Ten Days at Sea

She reached out and took the HP sauce bottle from a totally stunned Pierre, whose mouth was still open, with no words coming out, and then emptied it over the meatloaf on the tray, then took the pepper and dumped a bunch of that on it too.

"Right, that should do it," she said, dusting her hands against each other. "You fellas, give that a try, see what you think?" she said to the other two, equally stunned crewmen, gesturing at the meatloaf. And then she turned and sat down with Brett, smiling broadly.

Bret suddenly paused in his recounting, suddenly realizing who he was relating this story to -- they were her children after all. He stole a look at Amelia, who was sitting, open mouthed, reminiscent of how Pierre looked. Glancing at Bradly, he noticed that Bradly was fighting to keep a straight face. Looking back at Amelia, confused, Brett noticed she was shaking too.

Suddenly Amelia let out a massive belly laugh, and Bradly joined her a split second later. The two of them fell about, laughing in the kind of way people do when they simply can't control it.

Brett just sat there, looking at them, wondering what was going on in those heads of theirs.

Eventually, Amelia, wiping her eyes, said, "Sorry, Dad. Yeah, I know, a bit risqué for dear old Mum, right? But, when you know Mum, that sounds exactly like something she'd do, right brother?"

"Oh god, yes," replied Bradly, wiping his own face. "That's Mum, down to a T. Remember the calendar?"

Brett sat there, feeling quite left out, blank expression on his face.

"So, did you ever hear about that film with the women of the women's institute, who made a nude calendar? It had Helen Mirren and Julie Waters in it? No? It was a big thing in the UK. Based on a true story, about a bunch of old biddies who make a nudie calendar in order to make money for a local hospital. Well, when Mum saw that, she couldn't be stopped. She had all the local women's organizations posing nude at the estate within the week. Dad just shook his head and left for the stables, not wanting to have anything to do with it. Mum did it all, and even posed. She put out four calendars a year for the next seven years, and earned the local charities almost half a million pounds doing it. That's who Mum is. So, your story, well, it's absolutely on par for her. Color us entirely unsurprised."

Brett sat, considering the story. He could well believe it. And now he was wondering how to ask if the kids still had any of those calendars...

"Sorry," said Bradly. "We didn't mean to interrupt. Please, carry on."

Clearing his throat, Brett continued.

Later that day, feeling much refreshed, Brett suggested a walk around the ship.

"You mean, we can go all the way around? Those big boxes aren't in the way?" asked Fiona.

"Well, they are fairly intrusive, but no, there's a walk way all the way around," explained Brett. "It gets a bit narrow in the bows, but it is open. Some of the crew use scooters to get around, in fact."

"How long is it?" asked a curious Fiona.

"Almost exactly one fifth of a mile, all the way around," replied Brett.

"So, five times around is a mile?" Fiona was sounding more excited by the second. "I could run around?"

"Well, yes, I do that regularly. Much nicer than the treadmill in the gym."

"Wait. Stop. You have a GYM on this boat?" exclaimed Fiona, excitedly, stopping in her tracks, and thumping a foot down.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's much. A multi-gym machine, some free weights, a treadmill. Not much..."

"I had to make do with this stupid bow flex thing on the boat. Way too cramped and not very good, but the most I could take on the ship. I had it mounted on the hull at the front. It was... not good. But best I could get. A real gym. Oh yes. I can run. Wait... can we go back to the storage room first?"

"Take me there, RIGHT NOW," said Fiona, emphatically, grabbing Brett by the shirt.

Brett nodded, and guided her back to the storage area.

Fiona dug into the boxes and suddenly shouted with glee. "Aha!"

"There we go!" she yelled, triumphantly, holding up two tennis shoes. "All set! Now we can run together!"

Brett was a little dubious. "You've just had a life or death experience, Fiona, and your body is recovering. I don't think the gym is necessarily..."

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," she said, ignoring him and doing more rummaging in her boxes. "I understand. I'll take it easy," she continued, in a voice that indicated she would do no such thing at all.

"Right," she said a few minutes later, her arms full of what looked like workout clothes, and was that a sports bra? "Now, show me this gym," she demanded.

They went, she ohhed and ahhed for some moments, then put on her shoes, and tried the treadmill for a few minutes, tired quickly, then tried a few free weights. Brett just sat and watched, understanding that any warnings he would give would be ignored anyway, since that was the kind of girl Fiona was. She'd learn pretty quickly anyway.

