The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3) Page 24

  I’m grateful to her for being so helpful and forthcoming and I tell her to call me Maya. Then I thank her profusely once again and repeat my phone number.

  She hurriedly explains to me how she’s solely reliant on updates from the rescue teams involved and how, while they do appreciate loved ones need information it’s also important they give priority to the task at hand. I’m just about to hang up when she suddenly says ‘wait!’ followed by nothing but an eerie silence.

  I fear we’ve been cut off. ‘What? Wait? Are you still there?’

  ‘Maya, I’ve just received news of the Super Typhoon!’ she says quite breathlessly.

  She no longer sounds automated. She sounds excited.

  ‘Henri and his crew are safe and well and the vessel is intact and seaworthy. They just lost their radio communication after being flooded. They’re reported to be assisting in the rescue mission of a drifting vessel called Blue Moon. That’s all I have right now. But I’ll call you back as soon as I know more. Oh, thank goodness. They are all safe!’

  My relief is palpable. All I can think about is the fact that Henri is safe and helping to rescue the stricken Blue Moon. He’s a hero.

  * * *

  I don’t sleep over the next few hours of darkness. I drink coffee. I give thanks for the news of Henri and I lie on the bed with my phone by my side and the TV on while tuned into either the news or the weather channel in order to try to stay updated.

  At six o’clock in the morning, just as the sun is coming up, my phone rings.

  I almost jump out of my skin in alarm and anticipation.

  It’s the lady at the Blue Sea Classic Race HQ offices in Hong Kong.

  ‘Maya, I have good news. I’ve just heard that Henri and his crew, together with the crew of the Blue Moon and another drifting yacht called Ocean Challenger, are safe and sound and are now all heading in calm waters towards Singapore. Estimated arrival time is said to be around ten-thirty this morning!’

  I hear myself give a high-pitched squeal. It’s a completely involuntary response.

  ‘Oh, thank you. That is so fantastic to hear. What is your name by the way?’

  ‘It’s Jennifer. You’ll usually find me on the reception desk at the Hong Kong Yacht Club. I know Henri well but I didn’t know he was engaged. I look forward to meeting you, Maya. Maybe we can go for a cup of coffee or something stronger?’

  ‘Sure. Thanks Jennifer. I’ll look forward to it.’

  Oh dear, another terrible lie. How can I possibly explain myself to her? And, if she knows Henri well, then what if she mentions I claimed to be his fiancée?

  ‘And, Maya …’

  ‘Erm, yes?’

  ‘Give Henri a hug from all of us here at the club. Tell him we are all very proud of him.’

  The thought of hugging Henri again has me at the quayside at 9am. I simply couldn’t wait around at the hotel any longer. When I arrive, I see it’s a good thing I set out early because the harbour front is already crowded with press and media.

  TV station crews are setting up their camera equipment and news reporters are speaking with great authority into their microphones about how they are waiting in anticipation of welcoming home ‘the victims of the most unexpected storm in sailing history’.

  News anchors have rushed over from their studios in the city centre to be here on the quayside too and they are relaying to their audiences all the terrifying facts about known losses and casualties while newspaper journalist are interviewing bystanders.

  I pitch myself on the edge of a crowd of families and friends who have gathered in the warm, early morning sunshine ready to welcome home their precious loved ones, but there’s no escaping the storm of news coverage that is going on all around us.

  ‘The Office of Meteorology in Hong Kong heavily defends its position this morning after failing to predict one of the most aggressive storms ever to have formed in the South China Sea. The storm, which quickly developed into a ‘super typhoon’ enveloped the Hong Kong to Singapore Blue Sea Classic Race. Only three of the thirty-two yachts that set out from Hong Kong almost two days ago are now expected to finish the race. We still haven’t had confirmation about those known to be missing and therefore cannot report or speculate at this point.’

  I stare out to sea, focusing my eyes and my hope-filled aspirations on the horizon line, anxious to see the three boats and their white sails the moment they appear. All around me the incessant narrative from the reporters continues.

  ‘A storm alert was issued five hours into the forty-eight-hour race with a low-pressure warning and wind predictions for up to fifty-five knots or around one hundred kilometres an hour. At that time, the consensus amongst the competitors and the race administration was that the predicted storm would be short lived and the wind speeds were well within safe sailing parameters. Unbeknownst to anyone, the competitors were sailing straight into the path of a storm that literally blew in out of nowhere, causing twenty-metre-high waves, and wind speeds double those predicted, which capsized boats, snapped masts, knocked out communications and swept many sailors overboard.’

