“It hadn’t been clean, cut and dried, full of simple rights and wrongs. It had been like any human relationship: messy. Richard, Robin, Rowena, and Bill had met the second the sixties became the seventies at midnight, December 31, 1969. Their yachts were tied side by side at the unfashionable end of that long marina that makes up the seaward side of the main street of St. Tropez. None of them had any particular reason for being in such a place in such a town when most of their friends were somew...here else anyway. Richard himself, who had bought the yacht Rebecca a few years previously to celebrate his first tanker captaincy, had sailed aimlessly out of Poole, alone, at Christmas and ended up here because there had been severe storms in Biscay preventing him returning. The champagne had been a pointless indulgence. Its cork hit Sir William on the head as he stood in the cockpit of the neighboring yacht. Apologies had led to introductions; introductions to mutual recognition. Sir William was there with his two girls.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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