Chapter 1

 British Airways flight BA2713, an Airbus A320 made her approach into Malaga on finals coming into land from over the sea. Bruce Williams was occupying seat 5A which was just forward of the aircraft port wing in the Club Europe section. The vibrations emanating from the stresses that the aircraft was going through, were evident throughout the jet as she made her short finals with full flaps and the undercarriage down. The plane flashed over the short stretch of beach, where a large number of motorhomes appeared to be parked haphazardly on the hardstanding, then disappeared under the port wing. A second later, there was a soft bump as the wheels made contact with the asphalt runway. Immediately, two things happened at the same time. The vibrations increased as the air brakes on top of the wings were deployed, the twin engines went into reverse thrust slowing the aircraft quite violently. This only lasted a few seconds and then the pilot allowed the aircraft to run out to the end of the runway before turning to port and picking up the taxiway that ran parallel to the runway.

 Williams collected his bulky bags and cleared Spanish customs and passport control without any problems, then making his way out through the busy terminal building following the signs for Salida and Taxies. Struggling with the bags, he made it to the first taxi, a white Hyundai i40 saloon car. The undercover area was filled with the sound of revving engines and squealing tyres on the smooth asphalt, the honking of horns as well as the smell of exhaust fumes. This caused Williams to have to stand signalling for the driver to open the boot of the vehicle, eventually and seemingly reluctantly he got out of the vehicle, opened the boot of the taxi and assisted Williams with his luggage. The laptop and large camera bag got placed with care onto the rear passenger seat, the bulky suitcases and hand luggage having taken up all the boot space in the vehicle.

 “Where you want to go?” The driver asked in passable English.

 “Paseo del Muelle Uno, in the port area please.” Replied Williams.

 “Ok, Signor!” The driver replied pulling out sharply from the pickup area and immediately braked violently to avoid a collision with another taxi. A tirade of Spanish abuse followed, directed at the other taxi driver who seemingly wasn’t at fault.

 The 25-minute drive through the bright sunlit streets of Malaga contrasted with the rainy grey roads of the UK that Williams had left some four hours previously. Shortly the taxi brought them up to the beginning of the marina, the journey had passed with very little conversation apart from the driver asking, “Where on Paseo del Muelle Uno you want to go to? You have a boat, you go on a cruise ship perhaps?”

 “I have a boat, moored just opposite the Restuarante José Carlos Garcia.” Replied Bruce. “Or at least that’s where she was when I last saw her ten days ago.”

 As the taxi entered the Paseo del Muelle Uno, the driver slowed and Bruce peered through the windscreen, he could see the 82-foot Princess motor yacht further down the quay. She was moored stern on to the quay with a smaller cruiser on her starboard side and the pontoon to her port side. A tight knot formed in the pit of his stomach, his lifestyle was about to change forever. He had just invested a large sum of money into the boat that had been a very good deal from Bruce’s modest point of view. The taxi pulled up close to the stern of the 82-foot cruiser, the chrome and polished gelcoat glinted in the early February Spanish sunshine. On the cockpit deck, James Barke stood dressed in slacks, a white shirt showed through from the blue lightweight windcheater with the Boats.co.uk logo that he wore.

 It had been ten days ago since Bruce had last seen the big Princess 82 and that was when he had first met James Barke.

 As the taxi came to a halt, James Barke from Boats.co.uk with offices in Cala d’Or, Mallorca, at Wallasea Island in Essex, Poole in Dorset and now in Malaga, Spain. Straightened himself up from where he had been leaning on the rail and approached the opening from the port deck onto the pontoon. Business was beginning to pick up since Boats.co.uk had taken over from Ellis Marine.

 James Barke had first met Bruce Williams some ten days previously collecting him from Malaga airport and had brought him down to see the Cape Agulhas at the Malaga marina and his mind went back to that time when they had first met.

