The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3) Read online

  ‘I didn’t think it was possible. But … well, in the end, it was a truly amazing experience.’

  He listens with sympathy in his green eyes and a knot of concern fixed on his brow, studying me carefully over his coffee cup again before clarifying his thoughts.

  ‘So, let me get this right, Maya. You are actually on your honeymoon. But alone?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. After Jon died, I decided I needed to do this and that it’s what he would have wanted.’ I suddenly realise this conversation is getting way too dark and intense, teetering on tackling the subject of my grief, so I quickly change the subject. ‘Henri, earlier, you mentioned that you have other commitments. I understand you live here in Hong Kong but what is it you do now? Are you still in banking?’

  ‘Oh, no. I took early retirement a couple of years ago. Now I have my boat. When I’m not practicing Tai Chi in the park, I’m sailing on the sea or I’m racing across the oceans looking for adventure!’ His green eyes shine with excitement when he mentions his boat and sailing.

  ‘It sounds like it could be rather dangerous adventuring to me!’ I exclaim.

  ‘Ah … but wine hath drowned more men than the sea.’ He quoted to me, still laughing.

  I laugh too. ‘Jules Verne?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Thomas Fuller.’

  My heart swells like a great wave. I do admire a man who knows how to quote great literature.

  I realise why Jon and Henri/Harry had been such good friends in the past. They were obviously very alike. Not physically, of course, as Jon had been smaller and neater in stature than his tall and wide-chested friend. But they were obviously both well-travelled and well-educated men and clearly they’d both had a penchant for adventure in their lives.

  ‘I imagine, based in Hong Kong, you’re ideally situated to sail anywhere?’

  ‘That’s absolutely right,’ he agrees. ‘In fact, I’ve got a sailing team arriving in a couple of days to help me skipper my rig in next weekend’s Blue Sea Classic Race. Experienced sailing crews will happily come in from all over the world to bag a big race like this one. Some of my team I’ve sailed with before and others come highly recommended. I’m racing to win this year.’

  I’m even more impressed. ‘And where is it you are racing to exactly?’ I ask him.

  ‘Across the China Sea from Hong Kong to Singapore.’

  My eyes shoot open at the mention of Singapore, as I’m in Singapore next weekend, too.

  ‘How long do you expect it will take you to sail there?’

  ‘Two days. We leave on Saturday and should arrive early on Monday morning.’

  ‘So it’s not just a hobby. You’re a competitive sailor?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. Do you like boats, Maya?’

  I laugh. ‘Well, I took the Star Ferry across the harbour to get here today. Does that count?’

  He laughs again. He really does have a delightful laugh. When his smile reaches the crinkled corners of his eyes, they twinkle the same way Jon’s had, and it makes my stomach flip.

  ‘Sure. That counts. Only, I was wondering, Maya, if perhaps you’d like to meet up again later this evening? Because, if you haven’t seen it yet, I’d like to show you our famous Symphony of Lights show. The very best place to see it is from a boat in the middle of the bay.’

  I’m taken aback by his kind offer. ‘Oh, wow. Thank you, that would be wonderful!’

  Henri looks pleased. With our coffee now finished, we stand to leave.

  He touches me lightly on the arm once again and I feel my heart quicken. Perhaps a rush of enthusiasm about seeing him again so soon?

  Why not? A charming friend of Jon’s would be an exciting companion to take me sightseeing.

  ‘Shall I pick you up from your hotel?’

  Suddenly, I was embarrassed about where I was staying. It was, I was sure, the most expensive hotel in the city, and for some reason I didn’t want Henri to make any assumptions about me. ‘Oh, no. There’s no need. Just tell me where and when and I’ll see you there.’

  ‘Okay. The Yacht Club at Causeway Bay at 7pm.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you there!’

  * * *

  I take the ferry back across to Hong Kong Island, gazing dreamily up at the skyscrapers on the harbour frontage and at the building that Henri had pointed out to me as the place where he and Jon had worked together. I see it’s now the HSBC building. I’m pleased about the prospect of seeing Henri again. But only, of course, I reason, because he is my connection to Jon here. Certainly not because he is incredibly attractive and he has his own boat.

