The Regatta Crew – Part 1: Crew

"Ready about!" called Juliette.

"We're too close to the buoy," said Anna.

"We're not."

"We are."

The yacht heeled hard to port, spray bursting over the bow, as Lake Geneva sparkled blue and white around them. The Alps stood in a sharp line on the horizon. Eight sailors scrambled across the deck, sheets humming, sails snapping.

Juliette was thirty-one, the skipper, tall, tanned, with salt in her hair and a competitive jaw. Anna was thirty-four, the new navigator, small, dark-eyed, with a calm voice, a tablet in a waterproof case and a decisive way of being right.

"We're two boat-lengths inside the mark," said Anna.

"Fine. Tack."

"Tack?"

"Tack!"

They tacked. The boom swung over. The yacht slid cleanly round the buoy, a hair's breadth clear. The crew whooped. Anna looked up from her tablet and gave Juliette a small, pleased, unsurprised smile.

"Two boat-lengths," she said.

"Don't gloat."

"I'm gloating very quietly."

They won the race by eleven seconds. On the dock afterwards, sunburnt and soaked, the crew passed round a bottle of champagne. Juliette stood at the end of the pier, shaking out her wet hair, and Anna joined her with two plastic cups.

"You argue with me," said Juliette.

"I do."

"Nobody argues with me."

"Perhaps they should."

"I like it," said Juliette, in some surprise. "I don't know why."

"Because I'm right," said Anna, deadpan.

They both laughed. The setting sun lit the lake pink. A swan paddled by, unimpressed.

"Can I ask you something?" said Juliette.

"Yes."

"Will you stay on the crew?"

"Green?" said Anna, a word from the flag signals.

"Green," said Juliette, grinning. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Finish Line.