Five minutes into a small weight's regime, Fiona suddenly slowed, and gingerly put the weights down.

"Well, that hurts. Guess the working out on the boat, such as it was, wasn't hitting the spot," she said, breathing heavily.

"Or it could be the lack of decent nutrition and distinct lack of water over the past few days too, you never know," replied Brett, sarcastically. "But what would I know? Not being a doctor and all."

He got a mock glare from Fiona, and then she said, in a much smaller voice, "Perhaps I should take it a bit easier. Sorry, Brett. Just... so excited to be among all the things I've missed for the past couple of months. Being alone and on a small boat like that... well..."

There was a lot unspoken in that last statement, and Brett decided that he'd do his best to act as confessor and psychiatrist, to the best of his ability. Fiona was putting on a front, to cover her own terror at what she'd been through, that much was obvious. But he wasn't trained in this, and as such, the best thing he could be to her was a friend and sounding board, so she might get over her own demons.

"Let's get you back to your room. Pick up something to eat on the way, and then you should take a nap. Your body needs sustenance and rest."

Fiona looked at him, curiously. "Did you just say 'Sustenance', and use it in a sentence?" she demanded, after twenty seconds of silent staring.

Brett just nodded, suddenly embarrassed.

"You Americans, always a surprise," she muttered, moving to the door.

They picked up a small sandwich snack and Fiona was yawning by the time they got back to her room. "Actually..." yawn "...now that you mention it...I am feeling quite tired."

Brett nodded. All classic delayed shock symptoms. She needed sleep more than anything.

As they reached her door, she stopped abruptly, turned and reaching up on her toes, gave Brett a kiss on his cheek. "You really are a dear, aren't you? Looking after me so nicely. Don't you have anything else you should be doing? A shift or be on duty or something?"

Brett nodded. "I have a shift later tonight, when you'll be asleep. It's pretty easy, basic bridge duty. Nothing exciting."

"Oh. You aren't at my beck and call then?"

"Oh I am. As much as I can be. When I'm not on duty, I'm all yours." Brett regretted the phrasing of the last sentence the moment it left his lips. Fiona, it appeared, picked up on it.

"Well then. That's enough to give a girl ideas, sailor," she said, giving him a very saucy wink."Wake me in a bit?"

"Certainly. Anything else you need?"

"I wish I had my tapes...and my player," she said, after a moment of considering. "Probably at the bottom of the deep blue sea right now, though," she continued, sadly. "Oh well. No point in crying over spilt milk. Time to make do. See you in a bit." And she yawned again, and it struck Brett suddenly that this woman could make even yawning attractive, and as such, she was probably highly dangerous goods to be around.

Brett stopped narrating for a moment, and looked into uncomprehending faces.

"Tapes," he said, "Cassette tapes. Small Walkman player. You know. We used to record albums onto them, or make mix tapes of different tracks. This is all happening at a time when CDs had just come into being, and your mother hadn't caught up with the new hotness at that time."

Amelia nodded, knowledgeably, once she understood. "Those are the things you used to use a pencil to roll the little rollers around, right? When the tape came out of the cassette thingy?"

"Yeah, you got it. At the time, we used to have boom boxes -- big old box with a tape player and a radio and big old speakers at either end. Most people had one, they took those huge batteries."

"Well, thank god we use iPods now, eh bro?" said Amelia, grinning at her brother. "Bloody dark ages!"

"Don't let your mother hear that," admonished Brett. "I don't know her that well, but I know she loved her music and her mix tapes."

"Yeah, don't we know it," sighed Bradly. "She's still making mix tapes on CDs and now on her iTunes account. Still totally stuck in the 1980's too. I mean, who the hell is 'kag a goo goo' anyway?" he asked to no one in particular, disgustedly.

Brett had a little chuckle and then went back to his story.

Fiona slept, and while she did, Brett went by the storage compartment, and did a more thorough inspection of what had been salvaged. He found a few things that he thought would make Fiona happy, and gathered them up, then went to the laundry room, to collect her now cleaned and dried things. Face red with embarrassment, he grabbed a basket and collected them all together, and took them back to his room, praying he wouldn't run into any of the crew. Explaining why he had a basket that contained women's underwear was not something he'd relish.

