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stories about the exploits of his old friend Tom Lipton and hisongoing pursuit of the America’s Cup. Tom had had four cracks, all unsuccessful, at trying to wrest the Auld Mug from the New York Yacht Club.
    While Tom and Mac had been business adversaries for many years, they were also great chums, corresponding regularly. These letters usually involved the pair goading each other about their business ventures, and often ended with a wager about the impending failure of the other’s next project. It was Mac’s turn to write, as he had just read about Tom’s fifth challenge. In his usual dry manner, Mac pointed out the error of Tom’s ways, saying that if he indeed wanted to win the America’s Cup he would need a yacht designed and built by Kiwis.
    Lipton wrote back, saying that Mac had better get such a yacht together, as when he won the Cup he would be accepting challenges from anywhere, even the Antipodes. Mac had to accept Tom’s challenge, agreeing to the race so long as the prize was not only the Cup but the yachts as well.
    The return letter, accompanied by a large brass compass with a note suggesting that Mac would need such a device to know which way Shamrock had gone, confirmed the deal. In subsequent letters it was agreed that, when Tom won the Cup, Mac would take an all-Kiwi team to race Shamrock on the original course at Cowes, best of three.
    Murdoch showed the letter to his young daughter, Mercedes. She was enthralled by the prospect. Although Mercedes loved living in Auckland, she was bored. Educated in the finest schools in Europe, she had inherited her mother’s film-star looks and her father’s business acumen and was at the centre of the social scene. Well-versed in the art of creating controversy, she roared around town in her sporty blue Bugatti roadster. Polite society was often shocked by her forward manner, but Daddy’s money opened doors whenever she wanted something.Despite her antics, everybody seemed to love Mercedes, and there was always a queue of eligible and not-so-eligible young men lining up to take her out.
    Mercedes took up the challenge of organising the design and building of the yacht. Mac had never sailed large yachts before, his experience of sailing being limited to small craft on the Scottish lochs as a boy. He was glad to have a lieutenant in Mercedes, and was doubly pleased that it gave her a purpose in life.
    To get the whole affair under way, Mercedes decided to get to know the cream of Auckland’s yachting fraternity. So one Friday night, dressed as if she were going to a ball, she bounded up the stairs to the front door of the Royal Auckland Yacht Squadron headquarters. As she burst through the door, the cigar-smoke-filled room went silent. Walking towards the bar, Mercedes checked the front of her dress to make sure it hadn’t come undone, but everything seemed to be in order.
    ‘Can I help you, madam?’ were the first words spoken.
    ‘Yes, barman, I’ll have a Brandy Alexander please, and may I buy you one?’
    ‘I’m sorry, madam, I’ll have to say no on three counts.’
    As if she was surprised, Mercedes glared at the barman with a stare that could have stampeded wild horses, and in a very audible voice asked, ‘Why?’
    ‘Because, madam, on the first count, women are not allowed in the club on Friday nights. On the second count, I assume from your appearance that you are Maori, and it’s against the law to serve you alcohol. And, on the third count, it would be unfair of me to take advantage of your generous offer in these circumstances.’
    Mercedes was indignant.
    ‘That’s enough, Benson,’ said a voice from a darkened, smoke-filled corner of the bar. ‘Just put the young lady’sdrink on my tab and you have one too. I’ll take care of Miss McAlister. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Toby Mahoney, vice-commodore of the club, and I’m very pleased to meet you.’
    Somewhat taken aback, Mercedes swung around in the direction of the commanding