by Robena Grant
Susan rolled to her back, swiped at her mouth, and widened her eyes. “Oh my, I think I’m drooling. Are you okay?”
“Sure. But it seems, I don’t know, rougher or something.”
Susan sat up and shaded her eyes with one hand as she located her sunglasses and slipped them on. “Maybe because we’re way out at sea, you know, like in the middle of the ocean?”
“Please, don’t remind me.”
“What? Are you afraid?” Susan peered up, her usually smooth brow furrowing.
“No. Not afraid. Not really.”
Dia cast a wider look at the huge expanse of water. The waves were higher, and the water definitely a darker gray. It didn’t look like the tranquil bright blue waters you saw in the travel brochures. Whitecaps crested the waves. Hell, she could go surfing. Several waves slapped against the sides of the boat. In the other direction, the sky was even darker. A tiny shiver ran up her spine. She couldn’t move.
Susan followed her gaze. “Oops.” She grabbed onto her chaise. “Looks like a bit of a storm over that way.”
Dia nodded.
“Ah, you are awake.” Nico made his way toward them. “Is no problem.” He waved toward the ever-darkening cloud in the distance. “We will head straight into it. We must. Best way. Is no harbor to turn into.”
“We’ll be safe?” Dia heard the dry croak of her voice.
“Si. But I will have you go to your cabins. It is for the best.”
“Of course,” Susan said. “You don’t need to worry about us while you’re navigating your way through a storm.”
“It is not the feared mistral.” Nico stood steady, his legs apart for balance. “I do not like those. I would not sail you into one of those.”
“Oh, of course not,” Susan said.
Dia tore her eyes away from the clouds. “What’s a mistral?”
“Strong winds, storms that come down from the coast of France. They strike unexpectedly, but not in the summer months. We have satellite control. I have been talking on the radio since lunch.”
He glanced toward the west. “A mild libbeccio…they blow in from the west. That is why I berth the Mirabella in Bastia instead of Calvi. The winds can make for rough passage up the west coast. But here…no problem. The east coast is more protected.”
Dia pulled in a long breath and held it a moment.
That was the longest speech Nico had made so far, and the fastest. His words seemed to rush over each other. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Paolo ran around on deck as one sail was lowered. A wave crashed against the side of the yacht and some water slopped onto the deck, a fine mist sprayed everyone.
Rapid French sounded from Jacques in the cockpit. Dia was sure the words were peppered with expletives both French and Italian, with maybe a little Corsi thrown in for flavor.
Even Col had come up from the galley to lend a hand. “That was a bloody bonzer wave, Paolo.” He nodded toward the water on the deck. “Watch your step, mate.”
“Si,” Paolo yelled back. “Let us help Jacques.”
“We will switch to motor,” Nico said. “Now let us go. I will get you settled, but must return to the cockpit.”
Dia felt his strong grasp on her upper arm. He walked tall and steady, confident with his decision. She tried to soak in some of that confidence. Susan, on the other hand, seemed not to have a care in the world. She only had adoring eyes for Nico.
****
Susan reached for the metal wastepaper basket, again. Dia held it for her and gave thanks that it wasn’t wicker. Her skin had turned a paler shade of Shrek, or maybe Fiona. With Susan’s once carefully applied eyeliner and mascara, obviously done on the plane before it landed in Pisa earlier, she now resembled a black-rimmed, wild-eyed creature.
Dia sat on the side of the bed holding Susan’s limp, hair from her face—the same face that was beaded in sweat—and murmured all kinds of comforting words.
“You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. Just let it all out. We’ll be on solid ground soon.”
She rolled her eyes at that thought, having no idea how much longer the trip would take. The yacht made a creaking sound, and she held her breath. It was too dark to see out of the porthole, and she figured they were in the eye of the storm. Not that she wanted to look. Not really.
In fact if she’d had a hand free she’d have crossed herself. Dear Lord in Heaven. She shook her head. Strange how one reverts to prayer, blessing, and everything related to the church when their life is flashing before their eyes.