  It was simply wonderful to talk with someone who knew Jon years before I did.

  I wonder what I should wear tonight? What on earth do people wear on boats? It was warm and humid at night and so perhaps I’d only need something light. But then it might be cooler and breezy out on the water? I decide on my white trousers and my cashmere V-neck sweater. Classic but casual.

  I wonder what Henri’s boat might look like.

  What did I know about boats? Nothing at all. In fact, other than this ferry boat, I can’t recall ever being on one before now.

  Looking down from Victoria Peak this morning, I’d seen some extravagant looking vessels in the water between the islands and in the marina. If Henri is into boat racing, then he might have a sleek speed boat with fast engines or perhaps even one with great voluminous sails. Whatever type or size Henri’s boat turned out to be, one thing was for sure, tonight was going to be a wonderful experience and I was looking forward to it very much.

  * * *

  Back at the hotel, I take a long decadent bubble bath to soothe my tired and aching legs, sore from walking so many miles today. I wash my hair and, having worn it pulled back today in a ponytail, leave it loose and carefree for tonight. The high humidity was making my naturally curly hair lie in tousled coils and I’ve decided not to fight it. I simply apply a slick of pink lip gloss and a flick of mascara, before slipping into my flat-soled plimsoles.

  After glancing at my reflection in the ever-so-flattering bathroom mirror, I’m ready to go. But, suddenly and unexpectedly, I started feeling somewhat uncomfortable and nervous.

  About what, I ask myself? Henri? His boat? Because Jon has been dead only three weeks and this felt like I was going out on a date?

  I give my reflection a stern glare, point a finger, and speak to it out loud.

  ‘This isn’t a date. I’m actually doing this for you, Jon!’

  As I ride the elevator down to the lobby, I tell myself – and therefore Jon – that tonight I would simply be enjoying the company of a new old friend on his boat while seeing the much-anticipated light show in the harbour. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

  When I reach the lobby, I ask the concierge about calling a taxi for the ten-minute ride down to the marina. But this time, rather than a taxi, she absolutely insists on bringing around one of the hotel’s complimentary green Rolls Royces for me and just moments later it glides up to the door. I’m told it’s all part of the service and a perk of staying in the hotel and she wouldn’t hear otherwise.

  I can’t help but feel embarrassed because, once again, I felt like a terrible imposter climbing into such a luxurious car.

  What would Henri think when he saw my grand entrance? Would he consider me showy and pretentious arriving in a signature Rolls Royce? And it was such an ostentatious giveaway as to exactly where I was staying since the hotel’s logo is on display on the side of the car. Would he think I was insanely rich or in some way trying to impress him?

  As the car draws through the gates of the marina in the half light of dusk, I catch sight of a tall, dashingly handsome man in a pair of pale chino shorts and a blue polo shirt, and see it’s Henri. I peer through the darkened car window and am immediately distracted by how very different he looks out of his white-silk-pyjama outfit.

  He meets me at the kerbside and has opened the door before the driver even has a chance.

&n
bsp; I feel myself blushing as he looks at me in the same appreciative way I’d looked at him.

  ‘Good evening, Maya!’ He kisses me on both sides of my flushed face in the French style, momentarily grazing my hot cheeks with his smoothly shaven jaw, while at the same time offering up an intoxicating whiff of his zesty cologne.

  ‘Good evening, Henri. So nice to see you again and on such a lovely night.’

  He escorts me towards the marina, to the dock where he said his boat was moored.

  We walk along a wooden walkway past lots of impressive looking boats. Some are enormous, modern, sleek yachts and some are catamarans with huge sails.

  We walk past all these luxurious vessels right to the very end of the dock where I spot a small wooden boat. When we stop at its mooring, Henri gestures to the little boat with a nod and a smile. And, I must admit, it wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting.

  To me, this didn’t look like a race boat. It had neither big engines nor large sails.

  To me, this looked like an old tugboat, with its battered livery and oily mooring ropes.

