Dolly and the Singing Bird by Dorothy Dunnett Read Free Book Online

all made thin and harmless by the unconfined water and air. As we began to pass them, Victoria did a very passable if libellous commentary about each.
    Only twenty, I gathered, of the Club’s eighty odd members had entered for this particular race: in any case for reasons of safety (safety?) the smallest were barred. For the rest, there was handicapping of a fairly cursory sort over the two halves of the circuit: before the day’s sail to the Crinan canal which would give us access to the west coast proper, and again on Thursday, when we restarted from the far end of the canal. Everyone was forced to clock in at a checkpoint on each place to be visited, and only the actual sailing time between islands would count in the end. If the weather was bad, there was no reason, explained Victoria comfortingly, why one shouldn’t lie up in harbour until it improved: in fact everyone usually did. But if there was a good wind, for example, you might find yourself sailing night and day to make use of it. It depended.
    “It seems an odd way of spending a holiday,” I remarked as we rowed past all these frantic small boats occupied, according to Victoria, by vacationing judges, doctors and chartered accountants, accompanied by their wives, friends and occasionally nieces. “But you and Mr. Ogden are awfully keen?”
    “Cecil is. Cecil’s marvellous,” said Victoria. Her head screwed permanently over her shoulder, she was digging alternately with this oar and that, avoiding boats big and little. “That’s
Weevli
. That’s
Ballyrow
. they’ve got a super new record-player; you’ll hear it at Crinan; and there’s
Blue Kitten
, I’m afraid he practises piping. But
Nina
’s absolutely dreamy: he plays the Hawaiian guitar: he has a cousin in a Group. Crinan’s mad: they all get together and get sloshed. You’ll love it.” She turned round, her way being momentarily clear, and added, referring, I soon realised, to Ogden: “He built
Sea-wolf
practically himself. How many men could do that? With his own hands. On nothing, just about: his people are creeps and he’s got a thing about asking for help. You know. But people know the boat is his life, and they appreciate that, around here. He knows all the locals and the anchorages, and people are jolly good and help when they can. They know he’s genuine.” Suddenly, she tossed her hair back and before it was blown straight back over her face by the wind I saw a thin, bony, rather sad face, like a medical missionary who once addressed us at the Home. Victoria said, “He feels a bit spare at times: who wouldn’t, with the hard work and the loneliness. But he’s a rather epic type, really… This one’s
Binkie
.” She indicated the boat we were just about to pass, of a rather disgusting shade of dark red.
    “What does
Binkie
do?” I asked gloomily. Johnson. And Ogden. And Hennessy. My God. This particular racehorse of the seas was smaller than most of the others, and was engaged in washing up its breakfast dishes on three inches of deck. As I spoke, a small round person in a knitted cap lifted and emptied the washing-up bowl, to a screaming of seagulls and a man’s voice crying, “Nan! Nan! Did ye feel for the teaspoon?”
    It was the man and wife seen last night in the bar, their arms full of bottles of tonic. “Bob and Nancy Buchanan. He runs a garage in Falkirk.” said Victoria, rapidly, and hailed them. “Hallo! This is Madame Rossi: I’m taking her out to the
Dolly
. Well, are you cosy, Bob? How’s the Wee Stinker?”
    The face of the man Buchanan split into an affectionate grin. “Fine. Grand, absolutely. You can hang your socks on her and they’re dry in ten minutes.”
    “They’ve got a new stove,” explained Victoria. “
Binkie
’s got everything, haven’t you Bob? Wee Stinker’s their stove, and their engine’s called Buttercup: an absolutely stunning great object by Kelvin. And they both eat out of dog dishes: a perfectly super idea because they