Once he'd dropped that off, he sat in the medical bay, doing a long overdue stock check. Glancing at the time, he'd noticed three hours had passed, so he stood, stretched, and headed off to the galley to get some hot food. He found Pierre, doing his usual "I'm better than everyone else" act, and grabbed a couple of plates of his chicken pot pie, a couple of cokes and wandered back down to Fiona's room.

He knocked on the door, balancing the plates with the other hand, and had to wait for a moment before a yawning, disheveled Fiona opened the door.

"Ohhh, hot food! What do we have here?" she exclaimed, spying the plates.

"Chicken pot pie. Not very good I'm afraid, but its fresh and it's hot and it'll do you good," he replied, handing her a plate.

"What, no diet coke?" she asked, holding up the coke can.

"I'm sure we... I could..." replied Brett, rising.

"No, no, I'm just ragging you. Don't get up. I'm just burning your wick," exclaimed Fiona, hastily. "Trust me, I could probably do with the sugar," she added, popping open the can and taking a long draft. Then she looked over at Brett and started singing, hilariously off key, "I'd like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony..." Before cracking herself up and giggling like a little girl.

"Oh, come on, that was funny," she admonished a stone-faced Brett, who was doing his best not to laugh.

Brett allowed a small smile to play across his face, and then, very soberly and with studied nonchalance, he picked up a small carrot from his plate, and threw it at Fiona.

She sat there, mouth open, the carrot sticking to her nose. "Did you just...?" She said, in disbelief.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he retorted, now focusing on his plate, using the fork he'd brought with him to scoop up some pie. "Yum. You should eat yours, while it's hot."

Fiona kept staring at him, and then, with as much grace as she could, she took the carrot off her nose and ate it.

"Oh, it's so on. I would throw this entire plate at you, but I'm hungry and I need the, what's the word? Oh yes, I need the 'sustenance'. But don't you think for one second this is over, buster. Not by a long chalk. You'll get yours. Believe it. I spent four years at Beneden girls' school, mate, and we know how to get even." And with that, she scooped up some of her own pie.

They ate in silence for the next ten minutes, until both had cleaned their plate. Brett could see Fiona staring at her plate, gears moving.

He reached in and took the plate, murmuring, "Pierre would kill us both if this got broken, so I'll just take that."

Brett was enjoying having Fiona off balance for a change. He could tell she wanted to one up him and honestly, he'd probably let her. It was good for her soul, some simple pranking.

"Let me take these back, and then I have something for you," he said, standing to take the plates back to the galley.

"A present? For me? Oh sir. You do know how to flatter a girl. More carrots, I presume?" Her sarcasm was thick and well laid.

He snorted, and wandered out, taking the plates with him. When he got back, he stopped by his cabin and grabbed the basket before returning to her room.

"Knock knock," he said, opening the door, realizing as he did so, that was probably inappropriate. She was lying on the bed, head in one hand, looking, well, frankly, radiant. He mentally kicked himself again. He had no business thinking that, even if she did look it, bruises and all.

"Here," he said, handing her the basket, while keeping the other hand behind his back.

"Ohhh, laundry. My, Mr. Bell, you certainly know how to sweep a girl off her feet with gifts like that. Good thing I'm already flat on my back, eh? Or I might have sprained it, swooning."

"Yeah yeah yeah," replied Brett, grinning at her. "That's not the gift. This is. Tada!" and he brought his other hand from his back, holding her Walkman, headphones and a small box that contained a bunch of cassette tapes.

"Oh my god! My Walkman!!" exclaimed Fiona, suddenly very excited. She jumped up, throwing the basket aside. "Oh, I could kiss you! In fact..."

She then threw her arms around him and gave him a big smack on the lips, on tip toe to reach him. It was obviously intended just as a quick peck, but somehow, they stayed in that pose for at least ten seconds, four or five seconds longer than was really comfortable. Then she jerked back, looking him dead in the eye, neither one of them knowing what to do next. And then she grabbed him again, and gave him a longer kiss, harder, and of the kind normally reserved for long time boyfriends or husbands.

It was possibly the best, most unexpected kiss of Brett's life -- something he'd been thinking about for the past day at least, and never expected to happen. He was aware this was someone else's wife, but for that second, it just didn't matter.

When they broke the kiss, Fiona stepped back, flushed and breathing heavily.

