‘Adaptability is my middle name.’
But she stumbled on the gangway. Gil did not hold back any longer. He scooped her off her feet and carried her below.
Bella did not remember much of the voyage. It was afternoon when the sound of the boat’s engine changed. She came up on deck to see that they were pulling into a tiny cove. At first she thought it was deserted. But then she saw the stone jetty. The hillside was steep, covered with olive trees, but she thought she could make out rough steps leading up through the olive grove.
‘Welcome to my island,’ said Gil, coming up behind her.
He had changed. More than his clothes, Bella thought. No more suited man, he was wearing stone-coloured shorts and a loose T-shirt bearing the Greek letter pi in bold black script. This was the laughing yachtsman from Annis’s picture. His hair gleamed like burnished wood in the sun and his arms were bare.
Wow! thought Bella. She swallowed hard but her heart started a treacherous pit-a-pat somewhere up in her throat.
To forget it she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘You own an island? I was right, you did slip into the millionaire lifestyle easily.’
He laughed. ‘My island, only in the sense of my home. All I own is the house up there.’
Bella squinted upwards to where he was pointing. She had to tilt her head back a long way.
‘That’s quite a climb.’
‘You’ll make it.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘A superfit tango dancer like you.’
Her breath hissed as if she had run a splinter into herself. Oh, great! There it was again. Entertainment by Tina the Tango Dancer before he went back to his real life!
Except—would he have gone to so much trouble if she was only the entertainment? She looked up at the terrifying cliff.
‘I’ll give it my best shot,’ she said grimly. She was not talking about the steep path alone.
But by the time they reached the top of the cliff she was beyond thinking about anything except how to take another step. Parts of the path were not so much steep as vertical. When Gil held out a hand and hauled her up the last few dusty yards, she had a stitch in her side and no breath left at all. By contrast, his breathing was as steady as if he had been on an afternoon stroll. Bella had the feeling that for two pins he would simply tip her off her feet and carry her the rest of the way.
Her pride revolted. So, though she let him help her up, she firmly detached herself from his helping hand as soon as she was on level ground again.
‘Thank you,’ she said, resisting the temptation to put a hand to her heaving side.
‘No sweat. That’s the last time you’ll have to do it.’
For a wild moment she thought he was threatening to keep her prisoner in his cliff-top eyrie.
‘What?’
‘Winch,’ he said succinctly. ‘Now we’re up here, I can engage it.’
He went to a small stone outhouse further along the cliff. Bella leaned against an olive tree and allowed herself to drag some reviving breaths into her labouring lungs.
Gil moved easily, as if he had total mastery over his body and the elements, even over the uneven stony ground. The afternoon sun turned the light tan of his skin to gold. She watched him avidly as he opened the doors to the outhouse and sent a crude lift apparatus creaking its way down the hillside. Totally absorbed, he was unaware of her scrutiny.
He was more than attractive, she realised. He was elemental, somehow in harmony with the stony landscape. He stood on the very edge of the cliff, steady as a rock. When he raised a muscular arm in response to a signal from the beach, he looked like a statue of one of the golden, athletic gods. Calm. Powerful. Glorious.
Oh, Lord, I’ve got it bad, she thought.
He certainly had grounds for all that magnificent confidence. As he started to wind the big winch, the thing began to run away and he steadied it, making it keep to the pace he wanted. Bella watched his shoulder muscles bunch and release, bunch and release with the effort. She thought, No matter what happens in this wild place, I’ll be safe with Gil.
Except that she did not feel safe. Not exactly unsafe, either. Just uneasily aware that anything could happen. And not very sure how well she was likely to deal with most of it.
There was nothing she could do. She was here now. She would just have to do the best she could.
She unpropped her shoulders from the sustaining olive tree and went over to Gil.
‘What can I do?’
He did not pause but he glanced down at her. Standing beside him as he turned the winch, Bella had a sudden revelation of how tall he was. She only came up to his brown shoulder. Why had she not noticed that before? Surely it must have been obvious. When they’d danced. When he’d carried her below on the boat. When they’d made love.
Hell, why had that popped into her mind? Now was not the time to be remembering making love with Gil de la Court.
She swallowed and said loudly, ‘There must be something useful I can do.’
Fortunately he did not seem to pick up the unsettling direction of her thoughts. He was concentrating on practicalities as the cage creaked up towards them. Leaning over cautiously, Bella saw that it was now full of their luggage.
‘We usually take deliveries into the house in a wheelbarrow. Not the most glamorous transport,’ Gil said ruefully, ‘but it works. It should be outside the kitchen door.’
He nodded towards the house.
For the first time Bella looked at the place properly. It was a single-storey building, with simple rough white walls and a roof of red curly tiles. At the moment its bright blue shutters were closed, making it look asleep. The biggest terracotta pots she had ever seen were ranged like guardsmen along the seafacing wall under the windows. They were filled with huge pelargoniums, dark as arterial blood.
‘More red flowers,’ said Bella involuntarily. ‘That’s a colour you really go for, isn’t it?’
At once she wished she had not. What was the point in harking back?
Gil did not pause in his winching. ‘Colour of passion,’ he said. ‘There’s not enough passion in my life.’
