Samir held Pierre by his throat and pushed him to his tiptoes up the wall. "You fucking let him slip away."

"We know where he lives... The Exchange... Olympic Village," Pierre wheezed through his constricted throat. "We're watching... Front and back... They have photos of him... We'll get him."

Samir lowered him, but still held his neck against the wall. "Why the fuck wasn't he nabbed when he got there?"

"The guys were there in plenty of time. The cab didn't arrive."

"You planted a tracker?"

"Yes, Sir... In the canvas bags. One in each."

"One in each?" He lifted Pierre again.

"Not everybody's... Just his... And his lady's."

"His lady?"

"They left together."

Samir lowered him. "So, the fucking trackers? Where are they?"

"In the cab in an apartment building underground parkade on Alberni. I've men watching. We'll make the driver tell us where he dropped them off."

"You don't like your fingers, do you?" He tightened his grip on Pierre's throat, then let it go. "Tomorrow. Get him to me by tomorrow, or..." He swung his hand like a cleaver. "Go on, get the fuck out of my sight."

<><><>

Part way through breakfast in the cockpit, Lorne pointed up the ramp of the marina. "Guess we were distracted last night when we arrived. We left the media kits on the floor of the cab."

"Nothing we can't replace. Probably another logo-embossed pen or corkscrew. Far too many of those. And the marketing fluff and bumf." She shrugged her shoulders. "I never review on openings or promos, anyway." She nodded across at her townhouse. "I need to get my computer and some changes of clothing. What's the forecast?"

"They show clear and warm through midday on Monday when it deteriorates with an approaching frontal system. I was thinking of being in the southern Gulf Islands on Sunday night to take advantage of the great broad reach across the Straits on Monday morning."

"Do you plan everything with such precision?"

"No, I see now I've not planned our relationship."

"Some things need no planning, Lorne. Our relationship simply needs to be allowed to blossom."

"People tell me that about many things. Guess it must be true."

As they walked around the crescent toward her townhouse, he ran over his plans so she would know what clothes to pack. "There's a new restaurant in Chemainus I've read great things about. I need to review it. I was also thinking of visiting two wineries in Maple Bay, one with a new restaurant."

"You review restaurants? I thought you did only wine."

"I've kept it secret. Much easier that way."

"Where do you write? I've never read you. You've a blog?"

"Doesn't everybody? But I also have some ink."

"Where?"

He pursed his lips as he looked at her and slowly inhaled, then he blew out a deep breath. "PacPress, The Coast. Many of the neighbourhood papers syndicate me. I love your columns. We're quite similar, actually. We're among the last of the dying breed of anonymous reviewers."

She grabbed his arm and spun him to a stop, shook her head and stared up into his eyes. "No! Are you? Oh!... My!... God! You're the Unknown Diner." She shook her head. "All these years I've told you you're my favourite reviewer, my model, my hero. You never let on." She took his hand, genuflected, kissed his fingers and lifted her eyes. "Oh, my God! You are my god in so many ways." She wrapped her arms around his hips and snuggled her face into him, quiet in her thoughts.

She looked up. "Why haven't you ever told anyone?"

"I've had a lot of trouble with trusting others."

She rose from her knee, shaking her head. "So what else are you going to tell me?"

"I trust you."

"Whoa! That's so heavy. Who else do you trust?"

"Me — sometimes." He looked down into her eyes with a crooked smile. "That's it."

"Your parents?"

"Until the crash."

"Crash?"

"They died in a flight to the Okanagan in 1996."

"That must have been horrid for you."

"Much less horrid than what came." He winced. "I was placed in foster care."

"Relatives? You must have had relatives to take you in."

"Died in the crash too. It was a big family party celebrating my parent's twentieth anniversary. Grandfather was flying them to Penticton in his company jet for a round of tastings and a grand dinner with the top winemakers. They crashed near Princeton."

"You didn't go with them?"

"Obviously not." He shrugged. "I was just starting high school. I stayed behind with the maid, my old nanny."

"How old were you? I should know that — you're thirty-four, so you were fourteen."

