Out at sea, weather fronts were gathering, and far away inland, the train bearing Hubert and Vera Netherbury back toward Barton trundled through the night. But in that magical moment alone on deck, with nothing in the world but him and the boats and the sky and the waves and the strange otherworldly light, Ben knew that Lotti was right, and that he could do anything.

Chapter Twenty

The Wilhelmina left them at Ramsgate, headed to Nieuwpoort in Belgium. The Sparrowhawk stopped to wait for the next tide and to refuel, and for her crew to eat.

It was Friday morning, the weather was warm and already people were strolling about the waterfront. Breakfast at a nearby inn was plentiful and delicious. Frank, Lotti and Ben took their time over it. When they returned to the quayside, a small crowd had gathered around the Sparrowhawk.

“You never brought her round on the sea!” gasped a little boy holding a giant stick of rock.

There was no point lying about it.

“We did,” said Lotti, proudly.

“The harbormaster says you’re taking her all the way to France!” breathed the little boy’s sister.

Ben pulled a face, but again, what was the point of lying?

“We are,” said Lotti, and the little boy’s and girl’s eyes grew so round they looked like they might pop right out of their heads.

“Madness,” said a man with a knotted handkerchief on his head, but he looked impressed.

A journalist from the East Kent Herald arrived with a camera.

“How long will it take you to get to Calais?” he asked.

“About six hours,” grunted Frank, who didn’t like crowds. “If everyone’s finished chatting.”

Lotti untied the mooring lines, and Frank fired up the engine. Ben put the dogs in the cabin, giving Elsie a special hug, then came back up and took the tiller. With Frank scowling at his side and Lotti on the storage box waving to the crowds on the quayside, he guided the Sparrowhawk out toward the open sea.

The journalist returned to his office to type up his story for the paper’s weekend edition.

There was no Wilhelmina to follow now, no coastline to hug. Just forty miles of water ahead of them, the occasional cargo or military ship in the distance and the Sparrowhawk heading straight out to sea, alone. The dogs didn’t like it. Elsie heaved herself onto Ben’s berth and closed her eyes. Federico crouched beside her and looked accusingly at anyone who came in as if to say, “How much longer? How could you?”

But the sea was flat and the weather was fair and the Sparrowhawk was steady.

There was nothing to worry about.

Frank went below to rest, leaving Ben at the helm. Lotti stood beside him and breathed deeply. The air smelled of salt and engine fumes.

“Like freedom,” said Ben, reading her mind.

“Exactly like freedom,” said Lotti.