Chapter Twenty-Three

Moving Back In

Claymore slowly opened the door of his bathroom and looked around the edge. He'd tidied his bedroom, dressed quickly in his sailing clothes, and then retreated back to the bathroom. It was the only place the Captain didn't seem to want to invade. But he'd quickly become bored and decided to brave his great-uncle's ill-humour.

He looked all around the bedroom. But there was no sign of the ghost. "Captain? Yoohoo, Captain? Are you here? I've gotta go out for about a month or so. Bye!"

He backed up toward the door to his office and freedom. But he was already too late. The Captain had appeared holding a tray of food.

"Drop your anchor, mate!" he commanded. "It's mess time."

"Ooohhh…" Claymore backed up across the room. "What mess?"

The Captain followed him. "If you're going to sea this morning, you need a man's breakfast under your belt. Sit!"

Claymore subsided into a chair at his dining table. "No… no, please. I have a lot I need to do today. I do it better on an empty stomach."

"You need something to stick to your ribs." The Captain placed the tray on the table.

"Oh, ho, ho," Claymore tried for humour. "I don't like sticky ribs."

The Captain stood back and glared at him. "A seaman's food will turn any sickly landlubber into a sturdy deckhand! Dig in with a will!" He folded his arms.

"Oh, no…" Claymore held up one denying finger. "I… I seldom eat breakfast. Just some hot water with some lemon juice, perhaps. And some gluten toast with just a spot of quince jam." He tried to smile.

"Sissy stuff," the Captain replied. "I'm going to make a man of you, even if it kills me." He stabbed a finger at the food. "Now eat!"

"I'm eating, I'm eating, I'm eating!" Claymore declared, grabbing up his knife and fork.

He dug reluctantly into the whole fish and onions on the plate. He swallowed tightly as he loaded his fork with as little as possible. He lifted it toward his mouth and stared at the food. The Captain watched his every move.

Claymore panicked. "Ooohhh, what is it? Grey food makes me nervous."

The captain sighed. "Why, it's salt mackerel fried in lard, pickled onions, hard tack and a tankard of sour brown ale. A man's breakfast! I ate it whenever I went to sea!"

"And look at you! You're dead!" Claymore gulped and swallowed hard. "Oh, it sounds so tempting and smells so delicious. But, you know, that cold shower shrunk my stomach to the size of a pea…"

"Eat, you puny pelican! Eat!"

"Sir, yes, Sir! I'm eating!" Claymore bent over the plate and pushed some food into his mouth. "Oh, it's so delicious and succulent. Would ya take the head off? I hate to be watched while I eat…"

※※※※※

The children returned from playing down on the beach. They got washed up in record time so they could observe the workmen at work in the kitchen.

"This is better than TV or any stupid, old school play," Jonathan observed with glee.

"Yeah…" Candy nodded. "A lot better than being forced to watch Penelope Hassenhammer kiss Mark Helmore while she looked like she wanted to throw up all over him!"

They chuckled in full agreement. They were standing in the doorway, both munching an apple, as they watched Peevey sawing through a length of wood. Harvey was mixing a new batch of plaster in a bucket. With each turn of his arm, he stopped to look around fearfully.

Peevey sawed through his piece of wood and the children cheered and clapped. He joined in by bowing and doffing his cap to them.

Carolyn walked in behind the kids. "You've replaced the television, Mr Peevey. Have you kids been enjoying the show?"

"You bet, Mum!" Candy enthused. "Mr Peevey touched some wires and got blue sparks!"

"Then everything started smoking!" Jonathan declared happily. "It was just like the fourth of July in here! It was groovy!"

"Oh, terrific," Carolyn declared as she entered the room. "You'll have to charge more for the show you're putting on. How much is that going to cost me now, Mr Peevey?"

"On the house, Mrs Muir…" Peevey smiled sheepishly. "I kinda got my wires crossed. Harv keeps muttering about ghosts and makin' me nervous all over again."

"Yes, well, would it be on the house if you were to fix the water pressure for us?" Carolyn ventured as she walked to the sink. "It's been running terribly low. I've tried to make it work."

