‘You only met him yesterday,’ Heather protested.
‘I know.’ Angie’s chuckle was full of delight.
‘You be careful.’
But Angie glowed with the self-confidence of a young woman who’d always been able to win any man she chose. She laughed merrily, and a moment later Heather heard her singing in the shower.
There was no mistaking the Santa Maria, a beautiful single-masted boat, over a hundred feet long, dominating everything in the little harbour of Mondello. Renato parked the car and handed her out. ‘What do you think of her?’ he asked in a voice full of love and pride.
‘She’s lovely,’ Heather admitted.
He leapt lightly down onto the deck and reached up to settle both hands about her waist. The next moment she was swinging through the air to land beside him. ‘All right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly. The sudden movement had taken her by surprise.
He introduced the crew, who were lined up to greet her.
‘This is Alfonso, my captain, Gianni and Carlo, the crew. And this,’ he added, indicating a little man, ‘is Fredo the cook. He can manage anything from the fastest snacks to cordon bleu.’
The sun was bright and warm, a strong breeze whisked across the water, and soon they were edging out of the harbour into the wide sea beyond. After a few minutes Heather became used to the movement, and even began to find it pleasant.
‘Well?’ Renato asked, watching her face. ‘Do you want to go back, throw yourself overboard, throw me overboard-?’
‘That last one sounds nice,’ she said, laughing.
He shared her laughter, showing strong white teeth against his tanned skin. After the tense, argumentative man she’d met in England, this was a transformation. His clothes, too, were different. The elegant formality of last night was replaced by blue shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt, that was unbuttoned all the way. He looked powerful, glowing with life, intensely masculine.
‘Let me show you your kingdom,’ Renato said, taking her hand.
Below, it was like a little palace. In the galley Fredo, surrounded by the most modern equipment, was furiously at work on a feast. Along the narrow corridor was the master bedroom, complete with luxurious private bathroom. Everywhere was panelled with gleaming honey-coloured birchwood. At the centre was a huge double bed, the perfect place for lovers on their wedding night.
‘This is yours for today,’ Renato told her. ‘Why not change into a swimsuit?’
‘I don’t even own one.’
He pulled open a wardrobe to display a series of swimsuits on hangers. Heather stared. There must have been about ten, in all colours, styles, and varying degrees of daringness.
‘But how come you-?’ She checked as she saw the wicked humour in his eyes. ‘I’m not even going to ask.’
‘You don’t really need to, do you?’ he asked.
His sexuality was so frank, his appetites so shameless that she didn’t know where to look. She began to rifle through some pastel-coloured costumes, but Renato’s big hand came out of nowhere and stilled hers.
‘Not those,’ he said. ‘This one.’
He held up a bikini but she instinctively shook her head. ‘No, I can’t-’
‘Why not? It’s very modest.’
That was true. As bikinis went it was unfashionably modest. The lower part would cover most of her behind, and the upper part would enclose her breasts satisfactorily. But Heather had always seen herself as a once-piece person.
‘And I can’t wear cerise,’ she argued. ‘I’m too fair.’
‘There’s no law to stop you wearing reds. Risk it.’
‘Right, I will.’
When he’d gone she changed, realising that in this place the dramatic colour seemed natural. She found a matching scarf in the wardrobe and tied it around her head, letting her hair fall free behind it. To cover her semi-nakedness she slipped on a robe of white lacy silk.
Back on deck she found Renato in the stern section, with a table that bore snacks and tall glasses. Above him a striped awning offered shelter from the sun. He handed her gallantly to her seat, and served her. The chilled wine was delicious; the little almond cakes were superb. Heather began to feel that she could easily get used to this.
‘Sicily’s at the centre of the Mediterranean,’ Renato explained. ‘So the boat can take you anywhere, easily. You can go across to Tunisia, or head the other way to Greece, or sail up the coast of Italy.’
‘Where are we going today?’
‘Just part of the way around the island, and then back. We’ll find a quiet bay, take a swim. Are you feeling seasick yet?’
‘Not at all,’ she admitted. ‘In fact, it feels wonderful.’ She took a deep breath of salty air. ‘Mmm!’
He grinned. ‘We’ll make a sailor of you yet.’
They toasted each other and she ate some of the little marzipan fruits, which looked so perfect that at first she thought they were the real thing. Then Renato took the helm and she stood beside him with the wind in her hair and the soft mist of water in her face, suddenly possessed by happiness and well-being.
‘Why not sunbathe?’ he suggested. ‘But first rub in some sun cream-your skin is very fair and you must protect it.’
‘The sun never touches me,’ she said, a little regretfully.
‘English sun,’ Renato said dismissively. ‘What do you know of the heat in my country? Even on land it can be fierce, but here the water reflects the sun back and doubles its strength. There’s sun block in your cabin.’
She chose one of the luxurious lotions in her little bathroom, and went back up on deck to stretch out. Renato watched as she smoothed the silky liquid over her arms and legs. ‘Turn over and let me do your back,’ he said. ‘Think how my brother would blame me if you went to your wedding looking like a lobster! I tremble at the prospect.’
‘Tremble?’ she chuckled. ‘You?’
‘I assure you that under this grim exterior beats the heart of a mouse.’
She gave in and rolled over onto her stomach. The touch of Renato’s fingertips on her spine was unexpectedly light, not forceful, but almost delicate. She rested her head on her hands and began to relax as he worked on the back of her neck, kneading the cream in thoroughly with both hands.
Through half-closed eyes she watched the sun slanting on the deck. The hypnotic rhythm of his hands, strong yet sensitive, was making the edges of the world blur, so that she couldn’t tell where one thing ended and another began, or where she ended and the world began. The blood was pulsing slowly, blissfully through her veins…
Suddenly she was awake, forcing herself back to reality through clouds of contented sensation. Somewhere there were seagulls calling, the waves lashing noisily against the side of the boat, but her heart was beating so loudly that it blotted out these sounds. She turned sharply and found Renato looking at her with something in his eyes that might have been shock.
‘I must return to the helm,’ he said, his voice coming from a long way off.
‘Yes,’ she replied vaguely. ‘You must.’
To her relief he left her. She looked around, finding to her surprise that everything was in its normal place. Her heart was pounding, but gradually it slowed to a soft throb of pleasure. She was breathless, as though she’d been running. And Renato had been the same, she recalled. She lay down again, meaning to puzzle it out, but contentment overcame her, and a moment later she was asleep.
Renato’s light touch on her shoulder awoke her. ‘We’ve dropped anchor,’ he said. ‘Just over there is a little bay.’
The Santa Maria had a small dinghy, already loaded with a picnic hamper and being lowered to the water. Renato handed her into it and they were away, headed for a small golden beach where there was nobody else in sight.