‘You didn’t like Scotland?’
Raoul loved the way her face scrunched up to reveal the impression she’d been left with.
‘I loved the oldness. And the accent. I even loved the bagpipes but I didn’t love the weather. It was too cold and the sea was so wild. I decided you’d have to be a bit mad to swim there so it wasn’t ever going to be my place.’
‘Maybe you need people to make it feel right. When you find your special person, you’ll make a family and then the place will be yours. And theirs...for ever.’
Mika shook her head and her voice was quiet. Cold, almost. ‘I’m never going to get married.’
‘Why not?’ The thought of Mika growing old alone was shocking.
But she simply shook her head again—a warning that the subject was off-limits. ‘It’s just not going to happen. I’ve learned that I’m better off on my own.’
How had that lesson been learned? Raoul wondered, in the slightly awkward silence that followed. He wished he hadn’t said anything, now, because they’d lost that easy flow of conversation. Could he fix it?
‘What about New Zealand?’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t that feel like your place?’
‘I love New Zealand, don’t get me wrong, but...there’s something about the oldness of Europe that calls me.’ Mika seemed as relieved as he was to forget that forlorn blip in the conversation and start again. She grinned, as if embarrassed by being fanciful. ‘Maybe I lived here in a previous life.’
Maybe she had. Maybe Raoul had, too, and that could explain why he felt like he’d known her for ever. Why they had this extraordinary connection.
‘There’s still so much of the coastlines to explore, too. It’s exciting...’ Mika’s face lit up. ‘I want to go to the south of France. And Spain. And the Greek islands. And Sardinia and Corsica and...’ Her hands were tracing a map of the Mediterranean in the air.
‘And...’ Raoul only just stopped himself adding Les Iles Dauphins to her list.
Mika’s eyes widened as she waited for him to finish what he’d been about to say.
‘And...you will,’ he managed. ‘You could be anything at all you really wanted to be, Mika, and...and you’re going to be the best travel writer. Your passion will make the pages glow and everyone who reads your articles will want to go to those places. To be where you’ve been.’
He would want that.
She was smiling at him. A soft smile that had nothing of the characteristic cheekiness he had come to expect. This was the smile of someone basking in unexpected encouragement. Of having their dreams become a little more real because someone else believed in them too.
He would want more than to read her articles, Raoul realised. He would want to go to those places with Mika, not after her. And he could make it happen, so easily. He could choose almost any place in the world and the means of getting there would be sorted instantly. A helicopter, a luxury yacht, a private jet... There would be comfortable accommodation waiting at the other end, too, and Mika could have all the time she wanted to do the thing she loved doing, without the prospect of having to get back to a mundane job.
But would she want that?
And wouldn’t it change how she saw a new place? Earning a day off, as they’d had to, to make this trip possible, made it so much more valuable. Exploring somewhere by having to use public transport and eating at inexpensive restaurants made everything so different.
Maybe Raoul wouldn’t want to go back to having the best of everything so easily available. If he had the choice, perhaps he would choose to go to those places with Mika in the same way they’d set off today. On foot, with no more than a bit of spare change to rely on.
This longing for more days like today had nothing to do with the desire to touch Mika physically, although he could still feel that simmering in the glow of her smile. This was about what it was like simply to be in her company. To contribute to Mika’s strength to achieve any dream she held...and to feel like he had someone walking alongside him as he achieved his.
Was this what real friendship was about?
...Love?
Was he falling in love with Mika?
No. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.
They could be friends. Very good friends. But that was all.
Some people were lucky enough to marry their best friends but he wasn’t going to be one of them. His future was mapped out and he couldn’t imagine Francesca being his best friend.
He barely knew her. Oh, they’d spent time together—usually at formal occasions—and he knew how beautiful she was, and that she was intelligent and easy to talk to. He could fancy her, even—in the way that any man could fancy a gorgeous woman—but would he ever feel like this about Francesca? That helping her get everything she wanted out of life could be as important as his own ambitions?
He had to hope so.
Maybe Mika had been sent into his life to teach him about what was really important in relationships.
Raoul would never forget this moment.
Or that particular smile...
‘What time does the paper museum close?’
Mika blinked as if she had to drag her thoughts away from something that had nothing to do with the article she was planning to write. ‘I’m not sure... I imagine we’ve got plenty of time.’
‘Shall we head off now? Just to be sure?’
‘Okay...’
Mika hadn’t moved a muscle but something in her tone told Raoul that she was much further away from him than she had been a moment ago, when she’d been smiling at him.
