Free A Rather Curious Engagement by C. A. Belmond Page A

gave the yacht such an old-fashioned elegance. I could see that it had been lovingly furnished and carefully tended to meet high standards of excellence. As I assessed each piece I knew that the praise for Liesl’s Dream certainly was not exaggerated, and it might even be a bit under-valued.
    We examined the yacht from front to back—no, wait, that’s “fore-and-aft.” Since the boat was parked with its back-end (er, “aft”, also known as the “stern”) to the shore, we began with the “aft deck” which was a casual outdoor lounging area with teak steamer chairs covered with striped cushions, and matching little teak tables. A sliding mahogany door led us inside to the dining room—oops, dining “salon”—which was dominated by a large oval table whose surface was a painted, glazed “celestial map”, with all the stars and planets to guide you. A sideboard worked as a storage cupboard for the boat’s patterned silverware, and for the china dinnerware which was cream-colored, trimmed with maroon and gold, all securely nestled and strapped down in green felt padded pockets.
    From there, charming French doors opened onto the living room or “main salon” where we admired the wine-colored carpeting, mahogany cabinetry and panelling, and luxurious upholstered and leather chairs in shades of pale butterscotch and deeper caramel. This was the most elegant yet eccentric area of the boat, with 1920s light fixtures, including hurricane lamps mounted on the walls. Jeremy, fascinated, nudged my arm when he saw two matching wood-and-glass cupboards that were filled with an eclectic mix of seafaring items.
    "They’re called ‘cabinets of curiosities,’ ” I said. “They were all the rage in the 1700s among learned gentlemen who wanted to display their knowledge of botany and science and art, and show off what they found on their worldly travels.”
    The curio cupboards were illuminated with special lighting, and held a collection of maritime collectibles: a white and silver-plated cocktail shaker, shaped like a lighthouse, circa 1928; a model ship that was a replica of a Napoleonic prisoner-of-war vessel; a mid-eighteenth century pocket world globe “with fish skin case”; a compass in a leather pouch; a turn-of-the-century hourglass; vintage binoculars; an antique chess set carved out of wood; a Chinese figurine of a sailor’s head with a small clock in his cap; and a document box, with old seafaring maps.
    The main salon also had a low oval coffee table, its surface painted and glazed like the one in the dining salon, only instead of a “celestial” map, this one was a “terrestrial” map with an old-fashioned depiction of the earth’s seas and continents. And over in the corner was a wonderful antique gramophone mounted on a cupboard containing old records, mostly classical. This fascinated Jeremy, who loves music. “Is it a working Victrola?” he asked.
    Laurent nodded. He had been smiling indulgently at me and I realized that I had tarried among the little collection of antiques. He explained that the main salon was really the heart of the boat, with exits on all four sides. From here, you could go out sideways through either of two smaller “wing” doors that led to narrow decks called “side galleys” which ran along the boat, one on the “port” side (left) and the other on the “starboard” side (right). These narrow galleys made it possible to walk all around the perimeter of the boat from outdoors, circling along all its decks without ever coming inside.
    Or, you could, as we now did, proceed farther forward, through a door leading to the cocktail bar, which was fully outfitted with glasses, a small sink, a nicely polished bar and six high bar stools padded with faux zebra skin—the one funny touch to an otherwise subtle design. And from the bar, you could go out to the “fore deck” at the very front of the boat (a.k.a. the “bow” or “prow”).
    “Would you now like to go