"For how long?"

"A long time. Two hours, maybe three. I wasn't wearing a watch. Finally the sun got low in the sky; I realized that Paul wasn't going to help me, and that I had to do something to help myself."

"And what did you do?"

She took a deep breath and let it out. "I hugged the mast as tightly as I could, then I slipped out of the bosun's chair and began sliding down the mast, except I slid a lot faster than I meant to. I went down very quickly until I came to rest on the cross trees in a sitting position. That hurt, and I was sort of stunned for a minute, so I just stopped and collected myself for a few minutes. The rolling wasn't quite as bad, since I was farther down the mast, Finally I got up enough nerve to go the rest of the way down. I still don't know why I didn't fall and hurt myself."

"Then you went to help your husband?"

"No, not immediately. I was so terrified and so exhausted from clinging to the mast that I just lay there in a heap. I think I may have even fainted for a while; I don't know how long. When I could get up again, I made my way back to the cockpit. Paul was dead."

Stone found that he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a rush, and everyone in the room-the coroner, the jury, and Sir Winston-turned and looked at him. "Excuse me," he said sheepishly. He looked up and found Allison Manning staring at him. It seemed to be the first time she had been aware of his presence.

"Please go on," Sir Winston said. "What did you do next?"

"I tried to give him cardiopulmonary resuscitation," she said.

"Had you been trained in this technique?"

"I took a class once, at the yacht club at home."

"Did this have any effect?"

"No. I couldn't get a pulse at all, and Paul…I couldn't get him to breathe, and his body was growing quite cold by this time."

Stone marveled at how calmly she related all this.

"And then what did you do?"

"I sat and cried for a while and let the yacht take care of herself. When I finally got a grip, I started thinking about what to do next. It was dark by then, and it seemed so strange that Paul was dead. I kept expecting him to come up from below and adjust the sails or something."

"Did you move the body at all?"

"Not at first. Paul is…was a big man, and I'm quite small. I thought about moving him down below, to a berth, but then it-occurred to me that if I did, I'd just have to get him up again, sooner or later. So I left him in the cockpit that night. I was exhausted, so I got some sleep. I couldn't eat anything, though. The boat took care of me; the wind dropped, and she lay fairly quietly."

"What did you finally do with the body?"

When I woke up it was still dark, but there was about three-quarters of a moon, so the night was bright. It was clear to me that in that climate, I was going to have to bury Paul at sea. I went up into the cockpit and tried lifting the body, but I couldn't budge it. Finally I got the main halyard around him and winched him into a sort of standing position. When I let out on the line, he fell to leeward, and I was able to get him onto the side deck and undo the halyard. Then I released the lifelines and got him overboard."

"What did you do next?"

She swallowed hard, then continued calmly. "I said a prayer for Paul's soul, then I began to think about sailing the boat. Dawn came; I got the mainsail up with a winch and got us headed due west, and I repaired the headsail reefing swivel with a little steel clip. We had half a dozen spares, and we had already used half of them. Paul often talked about finding some more permanent solution to the problem, but he never did. Finally I got the headsail up again. I set the self-steering gear, as Paul had taught me, and I got a sleeping bag and slept in the cockpit through the morning. It was easy sailing, and with one or two direction changes as the wind came up, I got through the day. I slept in the cockpit that flight, and by the second day, I was getting used to sailing the boat."

"So you just kept heading due west?"

"No, there was a book on board about celestial navigation; I couldn't find the manuals for the GPS or the high-frequency radio. I had never taken any real interest in the subject before-Paul had always done the navigating-but he had shown me how to use the sextant. From the book I learned how to find our latitude, and I just tried to keep us on the right latitude the rest of the way. We finished up a little farther south than I had tried for; our landfall was at St.Marks, instead of Antigua."

Sir Winston reached into his briefcase and brought out two books. He showed one to Allison Manning. "And you kept this logbook?"

"Yes, after Paul died I kept the log in a sort of abbreviated fashion. Paul was always very meticulous about recording everything, as you can see by reading the earlier entries."

Sir Winston held up the other book, a leather-bound volume. "And do you recognize this book?"

She looked at it. "Yes, he bought that in Las Palmas, and he wrote in it a lot."

"Did you ever read what he wrote in this book, Mrs.Manning?"

"No. He often made notes in such a book."

"Mrs.Manning, are you quite able to continue? Would you like a rest?"

"No, I'm fine; I'd like to go on."

"Good, good. Tell me, Mrs.Manning, how would you describe your relationship with Your husband?"

"We had a good marriage; we were very content and happy."

Sir Winston looked surprised. "Really? You didn't have fights,arguments?"

"Rarely. Oh, I suppose anyone who's married has an argument now and then, but we got along well."

"No children?"

"No. Paul didn't want children."

"But you did?"

"Well, yes, but I suppose Paul was more important to me. I didn't want to ruin our marriage by having a child unless Paul wanted one, too."

"So you were deeply in love with your husband?"

She hesitated. "I loved him, yes," she said finally.

"Did you treat him well?"

"Yes, I did."

"You were a good wife at all times?"

"I tried to be," she replied. "Excuse me, sir, but what are you getting at?"

Sir Winston opened the leather-bound book and showed her a page. "Is this your husband's handwriting?"

"Yes,it is." Allison Manning was looking concerned for the first time.

"Let me read you some of what your husband wrote in this book," Sir Winston said, opening the book at a marked page. "I quote: 'They had been on the boat together for months now, and she had been the perfect bitch.'" Sir Winston paused, looked at the jury, then continued. "'She had always had a temper, but now she frightened him with the intensity of her anger.'" He looked at Allison Manning as if to elicit a response, but she said nothing; she looked stunned.

Sir Winston turned to another marked passage. "'They argued one day as she was making lunch. She had a chef's knife in her hand, and for a moment, he thought she might use it on him. He slept badly that night, waking often, expecting to feel the blade in his back.'"

Allison Manning was suddenly on her feet; her face was red and contorted with anger. "That's not about us, dammit! It's written in the third person, don't you see? What are you trying to do, you bastard?"

Sir Winston feigned shock at her outburst, but before he could speak, the coroner broke in. "Please compose yourself, Mrs.Manning; Sir Winston is only doing his duty." He looked at his watch. "I think we will stop now for lunch. We Will resume in one hour. Gentlemen of the jury, please do not discuss these proceedings among yourselves during lunch." He stood, and the jurors stood with him.

Sir Winston collected the books and his briefcase and strode quickly from the room, leaving Allison Manning standing, staring after him. Finally she collected her purse and walked slowly toward the door.