Castelli's Virgin Widow

by Caitlin Crews

  He could feel inquisitive eyes on him as the crowd of people narrowed into something resembling an orderly queue. With the ease born of habit he ignored them all.

  His appearance matched his battered backpack. He was just a broke traveller on a cut-price cultural tour of the Greek islands and possibly Italy. His hair, a few shades lighter than his brother’s, was slightly longer than he normally wore it, curling at the nape of his neck, and as he hadn’t shaved that morning his face was shadowed with bristle. His eyes, however, the same unusual shade of green as his brother’s, were shrewd as they skimmed the crowds. He had tucked his sunglasses into his pocket.

  The sun was ferocious. He could feel himself perspiring freely under the faded polo shirt and realised he shouldn’t have worn jeans. Fortunately, he had a few pairs of khaki shorts in the backpack, along with an assortment of tee shirts, and those should do the trick in the blistering sun once he was on board the liner.

  He switched off the thought, his mind already moving to work, planning how he would co-ordinate the work to be done on the liner and the time when it would be ready to set sail in its new, improved condition. He would charge outrageous prices for anyone lucky enough to secure a ticket, and he had no doubt that people would be queuing to pay.

  Done deal.

  He hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages.

  * * *

  Delilah Scott eyed her mobile, which was buzzing furiously at her, and debated whether she should pick it up or not.

  Her sister’s name was flashing on the screen, demanding urgent attention.

  With a little sigh of resignation she answered, and was greeted with a flurry of anxious questions.

  ‘Where on earth have you been? I’ve been trying to get through to you for the past two days! You know how I worry, Delly! It’s mad here, with the shop... I can’t believe you’ve decided, just like that, to extend your holiday! You know I’m depending on you getting back here to help... I can’t do it on my own...’

  Delilah felt her stomach churn into instant nervous knots.

  ‘I—I know, Sarah,’ she stammered, gazing through the tiny porthole of her very small cabin, which was just big enough for a single bed, the very barest of furniture, and an absolutely minuscule en-suite shower room. ‘But I thought the added experience would come in handy for when I get back to the Cotswolds... It’s not like I’m on holiday...’ she tacked on guiltily.

  ‘You are on holiday, Delly!’ her sister said accusingly. ‘When you said that you’d be doing some teaching for a fortnight, I never expected you to send me an email telling me that you’d decided to extend the fortnight into six weeks! I know you really needed to get away, Delly...what with that business with Michael...but still... It’s manic here...’

  Delilah felt the worry pouring down the phone line and experienced another wave of guilt.

  Back home, Sarah was waiting for her. Building work which was costing an absolute arm and a leg was set to begin in two weeks’ time, and she knew that her sister had been waiting for her to get back so that they could weather it together.

  But was it too much to take a bit of time off before the dreadful drudgery of normal life returned? She had just completed her art degree, and every single free moment during those three years she had been in that tiny cottage with her sister, worrying about how they were going to survive and counting the takings from the gallery downstairs in the certain knowledge that sooner or later Dave Evans from the bank was going to lose patience and foreclose.

  And then there had been Michael...

  She hated thinking about him—hated the way just remembering how she had fallen for him, how he had messed her around, made her feel sick and foolish at the same time.

  She definitely didn’t want to hear Sarah rehashing that horrible catastrophe. Delilah loved her sister, but ever since she could remember Sarah had mothered her, had made decisions for her, had worried on her behalf about anything and everything. The business with Michael had just fed into all that concern. Yes, it was always great to have the comfort of someone’s love and empathy when you’d just had your heart broken, but it could also be claustrophobic.

  Sarah cared so much...always had...

  Their parents, Neptune and Moon, both gloriously irresponsible hippies who had been utterly and completely wrapped up in one another, had had little time to spare for their offspring. Both artists, they had scratched a living selling some of their art, and later on a random assortment of crystals and gems after their mother had become interested in alternative healing.

  They had converted their cottage into a little gallery and had just about managed to survive because it was slap-bang in the middle of tourist territory. They had always benefited from that. But when they had died—within months of one another, five years previously—sales of local art had already begun to take a nosedive and things had not improved since.

  Sarah, five years older than Delilah, had been doing the best she could, making ends meet by doing the books for various people in the small village where they lived, but it had always been understood that once Delilah had completed her art degree she would return and help out.

  As things stood, they had taken out a substantial loan to fund renovations to the gallery, in order to create a new space at the back where Delilah would teach art to anyone local who was interested and, more importantly, other people, keen on learning to draw and paint, who would perhaps attend week-long courses, combining sightseeing in the picturesque Cotswolds with painting indoors and outdoors.

  It was all a brilliant if last-ditch idea, and whilst Delilah had been totally in favour of it she had suddenly, when offered the opportunity to extend her stay on board the Rambling Rose, been desperate to escape.

  A little more time to escape the finality of returning to the Cotswolds and to breathe a little after her break-up from Michael.

  Just a little more time to feel normal and relaxed.

