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“Likewise,” I say.
“Sabella dropped out of school to have babies,” Mr. Powell says to his wife. “What do you think of that?”
She gives him a chiding look. “I think everyone must do what’s right for them.” Swatting his arm, she says, “Don’t be so judgmental, you old snob.”
Mr. Powell winks. “She keeps me on my toes. I wouldn’t be half the man I am without her.” Kissing her cheek, he asks, “Would you like a drink, darling? I was just about to get you something from the bar.”
“Allow me,” Angelo says.
“You’re too kind.” Mrs. Powell hooks her arm around her husband’s. “Gin and tonic, please. No ice.”
“Mr. Powell?” my husband asks.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Mr. Powell says with a grin.
“Coming up.” Angelo plants a kiss on my neck before whispering in my ear, “I’ll be right back.” He deposits his empty glass on the nearest table and makes his way to the bar.
“He looks smitten with you,” Mrs. Powell says when he’s out of earshot.
“Oh.” I shift my weight, trying not to show how uncomfortable I am with that untruth. “I won’t say that.” Trying to change the subject, I say, “My husband told me you’re putting measures in place to prevent the entanglement of dolphins in fishing nets.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Powell rolls on the balls of his feet. “We launched a non-profit organization that provides acoustic pingers to fishing boats.” He shoots his wife a proud look. “In fact, it was Letitia’s idea. We’re also advocating against the use of gill nets, testing new materials as we speak.”
“I’d love to hear more.”
“Are you also a dolphin lover?” Mrs. Powell asks just as Angelo arrives with two drinks that he hands to the couple.
“I love all sea life, but I have a special affinity for sharks,” I say.
“You too?” Mrs. Powell exclaims. “So do I. They must be the most misunderstood poor creatures on Earth.”
“I always tried to educate the public whenever I could.”
“Did you manage to make a change?” she asks. “It’s difficult to expel the old urban legends.”
“I gave speeches at the aquarium when I was a student in Cape Town. I dare say I managed to convert a few souls. But there will always be people who can’t tell fact from fiction.”
“Exactly,” she says, snapping her fingers. “That’s just how I feel. It’s very difficult to make a real difference. I’m working with a team of scientists on writing a few articles that are due for publication on online sites and in seaside accommodation brochures. Would you like to give me your input?”
“I’d love that,” I say. “If you’d like, I can send you my notes. Maybe some of the data will be useful.”
“Yes, please. You do that.” Turning to my husband, she says, “This one is a good catch, excuse the pun. You better hold onto her.”
“Oh, I intend on doing that,” he replies darkly.
“We should donate more money to shark research,” she says. “It’s extremely worrying that no less than seventy-five percent of the species are in danger of extinction.”
“That’s a great idea.” I nudge Angelo. “Don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely.” Angelo nods at Mrs. Powell. “Seeing how passionate my wife is about the subject, I’ll organize a monthly donation when we get home.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Mr. Powell scrutinizes him. “Businesses like ours that rely on sea freight have a responsibility to conserve the ocean life.”
“Indeed,” Angelo says. “All cargo ships should switch to low-sulphur fuel and implement an exhaust scrubber system. I only use the best anti-fouling hull paint for my own ships.”
Mr. Powell raises his glass. “Cheers to that, my good man.”
“I hear you’re a keen sailor yourself,” Angelo remarks.