"I'll take care of it for you, Mrs Muir," Harvey declared expansively. "Won't take but a minute." He abandoned his mixing and bent down to his tool bag.

"Oh, great. Thanks, Mr Burrows." Carolyn smiled. "I won't offer to help this time. I didn't do too well with that fuse box."

"Better left to an expert like me," Harvey replied as he bent beneath the sink. "First, we turn on the master valve to full pressure. Then we give it a little turn, just like this…"

He straightened up and turned the tap on. "Then we make a little turn like this…"

There was a sudden hammering sound and then water spurted out of the joint behind the tap. Harvey took the full force of the jet of water in his face.

"I hate to say this, Mrs Muir," Peevey commented drily. "But I'm thinkin' your pipes must have just about rusted clean away." Water started to spurt out from everywhere, drenching Harvey as he tried to stem the increasing flows.

"Oh, no…" Carolyn groaned. "This is too much…"

"You sure got a much bigger problem now, Mrs Muir," Peevey declared morosely. "At this rate, we might still be here at Christmas. Better tell Martha to make them cherry pies over into fruit mince tarts."

Carolyn threw up her hands in defeat. "Well, it's nothing I can't fix if I sell my car and take out a loan on my life insurance!"

She wondered and worried where the Captain has vanished too. She hoped he would soon reappear. She hated feeling so alone and abandoned.

"I'm so very sorry…" she murmured again. "I never truly meant a word of what I said. I know you've always kept your word…"

※※※※※

Claymore swallowed hard. He'd managed to finish most of the meal, despite how nauseous it made him feel. The Captain had watched every mouthful with stern approval.

He threw down his knife and fork. "There… Are you satisfied?"

"Finish your ale," the Captain indicated the tankard.

"Finish your ale," Claymore mimicked sarcastically. He gulped down the last of the sour brew. "Now, please…" he quailed as he pressed one hand to his abdomen. "May I be excused?"

"A few days of solid food and you'll be a new man!" the Captain assured him bracingly.

"I wasn't done with the old one," Claymore complained. He stood up and tried not to be sick. "Ohhh… May I lie down, please?" He tottered toward the couch bed. "I feel faint…"

"No, you may not!" his great-uncle bellowed. "Why, you, sponge-spined jellyfish! Your boilers have been stoked…"

He began to stalk Claymore around the room. "Now, some brisk exercise is in order. You must clear out and move those puny muscles. A good, long jog along the beach and back again should do it! Then you will be able to go sailing with impunity!"

"On a stomach full of grey food?" Claymore quailed. "I'll throw up!" He backed hastily into his office. He was saved by the sound of someone knocking on the outer door.

"Well?" The Captain demanded. "Answer the door, on the double, you nit-picking scallywag! Do not keep the lady waiting!" He vanished.

"Aye, aye, Sir…" Claymore tottered to the door and unlocked it before he opened it. "Oh, Miss Rutledge," he cried. "I… have you come to take me sailing today?"

Charity Rutledge entered the office, smiling broadly. She was dressed in a yellow hat and sou'wester jacket. "Good morning, Mr Gregg!" she said heartily. "The wind is high, and the sea is rough enough for a good, hard sail. Not bad for a late November day! Come along then. We're wasting daylight!"

She clapped her hands. "Isn't it all just marvellous?"

"Marvellous…" Claymore replied weakly, holding his abdomen. "I'm just dying… to go. Dying…"

'Then get on with it!' the Captain's disembodied voice shouted at him.

"Ohhhh, nooo…" Claymore jumped and was propelled forward by his great-uncle's unseen hand. He shot past Miss Rutledge and out into the street.

"Oh, ho…" Miss Rutledge closed the office door behind her. "That's what I call enthusiasm! There might be some hope for that man yet!"

※※※※※

In the kitchen of Gull Cottage, Carolyn was working hard to sweep up the dust and debris from all the work that had been done. And more that still needed to be done. Peevey and Burrows had finally left in the early afternoon, promising faithfully to return first thing in the morning.

Martha had driven into town with the children. They were going shopping for more supplies. They were all heartily sick of ready-made food. But it couldn't be helped.