 James remembered that it was very apparent that Bruce Williams had walking issues as he had a pronounced limp on his left side. He was about five foot, ten inches tall, with a full head of collar-length dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Both the hair and beard were tinged with grey, giving him a distinguished look. At the same time, he gave off a distinct aura of confidence as he had limped towards James and introduced himself. It was the piercing blue eyes that caught James's attention and the smiling, friendly demeanour as he extended his right hand to greet him. His handshake was very firm, indicating that he had great strength in his upper body. As he spoke, he sounded confident and there was that slight accent that James had confused with either antipodean or South African. Once the introductions had been completed and from the initial conversation, it was apparent that he was also very definitely an intelligent and a ‘no’ nonsense person. They made their way to the taxi ranks very much at Williams’ reduced speed, he appeared to be travelling very lightly on this first visit with what appeared to be a laptop case and a lightly packed overnight rucksack.

 Standing on the quayside, Bruce himself recollected their first meeting when he had flown out from England on that January morning. James with that wonderful constant smile stood over Bruce at about six foot one, the firm handshake returned equally, the full head of mostly grey hair neatly trimmed with a fashionably short back and sides. He further recalled how the conversation and events of the day had progressed. Once ensconced in the taxi and on their way to the marina. James had asked, “So Bruce, what have you got in mind for the use of such a big cruiser, perhaps some charters or something along those lines?”

 “No, I suppose that I am having a late midlife crisis.” Replied Bruce, repositioning his light luggage on his lap. He continued with a wry smile. “I lost my wife in a traffic accident about two years ago.” Bruce's features softened at the recollection.

 The image of the huge truck hurtling down the autobahn hill in the opposite direction with the bend at the bottom then failing to make the bend as the truck flew over the dividing crash barrier and slammed into their motorhome travelling on the opposite carriageway. Bruce had drifted in and out of consciousness during the ordeal, his first recollection had been of his dead wife, Lucy, lying on top of him, her once beautiful face now bloody and unrecognisable. The second recollection had been during the time that he was being pulled from the wreckage, the incredible pain in his left leg and arm, he had screamed in agony then passed out again. Then it had been a series of conscious periods through operating theatres and repatriation flights more operating theatres and argumentative threats with surgeons that he was going to keep his leg and more pain during the lengthy recovery process.

 “So, I sold everything we had owned together and bought a bungalow on Hayling Island. I decided that I still hated the UK weather, but I couldn't afford to be without the security of a UK permanent address.” Bruce paused briefly, almost as though he was choosing his next words with care. Then he continued. “I have always had a penchant for the sea and to own a live on boat, it was something that didn't appeal to my late wife. We caravanned, motor homed and enjoyed part winters in Spain when we could, just something that I feel that I don’t want to go back to.” He paused briefly before continuing. “I guess that something like the Cape.” He said referring to the name of the cruiser. “Is something that meets with what I have in mind for my future. To be able to meander at will staying in warmer waters and at the same time having my children and grandchildren out to spend time with me as well!” He turned to face James, almost seeking an understanding of how he saw his future unfolding.

 “Yes.” Replied James. “The Cape should suit you admirably.” He smiled. “Have you had any experience with motor cruisers before?”

 “Actually.” Replied Bruce. “I managed to charter a 70-foot Princess out of Plymouth last December for two weeks, she was partly crewed and the whole emphasis was to teach me boat handling, navigation and how to use the various instruments. We did this on a day-to-day basis, Plymouth Sound and the waters of that part of the English Channel in December are pretty inhospitable, so I suppose in some ways it was a really good school for learning boat handling.”

 “Great, that is fantastic.” James responded. “Is this why you are looking at this particular make now?”

 “Partly, I have to say that the 70 was wonderful in rough seas and the stabilizers were brilliant. However, I would say that despite the sea handling abilities of the 72 and the 82, I don't have any intention of sailing in other than perfect conditions where I can. However, having said that, I am not naïve enough to realise that weather can't blow up anywhere or at any time and that forecasters are not infallible.” His mind went back to the disaster in October of 1987, when Michael Fish got it all wrong. “However, I want to know that the boat I have will take bad weather in her stride.”

 “Wise idea. What about a crew?”

