Page 1 of Deep Waters

Chapter One

By late October every year, the tourists left Nyemouth to holiday in the warmer climate of the Mediterranean and the Canary Islands. Making a living wasn’t easy in the winter months for the locals who relied on seasonal summer trade. From the start of autumn to the dying days of spring, Harry Renner was grateful for every private charter that came his way. Today was no exception. When the man had called to say he wanted to hire Harry and his boat for two full days of sightseeing, he didn’t care why. He took the booking.

Even better, this guy, Christian, wanted to take the boat on Monday and Tuesday. Harry had weekend bookings until the end of November, private fishing parties and afternoon seal-watching trips, but the weekday work was sparse this time of year.

They had spent the morning sailing north. Unlike most of the men who charteredThe North Star, Christian wasn’t interested in fishing. He’d asked Harry to show him the rugged coastline all the way up to Bamburgh Castle, more fascinated by the shore than any of the birds and wildlife Harry had pointed out. Harry had brought his cousin Tom along to crew the boat, but there had been almost nothing for him to do besides make tea and set out their lunches. All their client seemed interested in was taking photos of the land.

“We might have to put in an hour earlier than planned,” Harry shouted from his position in the wheelhouse.

Christian raised his eyes from his camera, a questioning expression on his face.

Harry pointed east at the heavy grey clouds, low on the horizon. “There’s bad weather coming.” The sky to their shore side was clear, but it wouldn’t last. He’d hoped the low-pressure front would hold off until the end of the day, but it looked to be coming faster than expected. If they were lucky, they would have another two hours. That would be enough time to turn the boat around and make it to the shelter of Nyemouth Harbour, but he doubted they had that long. The wind was already picking up, and he guessed things would get lumpy in the next sixty to ninety minutes. “The forecast for tomorrow is a lot better. We can make up for the time we lose today then—if that’s all right with you.”

Christian gave a curt nod.

He wasn’t much of a talker. He’d asked a lot of questions but had little to say for himself. When he’d turned up at the dock that morning, Christian Costner was not what Harry had expected. A lot of the men who booked private charters were of a type…arseholes. They would usually turn up with expensive fishing equipment, often brand new, in designer waterproofs and wearing their Rolex and TAG watches. They invariably brought along an entourage—the beta males to their alpha—guys beneath them they could show off to and lord it over. Harry wasn’t proud. If they had money to spend, he would take it—anything to put away for winter. For some reason, that was exactly what he’d expected of this guy.

Christian had turned up alone, which had been the first surprise. He wore jeans, a thick sweater and a regular jacket with no obvious designer label. Harry guessed he was in his early forties. There were lines around his eyes and more than a hint of grey in his short blond hair. His stubble was all grey. He was tall with a strong build and Nordic good-looks with pale eyes, a long, straight nose, sharp jawline and a wide, humourless mouth. There was something quite stern about him. He was handsome, no doubt, if Harry were into older guys, which he really wasn’t. His last boyfriend, at thirty-six, had been the oldest man Harry had ever been with. Still, Christian looked good for his age.

“You’re the captain,” Christian said, turning his camera back to the shore. “You know what’s best.”

Another surprise. Most private charters would bitch and moan the entire way home if Harry told them he’d have to cut the trip short because of bad weather—the same dudes who then turned green and threw up the beer they’d been drinking as soon as the sea turned choppy.

Well, he thought,whatever happens tomorrow, Christian is proving himself to be a near-perfect client.

Harry put the boat into a measured turn and headed south.

Christian had drunk nothing but bottled water or tea all day, and he didn’t look like the type who’d get sick in a swell, but it was better to be safe. Harry wanted to get him ashore before things turned ugly.

Tom climbed out of the tiny galley, where he’d been clearing away the lunch supplies. “Are we heading in already?”

Harry nodded. “Looks like it’s cutting in faster than forecasted. We’ll get a better shot tomorrow.”

Tom glanced to seaward and nodded before walking out onto the back deck. “Yeah, you can feel the swell is getting up.”

“We’ll get home before the worst of it,” Harry said, with more confidence than he felt.

At thirty-three, Tom was four years older than him, but for as long as he could remember, Harry had always been the more mature and level-headed of them.

Tom sauntered over to Christian, who put down his camera.

“So, what’s all this in aid of?” Tom asked. “Most people who hire the boat want to catch fish, not take pictures.

“Tom,” Harry warned, “that’s none of our business.” And to Christian, “Sorry.”

The older man gave a slight grin. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m doing research.”

“Research. What? You mean, for like, TV or something?”

Harry smiled. His cousin had never been the sharpest of men. Christian apparently took it in good nature.

“It’s for a book.”

“Oh, I don’t read much.” He shuffled his feet. “So, what’s your book about? Fishing?”

Christian shook his head. “No, not fishing. I’m not sure what it’s about. That’s why I’m here. I’m thinking about setting a story somewhere along this coast. Maybe in a town like Nyemouth. I don’t know yet.”

Tom looked at Harry, a goofy grin plastered across his face. “You hear that? He wants to write a book about Nyemouth.”

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