‘I hadn't got you down for an Enid Blyton fan.'

‘When you agree, I'll take you home. Otherwise, I'll make you row.'

‘OK then, I give in. To be honest, though, I'm not sure I can walk straight, let alone row.’

They were in the boat and making good time when Tom said, 'Actually, rowing home's a piece of piss. We're with the current all the way.’

Chapter Six

Jo tipped her paper plate covered with chop bones and steak scraps into a black plastic bag. Then she found her plastic mug of red wine and was going back to where Miranda and Bill were sitting when she spotted Carole, from Hildegarde. She was on her own so Jo went up to her. 'Hello. Do you know many people here?'

‘A few.' Carole regarded Jo as if she didn't want to be taken pity on by a fifty-year-old woman. A fifty-year-old man would have been quite different.

‘Is Marcus here?' Jo was aware that Carole didn't want to talk to her but was determined to get some sort of conversation out of her, just for the challenge. She was also a bit curious to meet her old acquaintance after all these years.

‘Oh no. He's on the Continent, on a job.'

‘What kind of job?’

It had seemed a reasonable question but Carole looked at Jo with incredulity. 'He's delivering a yacht. It's what he does. Don't you know that?’

Only slightly tempted to tell Carole that she had known Marcus before she was born Jo said, 'No.’

Carole made a disbelieving gesture. 'But he's famous in the barge world. He delivers everyone's boats. He's in Monte Carlo at the moment.'

‘On a barge?' A picture of The Three Sisters' broad and sweeping lines in such an exotic setting made Jo smile.

‘No – what Marcus calls a gin palace.'

‘Ah. It's a shame you couldn't be with him.’

An expression crossed Carole's face indicating that perhaps there'd been a discussion about her being with him and that the answer had been no. She shook her head. 'I have to look after Hildegarde. At least, during the rally.’

A man wearing a yachting cap came up. 'Hi there, Carole.' He kissed her firmly on the cheek and put his arm round her waist. 'Where's Marcus these days then? He never answers his phone when I ring him.'

‘He's in Monte Carlo. I was just telling this lady. He's very busy.'

‘Oh, I know he's busy,' said the man, not looking at Jo. 'But I need him. I've got to get Lucretia down to Faversham for some cosmetic work.'

‘Couldn't you put her in a taxi?' said Jo quietly.

Carole looked at her in horror and confusion while Miranda, who had joined the group, chuckled.

‘Sorry,' said Jo, 'is Lucretia not your wife?’

The man finally acknowledged Jo's existence. He looked at her for a few seconds while he worked out what she'd said, and then laughed. 'No, she's my barge, but that's quite a good joke.'

‘He'll be turning it into one of his own any minute,' muttered Miranda in Jo's ear. 'You wait.’

The group seemed to enlarge, everyone asking or talking about Marcus. 'Of course, he's expensive,' said a man who seemed to be a friend of Mr Yachting-Cap, 'but he's the best. If you've got three hundred grand's worth of vessel to move from A to B, you don't want to make mistakes.’

Jo gasped and then said, 'Surely if you own a barge, you want to drive it yourself? I don't mean I would want to, I'm only renting. But if I'd bought one…' Her voice tailed away.

Only one of the group agreed with her. 'Me too. I wouldn't pay an arrogant sod like Marcus to take my boat about.’

So he was an arrogant sod, was he? Well, he'd had that potential, even back then, thought Jo, although she noticed Carole hadn't even blinked at the man's caustic remark.

‘It's all right for you,' said Mr Yachting-Cap, who was squeezing Carole without apparently knowing he was doing it, 'you're a Navy type.'

‘Nothing to do with that. I just like to paddle my own canoe, or steer my own barge, whichever applies.' He smiled at Jo and Miranda, who realised she knew him.

‘Bruce! I didn't see you arrive! How lovely to see you!' Miranda said excitedly. 'Is Angela with you?'

‘She's sorting her mother out. I didn't bring William -that's my barge,' he said to Jo, quickly.

‘So you see, you're not so hot as all that,' said Mr Three Hundred-Thousand-Pound's-worth-of-Barge.

‘She's in France at the moment and we're only here on a flying visit,' said Bruce. 'We've got a very nice mooring on the Canal du Midi.’

Jo felt suddenly tired but realised she was actually bored of all this boat talk.

Miranda, probably feeling the same, said, 'Bruce, come and say hello to Bill. He'll be furious if you and he don't have an opportunity to chew the fat. Come on, Jo.' Expertly, Miranda gathered her chosen people and led them away from the group.

‘God, I hate Sebastian,' she said. 'Just because he's a multi-millionaire he thinks he's God's gift to women. He'd sleep with anyone.’

Not me, thought Jo. He showed no interest in me whatsoever. It was galling, she decided, to be spurned by someone who'd sleep with anyone, even if she wouldn't have slept with him if he were the last man between her and childlessness.

Later that night, Jo heard Dora come in and settled down to sleep. Her mind was whirling: while she was not exactly sure of her new vocation she felt she had lots of possibilities and it was just a matter of finding her favourite. She and Miranda had discussed the subject once again when they had retired to Hepplewhite with Bill and Bruce for a nightcap. Miranda had been full of ideas, from her training to teach English as a foreign language to becoming a matron at a boys' prep school, 'and end up marrying Mr Chips'. Jo had protested that she wasn't young or pretty enough and even if she had been, she didn't want a husband, but as she did like mothering people, the idea had some merit. Her last thought before she fell asleep had been that cherub-restorer did have a nice ring to it.

The following morning over breakfast Dora told Jo about her evening with Tom and their planned day at the races.

‘The races! That sounds such fun!' said Jo.

‘You wouldn't have wanted to go, would you? I've said I'll take Tom now.'

‘Of course, take Tom. Honestly, Dora, the thought of just pottering around by myself for the day after all this socia bility is just bliss. You go and jolly well enjoy yourselves.'

‘I should be job-hunting, really, not "gadding about" as my mother would call it.'

‘Your sense of duty is too strong and your father did send you the tickets, you have to go.' Jo patted Dora's hand. 'If it will make you any happier, you could look up the addresses of some job agencies on the Internet today and then you can go and visit them after the races.

Assuming, that is, that you don't win your fortune and never need to work again.’

Dora smiled. 'I am quite tempted by the boatyard idea, actually, but I can't help feeling it's a bit of a cop-out. I think I need to look at all my options.'

‘Well, have a look round in London and then you will have done your duty in that direction, too.’

They spent the day sorting themselves out and generally recharging their batteries.

'Well, this is fun,' said Dora, looking at Tom as they sat opposite each other on the train the next day. He was looking strange in a borrowed suit and shoes that were too big for him.

‘It's all right for you, your clothes are your own.'

‘Only some of them! The skirt and little top are mine, but the jacket is Jo's. It is a bit big, but I quite like the drapey look myself.’