Carolyn paused in her sweeping and blew the fringe out of her eyes. She wiped one dusty hand across her face. "They better come back soon with something to eat. Or we're gonna have to move out and got to stay at the inn in town."

She sighed as she went back to her sweeping. "I'm sure glad the Captain hasn't wanted to come visiting."

The thought had barely crossed her mind when he appeared in the corner of the room. He looked all around with an expression of horror on his face. "What have you done to my beautiful galley?"

Carolyn stopped sweeping and straightened up with a heartfelt sigh. "You don't know what we've been going through," she said wearily. She went back to her sweeping. "You chose not to be here."

"If you remember correctly, Madam, you banished me for interfering with your workmen." The Captain leaned on the end of the bench. "But you also said it was some wiring and a little plumbing," he accused. "You're tearing the whole place down!"

He waved a hand at the hole in the wall where the fuse box used to hang. "And up!"

"Yes, well, I had no idea it was going to be this big a job," Carolyn defended herself hotly. "There are some things in this kitchen that are over a hundred years old!"

The Captain stared at her. "You said you liked it the way it was."

"I did! I do! But it's going to take every cent I have, and then some, to make it function properly! Any money I may get from Captain Webster's story will barely scratch the surface of what I'll end up owing to Claymore!"

Her shoulders sank in defeat. "And it looks like Christmas is also going to be a bit cheerless around here this year. Presents take money. Money I don't have now because of all of this."

"Really?" The Captain looked chagrined. "Is it truly that bad? I'm sorry, Madam. I was not aware of the extent of the damage."

"Well, it's worse…" Carolyn sighed. "Why didn't you put in copper pipes all those years ago?"

The Captain shook his head. "My dear, over one hundred years ago, we had no plumbing. Remember when I told you about my attending the Great Exhibition in London Town in eighteen-fifty-one? I was the first man in Schooner Bay to install indoor plumbing. People came from miles around to see it all work. I could have charged them two pennies to come inside just to wash their hands in the water than ran from the taps in the wall."

He sighed. "Then Claymore's father ordered his bone-headed, clumsy dolts of workmen to tear out both my mahogany bathroom suites and replace them with china wear and then they installed the electric lighting. Allwithoutmy permission."

"Yes, I do remember you telling me that…" Carolyn nodded distractedly. "But none of it matters right now. Martha has gone into town to buy more supplies. We're living on cold food. We can't keep anything fresh because the electrics all need replacing. It's in such a mess and there seems to be no end in sight."

"My dear, why did you not tell me anything of this earlier? You should have called for me. I would have helped you. Despite your drive to do it all without me."

"I know and I'm truly sorry I accused you of meddling…" Carolyn said helplessly. "But I thought I could do it all by myself and prove something to you."

"Foolish woman…" He sighed roughly, watching her with compassion. "You never seem to learn when it's best to ask for help. But I can see you're not in the right frame of mind to discuss what must be done to set everything to right again."

He looked around the room. "Therefore, for now, you must excuse me. I do have some urgent matters I must attend to…" He vanished again.

Carolyn shrugged as she stared at the place where he had been. "Right now, I wish I could do that. Just up and disappear…"

She went back to her sweeping with lacklustre movements as she tried to combat her tears. "It's just as well my parents haven't decided to come visiting." Her lips turned down at the corners. "Or worse still, Mother getting the idea to send down Cousin Harriet or Hazel to check up on us to see how we're getting along."

Her heart sank. "That would be a thousand times worse. If it was Harriet, she'd have us all on the first plane going back to Philadelphia."

She wiped the back of her hand across her tired eyes. The sound of the telephone ringing distracted her from her troubled thoughts. She walked into the foyer to answer it.

"Hello, Gull Cottage. Carolyn Muir speaking…"

"Carolyn…" Brady O'Flynn's warmly masculine voice washed over her tired senses. "I was telephoning to see if you'd remembered about Bonnie's party tomorrow afternoon. We haven't heard from you. She asked me to phone you."

