Read Online The Forever Girl by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page B

was cold to the touch. She raised it to her lips. It’s too late, she thought. This is it.
    He took a sip. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.
    “Mind what? Being here? Drinking champagne instead of being at the supermarket?”
    He looked serious. “You don’t mind that I asked you?”
    She shrugged. “Why should I?”
    He was studying her reaction. “Because I can’t pretend that I didn’t hope that I would find you at the tennis club.”
    For a while she said nothing. It thrilled her: she meant something to him. There was no dismay; just pleasure.
    When she spoke the words, it seemed to her, came from somewhere else.
    “I hadn’t envisaged this happening. But it happens, doesn’t it? It … well, it comes over one. I never thought it would. I never thought about it. It just happens.”
    He nodded. “I hadn’t anticipated this either.”
    “So what do we do?”
    The question hung in the air.
    “Do?” he said. “I hadn’t thought that far.”
    “Neither had I.” She put down her glass. “Because we both have children to think about.”
    “Yes,” he said. “And others.”
    “By that, you mean …”
    She thought that he did not want her to see his wince, but she did. “Alice and David.”
    It was a mistake, she thought, to mention the names. They had not been present until then, but now they were. And there were only two glasses of champagne.
    She drew in her breath. “I think maybe we shouldn’t take thisany further. I’m sorry.”
    His mouth opened slightly. She saw that he was gripping the glass tightly, as his knuckles were white. I’ve said the wrong thing. It’s entirely the wrong thing .
    “Is that what you feel?”
    She nodded, and glanced at her watch. “I think it would have been nice. But it can’t be. It just can’t.”
    “If that’s what you feel …”
    “It is. I’m really sorry, George. I wish that I were free to say yes. I wish that. But I’m not. And I don’t think you’re free either.”
    He looked down at the deck. “You’re probably right.” He drained his glass and put it back into the cool box. Then, picking up the bottle of champagne, he looked at it, held it up against the sun, and then poured it out over the side of the boat. She watched in astonishment, noticing the tiny bubbles, visible against the surface of the sea for a few instants before they disappeared.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said.
    He replaced the bottle and took her glass from her.
    “You don’t have to say sorry,” he said. “I’m the one who should apologise.”
    “No. You don’t have to.”
    He reached for the ignition. “I suggest we write the whole thing off to experience. That’s the civilised way of dealing with these things, I think.”
    It could have been said bitterly, but she did not detect any bitterness in his voice. He was a kind man, she thought. He was exactly what she thought, and hoped, he was.

9
    When George turned the key in the ignition, the outboard engine spluttered into life briefly, but did not catch. He attempted to start it again. Sometimes it took a second try for the fuel to get through; a small blockage, a bubble of air could starve the injectors of fuel but these would right themselves. This time there was no response at all. He looked down at the safety-cord – this was a small key-like device that operated against a sprung switch and had to be in place for the engine to fire. It was correctly slotted in. He tried once more, and again there was no response.
    She had not noticed the first failure, but now she did.
    “Trouble?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. It won’t start.”
    “Are we out of fuel?”
    He pointed to the gauge. “We’ve got at least ten gallons. Maybe more.”
    “Perhaps you should try again.”
    He reached forward and turned the key. There was complete silence.
    “I can check the batteries. A lead might have detached itself.”
    He opened a hatch, exposing two large twelve-volt batteries. All four leads