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Dave Novicki churned toward their table, robust as a barrel of beer and guileless as a manatee.
She greeted him in a rush of words, hoping to contain him. “I’m so surprised to see you here, I thought you set sail already, may I introduce my new friend, Miss Fern Hawley of New York? She just landed in her yacht, you must have seen it in the harbor from your ship.” She took a breath and turned to Fern. “Captain Novicki commands a schooner that brings my import-export firm’s rum from, uhhm, Hispaniola, is it, Captain? Or will it be Jamaica next shipment?”
Novicki looked puzzled and about to speak, which could not possibly help.
Pauline stuck out her hand. Novicki took it, and she squeezed his horny paw as hard as she could, saying with a laugh she could only hope did not sound hysterical, “Or will you sail all the way to England to bring me some gin?”
Novicki looked down at her hand. Then he looked into her eyes.
Sea captains must be alert, she thought. And unusually observant. Surely—
He spoke at last.
“I’m not certain the old girl could sail as far as England, but I would risk it for you, my dear, if you’re hard-up for gin. In fact,” he added, warming to the fiction, “I would gladly sail her around the Horn to fetch you the wines of Chile or cross the Pacific for Japanese sake.”
With that, Novicki gave her hand a little squeeze, let go of it, and seized Fern’s. His sharp eyes roamed her beautiful face appreciatively, and when a surprised intake of breath from her revealed that he had her attention, he said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hawley. What yacht did you arrive in?”
“Maya.”
“Yes, I saw her come in. Handsome steamer. Beats the newfangled diesels hands down. But may I caution you, if you’re discussing business deals with this young lady”—he clapped Pauline on the back—“hold tight to your fillings and count the spoons!”
“We’re only drinking daiquiris,” said Pauline. “This isn’t business. We just ran into each other down at the harbor.”
“I’m only a tourist,” said Fern. “Would you join us?”
Novicki looked like a man who very much wanted to while away the afternoon drinking daiquiris with two beautiful woman. Pauline shot him an eyeful of No, no, absolutely not!
“Thank you, Miss Hawley . . . Pauline. Nothing would delight me more. But I don’t like the look of that sky. I want deep water under my bottom, the sooner the better.”
He made his good-byes, choosing an instant when Fern turned to signal the waiter for refills to give Pauline a solemn grin.
Fern watched him churn away. “Did you notice what was going on with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was flirting with me.”
“Do you want me to call him back?”
Fern burst out laughing. “No! He’s way too old.”
“Are you sure?”
“O.K., I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. But, no, too late. He’s gone to his ship.”
Pauline shrugged. “All I know is, he’s the nicest rumrunner I’ve ever met. Most of them are pretty rough.” She took a sip from her glass.
Fern looked up through the palm fronds. “I don’t see what’s wrong with the sky, do you?”
“It looks wonderful,” said Pauline, “though it could be the daiquiris. Oh, mine’s getting empty again.”
“I already called the waiter. Here they come . . . What shall we drink to? New friends? I can’t believe how we just bumped into each other and, all of a sudden, we’re telling each other things like we’ve been friends forever.”
“To new friends and old friends,” said Pauline, clinking her glass against Fern’s. “And nice rumrunners.”
“I’ll leave the rumrunners to you. Bootleggers are more my style.”
“They’re rough, too, aren’t they?”