"Tomorrow afternoon?" Carolyn questioned in confusion. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry. I had forgotten. You see, we've been in such a mess around here lately. I'm having some kitchen repairs done…" She tried not to sound too tragic.

"Oh, how inconvenient. Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked immediately. "I have been known to wield a handy hammer in my time."

"Thank you, but no…" Carolyn's breathing hitched. "It's all under control. Well, sort of. I'll drop Candy off after school tomorrow. I know the way out to the farm. But I can't stay. I need to get back here to supervise the work."

"Then, I will pick her up from school, with Bonnie, and bring her home again after the party," he stated firmly. "One less thing for you to worry about. And Jonathan can come with us, as well. My father-in-law will find him things he can do. He has a huge workshop."

"Oh, you don't have to that. I can —" Carolyn began.

"No, but I want to help," Brady cut in smoothly. "I'll bring the kids back to you after the party. Say around five o'clock?"

Carolyn frowned. Her weekly appointment with the Captain for a leisurely glass of Madeira and conversation was always on a Monday at four o'clock. They often did not finish on the hour. Now that convivial meeting seemed as remote and as impossible as the moon.

"Five o'clock…" She nodded wearily. "I'll see you then. Thank you. Goodbye."

"Goodbye…" Brady replied with a smile in his tone.

Carolyn replaced the receiver in its holder and sighed. She ached in every limb and sinew and the end of the renovations seemed weeks away.

"Blast…" she muttered as she wiped one tired hand across her eyes.

Just then, the telephone rang again. She frowned at it, trying to make up her mind if she wanted to answer it or not. But good manners made her pick up the receiver once more.

"Carolyn Muir…" she said flatly.

"Carolyn!" Bridget Lacey's voice, filled with enthusiasm and excitement, burst into her ear. "I've just read the manuscript for the third time and it's wonderful! In fact, it's beyond wonderful! It's pure magic! I've never read anything quite like it. We are going to set the world of women's fiction on fire with this one! Captain Webster is totally divine, and every woman will want to be Colleen Ryan!"

"I… thank you…" Carolyn struggled to comprehend what she was being told.

"When can I come and see you to finalise the details?" Bridget asked. "I want to get this first one under contract and published as soon as possible. So I need you to sign on the dotted line then I can get the ball rolling. Would tomorrow be too soon? I've already identified where Schooner Bay is on the map. You're certainly tucked away up there in those wilds of Maine."

"Tomorrow?" Carolyn echoed, knowing she was sounding like a parrot, but she couldn't help it.

She was too tired to think straight. Everything was moving too fast for her to keep pace.

"Yes, tomorrow. Monday. I can drive up and see you around lunchtime. Is that convenient for you? I'm looking forward to finally meeting you in person."

"Convenient…" Carolyn sighed. "Yes, of course," she managed to reply. "But I'm afraid we're having a few renovations done to the kitchen and everything's in such a huge mess. I–"

"Then I promise I'll be in and out as quick as a flash," Bridget replied hastily. "And I'll bring a boxful of supplies. Leave everything to me. I'll see you then. Goodbye and good luck with the kitchen."

"Thanks…" Carolyn nodded. "Goodbye…" She replaced the receiver with a bemused shake of her head.

※※※※※

"Martha…" the Captain called quietly to the housekeeper as she got out of the car in front of the town's general store.

"Captain!" Jonathan ran up to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, we looked all over for you," Candy added. "But you weren't anywhere. How come?"

"It's a long story," he replied as he took a folded note from his jacket pocket. "I have an urgent need for some supplies," he said to Martha as he handed her the note. "And your help."

"Of course…" Martha looked him over with curiosity. "Mrs Muir is missing you. Very badly." She glanced at the listening children. "She really needs your help."

"I know…" He sighed. "And I am going to attend to that thorny matter. But, for now, I need your help to ease the burden for all of you."

"Okay…" Martha unfolded the note and read it quickly. "This is an impressive list. You planning on holding some kind of a party?"

"Yes, but just for the five of us," the Captain replied. "I'll see you back at the house in due course. Please purchase everything on the list. You will be well recompensed later."