  I gaze at it for a moment, wondering what to say about it. For some reason, this boat reminds me of The African Queen – the old wooden boat from the movie of the same name that starred Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart (it had been my mum’s favourite film and so was one of mine too) – except this boat was sitting so low in the water I feared it had actually sprung a leak and might be sinking. Good heavens!

  ‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ he prompts, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of my praise.

  Should I perhaps admit that I’d been expecting something more erm … seaworthy?

  ‘She’s very … nice,’ I tell him, thinking my white trousers will soon be ruined.

  Henri bursts into peals of laughter and I realise he was having me on. This was a joke.

  ‘This actually isn’t your boat at all, is it?’ I clarify, waving my finger.

  ‘No. It’s not. I’m sorry, Maya. It was a bit naughty of me. But when I saw this old cruiser, I couldn’t resist!’

  ‘Well, for a minute there, you had me worried for your seafaring safety at the weekend!’

  As it turned out, Henri’s boat was one of the ones we’d already walked past, a sleek, modern yacht with an expansive teak deck, gleaming bodywork and two huge white sails flapping above us in the warm evening breeze.

  Henri’s boat is called Super Typhoon.

  ‘Well, I do feel you have more chance of winning with this one. She’s impressive.’

  ‘She’s a performance cruising yacht. Built for beauty and speed,’ he tells me proudly.

  And, like a true gentleman, he holds my hand and guides me carefully across the gangplank.

  ‘Let me give you the grand tour,’ he offers and together we stand in the mid-section, below the main mast with its vast sail, where there’s a comfortable open seating area.

  Towards the back of the boat, I can see a huge steering wheel and a high-tech instrument board. The rest of the deck extends out towards the narrowest point at the front.

  Everything, from the deck to the rails, looks immaculately clean and highly polished. I would never have imagined that a racing boat would be so beautifully accommodated. There’s even a small but perfectly equipped galley kitchen. As we investigate a gangway, I pop my head into lots of small cabins containing single crew beds as well as a few larger sized bedrooms with en-suite facilities, double beds, wardrobes, and even plush sofas.

  It’s incredible. ‘So, do you actually live on here all the time?’ I enquire.

  ‘Yeah. This is home for me. I sold my apartment two years ago to buy her.’

  ‘Well, it’s fabulous Henri!’

  ‘Come on. Let’s go back up on deck. It’s time to cast off. The sun’s almost down.’

  Henri suggests I stand with him at the helm when we set sail. Except, I didn’t quite anticipate how much the boat would roll and pitch and rock about in the water, and soon I’m feeling a bit strange. ‘Erm, I’m afraid I feel a bit dizzy,’ I reluctantly admit to him.

  Oh, how embarrassing! I’ve only been on this boat a short while and I’m already feeling quite ill.

  Henri looks at me with kindly concern as I stagger over to the seating area, to sit eyeing the water slapping against the side of the boat, worrying that I might actually throw up.

  ‘You do look a bit green about the gills. Do you always get seasick?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ I wail. ‘Like I said earlier, I’ve only ever been on the Star Ferry.’

  ‘Well, right now, there’s a swell because we’re at cross-currents entering the harbour,’ he explains. ‘Sit tight. I promise we’ll be in flat water soon and you’ll be back to feeling okay!’

  He looks like a man who keeps his promises. So I try to relax, and not to feel so sick.

  It’s horribly disconcerting to feel everything in the world around me moving.

  Once we enter the harbour, where I can see the Star Ferry boats still going back and forth across the straits between the Tsim Sha Tsui Pier and Kowloon Island, and the larger tourist boats jostling for a good position to see the light show, the water was indeed much calmer and there’s so much going on around us that I’m distracted from feeling wobbly.

  I see the big old tourist junk with its indigo red sails that I’d watched from my window last night, incredibly rowdy and crowded tonight. I realise and appreciate how fortunate I am to have such a special view of the show from Henri’s yacht.

  When Henri is satisfied that we’re in a prime position, he drops anchor and quickly produces a small tray of aperitifs from the galley, opening a bottle of Champagne that he’d had chilling. I’m so excited as he pops the cork and offers me a foaming flute.

