by Emma Nichols
First published in 2018 by:
Britain’s Next Bestseller
An imprint of Live It Publishing
27 Old Gloucester Road
London, United Kingdom.
WC1N 3AX
www.bnbsbooks.co.uk
Copyright © 2018 by Emma Nichols
The moral right of Emma Nichols to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Except as permitted under current legislation, no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Lyrics from ‘Time After Time’ © 1984 Cyndi Lauper
All enquiries should be addressed to Britain’s Next Bestseller.
Also available in paperback - ISBN: 9781983251061
Other books by Emma Nichols…
The Vincenti Series:
Finding You (Book 1)
Remember Us (Book 2)
The Hangover (Book 3)
Beyond Borders Series:
Forbidden
To keep in touch with the latest news from Emma Nichols and her writing please visit:
www.emmanicholsauthor.com
www.facebook.com/EmmaNicholsAuthor
https://twitter.com/ENichols_Author
CONTENTS
Thanks
Dedication
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
About Emma Nichols
Other Books by Emma Nichols
Thanks
Without the assistance, advice and support and love of the following people, this book would not have been possible.
Bev the copper - thank you for the burnt salt, and so much more.
Valden - thank you for your comments, as always. I’m glad you loved this one so much.
Mu - for your on-going patience and support, thank you.
To my wonderful readers, thank you for continuing to support my endeavours. You are always in my mind when I write and I can only hope that you love reading this sunny summer romance as much as I did writing it.
With love, Emma x
Dedication
To the healing power of love.
1.
Chrissy leaned against the wooden door frame of the semi-open workshop, squinting into the bright sun, her shades perched on her head, keeping her long, dark hair from falling into her eyes. ‘The Sophia II’s moored up, in the east-cove,’ she said, casually.
Nikki barely flinched, but the increase in tension in her neck caused her hand to tighten around the wood-plane in her hand, the pressure taking a chunk out of the side of the boat. ‘Damn it,’ she cursed, under her breath, standing and rubbing fiercely at her bare forearm to remove the itchy shavings that clung to her skin.
Chrissy eyed her quizzically.
Nikki rubbed her index finger gingerly over the indentation she had created, sighed, and rested the plane gently against the boat, easing it over the damage to smooth out the surface. Her hands failed to deliver the light touch she needed, and she abandoned the plane to the workbench, disgusted with her sudden incompetence. ‘Damn it,’ she muttered again.
‘They didn’t say they were coming?’ Chrissy asked, trying to pin Nikki’s stressed response to the fact that she hadn't expected The Sophia’s arrival.
Even though there was no designated port on the small Ionian island of Sakros, and boats moored up where their owners resided, it was still common courtesy to notify Nikki, the harbour master, of a visit.
Nikki stared into the space behind Chrissy, brushing absentmindedly at the tiny particles of wood-dust that had stuck to her hands. Two years too late! An image of old Sophia’s cremation service darted into her awareness, the room filled to the rafters with mourning locals, and the distinct absence of Sophia’s family. ‘Want a beer?’ Nikki asked softly, her tone holding more remorse than frustration.
‘They should’ve told you,’ Chrissy protested.
Nikki smiled graciously at the display of passion. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. When did the Carter-Cruz’ ever announce their visits? That said; when did they last visit? Not once in the previous twenty years! She walked through to the bar, pulled out two bottles of Volkan Grey and handed one over.
‘Thanks,’ Chrissy said, taking the beer and following Nikki through the covered bar to the beach at the front of the taverna, pulling her shades down to protect her eyes as she moved into the bright afternoon sunlight.
‘The Sophia II’s moored up,’ Manos said, hurriedly passing them on his way into the bar, beads of sweat twinkling like stars on his forehead.
Nikki rolled her eyes. ‘I heard,’ she said.
Sitting on the large driftwood bench and leaning against the rock-face, staring out to sea, she sipped from the bottle. She’s back! The thought churned her insides as her eyes settled on the large, white house on the hill that separated the east- from the west-cove. She took in a deep breath and sipped from the bottle. The cabin cruiser would be moored beyond the rocks separating the coves, and out of view. She could feel the tightness in her chest increasing; the injustice; the betrayal, and desertion, tangling in a knot. The Carter-Cruz’ had undoubtedly played a big part in her life, at least Teresa had, and for the most part leaving an unpleasant taste that had lingered.
Chrissy assessed her boss closely. She seemed distant and distracted. ‘You okay?’ she asked with genuine concern.
‘Yeah,’ Nikki responded in a timbre that lacked conviction. She turned her attention to the calm, clear-blue water that darkened at the point on the horizon where it joined the lighter-blue skyline, the soft swish of the waves lapping at the shore, competing with the chirping of crickets, the near-deafening cicadas and the occasional clattering sound from the kitchen. Her eyes scanned the west-cove in front of her, and further west, where the Kefalas ferry sat, moored to the jetty, and the leisure boats beyond, idling on the beach.