Oh, stop it.
They were not about to die. She knew that. The Mirabella had surely sailed through worse conditions. Nico had mentioned the mistral, and it sounded like he’d had personal experience. Besides, the Mirabella was a strong, modern yacht. Dia ran a comforting hand over Susan’s shoulders. Nico would not risk harming his Susan.
Susan gripped the side of the wastepaper bin, her knuckles white. After a minute, she lowered her head back against the pillow. A tear ran down her cheek. And with that, the third wave of Susan’s seasickness abated.
Thank goodness. Dia wondered how much more of this the slightly built woman could endure. She stood and got her balance. “Be right back.”
She moved in sync with the pitch and lurch of the yacht, and made it the short distance to the bathroom, marveling at how accomplished she’d become. She emptied the contents of the bin into the toilet, swished water in it, emptied that, and then wet two washcloths with cool water.
Back at the bedside, she wiped Susan’s face with one cloth, folded the other to place on her brow, and put the basket in the ready position. Surely there would not be any more throwing up. There must be nothing left in her stomach. Susan had spent the past hour in fits of being sick.
A knock sounded on the cabin door. “Come sta?” Nico popped his head in. His face paled and his eyes widened. “C’é un problema?”
Dia put a finger to her lips and climbed off the bed. Nico walked halfway to the bedside. She shoved him out into the passageway. “It’s going to be okay—”
“This is not good. This is—”
“Shhh. She just got to sleep.”
Nico broke into rapid Italian whispers that could have wakened the dead, combined with much hand wringing, and straining to see over Dia’s shoulder. “How many times she…”
“Three.”
Nico slapped a hand on his forehead. “Aspetti! I mean, wait, per piacere. Ah, please. I will return.” He started to move away, calling himself all kinds of names in Italian.
He hurried to the captain’s quarters at the end of a passageway acting so distraught you’d swear he’d never seen a person seasick before. Dia shook her head But this was his bellisima…his princess. Dia glanced at the bed. Susan slept soundly. Good.
Minutes later, he came back and held out a motion sickness wristband. “Mi scusi! It took a long time…to find.”
“Thanks, this will help a lot. Don’t worry about us down here. Go, do what you have to up there.” She pointed to above deck.
He frowned, stood on his tiptoes to look into the cabin, then pursed his lips and nodded. Nico took the steps two at a time. She caught the gist of his update—they’d be in port soon. Dia went back inside the cabin. Susan’s color had improved a bit.
“Thanks.” Susan’s voice came out in a dry squeak. She gave a little cough, and rolled onto her back. “Thanks for not letting him in here. I stink.”
Dia laughed. “No worries, as Col would say.”
Susan gave a wan smile.
“Just stay as still as you can,” Dia said. “Nico said we’re making good progress and have just passed the small island of Capráia.”
“Why didn’t he pull in there, to that island, and seek shelter?”
“They can’t accommodate a boat as big as the Mirabella. Anyway, Nico says the squall has eased some, and we are very close to the marina in Bastia. They can accommodate us. He brought me a motion sickness band.”
Susan stuck out her
hand. “Did he see me…you know…upchucking?”
Dia laughed and attached the band. “No. You really scared him though. And, boy, does he ever have a sailor’s potty mouth. But remember it wouldn’t be his first time seeing someone seasick. He’s probably experienced it himself.”
“Maybe not, I mean look at you. You haven’t been sick.”
“Yeah, surprised me. I must have a cast iron stomach.” Susan’s eyes closed again.
“That’s good,” Dia whispered. “Sleep it off.”
Poor thing. She cooled the washcloth again and put it back on Susan’s brow. Jetlag followed by seasickness, and an afternoon of sunbathing. What a wicked combination.
Chapter Eighteen
Dia curled in a chair to read. Sometime later, she heard the engine go quiet, as if idling. She took a look at her watch: five thirty. It could mean they were approaching their destination. She went to peer out the porthole. It was spotted with dried water and salt, but between the spots she could see the outline of land ahead. Thank the Lord.