  ‘It’ll be brilliant experience for when I get back,’ she offered weakly. ‘And I’ve transferred most of my earnings to the account. I’ll admit I’m not on a fabulous amount, but I’m making loads of good contacts here. Some of the people are really interested in the courses we’ll be offering...’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Honestly, Sarah. In fact, several have promised that they’ll be emailing you for details about prices and stuff in the next week or so.’

  ‘Adrian’s just about finished doing the website. That’s more money we’re having to expend...’

  Delilah listened and wondered whether these few weeks on the liner were to be her only window of freedom from worrying. Sarah would not countenance selling the cottage and Delilah, in fairness, would have hated to leave her family home. But staying required so many sacrifices that she felt as though her youth would be eaten up in the process. She was only twenty-one now, but she could see herself saying goodbye to her twenties in the never-ending task of just making ends meet.

  She had had a vision of having fun, of feeling young when she had been going out with Michael, but that had been a very narrow window and in the end it had just been an idiotic illusion anyway. When she thought about him now she didn’t think of fun, she just thought of being stupid and naïve.

  She knew that she was playing truant by extending her stay here, but the responsibilities waiting for her wouldn’t be going anywhere...and it was nice not being mothered by her sister, not having every move she made frowningly analysed, not having her life prescribed because Sarah knew best...

  She hung up, relieved to end the conversation, and decided to spend what remained of the evening in her cabin.

  Maybe she would ask a couple of the other teachers on the liner—young girls, like herself—to have something to eat with her in the cabin, maybe play cards and joke about some of the passengers, who mostly reminded her of her parents. Free-spirited ag
eing hippies, into all sorts of weird and wonderful arty pastimes and hobbies.

  Tomorrow, she would be back to teaching, and she had a full schedule ahead of her...

  * * *

  Daniel stretched. Peered through the porthole to a splendid view of deep blue ocean. The night before he had enjoyed an expected below average meal—though not sitting at the captain’s table. That sort of formality didn’t exist aboard this liner. It seemed to be one big, chattering, happy family of roughly one hundred people, of varying ages, and fifty-odd crew members who all joined in the fun. He had mixed and circulated but he knew that he’d stuck out like a sore thumb.

  Now, breakfast...and then he would begin checking out the various classes—all of which seemed destined to make no money. Pottery, poetry writing, art, cookery and a host of others, including some more outlandish ones, like astronomy and palm reading.

  Today he ditched the jeans in favour of a pair of low slung khaki shorts, a faded grey polo shirt and deck shoes, which he used on his own sailing boat when he occasionally took to the sea.

  He paused, in passing, to glance in the mirror.

  He saw what he always saw. A lean, bronzed face, green eyes, thick dark lashes, dirty blond hair streaked from the Australian sun. When he had time for sport he preferred it to be extreme, and his body reflected that. Boxing sessions at the gym, sailing on his own for relaxation, skiing on black runs...

  It was after nine, and on the spur of the moment he decided to skip breakfast, pulling a map of the liner from his pocket and, after discarding some of the more outrageous courses, heading for the section of the liner where the slightly less appalling ones were taking place.

  He had no idea what to expect. Every single passenger seemed to be an enthusiastic member of some course or other, and as he made his way through the ship, his sharp eyes noting all the signs of dilapidation, he peered into full classes. Some people were on deck, enjoying the sun, but it had to be said that the majority had come for the educational aspect of the cruise.

  It took all sorts, he thought as he meandered through the bowels of the liner.

  Inside the ship, as outside, it was very hot. The rooms in which the various courses were being taught were all air-conditioned, and for no better reason than because his clothes were beginning to stick to him like glue, he pushed open one of the doors and stepped inside.

  * * *

  In the midst of explaining the technique for drawing perspective, Delilah looked up and...

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Lounging indolently by the door was the most stunningly beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. He definitely hadn’t joined the cruise when they had started. He must have embarked in Santorini, a late member of the passenger list.

  He was tall. Very tall. And built like an athlete. Even wearing the standard gear of nearly every other passenger on the liner—longish shorts and a tee shirt—it was impossible to miss the honed muscularity of his body.

  ‘May I help you?’

  Everyone had turned to stare at the new recruit and she smartly called them back to attention, and to the arrangement of various little ceramic pots they had been in the process of trying to sketch.

  Daniel had been expecting many things, but he hadn’t been expecting this. The girl looking at him questioningly was tall and reed-slender and her hair was a vibrant shade of copper—a thousand different shades from red through to auburn—and had been tugged back into a loose ponytail which hung over one shoulder.

  He sauntered into the room and looked around him at the twenty or so people, all seated in front of canvasses. A long shelf at the back held various artists’ materials and on the walls several paintings were hanging—presumably efforts from the members of the class.

  ‘If I’m interrupting I can always return later...’

  ‘Not at all, Mr...?’

  ‘Daniel.’ He held out his hand and the girl hurried forward and briefly shook it. ‘I joined the cruise yesterday,’ he expanded, ‘and I haven’t had time to sign up to any of the courses...’

  ‘But you’re interested in art?’ That brief meeting of hands had sent a sharp little frisson skittering through her and it was all she could do to maintain eye contact with him. ‘I’m Delilah Scott, and I’m in charge of the art course...’

