Once we are in the habit of filtering what we want to believe through a sieve, disbelief splashes back in our face. Some insightful woman once said, ?All husbands think they're gods. If only their wives weren't atheists.? That could very well sum up the whole of my marriage with Phillip. But the French have a remarkable way of making you forget the very thing you thought you had learned. Or it might have been an exceptional French wine..

Philippe de Bouillon stood at the bar and is soon under the realization that unlike other bars, this one has no tender. He looks up and down the bar and tries to peer into the kitchen, but sees no one.

?Hey, sweetheart, I think it is to each their own this evening.? Keely called to the peering one as she swung herself behind the bar to hunt down the Pinot Noir. ?Where the heck did he hide it.?

?Oui...so I see, mademoiselle. A pity, really, no?? Peeved already at the lack of service, he walked behind the bar and found a small jug of Irish whiskey and a reasonably clean glass. ?Pardon me, please.? said to Keely.

?Oh, don't you worry about me. I am just trying to find a decent year and a table where the sounds don't reverberate back hard enough to make your ears bleed.? Keely looked at him over a shoulder as she stepped aside, then looked back again. ?Yeah, hello. I'm Keely and you are gorgeous.?

Her last words had him spilling the Irish whisky on the bar top. ?Mademoiselle Keely, you are the direct type of woman, yes? I think I like that. My name is . . . Philippe.?

?Not always so direct. Sometimes I can be annoyingly blunt or frustratingly subtle.? The bottle was finally found and a glass was poured. And didn't life have a way of coming back to haunt you in the most peculiar ways? ? Phillipe? As in Phillip? But in a French sort of way??

Philippe finally had to smile ?Oui, I do believe that Philip could be counted as the. . . the more common form of Philippe. Actually, I'm Philippe de Bouillon, at your service, Mademoiselle Keely.?

? I was afraid of that.? The bottle of wine was set aside then the glass taken up. ?Don't suppose you just came into existence say..oh...about a week ago??

An amused smile, then downs the whiskey in the glass and turns to look at her. ?I assure you, mademoiselle, my existence upon this world has been a bit longer. My mother, God rest her soul, would attest to that sad fact if she were still in the world of the living.?

That Mademoiselle stuff was kind of neat. Lord knows her Phillip never called her anything pleasant. She only got called to the carpet for a regular tongue lashing. ?I am sure there are a few that would attest to a lot of things, if they were still in the world of the living. Thankfully, for many I am without a doubt, that is not the case.? She was leading the way out from behind the bar if he cared to follow. There was always that embarrassing off chance you could be mistaken for working in a gin joint.

?The experts say a good dose of bull excrement is exceptional fertilizer. Both in form and prose. As for the talking? I have been speaking with my flowerbed quite often lately. And adding a lot of rubbish to the spiel of my words, just to be sure.?

He rested his forearms on the table and leaned closer to her, he spoke in a tone that would be difficult to tell if he were joking or quite serious. ? Well, mon chou, if I were in your garden, I would love to hear your words. But the bull excrement...that you keep elsewhere.? He gave her a wink and leaned back and sipped his drink.

Freedom had an inspirational release on a soul that suffered under a cruel hand. The widow was leaning forward in kind to hear his words. But she remained there in her lean upon the table with her reply. "Les mots de l'amour? Ou les paroles d'une veuve qui n'est pas le deuil d'un mari??

The response had surprised him...he leaned closer again and spoke softly...his hand reaching out to touch hers. ?Are you such a woman, mademoiselle? A widow who mourns not for her husband.? The statement was not accusatory at all, but of sincere concern.

Realizing she had said more than she should, her eyes lowered demurely. "Since I don't know where he has gotten himself off to, I can hardly be the grieving wife. But if he never returned, I can not say that I would be sorely disappointed."

The captain's hand gentle squeezed her hand. ?I know some things. I know that when a woman does not miss a man, there is nearly always a very good reason, no? Feel no guilt, Mademoiselle Keely, one usually receives what one earns. But look, I made you sad; and for that I do apologize.?

?Ah, Captain Phillipe, were it not for your namesake, I would be inclined to believe your words of wisdom. As it is, I fear you might be a ghost sent to haunt my conscious.?