“Susan.” Dia touched her shoulder. “Wake up, sweetie.”
“What?”
“We’re approaching land. I figured you’d want to shower and tidy up before you see Nico again.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Susan sat up. She rubbed the back of one hand across her mouth, then blinked hard a couple of times.
“Take it slow…”
“I’ll be okay. Plus there’s a seat in the shower. I’ll leave the door open, if it makes you feel better.”
“Good idea. If I hear a thump, I’m coming in whether you’re naked or not.” Dia pulled a chair to sit close to the door.
Ten minutes later, Susan came out wrapped in a big fluffy towel with a smaller one wrapped turban-style around her head. “I feel amazing.” She pulled a hair dryer from her luggage and sat on the side of the bed to style her hair. “The wrist band worked like a charm.”
“You okay if I go clean up?”
“Sure. I’m going to put on some light makeup and a sundress.”
“I’ll do the same. Be right back.”
Nico was walking down the passageway as she left Susan’s cabin. “We are almost to Bastia,” he said. “Is Susan well?”
“Yes. She showered and is drying her hair.”
“Okay, okay, so I don’t disturb.” Nico gave a smile of obvious relief.
“How soon until we arrive?”
“Venti…ah, thirty minutes.”
Dia nodded.
“It is Toga Port, a narrow entrance. Three-hundred and fifty berths. They are used to the Mirabella. We refuel, take on fresh water. The crew must wash down, clean the deck, and Col gets the…” He made a few circular motions. “Provisions.”
“And then we travel by car?”
“Si. Tomorrow.”
“I thought we’d leave today.”
“Susan will feel better to sleep here. Tomorrow we start fresh.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. So, we sleep on the boat?”
“This is good, yes. Is very still, no motion.” Nico laughed. “You sleep like a bambino. I promise.”
Susan poked her head out the cabin doorway. “I thought I heard you out here.”
“Bella.” Nico rushed to her and swept up a hand to kiss it. “Dia says you are well.”
“Yes.” She took her hand back, held it up, and shook the wristband. “Grazie.”
“We have change of plan. We eat in town. Col had no time to prepare the dinner. We sleep on board tonight. In the morning we drive to Calvi.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Susan said. “So the crew comes with us?”
“No. No. They must prepare the yacht for private charter. I will escort you back on the ferry next week. No more sickness on the yacht for you.”
“Oh. I’m sure I’d be fine.”
“Is arranged,” Nico said. “No problem.”
Dia liked that. She didn’t want Susan being sick again, and then having to fly home. Nico was so considerate.
“Anything we should wear or not wear tonight?” Susan asked.
Nico’s eyes travelled down her towel-covered body. He hurried to avert his gaze. “La Tomate Noir is a French/Moroccan restaurant. We walk, a little way. It is a favorite, but how you say, not formal.”
“Excellent.”
“When you are ready, come on deck with the camera. Bastia is magnificent at sunset.”
Dia left them discussing clothing and sunsets, and entered her cabin to clean up. A sundress and flat sandals sounded perfect.
****
The town of Bastia was bathed in golden light. Dia stood on the deck taking photographs. She snapped the old Citadel, a distinctive landmark perched on its peninsula. South of the marina she took pictures of ferries approaching, and large cruise ships waiting to enter the Port of Bastia.
“You were so right, Nico. This is a gorgeous sunset.”
He nodded. “In the morning, you will see how old is the city, how poor…the buildings not so gold in daylight.” He smiled.
Dia didn’t care about that. It was a charming old Mediterranean town with narrow streets flanked by tall buildings. The buildings seemed to flow right down the hills and almost fall into the marina. Most of the windows had painted shutters; some had terraces. Surely, in the morning there would be laundry hanging from them.
She’d done her research and couldn’t wait for sunrise. This part of town was at least two hundred years old. Dia wanted to see it in its natural state. She’d read up on the area. Not as much as her reading on Calvi, but enough to know the Genoese history of how Bastia was settled in 1378, and had once been the capital. She knew about the churches with their ornate Baroque interiors. Maybe they’d get to visit at least one.