  Up close, he was truly spectacular. With an artist’s eye she could appreciate the perfect symmetry of his lean face. The brooding amazing eyes, the straight nose and the wide, sensual mouth. His hair looked sun-washed—not quite blond, but nothing as dull as brown—and there was something about him...something strangely charismatic that rescued him from being just another very good-looking guy.

  She would love to paint him. But right now...

  ‘I can explain the course that I run...’

  She launched into her little set speech and edged slightly away, because standing too close was making her feel jumpy. She’d had enough of men to last a lifetime, and the last thing she needed was to start feeling jumpy around one now.

  ‘Of course I don’t know what standard you’re at, but I’m sure you’ll be able to fit in whether you’re a complete beginner or at a more intermediary level. I can also show you my qualifications... You would have to return later to get the proper lowdown, because as you can see I’m in the middle of taking a class and this one will last until lunchtime... But perhaps you’d like to see some of the work my class have been doing...?’

  Not really, Daniel thought, but he tilted his head to one side and nodded with a show of interest.

  She was as graceful as a ballerina. He liked women curvy and voluptuous. This girl was anything but. She was willowy, and dressed in just the sort of appalling clothes he disliked on a woman. A loose ankle-length skirt in a confusing number of clashing colours and a floaty top that left way too much to the imagination.

  Personally, he had never been a big fan of having to work on his imagination when it came to women. He liked to see what he was getting, and he’d never had any trouble in finding beautiful women keen to oblige. Small, tight clothes showing off curves in all the right places... Girls who were in it for fun, no-strings-attached relationships. True, the occasional woman might get a little too wrapped up in planning for a future that wasn’t going to happen, but that was fine. He just ditched her. And not once had he ever felt a qualm of guilt or unease about doing that because he was straight with every single one of them upfront.

  He wasn’t ready for marriage. He wasn’t even in it for anything approaching long term. He didn’t want a partner to meet his family and close friends and start getting ideas. He didn’t do home-cooked meals or watching telly or anything remotely domesticated.

  He thought of Kelly Close and his lips thinned. Oh, no, he didn’t do any of that stuff...

  As far as Daniel De Angelis was concerned, at this point in his life work was way more important than women, and when and if he decided to tie the knot—which was nowhere in the near future, especially as Theo was now happily planning a big wedding himself, thereby paving the way for Daniel to take his time getting there—he intended to marry someone who didn’t just see the benefits of his bank balance.

  He’d had his brush with a scheming gold-digger and once was plenty enough. Kelly Close—an angelic vision with the corrupt heart of a born opportunist. He slammed the door on pointless introspection. Enough that she had been a valuable learning curve. Now he had fun. Uncomplicated fun with sexy little things, like the blonde who would be waiting for him when he jumped ship.

  Delilah Scott was showing him around the room, encouraging him to look at what the aspiring artists had already accomplished while they had been on the cruise.

  ‘Fascinating,’ he murmured. Then he turned to her before she could conclude the tour. ‘So—lunch. Where shall we meet and what time?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Delilah a
sked in confusion.

  ‘You said you wanted to give me the lowdown on the course. Over lunch sounds good. When and where? I’m guessing there’s only one restaurant on the liner?’

  Delilah felt a rush of heat swamp her and sharply brought herself back down to earth. ‘Did I say that? I didn’t think I had. You’re more than welcome to just turn up tomorrow morning for the class, or you could join in right now if you like... There’s lots of paper...pencils...’

  Those amazing green eyes, the opaque colour of burnished glass, made her want to stare and keep on staring.

  ‘I intend to spend the morning considering my options,’ Daniel inserted smoothly. ‘Checking out what the other courses are...whether they’re more up my street... I’ll meet you for lunch at twelve-thirty in the restaurant. You can tell me all about your course and see whether it fits the bill or not...’

  Not his type, but eye-catching all the same. Skin as smooth as satin, sherry-coloured eyes, and she was pale gold after time spent in the sun. And her mouth... Its full lips parted now as she looked at him.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any need for me to explain the course over lunch...’

  ‘You’re in the service industry... Surely that implies that you have to serve the customer? I’m just after some information...’

  ‘I know that, but...’

  But Michael had left her wary of men like this one. Good-looking men who were a little offbeat, a little off the beaten track...

  Eight months ago Michael Connor had sauntered into her life—all long, dark hair and navy blue eyes and a sexy, sexy smile that had blown her away. At twenty-seven, he already had a fledgling career in photography, and he had charmed her with the amazing photos he had taken over the years. He had wined and dined her and talked about taking her to the Amazon, so that she could paint and he could take pictures.

  He had swept her away from all her miserable, niggling worries about money and held out a shimmering vision of adventure and excitement. Two free spirits travelling the world. She had fallen in love with him and with those thrilling possibilities. She had dared to think that she had found a soul mate—someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life. They had kissed, but he hadn’t pressed her into bed, and now she wondered how long he would have bided his time until deciding that kissing and cuddling wasn’t what he was in it for.