Chapter 7
Their boat was beginning to feel like home. But it suited George, this state of temporary existence. Though occasionally he thought the cabin, with the iron framed bunk bed, the washbasin with its leaky tap, the scratched mirror, and the ever present smell of damp that pervaded every corner, was a place in which he was destined to endure as part of his punishment. At least in the confines of the cabin, he could dream of Emma’s soft perfumed skin beneath his fingers in much the same way he used to relive their secret meetings in his potting shed at the bottom of the garden. Replacing the cap onto his fountain pen, he went to the porthole and looked out. Not long and they would be landing. Then to Ipoh and on to the export business. Doing his bit for the remnants of the British Em