 “To be honest, James, it is something that I have considered but not something that is immediately important to me. I am pretty confident that I will be able to maintain the boat and sail her from port to port without any assistance from any crew. When I was doing my short course back in the UK last December, the skipper was a slave driver to some extent and made me work on docking procedures and manoeuvres. The video cameras are a huge help, but then he would switch the cameras off and made me make judgements from the lower helm by referring to obstacles relevant to parts of the outside rail. We spent a lot of time picking up various buoys solo and from a variety of approaches.”

 “Crikey!” Exclaimed James. “It sounds as though you had a very comprehensive course in a very short time.”

 “Oh yes. We would set off in darkness, starting at six in the morning and not returning until eight in the evening, obviously, again in darkness and often with sleeting rain to boot. I have already made enquiries locally with regards to completing my RYA Masters.” Bruce paused. “So, tell me about the Cape?”

 The taxi turned onto the Paseo del Muelle, and James gave the driver final instructions. Bruce looked ahead down the road and caught sight of the Cape Agulhas with the distinct line of her flybridge masts, enclosed satellite domes and radar scanner. Even then as they approached, he had to admire the lines of her upper decks. His heart skipped as the taxi came to a halt and he got out of the vehicle and stood briefly admiring the boat while James paid the taxi driver.

 “Well? What do you think?” asked James, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead. He turned sideways with a beaming smile. “Like you, this will be my first time on this boat, but I have been on them before and they are absolutely beautiful.”

 The smile was infectious and Bruce smiled in return. “Awesome! She is a bit wider on the beam than the 72 isn't she.” Bruce noted the Red Maltese flag flown from the stern mast and the courtesy Spanish flag flown from the short starboard burgee.

 “Yes, not much though, only 25 cm. Now shall we get on board? Hopefully, my chap will have some coffee on the go, but if you prefer tea, that can be arranged as well?”

 “No, coffee will be fine, thanks.” Bruce replied gratefully. His experience of other people making tea made this decision very easy.

 The narrow passerelle had been extended from the stern, allowing easy access to the aft deck and a crewman offered to take Bruce's laptop and rucksack making it easier to cross on the narrow walkway. Bruce stepped onto the cockpit of the boat and took in the beautiful teak decking but noted that it could have done with a good clean. Having retrieved his baggage from the crewman, he nodded a grateful 'gracias' to him. His eyes looked forward through the saloon and beyond to the large eight-seater dining table and beyond that towards the lower helm. James came on board behind Bruce and spoke briefly to the crewman in Spanish.

 “Come and sit down.” James ushered Bruce into the sumptuous ‘C’ shaped port sofa with the round coffee table in front of it. Several documents had been distributed onto the table. As they waited for their coffee, James explained.

 “I am going to come clean with you Bruce. As you know your communications and today's appointment were all set up by Ellis Marine, Boats.co.uk have just taken over Ellis Marine and this is literally my first day here in Malaga having flown in from Mallorca last night.” As James sat back on the sofa Bruce couldn’t help but notice the black socks with what appeared to be brightly coloured cherries. “The program that I have set out for today Bruce, is as follows, as long as you approve of course. We will have our coffee then starting from the flybridge, we will make our way down through the boat finishing with the engines and crew quarters in the stern.” Bruce nodded with approval and James continued. “After that, I suggest a light lunch across the road there at Restaurante José Paulo followed by a short trip out of the harbour and down the coast. Please, at any time, feel free to lift, open, ask or change anything you like. Will that be alright?”

 “Yes, of course, absolutely fine.”

 The coffee was served whilst Bruce perused engine, generator logs and registration documents, questions arose surrounding discrepancies in the engine running logs with over a thirty-hour difference between the two main engines. In the past three years servicing intervals had been missed on both the Onan generators and main engines, similarly, fuel filter changes. Bruce asked as to when she had last been lifted out of the water and the last anti-fouling, no record of this was indicated. James had not got the answers to these questions, but a series of very terse phone calls ensued. Coffee was concluded and the tour of the boat began. Following the telephone conversations, James added, “I'll have those answers for you by close of play today, Bruce.”

