“Okay then, so where do we take you?”
Alex gave the Isle of Wight another long look and sat back. “Home I suppose.”
The sailor slapped Alex’s knee, chuckling softly. “Okay, home it is then. Just point the way.”
The sun was low in the sky, casting a red wash over the sea. The steersman had switched on the riding lights, which
now threw out soft red and green glows. The launch slapped the waves and the tang of ozone bit the air.
“Christchurch harbour,” he said watching the lights on the Isle of Wight fade away in the gloom.
The powerful engines began thrusting the launch through the waves and Alex heard the steersman’s voice relaying
their heading via the radio. Sitting so he faced the strong breeze blowing across the bow, his thoughts turned elsewhere
and elsewhen.
As his dead wife had been fond of saying when they faced an apparently impossible dilemma, “Alex, there’s more than
one way of skinning a cat.