It was an odd thing, this connection he could feel between them. Like the sun emerging from the screen of thick clouds, there were moments when it scorched him; then it would vanish again and the whole world felt so much cooler.
What created the clouds? Was it because he was getting hot enough to feel uncomfortable, so that he pulled them in for protection, perhaps?
Or did Mika feel the heat, too; and was she using them to hide behind?
Whatever was causing those clouds, they were a good thing, because it made this friendship manageable and it needed to be manageable because Raoul was nowhere near ready to risk losing it.
He thoroughly enjoyed the time they spent in the Museo della Carta that was housed in a wonderful thirteenth-century mill. Raoul was no stranger to museums and was, in fact, the patron of the largest in his own country; he had toured it many times, usually in the company of a large group local dignitaries and important contributors. He had to look fascinated even if he wasn’t and remember to turn a little whenever he shook someone’s hand or stopped to admire a new exhibit, so that the best photographs could be taken.
This was a new experience because, for once, he was less important than the exhibits and he found that he was watching Mika as much as the treasures on display, and that made him see things differently and in far more detail. He stared up at the huge wooden mallets that were powered by a hydraulic wheel that could beat rags of cotton, linen and hemp into a pulp.
He stood beside the ancient vat with its murky water that housed the pulp and watched Mika crouch to take a close-up shot of the majolica tiles that lined the vat. Pale blue tiles, with red flowers and delicate green swirls for leaves. Would he even have noticed them if he’d been here alone?
‘I’m going to write this up tonight,’ Mika announced, as they waited for the bus to take them back to Positano. ‘And I’ll finish the one about the Footpath of the Gods.’
‘I’ll get out of your way,’ Raoul told her. ‘I’m going to find the concierge and see if there’s another room available. That way, you’ll get plenty of time to write without interruptions.’
The bus was approaching the stop but Mika didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze had caught his and those clouds had evaporated again as instantly and mysteriously
as they had on every other occasion.
This time, the heat felt different. It wasn’t the burn of desire. It felt more like the kind of heat that came with the prickle of shame.
Mika knew exactly why he was going to find the concierge. He wasn’t finding his own place to sleep in order to give her more space, he was doing it because he needed to get away from her. And she felt...rejected?
The bus seemed to bring the cloud cover back as it jerked to a halt beside them and Mika turned away to climb on board.
Maybe it would be the last time he got to experience the heat of that connection.
That would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? It would make it so much easier to step back into his own world and his own life when the time came and that wouldn’t be very far away. A whole week of his month of freedom had vanished already.
But, if it was a good thing, why did it feel as if he’d just broken something rather precious?
CHAPTER FIVE
IT HAD BEEN one of those days.
Right from that first customer who’d put his hand in the air and clicked his fingers loudly enough to make Mika freeze as she hurried back to the pass to collect more plates for the table.
‘I ordered my eggs to be poached, not fried.’ He didn’t look at Mika as he spoke. ‘Take them back.’
‘I’m so sorry, sir.’ Mika picked up the plate. ‘There’s been a mistake. I’ll get you a fresh plate.’
‘Make it snappy. And I’ll have another coffee while I’m waiting. On the house—it’s the least you can do for messing up my order.’
‘Of course.’ Mika looked over her shoulder, thinking that Alain had probably heard the loud voice. His subtle nod told her that he had and his smile offered sympathy at her dealing with a rude customer.
The customer wasn’t the only person Mika had to deal with. She knew she hadn’t written the order down incorrectly but the person who’d made the mistake wasn’t likely to admit it. Not this morning, that was for sure, when they were being run off their feet.
Sure enough, Gianni was furious.
‘How could you get something so basic wrong?’ he shouted. ‘You think I have time to be cooking another full English breakfast when I’ve got orders coming out of my ears?’ His spatula splattered oil on the dockets lining the rail above the grill.
He’d picked the wrong morning to have a go at Mika. It had already started badly when she’d opened her eyes to remember that she was alone in her room. That Rafe had chosen to be a lot further away from her. Had that been her fault? Had she said or done something to put him off her? She hadn’t been able to think of anything. Quite the opposite, really, when she’d gone over and over everything they’d said during yesterday’s outing.
Okay, she’d upset him by being offhand about whether she wanted his company to visit the museum, but they’d got past that, hadn’t they? More than past it. She could swear that he’d almost kissed her when they’d been sitting under that tree by the waterfall. And the way he’d looked at her when he’d told her that he was so sure she would succeed in her dream of becoming a travel writer. As if he believed in her completely.
As if it was important to him that she did achieve her dream.
But having him use that dream as an excuse to find somewhere else to sleep felt like she was being punished for something that she didn’t feel was her fault, and now it was about to happen again so this pushed a button harder than it might have otherwise.