 As they gained the flybridge via the starboard stairwell, Bruce commented. “I noted that she is Maltese registered. Would there be any financial reason for not changing her registration to somewhere like the UK?”

 “No, not really, other than of course if you were to employ any crew, the fact that the boat is UK registered would mean that you and they would have to comply with terms and conditions compliant with UK employment law. Most UK registered owners use the zero-hours, self-employed contracts to get around it, others opt for something like Panamanian or Bahamian registration.”

 “Hmm! I think that if the sale were to go ahead, I would like to have her registered in the UK.”

 “I would happily arrange all that for you if you so wished.”

Bruce pondered this and continued to the upper helm position located at the front and centre of the flybridge. The white leather seat was showing wear and tear and a lot of green algae as well as salt staining. “I would say that this seat hasn't seen a weatherproof cover for some time.”

 Embarrassed, James exclaimed, “Ahh! Yeah, look Bruce we are talking a few aesthetics here.” Some rapid Spanish to the accompanying crewman followed, James was very unhappy. He then continued addressing Bruce. “This is something we can take care of Bruce either replace the seat or recover it.”

 The inspection of the flybridge continued. Bruce moved aft and lifted the grill lid on the wet bar located on the starboard side and left it open, it seemed that it hadn't been cleaned since it had last been used, leaving the lid open. Bruce opened the large fridge for the wet bar and stepped back with the smell that came out from within, again he left it open. Continuing aft Bruce inspected the lockers housing the cushions for the deck furnishings. He found that the furnishings were damp and mouldy, once more, he left the access covers open so that James could see for himself. Bruce moved right to the rear of the flybridge, the area that housed the hydraulic crane that was capable of lifting a 5,000 lb tender right out over the beam. The crane jib was in the stored position and like everything on the flybridge it was showing signs of neglect with rusty coloured stains on the white paintwork and the weather cover was missing.

 During the rest of the tour, several things came to light, a lack of cutlery, glasses, no sheets, duvets, blankets, a musty smell in the master cabin and the crew area. Televisions missing from the cabins. Bruce was shaking his head as he went through the engine room and looked at the twin Caterpillar engines. Engine rooms should be immaculate. He noticed a slight fuel drip from one of the fuel filters, so with a grunt, he got down so that the offending fuel filter was at eye level. Straightening up, he mentioned to no one in particular. “Cross threaded. I might suggest that this is seen to before we go out on our trip this afternoon.” It was however heard and noted by James. More phone calls from James resulted.

 As Bruce and James went ashore for lunch, two vans appeared, four people boarded the boat, two went straight into the engine room through the crew quarter access. Entering the restaurant Bruce, selected a table from which he could continue to have a good view of the comings and goings, on what he had already decided was his boat. They ordered lunch, Bruce went for a cheese and tomato tostado, James opted for a club sandwich.

 Opening the conversation, James asked. “So, what are your feelings so far Bruce?”

 Bruce paused for about ten seconds between mouthfuls, considering his answer before replying, then turning towards James, the penetrating blue eyes looked straight into his. “James, being very fucking honest with you and I know that today has not been down to you or Boats.co.uk, but if a manager from Ellis Marine had been sat in your place right now I would have told them that I feel like I have been treated as an idiot. Judging by the way things have gone so this far, I would have to ask. Did Ellis Marine really want to sell me this boat or not?”

 James felt a chill run down his spine, the faded Rhodesian accent was more apparent with this mans’ suppressed anger. At that moment, words failed him.

 “Now I realise that this is not down to you, so forgive me, but I have just flown out from the UK and spent time being shown a boat that was supposedly prepared for sale. Yet it is apparent that no one has made any form of an effort to make the boat presentable.” Pausing briefly to stir his coffee, he continued. “The advert reads that everything is in pristine condition, and I have to say that if anyone is expecting me to part with what the asking price is, then you can forget it. Quite frankly, James, as I said, I feel that someone has been wasting my time. I love the boat, the spec is exactly what I want but seriously, I can find another one somewhere else.”