  ‘Seventeen yachts retired early from the race and found a safe haven in a small Vietnamese harbour. Twelve yachts are known to have capsized or sunk. Other crew members have been rescued from the sea or from life rafts.’

  ‘We are here at the harbour in Singapore awaiting the arrival of the only three yachts known to have survived the most powerful super typhoon ever recorded in this part of the South China Sea. Weather forecasters had not indicated anything untoward in short-range weather patterns and the question now is why this super typhoon wasn’t detected earlier.’

  One reporter had latched on to the fact that Henri’s boat was named Super Typhoon and suggested that naming it as such was ‘crazy, irresponsible, and a bad omen’.

  I have to move away. I can’t stand to listen to any more.

  I’d been feeling so overjoyed this morning, knowing I’d see Henri again.

  I’d been so sure that my divine wishes and my desperate prayers had been heard and answered. But now, realising how many people have been hurt and traumatised, and knowing it could have so easily been Henri who had been lost overboard, it’s all rather too much.

  A fleet of ambulances has arrived to assist those injured onboard the three incoming yachts.

  I wonder if this is an indication that they’ll be arriving back soon?

  Suddenly there’s a great cheer from all those waiting.

  I jump up and down to see through all the people now standing in front of me trying to catch a glimpse of the first sighting of sails. And then suddenly there they are.

  I hardly dare to blink in case they disappear again.

  Eventually they come into full view, getting larger and larger as they approach the shore.

  I forget my fears about what might have been because right now all that matters to me is that Henri is safe and I’ll soon see him again. The memory of his face, his smile, his last kiss, and the final words we spoke to each other as we parted at the pier haunt me. But in seeing his face again, I know I can replace them with new and happier memories.

  I watch as the three yachts limp rather than sail into the harbour to great applause and an awful lot of tears. I see how the Super Typhoon is flanked by the other two yachts, as they sail slowly, side by side, towards what was still being considered the finish line.

  The canvas sails on all three boats look tattered. Clearly, there was a lot of damage to their main frames, but the crew onboard are all waving, yelling, and looking ecstatic to see their families on the quayside waiting to greet them.

  Because Henri’s boat is positioned between the other two I can’t see him yet.

  I watch, wait, and hold my breath, hopping from foot to foot, looking to the back of the boat where he should be steering. Then, I witness something incredibly poignant.

  The crews on the Ocean Challenger and the Blue Moon swiftly take down what remains of their sails and this slows the
m down just enough, so they are now hanging back from the Super Typhoon, with its sails also flapping rather than billowing in the wind.

  The Super Typhoon is now marginally ahead.

  It seems they are giving Henri and his crew their victory after all.

  And now, even though my tear-filled eyes, I see Henri standing at the helm.

  I see he’s waving his arms in the air and looking back at the crew on the other two boats, urging them to sail into the dock with him. He looks totally astonished by what is happening here. He clearly hadn’t expected this but he is the true winner of the race, even if his victory is treated as a formality rather than a celebration.

  I keep my eyes fixed on Henri and my heart goes out to him. He looks exhausted and pale, still wearing a full set of florescent orange wet-weather gear even though it’s now so hot on the quayside that I’m feeling scorched. I notice he has a dark shadow of stubble on his face from the two days he’s spent stoically steering that boat and bravely rescuing others. My heart swells with pride and my whole body aches with relief that he’s safe.

  When all three yachts are secured to the quayside, the crews begin disembarking.

  It’s mayhem on the dock. Everyone surges forward all at once, much to the annoyance of the media and to the detriment of the ambulance squads and paramedics who are trying to reach and attend to the crews. Some of the sailors are walking wounded, having sustained head gashes or broken limbs that are wrapped up in bandages and makeshift slings.

  One or two are more seriously hurt and are having to be brought off on stretchers.

  From what I can see, Henri looks battle weary but otherwise unscathed.

  I hold back from the crowds and watch as he’s the last person to leave his vessel.

  Of course, he’s then immediately mobbed by the waiting media with their microphones.

  ‘Captain Chen, can you give us your account of what happened at sea?’

  ‘Do you realise that you won the race?’

  Cameras were pushing almost into his face.

  ‘Mr Chen, you’re being hailed a hero. Will you do an interview for Singapore TV News?’

  I edge forward to hear him saying he’s ‘incredibly thankful to be back on solid ground’.