"And a quarter. Let's leave this for the moment. The whole thing's far too painful. Let's think of something lighter — much lighter. Think about sailing the next few days, maybe taking another look at you."

She squeezed his hand. "I'd like that. I'll make sure not to forget my birthday suit when I pack." She laughed. "Though with your full itinerary, will we have time to use it?"

"I'll make sure we have plenty of time for that. Your body's so mind-bogglingly beautiful. You need to teach me all about it. I'm quite ignorant about women, their bodies, their emotions, except in theory. We can forego the dining and tasting plans, and —"

"No need for that. I was only joking." She squeezed his hand again and smiled as they resumed walking. "I'm sure we'll welcome the brief tasting and dining breaks."

She unlocked the door and led him in. "A quick tour." She pointed to the open-plan layout arranged in an ell around the ten-metre ceiling up the front corner. "Down here's the kitchen, dining room, lounge and a small bathroom. Next floor, master bedroom and two guest rooms, all ensuite — the larger guest room was Nathan's office. The top floor is my office and yoga area with access to the upper patio."

"I'm always amazed by these places. Such creative architecture. Nobody'd guess what's unseen behind their façades."

She glanced down at his trousers and chuckled. "No, but now we're both aware of what's hidden from view."

He gave her a twisted smile. "You'll have to change clothes for sailing, won't you? Will you allow me to practice undressing you? I rather cocked-up last night, didn't I?"

"Of course, I'll allow you." She grinned. "We can both practice."

Later, as she was packing her duffel bag, still nude, she looked up and said, "I'm amazed by your tight body. Those abs are to die for. How do you keep so fit?"

"Sailing Tastevin solo takes a lot of work. I use it as my gym, and I still climb occasionally, but not as much now I've become so busy with the research and the —"

"I didn't know you climb."

"But you didn't know about the sailing, either — or the restaurant reviewing. I keep things separate."

"I understand that, but I've been part of the climbing community since I was a child. Dad introduced me — he had been very active, exploring up-Island, through the Coast Ranges and far beyond."

"See, you hadn't told me about your climbing. You also keep things separate." He nodded to her butt. "There as you bend. I love the way your lips separate as you bend over that way." He shuddered. "May I touch you again?"

"Oh, please do." She looked over her shoulder at him and shook her butt as she smiled and nodded. "But you know we'll not get across the Straits today if we... Oh, God! Feels so good."

"The winds would be on our nose most of the way. I had thought to anchor at Keats this evening." He continued to stroke and gently play with her. "We'll cross the Straits tomorrow."

In the late afternoon, Lorne luffed the sails as he released the anchor in Plumper Cove on Keats Island and set a mark on the plot. He allowed the boat's remaining way to veer the chain to eighteen metres before he pushed the button to stop the windlass. Tastevin's inertia set the anchor and swung her around, perfectly centred in the bay.

"You've done this before," she said as she watched him furl the sails, deploy the snubbers, plot the swing circle and set the anchor alarm. "I'm in awe. You handle this huge sailboat solo far better than I see most handle their small ones with crew."

"The winds were favourable. I figured why furl sails and motor in." He chuckled. "After all, this isn't a gin palace."

He quickly finished the logbook, then wrapped her in a hug. "Would you care for some Champagne? We need to celebrate our first date."

Catherine arranged a small platter with the dessert titbits from the restaurant while Lorne added bowls of olives, cashews and almonds. They relaxed in the cockpit sipping Champagne, nibbling from the platter and on each other's lips, earlobes and witticisms. The angry raised voices coming across the bay from another boat's bungled anchoring attempt reminded them they weren't the only two souls on the planet.

Catherine shook her head at the sound, then watched bubbles rise from the bottom of her hollow stem. "La Grande Dame has always been one of my favourites, though I haven't had the 2006. It must have arrived while I was playing hermit."

"Clicquot launched it here about three or four months ago; after they had taken a few of us to Reims for P&P."

"Pee and pee?"