"Fair enough." Martha nodded. "I can use some of my savings. Anything to help out Mrs Muir. We're all heartily sick of the renovations."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" Jonathan saluted briskly and grinned. "We'll help too!"

"Good to see you're back, Captain. We've missed you," Candy added.

"And I have missed you…" the Captain replied. "But right now, I have a convivial meeting I must disrupt…" He smiled grimly as he vanished again.

※※※※※

Claymore had returned with his dignity intact from his day of sailing with Miss Rutledge. He'd survived the ordeal better than he had expected. Happily, the discovery of a crack in the boat's mast had put paid to any lengthy endurance.

They'd returned to shore after spending only twenty minutes bobbing about on the harbour waters and Claymore had been allowed to totter home again. He'd been deeply relieved to find that his great-uncle was nowhere to be seen or heard.

Claymore fell onto his couch and into a deep sleep to make up for the early morning he'd been forced to endure and the terrible grey food. Now the evening was drawing in and he'd been hard at work preparing a sumptuous meal for himself and his soon-to-be new and lucrative client.

No expense had been spared. He'd dressed well for the occasion in his best business clothes and was feeling much more himself.

In his living quarters, he'd laid his table with the finest of his dinner wear. Linen napkins and gleaming silver cutlery completed the picture. He'd ordered two lobster dinners with all the extras from Norrie's, to be delivered promptly at seven o'clock. He placed the contract he needed Miss Rutledge to sign on her dinner plate and dropped a pen on top of it.

"Things are looking up…" He hummed to himself as he fetched a large bucket of iced champagne and two glasses from the nearby sideboard. "I'm going to make a tidy fortune from this deal."

He turned back to the room and stopped dead. "Oh…"

"What? No glass for me?" the Captain asked sweetly. "How remiss of you."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry…" Claymore began, momentarily lost in his expansive cloud of bonhomie. "What are you doing here? Now, I thought you left after your fishy lesson of this morning! I don't want you here!"

He swept the hand burdened with the glass wear around the room. "And look! The room is still clean and tidy. And I promise to keep it that way. So, feel free to drop by again, sometime next year!"

"What a charming way to welcome an alleged ancestor just back from the sea," the Captain responded. "I have nowhere else I'd rather be."

He walked away to sit on the couch. "My… it's good to be home again. I'm looking forward to spending the Christmas holidays with my family. Ah, to be snow bound once more upon a wintery shore…" He stretched out his legs before him and looked very content.

"Christmas?" Claymore's voice rose sharply. "Look, can't you see I have a date?" he protested, putting the glasses down on the table. "Miss Rutledge is coming over on business. I've got two lobster dinners ordered for seven sharp. I don't want them to get cold!"

"Splendid! We'll greet her together. She's a fine, stout-looking woman and a good sailor. I like her style."

"Together!" Claymore shouted. "No! And you can't make me!"

He was distracted by the sound of someone knocking on the office door. "Oh, why don't you go home? Or back to sea? Anywhere but here!"

His great-uncle rose from the couch. "I'm not leaving here, you money-gouging sand shark…" He walked forward.

"Mr Gregg…" Miss Rutledge called from the other side of the door leading into the back quarters. "I hoped you wouldn't mind if I let myself in since you didn't come to the outside door..."

"How fortuitous. Now, greet the lady!" the Captain instructed.

"Ooohhhh…" Claymore complained, clutching his champagne bucket as he turned away toward the door.

The Captain gestured and the door opened by itself just as Claymore reached it.

"Good evening, Mr… Gregg…" Miss Rutledge stared to the right as Claymore hurried up from the left. "Ah… there you are…" She frowned at him.

"Oh, welcome, welcome, welcome, Miss Rutledge…" Claymore bowed hastily. "Won't you please come in…" He waved her inside with a flourish of the champagne bucket.

Miss Rutledge turned. "Thank –" She froze when the door shut behind them without Claymore touching it.

"Ooohhh, um, it must be the draft," Claymore babbled. "These old buildings, you know." He giggled as he held out the champagne bucket toward her.

"Champagne?" His guest stared at him. "Are you one of those men I've heard about? The sun goes down and the tiger comes out?"

