‘Round the propshaft,’ said Gaskell. ‘Then if there is you can take it off.’
Eva went into the cabin and put on the bikini.
‘Honestly, Gaskell, sometimes I think you’re doing this on purpose. First it’s the con rod and now it’s the screw.’
‘Well, we’ve got to try everything. We can’t just sit here,’ said Gaskell, ‘I’m supposed to be back in the lab tomorrow.’
‘You should have thought of that before,’ said Sally. ‘Now all we need is a goddam Albatross.’
‘If you ask me we’ve got one,’ said Gaskell, as Eva came out of the cabin and put on a bathing cap.
‘Now where’s the rope?’ she asked. Gaskell looked in a locker and found some. He tied it round her waist and Eva clambered over the side into the water.
‘It’s ever so cold,’ she giggled.
‘That’s because of the Gulf Stream,’ said Gaskell, ‘it doesn’t come this far round.’
Eva swam out and put her feet down.
‘It’s terribly shallow and full of mud.’
She waded round hanging on to the rope and groped under the stern of the cruiser.
‘I can’t feel anything,’ she called.
‘It will be further under,’ said Gaskell, peering down at her. Eva put her head under the water and felt the rudder.
‘That’s the rudder,’ said Gaskell.
‘Of course it is,’ said Eva, ‘I know that, silly. I’m not stupid.’
She disappeared under the boat. This time she found the propeller but there was nothing wrapped round it.
‘It’s just muddy, that’s all,’ she said, when she resurfaced. ‘There’s mud all along the bottom.’
‘Well there would be wouldn’t there,’ said Gaskell. Eva waded round to the side. ‘We just happen to be stuck on a mudbank.’
Eva went down again but the propshaft was clear too. I told you so,’ said Sally, as they hauled Eva back on board. ‘You just made her do it so you could see her in her plastic kini all covered with mud. Come, Botticelli baby, let Sally wash you off.’
‘Oh Jesus,’ said Gaskell. ‘Penis arising from the waves.’ He went back to the engine and looked at it uncertainly. Perhaps there was a blockage in the fuel line. It didn’t seem very likely but he had to try something. They couldn’t stay stuck on the mudbank forever.
On the foredeck Sally was sponging Eva down.
‘Now the bottom half, darling,’ she said untying the string.
‘Oh, Sally. No, Sally.’
‘Labia babia.’
‘Oh, Sally, you are awful.’
Gaskell struggled with the adjustable wrench. All this Touch Therapy was getting to him. And the plastic.
At the County Hall the Principal was doing his best to pacify the members of the Education Committee who were demanding a full Enquiry into the recruitment policy of the Liberal Studies Department.
‘Let me explain,’ he said patiently, looking round at the Committee, which was a nice balance of business interests and social commitment. ‘The 1944 Education Act laid down that all apprentices should be released from their places of employment to attend Day Release Classes at Technical Colleges…’
‘We know all that,’ said a building contractor, ‘and we all know it’s a bloody waste of