‘So you go looking for it on the dance floor?’ said Bella with a spurt of bitterness that she could not quite contain. ‘When you’re bored?’
He went very still. ‘Is that what you think?’ he said at last, slowly.
She looked away. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’
‘That I wanted you the first moment I saw you?’ he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
Bella jumped. ‘What?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is pretty obvious. But, then, you must be used to it.’
She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. ‘How can you say that? People don’t say things like that?’ she protested, oddly alarmed.
‘Why not? If it’s the truth?’
‘They just don’t, that’s all.’
Gil nodded, as if he was receiving new and useful information. ‘The same people who think sex is just fun?’ he asked politely.
She jumped more violently this time. So he remembered that wild night and what they had said to each other before it had got even wilder. He remembered the stupid things she had said to him. Oh, she had no one but herself to blame for this mess she was in.
‘Yes,’ she said in a stifled voice, not looking at him.
‘What about you? How’s the passion in your life?’ he added, quite as if he were asking her to exchange notes on favourite pastimes.
Bella froze. She could feel him looking at her. Her skin prickled with awareness. She avoided his eyes.
Here it comes, she thought, the first move in a game of anything can happen. And I’m not ready.
She said hurriedly, ‘I’ll find that wheelbarrow.’
She escaped. For the moment.
The house, she found, presented its most spartan face to the sea. On the other side there was an impressive porticoed entrance. Tall windows under Moorish arches gave onto a vine-covered terrace. A paved gar
den rioted with herbs. A shady lemon grove climbed a further, slighter slope, shaded by lollipop pines. Beyond the vines and more pots of brilliant flowers, there was even a perimeter wall covered with nodding honey-coloured roses. The scent of blossom was overwhelming in the still, hot air but the deserted feeling was almost palpable. It felt like a sultan’s summer palace waiting for its master.
It was oddly disquieting, that sensation of waiting. As if I’m waiting too, thought Bella.
Which had to be crazy. Modern women did not wait, well not like that. Not for the life-giving touch of some mythical hero. Modern women went out and found what they needed for themselves. Modern women took the initiative. And they certainly did not turn ordinary mortal men into gods.
Jet lag, Bella told herself ruthlessly. And an overactive imagination.
But she still did not want to go into the unlocked house alone. Instead, she circumnavigated it. The wheelbarrow turned out to be standing on its nose under the cover of a small porch by a less impressive door. She grabbed it and wheeled it back to him.
There was a surprising amount of baggage. Bella said so.
‘Supplies,’ said Gil briefly. ‘I haven’t been here this year. I missed Easter because of the stock-market launch. There’ll be repairs to do. And we need provisions of course.’
Bella was surprised. ‘You do the repairs yourself?’
He pushed the barrow back to the kitchen door.
‘Aren’t millionaires allowed to play with power tools?’ asked Gil, amused. ‘Elegance Magazine rules, right?’
‘No, it’s not that.’ She struggled to explain. ‘I thought you’d have better stuff to do. I mean, you’re supposed to be a genius.’
‘I still need to eat and I prefer to sleep with a roof over my head,’ said Gil with something of a snap. ‘Survival is the same for everyone, genius or no genius.’
He began to unload the bags with economical efficiency and a faint air of annoyance.
Bella gave up and followed him into the house at last.
He went round rapidly, opening windows, unbarring shutters, letting in the scents of the sea and the hot herbal garden. Then he came back to the kitchen and began to rummage through a box of tools.
Watching, Bella made a discovery. It should have dawned on her before.
‘This house isn’t a millionaire’s perk, is it? You’ve owned it for ages.’
He emerged with a spanner. ‘Inherited it. My grandfather built it.’
‘Your grandfather?’ She did not believe it. ‘That’s de la Court of Sparta, I take it?’
He grinned. ‘No. That’s a highly romantic young scholar who came here and fell in love with the local philosopher’s daughter and wouldn’t go away until her family agreed to let them marry.’ He looked at her over the top of the spanner, a wicked glint in his eye. ‘We tend to be rather excessive in the matter of love in my family.’
Bella swallowed. Loudly. His grin widened.
But he did not touch her. Instead he disappeared into a tall cupboard. There were sounds of mechanical wrenching, a sharp swear word, and then an exclamation of triumph.
‘There. Power on.’
He backed out, pushing a hand through his hair. A dusty skein of destroyed cobwebs clung to the crown. Without thinking, Bella leaned forward and pulled the grey lint off.
Gil stopped dead.
For a moment their eyes locked.
She thought, Is this his second move in the game? Or is it my turn?
He reached up and took her hand very carefully. It seemed as if she could not move. Could not speak. She even held her breath, though she could not have said exactly why.
He said gently, ‘Bella, I’m sorry, but I’m not one of your men who think sex is just for fun. I can’t behave as if I am.’
She could not think of anything to say. He gave her hand back. Then he stepped away, put the spanner back in its box and carried on talking as if nothing had happened.
But he was breathing as if he had just run up that killer cliff.
Maybe it was the second move, then. But she was not sure whether whatever happened next would be his choice or hers. Or in response to some inevitable pattern that neither of them could do anything about.