  He doesn’t answer any of the questions from the media mob about his ordeal or his win and he’s rescued by a paramedic who thrusts a bottle of drinking water into Henri’s hand and then uses his authority to dismiss the reporters and lead Henri to a cordoned off area where there’s a waiting ambulance. I follow. He still hasn’t seen me.

  I stand to one side and wait for the right moment to approach him.

  I see him being helped to remove his heavy jacket. His movements are slow as the jacket is pulled from his shoulders, his face wracked with pain. He sips from a water bottle while sitting on the ambulance step to have his blood pressure taken and his vitals assessed by the attending medic. The paramedic seems satisfied and I hear him tell Henri to ‘drink lots of water and get some rest’. When I can’t wait any longer, I walk into his line of sight.

  I call out his name.

  ‘Henri!’

  His head snaps up, his jaw drops open, and his tired eyes light up when he sees me.

  A moment later, he’s on his feet and I’m wrapped up in his arms.

  ‘Oh Maya. I’d convinced myself you wouldn’t be here. But you came back!’

  ‘No …’ I laugh. ‘I didn’t come back. I never left. I needed to see you again, Henri. I wanted you to know that I’ve decided to stay and rent a house in Hong Kong for a while.’

  He looks at me in amazement but before he can speak there’s a tremendous whirling noise and the air around us is whipped up as a helicopter lands nearby.

  I shade my eyes from the dust blowing in the air and see the helicopter belongs to the Hong Kong Yacht Club. The doors fly open. Three people climb out. Two men, who dash straight inside the first aid tent, and one attractive red-haired woman, who heads straight over to Henri and me, smiling at me like we know each other.

  ‘You must be Maya …’ she says to me. ‘We spoke on the phone. I’m Jennifer.’

  I’m sure all the colour must be draining from my face as I shake Jennifer’s hand.

  ‘It’s good to see you’re still in one piece, sailor!’ she says eagerly to Henri, slapping him on the shoulder and making him wince. ‘You had your poor fiancée worried about you!’

  ‘Fiancée?’ Henri repeats, turning to me with a look that is both curious and startled.

  I stammer something about how he’d had everyone worried while squirming on the spot.

  Henri continues to study me with an expression of confusion and suspicion but he waits until Jennifer has headed into the first aid tent to join her colleagues before he speaks.

  ‘Maya … just how long have I been gone?’

  I swallow hard and manage to squeak out. ‘Erm … it’s been two days.’

  He nods and then looks down at the floor and his sodden shoes for a moment.

  ‘Okay. So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. Two days ago, when we last spoke, you said to me that things were happening too fast for you and you were leaving. And now, by some miracle, you’ve found a house in Hong Kong and we’re getting married?’

  When he finishes looking at the floor he looks up at me again and he’s grinning from ear to ear, his beautiful green eyes shining brightly and filled with humour again.

  He’s definitely taking this much better than I thought so I decide not to explain.

  Instead, I simply remind him of what he said to me two days ago when we last spoke.

  ‘Well, you said that if I stayed, we’d be able to find out if this … something that we both feel for each other might lead to something more. Isn’t that right?’

  He laughs aloud and pulls me back into his arms.

  Then, in a low whisper, he tells me how he did have something more for me.

  And it turns out that something was a deep, smouldering, incredibly passionate kiss.

  I felt my heart fill with love and I knew I was truly happy again.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed The Backpacking Bride, be sure to follow Janice Horton on Twitter @JaniceHorton, on Facebook @JaniceHortonAuthor, and check out her website at thebackpackinghousewife.com for all the updates on her latest work.

  In the mood for even more effervescent romantic fiction?

  You will adore The First Date by Zara Stoneley, a hilarious and heartwarming romantic comedy about what happens when the wrong guy turns up at the right time. Click here to get your copy!

  And don’t miss the historical romance of 2020, Before the Crown by Flora Harding, which immortalises the story of the secret engagement between Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip in the tempestuous wake of WWII. Get your copy here!

  You can also find us at @0neMoreChapter_ on Twitter and @0neMoreChapter on Facebook where we’ll be shouting about all our new releases.

  Happy reading!

  About the Author

  Janice Horton writes contemporary romantic fiction with a dash of humour and a sense of adventure. In 2014, after her children had left home, Janice and her husband set off to explore the Caribbean. In 2015, they returned to the UK only to sell their material possessions in favour of travelling around the world. They are currently housesitting in France after travelling around South East Asia.

  @JaniceHorton

  @JaniceHortonAuthor

  thebackpackinghousewife.com

  Also by Janice Horton

  The Backpacking Housewife

  The Backpacking Housewife: The Next Adventure

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