Free Deep Water by Tim Jeal Page B

women was being poked and prodded into a fire by a posse of pitchfork-wielding devils. The sinners’ naked bodies were white and bulbous, as if the women were pregnant.
    To the right of the chancel arch stood a piano, presumably for use when the organ was out of commission. Andrea tried some notes and found that it was not badly out of tune. She was playing the opening bars of a Beethoven sonata when a woman emerged from a door to the right of the altar. Andrea stopped in mid-phrase.
    ‘So beautiful. I hope you don’t mind my asking whether you’re a professional?’ The woman was carrying a brass flower vase and a jug containing water. She wore a baggy green housecoat over her clothes.
    ‘I’m a teacher.’
    ‘We rarely hear good music down here. Are you visiting or staying longer?’
    Andrea told her she would be returning to Oxford at the end of the month. The woman moved closer. She had a clever face with inquisitive eyes. ‘My dear, if it’s any interest to you, the local school has a piano, paid for by an appeal – it’s much better than this poor creature. I’m sure the headmistress would be delighted if you would play to the children. They break up next week, like all the state schools.’
    ‘I can’t promise, but I’ll try.’
    ‘Splendid. Just tell her Mrs Jefferies suggested it. My husband’s the chairman of the governors, ex officio. He’s the vicar you see. And your name …?’
    Andrea introduced herself and they shook hands. Had this quietly spoken woman really had the nerve to rebuke Sally for her way of life? As Andrea was leaving the church, she spotted a rusty metal object fixed onto a pillar, and described beneathas ‘ A Gudgeon from the wreck of HMS Anson, in which perished 208 souls on 14th May 1784 .’ The way in which Leo popped into her thoughts like a surfacing cork made her wonder whether she ought to drive to the sailing club after all.
    *
    An easterly wind was blowing directly upstream from the sea, giving the boys a hard time as they tacked to the naval flotilla’s anchorage. But Leo still enjoyed hearing the strange plopping noises inside the centre-plate casing. With the boat heeling steeply, he asked Justin to sit up on the gunwale, which he did grudgingly.
    Shortly before his father had fallen ill, Leo had been taken sailing by him, and, though only nine at the time, had learned a great deal. But it was one thing to know the theory and quite another to carry it out in practice. Crucially, Leo did not know how the boat should ‘feel’. So, a vital consideration, such as how far he could safely allow her to heel over before spilling wind or heading up, worried him whenever they were tacking.
    While Leo was puzzling over what to do, Justin trailed his fingers in the water as if bored to death. This added insult to injury, since Leo was already irritated with him for insisting that they look at the warships. Leo would himself have preferred to land on a beach and laze about.
    ‘Ready about!’ shouted Leo, pushing the tiller across, but neglecting to say, ‘Lee ’o!’, since this traditional nautical announcement had already caused Justin too much amusement. ‘Leo says “Leo” becausehe loves his name. Leo says “Leo” because he’s fou .’
    On the new tack, they would surely manage to get round the next tree-covered point. Then they would be able to see whatever beastly grey ships were behind it, and then, with luck, forget the navy for the rest of their sail.
    ‘The gunboat’s back again,’ cried Justin triumphantly . ‘It must have done something in the night.’
    ‘A big job?’ suggested Leo. ‘Yuk!’
    ‘God, you’re an infant.’
    ‘You too. I’m going to go about before we reach them.’
    ‘No,’ screeched Justin. ‘I want to get as close as we can.’
    ‘No point. I can see from here that the two smaller boats aren’t there.’ Leo grinned. ‘Maybe they did a big job too, and are going to do another tonight.’ Justin gave him one of his