And he had never said it to her, but it concerned him that he was twenty years older than she was. She was young enough to be his daughter, which seemed ridiculous to him. He never felt their age difference, but he had had his life, his children, his career, his marriage, and now he felt he had to atone for his sins. Indulging himself with a woman two-thirds his age, and dragging her around the world with him seemed as selfish as what he had done to Jane, and the egocentric life he had led, for which Alex could not forgive him. He knew he was doing the right thing in setting Maggie free when he left, and promising her nothing. If anything, he was going to urge her to forget him. His mind was full of thoughts of her, his heart eased with the warmth of her next to him, but he said nothing to her.
He was already up and dressed when she awoke the next morning. They had left the dock at eight o'clock, and the Molly B was already sailing. It was a bright June day, and as Maggie got up, it was odd to realize that she had woken up in Amsterdam the previous morning. She smiled to herself, thinking of it, like a delicious dream, and went to join Quinn on deck in her robe and nightgown.
“Good lord, what time is it? Where am I?” she asked as she squinted at him in the sunshine. Her tousled hair cascaded down her back, just the way he liked it. She looked scarcely older than his daughter, and wasn't. There were only eight years between Maggie and Alex, but Maggie seemed an entire generation older. She had suffered a great deal in her lifetime, particularly in recent years, which made her seem far more mature, and a great deal wiser, and more compassionate certainly, than his daughter.
“It's ten o'clock. This is San Francisco Bay, you'll notice the Golden Gate straight ahead, and I'm Quinn Thompson,” he teased her.
“Hello. I'm Maggie Dartman.” She played the game with him. “Didn't I meet you in Amsterdam? You're the owner of that fabulous yacht, Vol de Nuit.… or was I dreaming?” It all seemed like a dream now, but it wasn't.
“You must have been dreaming,” he assured her. The stewardess asked Maggie what she'd like for breakfast, and Maggie smiled at how spoiled she was getting. She turned to Quinn with a grin. “To think, I used to eat Hostess Twinkies and leftover hot dogs for breakfast.”
“Don't ever invite me over for breakfast. I'll stick to dinner.” He grinned at her.
“Good decision,” she said, as the stewardess handed her a cappuccino just the way she liked it. The crew of the Molly B were terrific. It was going to be tough getting used to real life again, when Quinn was gone. Because of the man, not the breakfast.
Quinn had already begun hiring his crew for Vol de Nuit. One was Italian, two were French, and the other seven crew members were British. He had hired John Barclay's captain from the Victory, after a letter he had received from him in April, asking if there might be a position for him. He had been following Vol de Nuit's progress with interest. Quinn had offered him the job as captain by return fax, and followed it up with a phone call. The man's name was Sean Mackenzie, and he was arriving in Amsterdam with the rest of the crew just before the sea trials in September. They were on schedule so far.
Maggie sat next to Quinn at the helm of the Molly B for the rest of the afternoon, and they got back to the dock at three o'clock, in time for Quinn to meet with his attorney. And before they left the boat, they agreed to spend the night on her again that evening. Both the boat and the man were becoming a dangerous habit for Maggie. The more time she spent with him, the harder it would be to see him leave in the beginning of October. He was coming back to San Francisco one last time after the sea trials, and then, she knew, it would be over. But she wouldn't allow herself to think of it, she had promised him that when he left, she would let him go without a murmur, and she had every intention of keeping her promise, no matter how hard for her, or how painful his absence. He was a gift that had come into her life unexpectedly, and when the gift was taken from her, as she knew it would be, she was going to be both gracious and graceful about it. It was all Quinn had ever asked of her, and she owed him that, or felt she did. It seemed to be her destiny to lose those she loved, to let them leave her life, no matter how costly to her.
“Are you all right?” Quinn asked her quietly, as one of the crew members drove them home, and she nodded. “You're very quiet.” He had sensed something in her silence, and he wasn't wrong, but she had no intention of sharing her thoughts with him about his departure.
“Just jet-lagged,” she said, smiling. “How about you?”
“I'm fine.” He was still ecstatic over his visit to Vol de Nuit, and invigorated by it. “I wish I didn't have to meet with the attorney. I should be home by seven.” They had left their bags on the boat, so she had nothing to unpack, and little to do until he came back to get her. Her life was very simple now, although she knew it would be busier once she went back to teaching in September. She was going back to work around the same time he left for the sea trials.
Jack was at the house when Quinn walked in, just finishing some work in the kitchen, and when he saw Quinn, he looked mournful.
“Something wrong?” Quinn asked with a worried frown, and Jack shook his head. He looked awful.
“I just finished.”
“Finished what?” Quinn asked, looking for his briefcase with the legal folders in it.
“Everything,” Jack said, and Quinn stopped and looked at him.