Catching the Current by Jenny Pattrick

Author:Jenny Pattrick [Jenny Pattrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781869798574
Publisher: Random House New Zealand
Published: 2012-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

‘Ahem,’ says Anahuia, ‘are we speaking by any chance of the man who lies now beside me?’

‘Is the description not accurate?’

‘What a whakahihi! A little modesty would be welcome.’

‘Ah well, now, sweetheart, you asked for a true story this time. What can a fellow do?’

‘Conrad Rasmussen, you are an impossible man.’

But a good storyteller, no?’

‘A good storyteller, yes!’

YOUNG Lieutenant Dahl, brown-haired and smart in his uniform, yet still a boy for all his arrogance, could not bear the attention Køne was earning from the ladies. Especially from Boline. Dahl set Køne to tasks he thought would humiliate him, like hanging him over the side in a basket to scrub the windows of the captain’s day-room. Køne made a game of it, swinging and singing in time to his swabbing, until Boline and the other ladies came running to lean over the rail and wave and laugh and ask for more. Køne hung upside down from his platform and swabbed in that fashion, still singing, until his foolish head filled with blood and his eyes turned red.

‘Disorderly behaviour!’ yelled Dahl. ‘I’ll have you in irons!’

But the ladies petted and patted the furious officer and begged him to let Køne continue, until poor Dahl was twisted so tight between rage and desire he could scarcely make a move.

Well, this was all harmless, silly fun, until the night when that evil Boline set her trap and Tall Køne walked straight in with his empty head high and his brains somewhere a good deal lower.

First there was a night of grog and music. Boline danced, showing a good fine ankle, placing a hand here and there on Køne’s willing body and flashing her dark eyes at him until the poor lad was all aflame.

At one stage in the evening little Mikkel danced up to Køne and, still fiddling away, whispered, ‘Watch out! She has those glittery eyes Winther talked about. She will make her move tonight.’

But Køne was lost to it. When Boline dragged him up onto the deck, he followed like a lamb. The other ratings, sickened by Køne’s foolish arrogance, let him go. Loyal Mikkel, still clutching his fiddle, crept after the pair, but what could a ship’s boy do when a big Faroeman had set his mind on self-destruction?

Above in the sweet night air, Boline led Køne aft towards the officers’ deck and there, under the shadow of the mizzen mast, undid her bodice and pulled his hot hand inside.

‘Come on, my big honey-bear,’ she whispered, her fingers busy at his trouser-strings. ‘Show me what you are made of, you lovely fellow.’

If her eyes lacked the fire of her words Køne was ignorant of it. The invitation was clear and the Faroeman came to the party with gusto. Up rose his member, stiff as a pole. Down tumbled trousers, lady and man all in a heap on the deck. Boline lay there, smart skirts up around her waist, smiling and cooing, but all the time keeping her knees clamped tight to drive the hot man crazy.

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