Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(59)
“Exactly. When can you deliver it to my berth at the Key West Yacht Club?”
“Hang on a minute.” Papers were shuffled. “Ten weeks from today. Prices are up a bit since you last ordered.”
“Send me a contract, and I’ll send you a check for half.”
“Consider it done.”
“I’ll be out of the country for a few days, maybe a week.”
“No problem. Thanks for the business, Stone.”
“Thank you, Phil.” He hung up and buzzed Joan. “You’ll get a contract for a new boat from Phil in a couple of days. Send him a check for half, and I’ll sign everything when I get back.”
“Back? Where are you going?”
“England.”
“Again?”
“Again. We’ll be taking Mike Freeman’s Latitude.” He gave her the satphone number and the number for the iPhone Lance had supplied. “I won’t be using my own number for a while. Can you and Bob manage without me?”
“We often do.”
“Bring me the catalog for the New York Yacht Club shop, please.”
She brought it to him immediately. “Make a list,” he said, and started dictating. He ordered dishes, glasses, and foul-weather gear, as well as a new ensign and burgee.
“Anything else?”
“Go online and get me a small Cuisinart drip coffeepot and some pots and pans. “The new boat will be ready in ten weeks; you can ship all that stuff to the boat at the yacht club when it’s ready.”
“Is it okay now if I ask what the hell happened to the boat you’ve already got there?”
“It met with an accident. Papers will come from Arthur Steele, I’ll sign them when I get back.”
“They’re already here,” she said, placing a stack on his desk.
Stone signed them and she notarized those that required it. “When the contract comes from Phil, use the final amount, including Florida taxes, as the value for the insurance claim. Ask Phil to transfer my yacht registration to the new boat at the appropriate time, and tell him the name is still Indian Summer.”
“Anything else I should know about?”
“I want to drive away from the house at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll let Fred know. Is Bob going this time?”
“No, we’ve got to get his veterinary papers in order before I can take him to England.”
“Shall I call his personal physician and arrange it?”
“Yes, please.” He turned to Bob. “They’re going to stick you with needles; sorry about that.”
Bob didn’t look worried.
* * *
—
THEY WERE ABOARD the Latitude and buttoned up at 8:30 AM.
“What seat would you like?” Jenny asked.
“The left one in the cockpit, please.”
“Right-o.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “Here’s your clearance. Shall we get started? Oh, one other thing: We have an eight-man life raft in the rear, nice and roomy. We also have survival suits. In the event we need to land at sea, here’s the procedure: Peg, who’s sitting back here, will position the life raft next to the emergency exit; she will issue the suits, and we’ll get into them, those of us in the cockpit in only the bottoms; the tops come before we enter the raft. When the airplane is safely down, Peg will open the emergency exit and kick the raft into the water, having tied off the lanyard first. It will inflate and we will enter the raft, one at a time, me last. I will retrieve the emergency gear bag, which contains a satphone and two VHF radios, one with nautical frequencies, one with aircraft frequencies, plus spare batteries for everything. We’ll stay with the airplane until we know it’s going to sink; then and only then will I cut the lanyard. Any questions?”
There were none.
All Stone had to do was start the engines and work through the last of the checklist. They taxied to runway 1 and lifted off at 9:00 AM, sharp. Jenny sat quietly and watched Stone operate the airplane and deal with air traffic control. Soon they were at Flight Level 450, enjoying a 90-knot tailwind. They headed for Newfoundland and from there they would fly the Great Circle route to Land’s End, then up the south coast. They would set down at the Windward Hall airstrip at around eight PM local time.
Stone did all the flying, loving every minute of it. He loved the airplane; he loved flying with Jenny. He left the cockpit only to pee.
They landed at dusk, guided in by the GPS approach. Customs stamped their passports and drove away, then somebody threw their bags into the Range Rover, and they headed for Stone’s house, where his housekeeper showed Jenny and Peg to their rooms.
“Dinner in one hour,” she said.
* * *
—
A HALF HOUR LATER they were all having drinks in Stone’s library.
“I must say,” Jenny said, “that was the nicest North Atlantic crossing I’ve ever flown. You can fly that airplane single pilot. I don’t know why they insist on a second operator. Nicest airport terminal, too,” she said, looking around at the leather-bound books and the crackling fire, a beautifully set dinner table at the end of the room.
“Thank you,” Stone said. “It was the best North Atlantic crossing I’ve ever flown, too. And the first nonstop under my own steam.”