  Never in my wildest dreams would I ever have expected to come to Hong Kong and experience this kind of fabulousness and luxury. I’d known from Jon’s itinerary that I was staying in the oldest five-star hotel in the city but never would I have expected to be standing on a luxury yacht in the harbour with a very handsome consort and a glass of Bollinger in my hand. Once again, I have to pinch myself to check this is real and not a dream.

  To think that this time last year Jon had yet to walk into my office and my life.

  I’d been working nine to five in that stuffy office, feeling trapped and dissatisfied with my life, imagining an alternative life abroad and spinning the globe on my desk while dreaming of travel and adventure. All the while knowing nothing of how things would eventually turn out for me.

  Of course, I still don’t know how things will turn out for me, but I’m determined to take the advice of Swami Nanda and make this all about opening my heart and having faith in the future.

  I’ve decided I’m going to take one day and one adventure at a time and seize every moment.

  ‘Henri, I want to thank you. This is really fantastic and so much fun!’ I tell him gratefully.

  ‘Well, Maya, if you don’t mind me saying, I think you might need a little fun in your life.’

  I take in his raised eyebrows and his raised glass and I have to agree with him.

  ‘Then let’s drink to having fun!’ I say as we toast and sip from our champagne flutes.

  In that moment, at exactly 8pm, the sky lights up and my breath is taken away as the spectacle around us starts with a booming and melodious musical creation that Henri tells me was composed especially for this show by the Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra. The whole of the harbour area is a giant musical stage. My eyes are dazzled with lights as I gaze up at the far-reaching streams of light being beamed vertically into the sky, where they brighten the darkness and the clouds above us, highlighting their silver linings. Moments later, more laser beams are projected into myriad dancing, changing colours to pulse and bounce across the water on to the buildings surrounding where the lights leap and burst to the choregraphed musical score. It’s incredibly uplifting and I watch in childlike wonder while gasping with delight.

  If this happe
ns here every night then I can only imagine what happens on New Year’s Eve!

  Time seems to stand still while I pause next to Henri on the gently swaying deck.

  When I turn in excitement to point something out to him, I see that he seems more interested and amused in watching me watching the show, than in watching the show himself.

  I suppose that’s because he must have seen it all a million times before.

  Whereas I hardly dared to blink in case I missed a second of it.

  Just then a giant explosion of light and a booming crescendo of sound signalled that the spectacle was over for another night and the sound of the music was replaced by the sound of cheers from both of us and from those all around us.

  ‘I’m guessing you enjoyed it?’ Henri chuckles. ‘Your eyes were so wide that you reminded me of that song ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’!’

  I blink to try and clear my speckled vision from all the reflected residual light.

  ‘Oh, so you’re a Beatles fan, too?’ I ask, recognising another similarity to Jon.

  Henri tops up my Champagne glass. ‘Yes. Actually, it was Jon who got me into The Beatles. I remember he had all their songs on vinyl and eight-track tapes. He was a big fan.’

  I raise my glass again. ‘What shall we drink to next?’

  ‘Let’s drink to friendship,’ Henri suggests, looking me in the eyes with great sincerity.

  I nod and smile and happily chink my glass against his once more. ‘To friendship.’

  Once we’ve finished our drinks, Henri begins steering the boat back around to the marina.

  I’m sad that the show only lasted ten minutes. I’d wanted it to go on and on.

  Now that the water is calmer, and I’m buoyed up on happiness and alcohol, I’m really enjoying myself, and can’t seem to get enough of staring at the lights and colours of the illuminated cityscape. Henri explains to me that the harbour gets dangerously crowded at this time of night with so many boats around. And I can see this is true. The bigger commercial vessels are now blasting their horns at the smaller private pleasure-boats. Some of them are hosting booze cruises and others are darting around on what look like collision courses with the Star Ferries. We make our exit from the waters of the harbour slowly and this time I stand beside Henri at the helm as we head back to the marina, chatting and reminiscing about Jon again. Or rather, I did, as a result of Henri’s mention of The Beatles.