"It's for pampering and propaganda, my term for the splendid hospitality the producers offer us." He took another sip. "They leave the wine on its lees for eight to ten years before they disgorge. Have you been hosted at Clicquot's Hôtel du Marc?"

"Three visits. We had lunch there a couple of times and a splendid dinner, but we were never invited to stay. They showed us the rooms — I thought them more impressive than the ones in Moët's Château de Saran." She stared at the stream of rising bubbles for a long while and remained silent, then she shook her head and looked up from her memory trance. "Old days. Gone. I'm back here now. I love this wine — no, let me rephrase. I enjoy this wine — I love you."

He kissed her again and lingered, then ran a hand lightly across her breasts, teasing and retreating. "We've sailed these parallel courses for years, matching tack for tack, never drawing near. My klutziness kept us —"

"In the beginning, yes. But then I married Nathan and —"

"Was that good for you? Were you happy?"

"It was good, we were happy — mostly. But it lacked the friendship. It missed the easy friendship you and I have always shared. I was always so excited to see you at an event, at a wine dinner, at a tasting, on a junket."

"I guess I was safe company. If you thought I was gay, others must also have. So many in the trade are."

"No... Strange. I never heard that from the others, and I used to keep my ears close to the tell-a-woman net."

"Tellawomanette?"

"From an old joke of Dad's: What's the fastest means of communication? Not telegraph, not telephone, but tell-a-woman."

"Aah, from the pre-computer days, but still fast. Much faster now with texting, twitter, other apps. So the word wasn't that I was swish?"

"No, I guess it was only me — strange, I've not thought of this before — once I'd concluded you were, I stopped thinking about it. You became my safe, solid refuge. And my fantasy."

As they spoke, he played with her fingers, kissing and gently nipping them. "We should think of dinner, the sun will begin setting in less than an hour. We could cook something, or we could head across the inlet in the tender to a restaurant in Gibson's. Would you rather eat out?"

He grinned broadly, looked into her eyes and shook his head. "Eating out... Another of my fantasies with you. You're always the central character. I'd love to do that to you sometime."

"Ooh... I'd love to have you do it to me. How about now?"

"Now?" He smiled. "You'll have to guide me. I know the theory. Thoroughly. I've run it through my mind so many times."

Her face filled with a broad grin. "Two choices on the menu: Salty, sweaty and musky from a day's sailing and horniness, or squeaky clean from a shower."

"I'll go with the plate of the day. I've always wondered about the full flavour. Bland vegan doesn't excite me much at all."

"Oh, my God! I love you." She squeezed his thigh and kissed him. "I love your adventurousness. I love your quick way with creative imagery."

She led him down to the bed in the fore cabin and left him free to explore, having to teach him nothing. After her second orgasm, they cuddled and caressed gently as the light in the cabin dimmed toward the mid-June sunset.

"We could call a water taxi, go across to Gibson's — there's a new place I need to visit a third time to give it its fair shake. It's the new interpretation of Molly's Reach. I was surprised when the lawsuit failed and —"

"Is that another one of those? Like the ones you were talking about last night."

"No, this one's new, not taken over." He paused and thought. "Guess I hadn't looked at it this way before, but the difference between reality and the reviews is similar. Yes, it probably is. Let's go."

"Whoa, Lorne. Whoa, whoa, whoa. You need to learn to be less impulsive. We haven't finished here yet. You still need to come. I'd love to help you with it."

"Let me call the water taxi. It'll be twenty, twenty-five minutes. We need to shower and change."

The launch was approaching the transom as they stepped into the cockpit a little over twenty minutes later. As they headed across the narrow strait, Catherine kneaded his hands. "Your life is a focused schedule, isn't it?"

"Is it that bad? I guess it must be. I don't know how else to do it. Honestly, I don't. Ever since Connolly..." He paused and contorted his face. "Damn, I don't want to go there."

"I love you, Lorne." She squeezed his hands and looked at his twisted face. "Forget that for now. Be here now... Us... Here... Now... I love you." She licked the tears from his cheeks, then held him in her arms, stroking the back of his head, murmuring. Soothing.