She glanced over her shoulder at the bar, the taverna, and the workshop to the rear, next to her apartment. This place was the only home she had known, and she had been happy. She pondered. Was she happy? She toyed with the necklace that tracked the line of her collarbone, her thumb and forefinger delicately caressing the rainbow-patterned shell at its centre-point. Ariana had been a lifetime ago.
Chrissy stood and meandered back to the bar. In the three years she had worked with Nikki and Manos, it was the first time she had seen her like this. She seemed uncharacteristically pensive, agitated even. Something was bothering her about the arrival of the Sophia, but it was abundantly clear that it wasn’t anything she wanted to discuss.
‘She okay?’ Manos asked as Chrissy approached, his keen eyes monitoring Nikki from a distance. The wrinkles on his forehead and something in his whispered tone said that he expected Nikki to react badly to the news. His hands were livelier than his normal relaxed pace of working; he was worried.
&n
bsp; Nikki leaned her head against the rock, presented her face to the warm sun and closed her eyes, hoping to release the tension that seemed to have overtaken her normal functioning, and sighed. The comforting heat failed to penetrate her awareness, her mind instantly consumed by the movie of her last moments with Ariana, just before Teresa took her daughter off the island; the image just as clear as it had been back then, the hurt as excruciatingly painful.
‘Please don’t go. I can’t bear it if you leave. I love you!’ she pleaded, shaking Ariana by the arms, trying to hold her faltering gaze. Ariana tensed, shifted her eyes, and wouldn’t look at her.
‘They’re making me go,’ Ariana whispered, eventually.
It was then she noticed that the whites of Ariana’s dark-brown eyes were red and her face was puffy. She had been crying. She did care.
‘Please, stay with Sophia,’ she begged, naively.
‘I can’t,’ Ariana responded, weakly.
At that moment, she realised Ariana was going to leave the island. For all the dreams they had shared and their plans of being together, it would never happen. It could never happen. ‘You have a choice,’ she spat angrily, regretting the words immediately.
‘I don’t!’ Ariana retorted sharply.
She had never felt another’s rage before, not as she did then. Ariana’s glare had the quality of marble-stone, her body of steel, and she pulled out of the hold with urgency. The sense of finality that passed between them at that moment rendered her immobile. She stood, speechless, just watching the back of the ash-blonde head until her eyes couldn’t focus through the tears.
Nikki shuddered, her eyes opened, and she bolted upright, her fingers instantly reaching to suppress the pressure at the back of her eyes.
Manos approached, sipping his beer. ‘You okay?’ he asked, his voice quiet, his face etched with concern.
Nikki jolted, swallowed, blinked, and, reorienting herself, dragged her thoughts into the present moment. ‘Humm,’ she replied. No, she wasn’t okay, but she needed to be. She needed to get to grips with the fact that the Carter-Cruz’ had returned.
He nodded, placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and stared out to sea. He had come to understand Nikki well over the years; in many respects, she was much like him. She had lived an isolated life as a young child and matured into an independent, confident woman. She didn’t seek counsel very often, preferring the privacy of her mind, and rarely got stressed about anything. He turned to her, studied her. She would talk eventually but in her own time.
Nikki stared up at the man who had been the nearest thing to a father to her since her parents had died and tried to smile. His gaze was kind, warm, understanding, and his love soothed her, as it had done the time he had explained to her that her mum and dad were in heaven. She had been four years old and cried for a while, and he had cried with her. He wore the pain of her life as well as his own, in the fissures that wrinkled his stubbly beard, but his dark-brown eyes still sparkled with the excitement of a child. He had always had the power to draw her out of her moods back then, to help her to see the good in life in spite of the bad things that happened. He had been there the day Ariana deserted her, and every day since. He had been her family now for thirty-two years.
‘What do you think?’ she asked, hoping her voice hadn’t betrayed her uneasiness.
‘The Sophia II,’ he said, rhetorically. ‘I don’t know. Hasn’t been around these shores since…’ He paused trying to recall the time lapsed.
‘Twenty years,’ she answered, her voice thick with tension.
‘Aye,’ he said, scratching at his stubbly chin and chewing on the toothpick dancing between his teeth. ‘Two years since old Sophia passed on,’ he added ruefully through a sigh. ‘Thought they would’ve shown up before now,’ he continued, a whistling sound accompanying another intake of breath through his clamped teeth.
‘Two years and two months,’ Nikki corrected him. She picked at the loose corner of the label on the bottle in her hand, sipped, winced at the now warm liquid, and placed the beer on the sand at her feet. She cracked her knuckles and rubbed her hands up and down her thighs anxiously. She released a long breath, leaned her head back against the firm rock and closed her eyes again, trying to release the pressure in her head and the tightness in her chest; hoping to appear nonchalant, and failing. Anger bubbled at the surface, tormenting her, and her hands closed into a tight ball. The white blotches appearing across her knuckles, contrasting with her tanned skin, she screamed silently.
‘Curious, eh!’ he said, interrupting her thoughts.
‘No,’ she said, more abruptly than she intended, her eyelids flickering but remaining closed, her stomach reacting to the lie slipping effortlessly from her lips.
