“Just bring her up closer into the wind.” Phillip lounged against the rail in faded khaki, steel gray hair whipped off his craggy face. “Tighten up the jib a bit. There you go.”
White sails snapped and bellied in the wind as the hull plunged, spray flying in a sunstruck dazzle. I squinted up at the jib and nudged the wheel. Canvas tautened as La Sirene heeled and surged forward, rising, dipping, racing into the wind over the turquoise sea.
I grinned, riding the plunging rhythm. “This is much better than a motor.”
“Quite right,” he shouted over the wind. “There’s been the devil to pay since the invention of the infernal internal combustion engine.”
“Phillip.” I tweaked the wheel. “I’d like to ask your advice about some problems I’ve run into on the island.”
He shot me a look. “Thought you looked a bit strained.” He stood and touched my shoulder. “Let’s save it ’til we’ve had our picnic, shall we?”
He waved a square hand at the clear sky, the stretch of shimmering blue sea. “Glorious morning! I’ll go below and pack up our lunch, just keep bearing for that end of the cay.” He pointed toward the swelling, humpbacked mass of Palm Cay, then ducked down the hatchway.
La Sirene curtseyed and flew over the rolling waves, responding to the slightest touch. No noise but the hiss of water and slap of sails in the wind, sun and salt air scouring away the cobwebs. Just what the doctor ordered.
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