At that he didn't know whether to take that at her word or in jest...his head pulled back slightly in surprise, then he smiled, his thumb rubbed the back of her hand. ?Never had a ghost such a pleasant assignment, mon chaton. But how can I prove to you that I am not this ghost? Give me a task, an assignment that no ghost would attempt; and I shall prove to you that I am quite substantial.?

? Asking me to give up secrets to entice me? So soon? Tsk. But, allow me a moment to consider the question. Perhaps I can gleam something out of my dull existence that sparks the memory.?

The Lady Venture is a fine ship, as fine as any could want when undertaking the navigation of ocean and sea. Yet when she takes to harbor and is nestled within her berth, it is with all due expediency that I leave her fine decks and make haste to the pubs for whiskey and companionship.

To my surprise, another lady - that known as Lady Fortune - has shown me great favor this night; for soon after I had arrived at one of the town?s more prominent establishments, then by chance I met a most delightful woman by the name of Keely Asher. We sat together and we talked, and now looking back on the evening I find that I could begin to describe neither the nature of anyone else in that inn, nor even the number. My attention was drawn completely to Mademoiselle Keely.

It appears that she has, of all things, a husband who has the name Phillip; and this husband named Phillip has recently disappeared from her life. I believe this to be a good thing, for evidently the fellow was a scoundrel and le fesse, and made her life quite unbearable. It is the unforgivable sin that such a beautiful woman be treated in such a ill and disrespectful manner. It is evident that having my name be so similar to that of her husband could be construed as having some importance, for ill or good.

I pray it would be for good.

Mademoiselle Keely permitted me to walk her to her home, and I found it to be a journey completed far too quickly. Nevertheless, we shall have lunch aboard The Lady Venture on the morrow.

It is all I can now think about.

"I have indeed come. Not much could have kept me away from such an adventure. However, you really should not flatter me so, Captain Philippe. My head might burst." She nodded in approval and started up the plank with her hand curled about his arm. Flicking her skirt to the side with one hand grasped about the linen, she stepped onto the gleaming and spotless deck. Lifting her eyes to the Captain, it was hard to contain that smile of excitement. "She is beautiful. It is a she, correct? Ships and storms are named after the fiery exuberance of women as storms are named after their unforgiving nature?"

"Oui, Mlle. Keely, The Lady Venture is indeed a she. I do believe that all ships are a "she" or else when Captain's say 'All hands on deck' it could be thought to be rather . . . odd, no?" He gave her a grin and a wink, letting her know that he was teasing and there was no truth to the statement. He first led her to the bow of the ship where they could together look out over the activity upon the docks and neighboring businesses.

"I enjoy it here," he said. "It puts me above all the commotion and I can look down upon the people as they busy themselves. Not to mention the lovers as they stroll hand-in-hand upon the dock, oblivious to anything but each other's eyes." He turned and gazed into her eyes. "It is a good place to be on a fine afternoon such as this, no?"

Keely was so busy looking at everything; that huge round thing with the sticks protruding, all the rolled up and secured sails. Pausing at the rail along his side, Keely was smiling good-naturedly at his teasing. " I am afraid to admit I don't know one or a dozen things about a ship. From front to back, hull to mast, it is all a mystery" Her gaze was then to follow along after his. The couples strolling along the docks, gazing into each other's eyes with something alien to Keely had her turning her gaze aside to look up to the Captain. " It's a great afternoon. I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be." Except for watching for unexpected growth in the flowerbed.

Captain Philippe de Bouillon placed his hands upon her shoulders and looked upon her face and smiled. "You have already brightened my day, Mlle. Keely. I pray the lunch my cook has prepared shall not disappoint. Come, and should you be so inclined after lunch, I'll tell you all about a ship, giving away all her secrets and exposing her frailties." He turned and led her down from the bow. Members of the crew were polite and bowed as they walked by. Others could be seen up on the quarterdeck making the last minute preparations.

By the time they had climbed the steps and come to the quarterdeck at the stern of the ship, candles had been lit upon the table and a couple of crew members were playing the hand accordion, the fiddle, a guitar and bouhran, all to provide a pleasant atmosphere. The captain led the beautiful Keely to the table and held her chair for her. "I shall tell you a secret. I think the crew is as excited for you to be here as I am." He gave her a wink as he waited for Keely to take her seat.

(tbc)