Susan sniffed at the slight breeze. “Nico, what is that sweet smell?”
Dia snapped on the lens cover and walked over to join them. She’d wondered about that too.
“The maquis.” Nico gestured toward the hills. “Fragrant scrubland. That is why Corsica is called the ‘Scented Island.’ ”
****
Within thirty minutes they’d docked, said goodnight to the crew, and were wandering along a narrow tree-lined street.
“The restaurant has al fresco dining, but I have booked a table inside.” Nico held the door for them.
The red cushioned banquet was cozy. Dia and Susan slid into that while Nico sat opposite them. The room had a definite Moroccan ambiance, and the painted china was gorgeous.
“Why don’t you order for us, Nico?” Dia asked. She was eager to get back to the yacht. She’d emailed Carlo to tell the time of day they’d be talking with Angie and his parents. She hoped he’d gotten the message and that he’d be there too, but of course she’d understand if he couldn’t make it tonight.
“Yes, you know what’s best here. But not anything too heavy for me. “Susan grimaced. “I’d better not drink any wine.”
He ordered the citrus chicken. It arrived in a lidded pot. When the lid was removed, it looked wonderful and smelled fantastic.
“I’m ravenous,” Susan said. “But I’ll eat only a small portion, just in case.”
“You will eat more rice.” Nico served each of them from the pot.
“You’ll be fine now, I’m sure.” Dia practically inhaled her dinner. It was amazing. And the wine was a perfect match. “We can take what’s left back with us. In case you want a midnight snack.”
Nico laughed. “Si. Now comes the tarte tatin, vanilla ice cream, and caramel sauce.”
“Maybe, just a little bit. We could share,” Susan said.
Nico’s dark eyes flashed with humor. “Not me. No sharing.”
Dia felt the same way. The dessert proved delicious.
“Okay, so I’ll eat mostly the ice cream. I’ll have them box the pastry,” Susan said.
Dia’s thoughts flew to another boxed pastry, a night at a fine restaurant, with dessert on the beach. It seemed so long ago. She missed Carlo with a passion that frightened her.
“Si. After the Skype you might be hungry.”
Dia looked up. Skype? How could she have forgotten? She scooped up the last of her dessert. She searched for their waiter. Not that she was in a hurry. Not really. But her heart did this fluttery thing, and so did her stomach.
“We can have coffee on the Mirabella. Or more wine.” Nico indicated to the waiter that he was ready for the bill.
“May I pay for this, Nico?” Susan asked.
Nico looked horrified. “No,” he said. “No, no, no.”
Dia knew not to argue that point. She moved her purse closer to her side, preparing to leap up the minute the check had been paid.
“Grazie, Nico,” Susan said. “It was perfect.”
“Yes. A lovely treat, thank you.” Dia was already on her feet and heading to the door.
Nico shoved a bunch of money into the folder. “Arrivederci.” He gave a quick wave to the waiter as he hustled them outside. He hailed a cab. “We must not be late.”
****
There they were, all four of them crowding in so their faces were visible. All talking and grinning. Dia’s breath caught in the back of her throat. Of course, Angie was so excited she could hardly sit still.
“Carlo.” She touched a finger to the screen. He leaned over Angie’s head and touched her outstretched hand. His mother moved up behind him. Dia caught the sour look on her mouth. So things had not been forgiven.
“Dia…bellisima,” Carlo said softly. “You look wonderful.”
Dia felt a bit embarrassed with his display of affection in front of the family, but on the other hand, it thrilled her that he didn’t care about that. She guessed that was the difference between them: he was an open book, and she protected her heart.
“Come back to talk in a bit, Carlo,” she said. “We’ll let Angie go first.”
He blew her a kiss. Dia stepped back to let Susan and Angie and then her parents catch up. Susan never mentioned motion sickness. Nico stood to one side, beaming as he watched the faces of people he did not know. Susan called him over, to introduce him.
Nico seemed tense. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Antonelli.”
