on boats, but then again...I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’ She shrugged ruefully. ‘It must be to do with having had an extremely trying day!’
Mike Brennan tried not to smile. ‘Do you drink?’ he queried.
‘Very rarely—what’s that got to do with it?’
‘Sometimes it helps. Why don’t you also take the weight off your feet?’ He pointed to a bar stool and went behind the island bench.
Which was how, several minutes later, Sidonie came to have in her hand a glass full of a lovely chilled white wine and before her on the bench a bowl of walnuts and olives.
Mike Brennan waited until she’d sipped some wine before he said, ‘How come it’s been such an unusually trying day?’
Sidonie put her glass down regretfully. ‘Well, I applied for a job up here—not precisely here but at a small outback school on a large cattle property. They seemed very impressed with my credentials and they paid for me to fly up for an interview so I—’ she paused and grimaced ‘—I rather assumed the job was in the bag so to speak.’
‘It wasn’t?’
She sighed. ‘They took one look at me and...came to the conclusion I wouldn’t suit although what they told me was I was over-qualified for it.’
‘Over-qualified to be a teacher?’
‘Yes. Well, I must admit I haven’t had a lot of experience at it,’ she said ruefully. ‘The one job I did have in that line—er—wasn’t entirely successful but I’m quite convinced the school was more to blame than I was.’
Several expressions chased through Mike Brennan’s blue eyes but he said soberly enough, ‘What did you do?’
‘I—’ Sidonie glanced at him cautiously ‘—I taught them to play poker. At the same time I was teaching them English,’ she hastened to add.
‘How old were they?’ he said in the same sober way.
‘Seven and eight.’
He burst out laughing.
‘It’s not really funny,’ Sidonie remarked reproachfully. ‘Their English improved dramatically as it happened.’
‘I don’t quite see the connection,’ he said, still grinning.
‘It’s simple.’ She looked surprised. ‘We would only have a game if everyone had done their homework and concentrated properly in the lesson.’
‘Quite simple,’ he marvelled. ‘But the school didn’t approve?’
Sidonie sighed again. ‘They said I could be turning them into compulsive gamblers.’
‘What a prospect—you might have been better with Snap and Happy Families.’
Sidonie shrugged. That’s another of my contentions that they didn’t agree with—I think children are often a lot brighter than they’re given credit for.’
‘Well, I agree with you there, but you didn’t actually use money—or did you?’
‘Oh, no, we used broad beans.’
He grinned and offered her an olive.
‘Thanks.’ She bit into it reflectively. ‘So.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘So? Your teaching experience sounds not only limited but disastrous yet you were quite sure you would get this job—forgive me but that sounds a bit rash.’
‘It was,’ Sidonie agreed gloomily. ‘But I really wanted to get out of Melbourne and...’ She trailed off and sipped some more wine.
‘What are these over-qualifications you have?’
She brightened. ‘A BA—I actually majored in English Literature—and a Bachelor of Science.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Mike Brennan murmured. ‘But it seems a rather unusual combination.’
‘Unfortunately—’ Sidonie looked wry ‘—I’m rather unusual. If you must know I quite often feel a bit of a freak and never more so than today,’ she added with a grimace.