"What does the National Yachting Association want?" he muttered to himself. "Money, I bet."
He picked up Elvis's gold-plated letter opener, a fiftieth birthday gift from his colleagues ironically inscribed (although Elvis had never guessed) with To the World's Best Boss and slid it along the seal.
Dear Mr Platter
Further to your application for a rating in our NYA Sailing Holidays scheme we write to inform you that one of our undercover assessors has been booked onto a holiday with your company. This will take place sometime in the next two months. For obvious reasons our assessor will remain incognito until the end of the holiday when he/she will make himself known to your representatives on site. They will gladly provide feedback at that time and more formally in a report later. They will indicate the Sail Rating (our version of a star rating) that has been awarded to your company. The rating may be anything between one and five "sails" with a "five sail rating" indicating that he or she considers the holiday to be of the highest quality with comfort, enjoyment, and most of all safety, in mind.
To maintain the integrity of this scheme we ask that you do not inform your representatives of the possible attendance of our assessor. We thank you for your interest in our scheme and enclose for your kind attention our invoice.
Yours sincerely,
Archibald Cummings
NYA Sailing Holidays
Bernard looked at the invoice. It was for two thousand five hundred pounds plus VAT.
"More money to find," he groaned to himself.
He was about to put the letter back in the envelope when he noticed the date on the letter. It was now five weeks old. As no incognito assessor had unveiled him or herself to that point, the assessment must be scheduled sometime in the next few weeks, before the season ended.
"Oh crap," he said, "Murphy's law says that it will turn out to be Elvis and Naomi who end up being assessed."
Bernard was torn. Despite the request in the letter that the representatives should not be warned of the imminent assessment, it crossed his mind that he should contact Jock and let him know that everyone should be on their guard. Warning Jock, who in turn could warn the flotilla leaders, appealed to his sense of value for money. If the company was shelling out two thousand five hundred pounds plus vat on the rating, then he should make the odds of a five sail rating as good as possible. On the other hand, the letter was clear that no-one should be warned. Furthermore, Elvis was a big fan of those reality TV shows set in businesses where the proprietors were dressed down publicly by some "celebrity" sector expert. Perhaps he would enjoy the experience of being objectively assessed.
By the time he had finished off his second glass of Elvis's whisky Bernard had come to a decision.
He would say nothing.
Chapter Eight
In Nidri, Jock's verbal torture continued. He was now being shown Barry and Brenda's favourite photographs on their new mobile phones.
"And this is Brenda's sister's little boy, isn't it Bren? Lovely little chap. And this is his little sister. Oh, she's a little terror but with her angelic face she gets away with it, doesn't she Bren?"
Brenda nodded, happily accepting that she was the silent support in this seemingly endless monologue.
It had now been four hours since Barry and Brenda had arrived at the Nidri office. They had followed Jock around like hungry cats every time he found an excuse to leave his desk. Plying them with alcohol hadn't worked. Barry had politely refused and told him an interminable story about how much they used to drink before "seeing the light and going teetotal."
"You see," said Barry, "Once you give it up you notice what a strange effect it has on people. Give someone a few drinks and they gabble on endlessly thinking they are interesting, isn't that right Bren?"
Brenda nodded.
Jock looked out of window desperate for some respite. The weather was on the turn, and black clouds were gathering.
"Think we're in for a spot of rain," said Jock during a rare pause.
"Never rained in all our nine years of Sailawaying. Let me look. No, it's going to pass right over. The rain never falls on Barry and Bren, isn't that right Bren?" responded Barry.
Whatever skills Barry possessed, being a weather forecaster wasn't one of them. With minimal warning the skies darkened, lightning forked across the black sky and thunder boomed. The torrent began. Within moments Jock could hardly see the pontoon out of his office window as he gazed out, trying desperately not to appear disinterested as Barry told him about the improvements the couple had made to their house since last year.
Jock nodded and grunted "yes" and "really?" at what he thought were probably appropriate junctures, as Barry ran through the works to the kitchen, the loft extension, the landscaped patio area, and then the new electric gates.
"Holy shit," Jock cried, so loudly that Brenda fell backwards off her chair. "They're open."
For the first time in four hours Barry shut up momentarily, scratched his head and looked at Jock searchingly.
"No Jock, they're definitely not open, the thing about electric gates you see is they close automatically."
"Not your flippin' gates, the boat hatches. Look, they're are all wide open. Please excuse me."
Stopping only to grab a waterproof cape hanging on the back of the door, he charged out of the office, ran down the path and onto the pontoon. Each of the twenty boats was open to the elements, and Jock knew how much water could fall from the sky in a few minutes. He had once pumped out twenty litres of rainwater from a dinghy after a ten minute storm.
He jumped onto the first boat, went inside, and closed the front hatch tight. Then he closed the windows and finally pulled the entrance hatch firmly shut. One boat down, nineteen to go. If the rain didn't stop, and it was if anything getting heavier, by the time he got to number twenty it would be seriously wet inside, possibly even beyond economic repair.
"Don't worry Jock, we've got this side covered."
He looked up to see Barry and Brenda, already soaked to the skin, leaping from one boat to the other making them watertight as they went. In a third of the time it would have taken him on his own, the boats were all closed to the elements. They were certainly damp inside, but there was no doubt things would have been much worse without Barry and Brenda.
"Come on you guys, let's get you some dry clothes from the lost and found, then we'll head back to my place for a shower," he told them as they made their way back to the office.
"Well," said Brenda piping up for the first time, "I thought we would get wet at some point this week, but I didn't think it would be before we had even set sail!."
Stavros pulled the coach into Nidri, and turned left towards the waterfront, then right to Sailaway's place. The rain which had followed them from Preveza had now moved off towards Meganisi. The holidaymakers stopped their assassination of the classic "Singing in the Rain."
"Not exactly a typical Greek village, is it."
Cynthia was gazing mournfully through the steamed-up window of the coach.
"My friends, we are arriving. The holiday begins here," announced Stavros from the front of the bus. "By the way, that Taverna over there is the best. It belongs to Stavros," he said proudly patting his chest with both hands.
Two thirds of the way back on the coach sat Gemma. She was travelling with her friend, Natalie. Gemma surreptitiously pulled out her notebook and wrote a few words in it. Then she joined the others climbing down off the