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6<br />
Jana reached for her mobile and dialled <strong>Jack</strong>’s number. ‘Where are you?’ she asked. ‘I<br />
can hear water.’<br />
‘Sailing. Hold on, I have to tack.’ Jana could hear the tinkling of the sheet running<br />
through the steel block as the boat came about. ‘That’s better. <strong>The</strong> ferry came a little too<br />
close. How did it go?’<br />
‘Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you.’<br />
‘That bad, eh? You’re on. Hop in a cab and come to Watsons Bay. I’ll pick you up at<br />
the wharf in half an hour. Have to go.’ <strong>Jack</strong>’s words almost drowned in a clatter of<br />
flapping sails and gurgling water.<br />
Watsons Bay, a popular suburb located at the entry to Sydney Harbour, was teeming with<br />
tourists. Jana got out of the taxi and looked around: seeing <strong>Jack</strong>’s familiar boat tied up at<br />
the end of the wharf conjured up memories of long balmy nights spent on the harbour.<br />
‘Permission to come on board,’ she shouted, waving. Jana kicked off her shoes and<br />
jumped on board. <strong>Jack</strong> pointed to the tiller. ‘Hold this,’ he said, lowering the jib. ‘Let’s<br />
head back. <strong>The</strong>re, thunder; could be a storm.’ <strong>Jack</strong> looked up at the dark clouds rolling in<br />
from the south. <strong>The</strong> wind freshened and the temperature dropped rapidly. Draping his<br />
favourite old sailing jumper over Jana’s shoulders, <strong>Jack</strong> took back the tiller and looked at<br />
her.<br />
‘Well, Sir Eric is an impressive man. It’s hard to believe he’s almost eighty-seven.<br />
Sharp, quick-witted, no Alzheimer’s there, I can tell you! He was courteous, yet his<br />
politeness didn’t feel genuine – quite the opposite, if you know what I mean.’<br />
<strong>Jack</strong> nodded. ‘What about his appearance? Any resemblance to the man in the photo?’<br />
he asked.<br />
‘He’s certainly the right height and the correct age, but that’s about all. <strong>The</strong> picture is<br />
more than fifty years old; appearances change. But there was something about his<br />
eyes ...’ Jana stopped mid-sentence. ‘It’s difficult to articulate – something mocking,<br />
something cruel,’ she explained. ‘I can’t be more specific I’m afraid; it’s only a feeling.<br />
Yet, when I look at the man in the photo, I have the same feeling. Not very helpful, is it?’
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