Riptide

Hatch looked at her. Why not? he thought. What kind of trouble could I get into over dinner? 'There are only two restaurants in town, you know. Both seafood places, naturally. Although one does a reasonable steak.'

'Steak? That is for me. I am a strict carnivore. Vegetables are for pigs and monkeys. As for fish—' She made an elaborate gesture of retching over the side.

'I thought you grew up in the Caribbean.'

'Yes, and my father was a fisherman, and that is all we ate, forever and ever. Except at Christmas, when we had chevre.'

'Goat?' Hatch asked.

'Yes. I love goat. Cooked for eight hours in a hole on the beach, washed down with homemade Ponlac beer.'

'Delectable,' said Hatch, laughing. 'You're staying in town, right?'

'Yes. Everything was booked up, so I placed a notice in the post office. The lady behind the counter saw it and offered me a room.'

'You mean, upstairs? At the Poundcooks?'

'Naturellement.'

'The postmistress and her husband. They're a nice quiet couple.'

'Yes. Sometimes I think they might be dead, it's so quiet downstairs.'

Wait and see what happens if you try to bring home a man, thought Hatch. Or even if you stay out after eleven.

They reached the harbor, and Hatch eased the boat up to its mooring. 'I must change out of these dirty clothes,' Bonterre said, leaping into the dinghy, 'and of course you must put on something better than that boring old blazer.'

'But I like this jacket,' Hatch protested.

'You American men do not know how to dress at all. What you need is a good suit of Italian linen.'

'I hate linen,' Hatch said. 'It's always wrinkled.'

'That is the point!' Bonterre laughed. 'What size are you? Forty-two long?'

'How did you know?'

'I am good at measuring a man.'

Chapter 23

Hatch picked her up outside the post office, and they walked down the steep cobbled streets toward The Landing. It was a beautiful, cool evening; the clouds had blown away, and a vast bowl of stars hung over the harbor. In the clear evening light, with the little yellow lights of the town twinkling in windows and above doorways, Stormhaven seemed to Hatch like a place from a remote and friendlier past.

'This is truly a charming place,' Bonterre said as she took his arm. 'Saint Pierre, where I grew up on Martinique, is also beautiful, but alors, such a difference! It is all lights and colors. Not like here, where everything is black and white. And there is much to do there, very good nightclubs for wild times.'

'I don't like nightclubs,' said Hatch.

'How boring,' said Bonterre, good-naturedly.

They arrived at the restaurant, and the waiter, recognizing Hatch, seated them immediately. It was a cozy place: two rambling rooms and a bar, decorated with nets, wooden lobster pots, and glass floats. Taking a seat, Hatch looked around. Fully a third of the patrons were Thalassa employees.

'Que de monde!' Bonterre whispered. 'One cannot get away from company people. I cannot wait for Gerard to send them all home.'

'It's like that in a small town. The only way you can get away is to go out on the water. And even then, there's always someone in the town looking at you with a telescope.'

'No sex on deck, then,' said Bonterre.

'No,' said Hatch. 'We New Englanders always have sex below.' He watched her break into a delighted smile, and he wondered what kind of havoc she'd wreak among the male crew in the days to come. 'So what was it you did today that made you so dirty?'

'What is this obsession with dirt?' she frowned. 'Mud is the archaeologist's friend.' She leaned across the table. 'As it happens, I made a little discovery on your muddy old island.'

'Tell me about it.'

She took a sip from her water glass. 'We discovered the pirate encampment.'

Hatch looked at her. 'You're kidding.'

'Mais non! This morning, we set out to examine the windward side of the island. You know that spot where a large bluff stands off by itself, maybe ten meters down the rocks?'

'Yes.'

'Right there, where the bluff was eroding, there was a perfect soil profile. A vertical cut, very convenient to the archaeologist. I was able to locate a lens of charcoal.'