Denver Is Missing (1971) aka Don't Pick the Flowers by D. F. Jones

Author:D. F. Jones [Jones, D. F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780802703552
Publisher: Walker & Company
Published: 2013-02-05T21:00:00+00:00

Like Suffren, Bill was not given to kidding. The girls got on with the stores lists. He and I went through the boat with a finetooth comb. Some of the gear Bette and I had brought would have to go to make room for the extra supplies. We got four suitcases full which I had to dump somewhere ashore. With the girls’ first list, tactfully amended by Bill, I took the cases and chased off to get money, unload the cases, and buy the stores, all canned stuff. It was indeed a very busy morning.

I called Suffren and told him of our decision. He merely said, “A good plan. I have nothing more to say.” In a moment of weird inspiration I invited him aboard the next evening. To my great surprise, he accepted.

All afternoon was spent loading and stowing. Bill kept vanishing ashore, returning with rolls of charts, coils of rope, fishing lines, and I do not know what else. Bette, in her medical role, made a trip. Her purchases made me think she took a very gloomy view of our future. Splints, bandages, a mask and two one-hundred liter bottles of oxygen, and an assortment of anaesthetics. The oxygen, she said, took some getting.

I arranged for Karen to come ashore with me for the second bout of shopping. I gave her fifty dollars and told her to spend it on herself; I remembered that wail when Bette cut her jeans off. She tried to thank me, but I sent her off before I got a swollen head. I was almost certain Bill knew damned well her rich background was a phoney, but it was important for her—and the rest of us—that she should think he still believed her story.

Canned food rained aboard. I had half expected trouble buying all this stuff, but the store near the yacht harbor was only too glad to oblige. Since the advent of SARAH not many yachts were going to sea; trade was lousy.

We ate a hasty, late lunch on board, during which Bill explained the water problem, which would be tough, at least as far as Hawaii. Mayfly had tanks for fifty British gallons—their gallon is slightly larger than ours-—and while he hoped we might make Hawaii in eighteen days, he was assuming it would take a month. We would be rationed to two quarts each a day, not a lot in the tropics. There would be little for washing, and none for laundry, and some of our cooking would be done in seawater. If it rained, that would be an extra, and to be ready, he had bought a good supply of strong plastic bags.

Karen was a different girl after her shopping expedition. Gay, laughing at the slightest pretext, and much given to odd snatches of song, which was an error, for her voice was flatter than a pancake. Her behavior puzzled Bette. I only hoped she did not intercept the occasional warm smile Karen threw my way.

That evening, after a rather more successful meal ashore, we held another meeting reviewing the day’s progress.

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