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to everyone that just isn't there." She shook her head and smiled
again. "Now, didn't you say something about a victory celebration?"
"Indeed I did! Can your household spare you for the rest of the
evening?" he asked, dismissing the matter from his mind for the
moment.
"With no difficulty whatsoever," she replied, as he rose and offered
her his hand. "What did you have in mind?"
"Better to ask, what did I have planned?" he smiled. "And it's a
surprise, so come along and don't ask questions."
To his delight, she laughed, took his hand, and got to her feet.
"Whatever it is, I hope it's cool," she told him. "It may not be
quite as hot today as it has been, but it's still too hot for these
ridiculous clothes you English insist on wearing."
"You know what they say. Mad dogs and Englishmen." She didn't reclaim
her hand, so he tucked it into the corner of his elbow as they walked
toward the street. "I can promise that it will be cool; whether
you'll like it or not, I can't pledge."
They caught a 'bus for Southwark; he brought her carefully up the
stairs to the exposed upper deck- dreadful in bad weather, but
crowded now. He found two places on the benches and sat beside her,
pointing out obscure landmarks and answering her questions with
delight.
The docks and his warehouse were a short walk from the 'bus stop. She
took in everything around her with great interest and no fear at all.
Of course, she had been going into and out of a far worse
neighborhood than this for months now, but it was still good to see.
Most women would have protested at the smells, the condition of the
street, and turned up their dainty noses at the rough characters at
work here.
He pointed out the customs house, told her what each of the
warehouses held and explained which firms imported what goods. If she
wasn't interested, she was the best actress he'd ever seen-and cared
enough about him to pretend she was interested.
"This is rny warehouse," he said at last, with pardonable pride.
"Would you like to see my imports?"
"Goodness, yes!" she exclaimed. "You know, you know all about what I
do, but this is the first time you've ever talked about yourself and
your everyday life. I had no idea you had a wonderful shop and
brought in things all the way from Egypt!"
He laughed. "You make it sound far more glamorous than it is."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Don't you realize that it is the
highest ambition of hundreds of Indians who emigrate to London to one
day own a shop or a restaurant of their very own and never work for
anyone else again?"
He had to laugh as he opened the door for her. "We've been called a
nation of shopkeepers before, but I don't think that was intended as
a compliment."
He unpacked some of the crates, showing her the creations of his
craftsmen, and in the end, insisted that she take an alabaster
toiletry set she particularly admired. By then, he had heard the
sounds of an engine followed by those of his men mooring a small boat
up to his dock, and knew his surprise was ready.
"I hope you've an appetite," he said, as he took up the parcel he'd
wrapped for her, and conducted her toward the door. "And I hope you
don't suffer from seasickness."
"Why, no," she laughed. "But why-"
Then she saw the boat moored up to the dock, a handy little craft
crewed by what was clearly a family: four rugged men with faces
sculpted by storm and sea, one middle-aged, three of twenty,
eighteen, and sixteen years.
"Hello, Captain!" shouted Andrew, as the other three men waved at
him. "Ready for your jaunt?"
He waved back, escorted the delighted Maya to the dock, and helped
her step across the plank into the little fishing boat crewed by
Andrew and his three grown sons. Andrew had been another of his
officers on his last ship, but had longed to go back to the life of
fishing he'd known before he lost his boat in a storm. Peter had put
him in the way of a few little money-making schemes, and when Peter
had retired, Andrew had done the same, for he'd stuck on once he had
enough for a new fishing boat only as long as Peter was his captain.
It wasn't pretty, but it was stout, and as Andrew and his sons put
her out onto the Thames, heading for Thames mouth and the ocean,
Peter saw that she was trim and steady, and answered neatly to the
helm. She had sails, but also a motor for working in and out of the
harbor, which chugged along with no hint of cough or hesitation. Once
they were in a position where they had a good bit of breeze, Andrew,
like the thrifty fellow he was, cut off the motor and went under full
sail.
Maya's eyes were as wide as a child's and she looked around her
avidly, drinking in everything with untrammeled delight. Peter, for
whom all this was no novelty, caught fire from her enthusiasm, and
when the engine was shut down, pointed out all the sights with as
much pleasure in telling her about them as she took in hearing about
them.
"I promised you that this would be cooler," he reminded her, as they
passed Thames mouth and the breeze quickened to a wind that made the
boat leap forward into the open ocean.
"You did, and it's wonderful!" she caroled. "It's like flying! Are we
going to fish for our dinner?"
"Only if you want to eat it raw," he laughed. "This is no pleasure
craft, and no cod fisher either. We've no way to cook on board. This
little lady is an inshore fisher; she goes out before dawn and back
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