‘Aye!’ Manos responded knowingly. ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ he said, turning and heading back towards the bar.
‘Hmm,’ Nikki responded, her tone marginally softer.
He stopped after a couple of paces. ‘You never know,’ he added; three words that only Nikki would understand.
‘That ship sailed a long time ago Pops,’ she said, her eyes remaining closed, fighting the rage building inside her chest again.
His beard twitched, and he tilted his head to the side, but she couldn’t see him. ‘Hmmm!’ he mumbled to himself.
Nikki forced her eyes to open and squinted towards the hilly boundary of the cove, the rocky outcrop below joining the cliff to the sea and linking the beaches. Reminded of times she and Ariana had spent playing on the rocks as children; a warm feeling diffused the anger slightly. She smiled at the memory of the two of them scrambling between the coves to escape the wrath of Ariana’s mother. It had been their safe territory, directly below the white house and out of sight, and maybe for the same reason, it was still her favourite place to fish. Her eyes tracked the cliff face to the top, the grassy verge leading back to the rose garden and the obscured south facing aspect of the side of the house.
The large, white house had once been highly regarded by locals. Constructed over three levels, and Sophia had insisted on using local materials, to blend into the natural terrain. Sophia had painted the Mediterranean-blue shuttered windows and white walls herself over the years, and her husband had laid the original terracotta-tiled roof more than half a century ago.
Nikki had seen the breath-taking views over both coves, from the dual-aspect master bedroom on the top level. She had also sat on the kitchen-balcony, overlooking the west-cove and the taverna on many occasions, drinking wine, and occasionally ouzo, chatting with Manos and Sophia after harvesting the olives. Sophia had been like family to her then, too. She wiped at her damp eyes.
Sophia had spent many an evening in the taverna talking through her plans for the development of the estate over the years. Firstly, the expansion of the olive grove to include the production plant that would enable them to export some of the olive oil. And then, the citrus orchards, producing lemons, limes and oranges, and then eggs from the free-range chickens, and a range of vegetables to sell to local inhabitants, the Kefalas’ bar, and The Ionian restaurant based on the northern side of the island. Now, the estate covered most of the southern half of Sakros and was a major employer, as well as supporting the small tourist trade that passed through during the holiday season. Nikki had learned a great deal about the successful development and management of a business, but more than that, she had realised the importance of enjoying life. Sophia had loved life, right up to the end, and even after two years and two months, Nikki still felt her absence.
She hadn’t been inside the house since Sophia’s death, but it was certainly looking weary and in need of tender loving care and a little renovation. Perhaps that’s why they’re back? She huffed at the cynical thought. Teresa Carter-Cruz held no love for either the estate or the island. But, thankfully, at least the house hadn’t been left to her; it was Ariana's. But, that said, in the Carter-Cruz household that would mean very little. Teresa’s influence was bound to be alive and well!
Teresa always had the upper hand. Nikki huffed again at the caustic thoughts, her head shaking from side to side. Maybe Ariana had escaped her mother’s clutches by now? She smiled a more hopeful smile. Wishful thinking!
She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Yes, she was curious... and, she was also frustrated, and the more she dredged up the past, and Teresa, the stronger that frustration was growing. ‘Aarrgghh,’ she moaned out loud. Why now? Why not when Sophia needed you? Nikki stood and paced onto the beach, glaring towards the white house, secretly hoping for a glimpse of Ariana, and feeling anxious as to how she might respond if she did catch sight of her.
She wandered down to the jetty and checked the ferry’s mooring lines, for no other reason than to occupy herself. She couldn’t see any movement at the house, and continuing to look was causing her to feel more anxious, so she stopped, stepped aboard the ferry and started sweeping the deck with more vigour than the relatively clean space warranted.
A shimmer of light caught her eye, the sun reflecting on a bedroom window, and her heart skipped a beat. Regaining her breath, she continued to watch, hoping, as she had hoped every day in the months after Ariana left, that she would be there, staring back at her, and smiling. Nothing.
‘Ferry tomorrow.’ Manos said approaching her with a half-smile.
‘Aye,’ she said, standing and jolting herself from her concerns. They ran the ferry to Ithaka every Friday. She forced a smile. He was trying to distract her, and she knew it. ‘Come on Pops, I’ve got a boat to restore, and you’ve got a menu to prep for tonight,’ she said.
Manos nodded. ‘Kitchen’s ready,’ he said, as they sauntered up the beach.
She glanced at the powder-puff clouds forming over the western edge of the cove. ‘Think I’ll go fishing later,’ she said, the thought bringing a warm glow to her tanned cheeks.
‘What you don’t catch, you buy,’ he said, with a chuckle.
She laughed. She didn’t care what she caught. Just being out there in the silence of the night was good enough, and it would give her time to get to grips with her confused thoughts. She increased her pace across the sand, with renewed determination, stepped through the bar and out the back, picked up the sanding tool and studied the old fishing boat with deep affection.