It was exciting. It was terrifying. It was nothing the modern woman had any training for at all.
And she did not have the slightest idea what to do next.
So she did nothing. Or rather she did what any well-behaved guest would do on any respectable social visit. She followed him round the house, taking note of bedrooms, bathrooms, light switches, bookcases…exclaiming at the view and admiring the art. Not touching him, of course. And not asking any question that might have an answer she could not deal with.
So when he said, ‘Maybe you’d like to rest in your room after the journey?’ She fell upon it like a reprieve.
Her room looked out onto the lemon grove. The afternoon shadows were long over a mosaic-tiled floor and a low, wide bed. Gil stood in the doorway and did not come in.
‘You have your own shower room but if you want a bath, you know where it is. You remember how to work the Jacuzzi?’
He sounded like a cordial, rather bored host. It was entirely Bella’s fault that her imagination immediately clamoured with pictures of the two of them in the massive tub, amid the bubbles.
‘Yes,’ she said, fighting her imagination for all she was worth.
‘If there’s anything else you want, call me. I’ll be in the garden.’
‘All right.’
‘Unless I’m swimming. I usually swim before supper. The sea is wonderful. You could even join me.’
Bella shook her head. ‘No swimsuit,’ she said, not without relief.
Gil was politely unimpressed. ‘I think you’ll find that Elegance Magazine have provided one. If not, several.’
He nodded towards a suitcase that was twice the size of her own modest bag. Bella registered it for the first time.
‘That’s mine?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s what they gave me to bring.’
She knew who to thank for that. Sally! thought Bella.
Aloud she said, ‘I’ll look later. Now I’m very tired. So if you don’t mind…’ She gave a huge and not entirely phoney yawn.
‘Of course,’ said Gil, utterly courteous, utterly indifferent. Well, maybe. He still hadn’t quite got his breathing under control, Bella thought with a tiny stab of triumph. ‘Rest well,’ he said, and left her.
She tried. She really tried.
When she woke from her uneasy doze it was dark and there was music. She showered quickly and climbed into jeans and a cotton shirt. Her own jeans and shirt. She did not think she was strong enough to see what seduction gear Sally had packed yet. She went in the direction of the music.
It was on the terrace. The sun had set but it was not yet quite dark. Gil was sitting under the vines, a glass of wine in his hand, his feet on the marble table, head back, listening to the unearthly sweetness that poured from speakers high up under the vines.
‘What is that?’ said Bella, constraint temporarily dispelled by the sheer beauty of the music.
Gil put down his wine carefully and stood up.
‘An American counter-tenor. Wonderful, isn’t he?’ He pulled out to reach for a glass for her. ‘This is his new recording.’
‘I don’t know much about classical music,’ said Bella, constraint returning in spades. Annis loved it. Why had Bella ever thought that she and Gil could have anything in common?
But he surprised her.
‘Lucky you.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got so much delight to come.’
He poured wine from an unlabelled bottle. ‘Hope you like this. It’s retsina. Made by one of my relatives. I don’t think anything actually died in it.’
Bella gave a little choke of laughter and sipped. The wine was cool on the palate, warm on the throat. It smelled of oregano and thyme and every Mediterranean holiday she had ever had
. She said so.
‘You must have an excellent palate. To me it just tastes like Jorgo’s usual brew.’
The terrace chair was made of bamboo, light but comfortable. Bella relaxed into its plump cushions.
‘Who’s Jorgo?’
‘He’s married to the daughter of the son of my great uncle,’ said Gil fluently, as if he had said it many times before.
Bella blinked.
He laughed. ‘Degrees of relationship are very important here. There was a time when my grandfather was only allowed to own the house because of my grandmother. She was born in the mill just over the hill.’
He nodded towards the dark landscape behind them.
‘Did you know her?’
He shook his head. ‘She died when my father was born.’ He paused, then added, ‘Ours was a house without women. My own mother was killed in a road accident when I was three. There were nannies, of course, but they did what my father and grandfather told them to. So it was a very masculine upbringing. Maybe that’s why I don’t read women very well.’
He sounded thoughtful and a bit bewildered.
She remembered something Paco had said. Gil on the hunt is a new phenomenon.
She said quietly, ‘Will you tell me something?’
‘Anything.’ It sounded very serious.
She said with difficulty, ‘The woman you didn’t read so well. How important was she?’
There was a small silence. Then he said, ‘Shrewd of you to realise it was one particular woman.’
Of course, she should have asked, Was it Annis? She nearly did. But in the end she could not bring herself to say it aloud.
‘Well?’
He shifted in his chair. He looked uncomfortable, impatient.
‘More important than I wanted to admit.’ He swirled the golden wine round and round, frowning over the glass. He added abruptly, ‘If I’m honest, she tied me up in knots. She had all these ideas that I was supposed to know without her telling me. And they changed. I couldn’t keep up.’
That didn’t sound like Annis.
‘In the end I gave up, of course.’ A muscle moved convulsively in his cheek. ‘Not soon enough, though. It’s not my temperament, giving up. So I went on banging my head against a brick wall until she told me she was in love with someone else. Someone who understood her.’
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