A Night Ashore

A Night Ashore Blackmail and sex are mentioned in this story.

Edward’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Why should I believe you?” With a smile, he picked up the telephone and punched in a number. The Bosun answered on the second ring.

“Bosun, there’s a woman in my Day Cabin. I want her removed and dumped on the jetty. If she tries to get back on board, call the police.”

Charlie, the ship’s Bosun, arrived wearing a black anorak over a pale blue shirt whose buttons strained across his stomach. He nodded to his Captain, grabbed the woman, and started to drag her away.

She screamed. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll tell the police you got me drunk and raped me.”

“Bosun, get rid of her before I forget I’m a gentleman.”

The Bosun squeezed her arm hard. “I suggest you shut up. I’ve seen my boss when he loses his temper. He’s not a nice man.”

“Fuck you.” She shook herself free and stomped out. The Bosun followed close behind.

A mop of sun‑bleached blond hair framed Edward’s round face. In good physical condition, you could easily mistake him for much younger than his sixty years. His pristine white shirt and gold epaulettes marked his rank. He sat and stared at the photo of his wife, pride of place on his desk. Thirty years together, and he still loved her. Patient, understanding, a wonderful mother.

Tears came to his eyes at the thought of his betrayal. Two days had passed since he met Gillian at the hotel bar.

“Mind if I join you?” she had asked.

Edward looked up from his empty glass, surprised. A vivacious woman stood beside him, blue eyes twinkling, glossed lips smiling.

He ran a hand over his head. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Do you always take so much time over one drink?”

Edward smiled sheepishly at his glass. “I was about to order another.”

She held out her hand. “Gillian Cooper. And they say two’s company.”

He shifted restlessly. This woman impressed him. His hand lingered on hers. “Edward. I could do with the company. Can I get you a drink?”

“A gin and tonic with plenty of ice, please. And it might be more comfortable if we moved to a table.”

Returning from the bar, he wondered how old she was. His keen eyes noticed the slim, curvaceous body beneath her blue dress.

At first, Edward chatted about how much his wife hated him being away.

Gillian steered the conversation elsewhere. Her hand brushed his often. At first he withdrew, but as the night progressed, shameless thoughts stirred. The more he tried to dismiss them, the more persuasive they became.

Gillian looked into his eyes. “Before you leave and return to your ship, fancy a nightcap in my room?”

His lips quivered. “Are you sure?”

Her voice softened. “We’re grown‑ups. What’s wrong with a cup of coffee?”

Edward shook his head. “For a long time, I knew this day would arrive. Someone like you asking me that very question.”

She gave him a curious look. “Yes or no?”

“Black. Two sugars.”

In the lift, her perfume tantalised. Edward’s physical needs overcame his self‑control. They strolled along the corridor. She reached for his hand, pressing her hip against his as they stood at her door. His body reacted to pure lust. For the first time, he would break the promises he’d made long ago.

Her hands fumbled with the key until it turned. Once inside, she whispered, “Make love to me.”

He wanted her. Then she was in his arms, her mouth on his.

With the sun high in the sky, he left her sleeping.

He stopped at reception and ordered a bouquet of fresh flowers. The porter smiled, took the money and the large tip.

Edward had a rare step in his stride as he returned to his ship. Guilt gnawed at him, but he would never see her again. He decided he could live with it. There was one woman in his life, and that was his wife, Daisy.

The next day, as he dealt with correspondence, a knock on his cabin door made him pause. The Mate entered. “Another day, another dollar, Boss.”

“How’s the unloading going, Joe?”

“Going well, Captain. With luck we’ll finish ahead of schedule.”

“I’ll be here in my cabin if you need me.”

Gillian arrived later. The seaman on gangway duty escorted her past the raucous crew to the Captain’s cabin.

Edward stood to greet her, but the eyes from the night before were now hard and cold.

“Captain, you’ll hate me for this, but a girl must earn a living.” She held a large brown envelope.

“In here are many photographs. While you slept, I obtained your home address. Ten thousand pounds and the negatives are yours, or I’ll send these to your wife.”

Edward looked at her with contempt. “If you can do that, it might be an interesting scenario.” He held out his hand. “Can I see?”

He smiled at the photos. “Did we really do that?”

“From our conversation last night, I gathered you love your wife more than anything in the world.”

He laughed and tossed the pictures into the bin. “I love my wife and always will, but I buried her five years ago.”

Gillian stared, lips parted, breath shallow. The confidence she’d worn as perfume evaporated. “Don’t give me that shit.”

Edward nodded once. “She died five years ago during the winter. Coldest I’ve ever known.” He stared at Gillian, neither angry nor triumphant. “You thought you could blackmail me.”

Her fingers tightened around the envelope. “You never mentioned her death.”

“You saw a lonely man in a bar. You saw weakness. You saw opportunity. But you didn’t see the grief. You didn’t see the hole Daisy left behind.”

Gillian swallowed. “I need the money.”

Edward’s voice dropped. “This time you got it wrong. I admit I enjoyed the experience.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

Edward looked at her with a calmness that chilled. “Nothing. Not yet.”

A knock on the door signalled the Bosun’s arrival.

Charlie took her arm. She didn’t resist. As she was led out, she glanced back, realising she had stepped into something far larger, far darker, than a simple blackmail scheme.

When the door closed, Edward opened the notebook. Inside were neat columns of names, dates, ports. People who had tried things. People who had pushed too far. People who had forgotten that captains carry more power than their uniforms suggest.

He turned to a fresh page and wrote her name.

He sat back, closed the book, placed it beside Daisy’s photograph, and whispered, “You knew the rules, my love. All debts are paid on the first turn of the screw.”