"Oh, no, no, no…" Claymore hurried to reassure her. "With me, the tiger is a pussy cat. You'll find me a total gentleman right down to my bootstraps. I'm all business and no funny business."

"We'll see about that," the Captain commented drily as he watched them.

He gestured toward a framed photograph of Claymore on nearby a side table. It immediately changed to a sexy picture of a young blonde woman wearing a low-cut dress. Across it was written the legend, 'To my tiger with glasses. Love, Sue.'

Miss Rutledge happened to glance that way. She frowned at the suggestive picture. She picked it up and held it out. "Who is this?"

"Oh, dear…" Claymore winced. "Um, ah, I've never seen her before in my life!"

"'To my tiger with glasses…'" Miss Rutledge's eyebrows rose. "She seems to be awfully familiar with you."

"Um, well, I may have met her once. At a cocktail party. My glasses got all steamed up and she helped me clean them."

"From the look of her, I'm not surprised…" Miss Rutledge replaced the picture with a snap.

"I'm sure I don't know how that picture even got there. Maybe it just came with the frame…" Claymore sidled up behind his guest and put the picture face down.

"Um, won't you sit down, Miss Rutledge?" he encouraged with a hand to her back. "I've ordered us two fine lobster dinners to be delivered promptly at seven. I do hope you've brought your appetite."

She resisted him with a stern look. "I'm not sure I should stay. I think you've been misrepresenting yourself. You will find that I am always all business."

"Oh, and you'll find me perfectly harmless, I assure you, Miss Rutledge."

"Very well…" She nodded and moved toward the couch.

Claymore leaned close. "I chose the fresh flowers especially for you…" He placed the champagne next to the bowl of late summer blooms on the coffee table. "They were rather expensive…"

"They're very nice," his guest conceded reluctantly as they sat down on opposite ends of the couch.

Continuing his evening of mischief, the Captain waved two fingers and the lamp at Claymore's end of the couch went off, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

"Mr Gregg…" Miss Rutledge said warningly.

"Um, ah…" Claymore stammered. "It must be the bulb… Pardon me, please…"

Unseen by his terrified great-nephew, the Captain planted a kiss on his palm and then blew it to rest against Miss Rutledge's cheek. She raised one hand in bemused confusion.

Claymore managed to get the bulb to light again. He turned to her in triumph. "Oh, well… there you are! The bulb was loose –"

Miss Rutledge threw back her arm and slapped his face hard. The Captain broke into delighted laughter.

"Now, you behave yourself!" Miss Rutledge instructed severely. "Or you'll be eating two lobster dinners all by yourself!"

"No, but really I—" Claymore tried to explain. But he was tossed around and onto the couch to land with his head in his guest's lap.

"Mr Gregg! Really!" Miss Rutledge complained. "I am not that kind of woman!"

Claymore scrambled to stand up and apologise. "Forgive me, please, Miss Rutledge. But it's not me! I mean, that wasn't me! That is to say, I couldn't help it! May I excuse myself. Just for one minute, please…"

He marched from the room and shut the door behind him. "Captain? Captain?" he called.

He advanced further into his office. "Captain! Captain!"

His nemesis appeared, seated casually on the corner of the office desk. "You called?"

"You are making a wolf out of a dear, sweet lamb," His nephew accused. "It just simply isn't fair!"

"Fair?" The Captain eyebrows rose as he folded his arms. "Do you think it's fair for Mrs Muir to have to pay for your utter neglect of Gull Cottage? You money-pinching Midas! You're closed up tighter than a clam. That poor lady has been driven quite to distraction by everything that needs to be done, and it's all your fault."

"Is that what all this is about?" Claymore complained. "You want me to pay for the repairs to your house! You're the one who haunted out every paying tenant I tried to put in there. Mrs Muir is the only one who's stayed. Though, Lord knows why."

The Captain glared at him. "And now she requires you to step up and be the landlord she needs. Not some quivering squid with a jellied backbone who turns green at the thought of spending a dollar when a dime will do!"