"Sorry, I...sorry. Just...so glad to get my tapes back," she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"Yes," coughed Brett, not really knowing what to say himself. "We found them in this plastic box -- looks like it was water proof. So we grabbed them. When you mentioned your tapes, I did think we might have got them. So... I went and looked a bit harder..."

And that was as far as he got, when Fiona just pulled him back into a kiss, this time pulling his head down to meet hers. This kiss went on longer, and involved tongue, and it was the kind of kiss that curled your toes. Brett had never had one like it, and it was something he vowed to get more often, never having realized it could be like this.

With his hands full, all he could do was put his arms around her and draw her in even more than she already was.

Eventually, they had to come up for air, and again, they broke apart, both breathing heavily, staring at each other, wondering what had just happened.

"I..." he started to stammer, aware he needed to break the awkward silence.

"No, I...Look, I'm sorry. Must be something to do with the concussion," Fiona said, hurriedly.

Brett, wisely, didn't point out that she didn't have a concussion.

"It's fine. Frankly, that's the best kiss I've had all year. Any year," he replied, trying to be nonchalant, to let her off the hook.

There was a considered silence, Fiona looked at him with a small bemused smile on her face. Brett took the opportunity to break the eye contact and put down her Walkman and tapes on the table next to them.

"Oh yeah?" She asked, breathlessly. Brett was suddenly aware that this wasn't over, as he turned back to her. She was, for god's sake, interested. She wasn't regretting it, she was now actively considering teasing him. This was not good. It was very very good and terrible at the same time.

"Well then," she said, pushing herself back into his personal space, and slowly running her hand over his crotch, a nail dragging across his somewhat outlined dick in his pants. "If that's the best kiss you've had all year, I wonder what this would do for you?"

If Brett wasn't already stiff as a board in his slacks, he was now. Painfully so. And also very aware of the fact that she was someone else's wife. British Aristocracy, at that. With an intense amount of effort, he stepped back, taking her hand gently and moving it.

"Lady Fiona," he said lowly, doing his best to try and make her understand that this was not okay. Or, worse still, more than okay, but a stunningly bad idea for him, "I really think..."

She just started laughing. "Oh, get over yourself. Believe me, it wasn't going to go any further," she said, teasingly. It wasn't a mean tone, just a teasing one. "I know it's wrong, and I just wanted to get a rise out of you."

Then she lowered her gaze, licked her lips suggestively, and then said in breathy tone, "And it looks like I did, too."

Brett had to get out of that room, right there and then, or he'd risk having an accident. And that was NOT going to happen. He needed to get to his cabin RIGHT THEN or... bad things would happen. Things he would never live down.

"Ma'am," he nodded at her, back tracking as fast as he could, and almost stumbling over the door jam, seeing her amused look on her face as he basically ran away.

He left the cabin, shutting the door, then leaned up against the wall next to the entrance, breathing heavily and wondering what he'd done in a past life to deserve this. Oh, that evening was going to be a lively one in his cabin, for sure. Did he have any hand lotion left?

He got back to his cabin just in time for his phone to buzz, indicating that the captain needed the Lady Fiona up in the bridge, since the call she needed had been arranged, and the people to be called were waiting.

He groaned, shrugged and went back to her cabin, knocking on her door.

"Yes?" he heard her call as she opened the door, looking sweaty and a little bedraggled and just generally very sexy -- watch it!

"The call is ready for you. You can take it here," he gestured at her phone, "Or up in the bridge. Up to you."

She stared at him for a moment, then made a snap decision.

"Down here is fine. Can you ask the captain to pipe it down? Thank you, Brett."

Brett just nodded and turned back to his cabin. He called the captain, and then sat down, wondering how that call was going.

The next day, Brett was up early, despite having done his shift of four-hour bridge time. Brett had learned early in his naval career that you take naps when you can, and not to expect a solid eight hours every night. He, like all merchant seamen, could exist off cat naps taken when he was able.

He stood outside Fiona's cabin door, wondering what she had in store for him that day, and entreating the lord to, 'let me get through the day without embarrassing myself', he raised his hand to knock on the door.

He never got the chance to actually make contact as the door flew open and Fiona bounded out, almost knocking him over. She was in a tight white outfit, T-shirt with open arm holes, some kind of sports bra underneath, tight pants and what looked like ankle warmers on her feet, rounded off with white sneakers on her feet.