"This really is a lovely spot," Pat said to him. "Will you pardon a woman's curiosity and tell me, isn't it terribly expensive?"
Hallam grinned. "It would be except that I'm part owner of the building and get a cut rate."
We stood there quietly, absorbed in the view, then Pat took Hallam's arm. "Let's go in now," she said. "We will have to leave soon."
The noise came at us in waves as we opened the door. Little knots of people were all over the rooms, talking, laughing, eating, moving about and re-forming new groups.
"They obviously don't need us," I whispered to Pat. "Let's get out of here." I winked at the boss and he shook both hands to us, prizefighter fashion, as we slipped out.
The Ferguson glided into the driveway without the motor running as I tried to escape. A roar of hand-clapping, cheers, jeers and yells broke out above. It was too late for them to catch us so they waved and shouted words of tipsy wisdom. A few ribald male remarks were stifled by feminine hands and the last howls and shrieks faded back up the hill. At the bottom I stopped and removed the inevitable tin cans and old shoes, brushed off all visible confetti and moved on towards Horseshoe Bay. The sloop was ready. While I started the motor and cast off, Pat changed into slacks and sweater in the cabin and then got busy making sandwiches and coffee. I set our course around Bowen Island, heading for the Sunshine Coast and the long winding fiords that split the timbered ranges.
It was hours later. At Pat's suggestion I had gone below for a rest and then had relieved her while she did the same. We wanted to get well away from the big city and the ocean traffic before we stopped. About two o'clock she wandered up from below. The moon was high now and in the clean cool light we were close to shore. Here the coast was deserted and, as we skirted a rocky point, a small cove appeared, the entrance barely large enough for the yacht. The moon, going over to the west, shot its light through the gap to show a sandy beach dimly outlined at the farther side.
"John, let's look in there. It seems a likely place to stop."
I cut the motor and glided through the entrance, trusting the smooth unbroken surface to cover enough depth for the boat. The million pinpoint lights of our phosphorescent track died away as we slowed. The bowsprit almost overhung the sloping beach when I dropped anchor.