"You're not going away until I say yes, are you?" Claymore muttered. "You can't just leave me in peace to get on with my life and my own business."

The Captain folded his arms. "I would have no cause for complaint if you were the man you portrayed yourself to be to Miss Rutledge. I believe you said you are a total gentleman right down to your bootstraps and all business. No funny business."

He smiled thinly. "Must I now disabuse the dear lady of that valuable impression? And all the other clients you'll parade through here with a view to fattening your coffers? I have eternity…"

"You wouldn't…" Claymore's face paled. He held up one hand. "All right, all right, all right! I'll pay! Just go away now and haunt your place. Stop ruining my evening, and my deal, with Miss Rutledge."

"Very wise, Claymore," the Captain replied. "I'll so inform Mrs Muir."

He disappeared, leaving Claymore in shock. "Ohh, you…" He shook his fist.

He sighed as he returned to the back room. He plastered on his best smile and entered. "Ah, ha ha… I'm terribly sorry, Miss Rutledge. Just a little matter with a big client of mine. He likes to pop in at any time of the day or night. You know how these big players are…"

He adjusted the set of his tie. "He was trying to pressure me into paying for something he wants fixed. Between us, I'll never do it. Now, where were we?"

He bent down to unwrap the foil from the neck of the champagne. As he picked up the bottle, the cork shot out and he was doused in a fountain of fine wine.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!" he shouted. "I promise, I'll do it! Scout's honour!"

Miss Rutledge looked up at him in bemusement as he continued to chant about paying someone she couldn't see. She shook her head and wondered how soon she could leave this madhouse. She could always buy her own lobster dinner and enjoy it in more stable company down at Norrie's Lobster House.

She certainly was not about to sign that contract she'd seen on the table. She had only agreed to this meeting out of curiosity. She had now seen more than enough to convince her that Claymore Gregg was not any kind of suitable business partner. He'd also been a very nervous sailor.

"I will be better going with Marcus Cornell's offer instead…" she murmured as she stood up.

"Good evening, Mr Gregg," she said in a firm tone. "I do believe I already know the way out."

"Oh, but Miss Rutledge, please…" Claymore begged, as he pulled off his glasses to wipe the champagne from his face. "If you will just give me a moment to explain. It's all just a big misunderstanding…" He waved the hand holding his glasses.

"I haven't misunderstood a single thing tonight…" His guest pointed at the downturned photo of the blonde. "Maybe you'd better call her up instead. Get her to come over and help you clean off your glasses so you can see properly." She opened the door and swept out, snapping it shut behind her.

Claymore sagged back onto the couch and fell back against the cushions. He glared at the closed door. "Here's to me," he muttered, holding up the half-empty bottle. "And may God bless all who sail in me…"

He raised the champagne to his lips and took a long swallow. "Why, oh why, is it always me he loves to annoy beyond what is tolerable?" Knowing there was no answer to his ongoing conundrum, he took another mouthful, and then a third.

A knock on his office door heralded the arrival of his lobster dinners. He groaned anew. "I'm going to be eating those blasted fish for the next week! It's not fair!"

"Would you rather it was a fine salted mackerel fried in lard with pickled onions, hard tack and a tankard of sour brown ale?" the Captain's disembodied voice enquired.

"N-n-n-no…" Claymore quavered. "Go away and leave me alone!"

He curled himself into a ball on the couch and took refuge in his bottle of champagne just as Norrie opened the door and carried in his lobster dinners on a tray.

"Leave you alone?" Norrie frowned at him. "I thought you ordered dinner for two, promptly at seven. Your guest late or something?"

"My guest has already been and gone," Claymore groaned. "She didn't like the atmosphere of the place, or my company."

"I see…" Norrie advanced to place the dishes of lobster on the table. "Then it's just as well you paid for these in advance. I don't do refunds."

"Maybe I should go into the lobster business…" Claymore moaned. "Landlording is becoming bad for my health and my purse."

"As long as you open up your shop in some other town," Norrie replied acerbically as he left the room and shut the door behind him.

"Alone again…" Claymore sighed as he cuddled his bottle of champagne and felt deeply sorry for himself.

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