‘Have a look at the docket,’ she told Gianni. ‘I didn’t write the order down wrong. You read it wrong.’
‘Don’t tell me how to do my job!’ Gianni yelled. ‘You want to come in here and start cooking? Do you?’ He’d stepped away from the grill and by the time he fired his last, aggressive question he was right in her face.
Mika stiffened. She knew that Gianni wouldn’t hurt her but there were huge buttons being pushed now and it took everything she had to control her reaction. Behind her, she could sense that Rafe had stopped loading the dishwasher. He was staring, probably horrified, at the altercation. The second chef hadn’t blinked and he was now busy trying to rescue the food that Gianni had left unattended on the grill. Margaret took plates off the pass and vanished swiftly. Gianni’s temper tantrums were nothing new and it was best for everybody not directly involved to carry on with their own jobs. There was no point in escalating things further so Mika tried to push past Gianni’s arm to put the offending plate back on the pass. Hopefully he would calm down and do what had to be done to satisfy the customer.
But standing up to him had been a mistake. Gianni grabbed the plate before it got to the bench. Maybe it slipped out of his hands, or maybe he threw it. It didn’t matter because the effect was the same. The sound of smashing crockery caused a sudden silence in the busy café and, from the corner of her eye, Mika could see Marco glaring from his table on the footpath.
Rafe was right beside her now and she could feel him bristling. Was he ready to defend her? She shot a warning glance in his direction and followed it up with a firm shake of her head. It would only make things a lot worse if Rafe said or did anything. This was between herself and Gianni. The more people that got involved, the worse the whole day would become for everybody.
‘What’s your problem?’ Gianni shouted at Rafe. ‘Can’t find the broom? Can’t do your job, either?’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘Why do I have to work with such stupid people? Nobody can do the jobs they’re being paid for.’ He turned back to the grill in disgust, narrowly missing a collision with his junior chef who was putting new plates on the pass.
‘Service,’ he said. ‘Table four.’
Mika’s table. He’d managed to add a replacement plate with poached eggs to the remaining orders going to table four. Mika let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. If Alain had already delivered the free coffee as well, this small crisis might be over.
Even the mess. Rafe might have a face like thunder but he had a broom and pan in his hand and was sweeping up the broken crockery and food as she collected the plates, balancing one on her arm so that her hands were free to hold the other two.
In the end, it was no more than a commonplace disruption to smooth service but it had set the tone for the day. All of Mika’s least favourite tasks had appeared, one after the other. Having to return an incorrect order was the biggest but others were equally irritating. Like the group of middle-aged women who treated her like their personal servant for the duration of their visit, requesting fussy changes to every dish they ordered, more ice for their water and replacement cutlery for all when one of them noticed a smudge on the handle of a knife.
Then there were the unsupervised toddlers who’d been allowed to smear smashed avocado all over the table, laminated menus and the wooden spokes of two chairs and up-end the sugar dispenser so that the crystals crunched underfoot. Mika knew that cleaning this particular table in time for the next group of customers was going to be a mission that would have her running behind for a considerable length of time.
And now, when the end of her shift was finally in sight, she had a table of young men who were getting progressively more obnoxious with every order of drinks she delivered to their table.
Their attempts to grab her legs was something she was adept at avoiding but the verbal innuendoes were harder to shake off.
‘Whatcha doing after work, cutie? We could show you a good time.’
Her smile was tight. ‘Are you ready to order?’
‘I know what I’d like to order...’ One of the men licked his lips suggestively as he leered at Mika, his gaze raking her body from head to toe.
She gritted her teeth, her smile long gone. ‘I can come back in a minute, if you need more time to decide?’
‘Just bring us pizza. And more beer.’
‘Yeah...lotsa beer.’
The sooner this group left, the better. By then it would be time for Mika’s shift to end and she could escape and go for a swim, and maybe she could wash away the unpleasantness of this entire day.
But would she be walking home alone? Back to the silent room she now had all to herself again? Would Rafe decide she might need the space to go swimming by herself, too?
The hollow feeling inside her chest was the worst thing about this bad day.
She was missing him.
If she was honest, she’d started missing him at the bus stop in Amalfi yesterday when he’d dropped that bombshell about finding the concierge and arranging a room for himself. She hadn’t ended up doing any of the writing she’d planned to do. Instead, she’d relived every moment of their day together. Tried to second-guess every glance or remembered tone of voice. Tried—and failed—to understand how she could be so drawn to someone who didn’t feel the same way.
It was Rafe who had needed the space—that much was clear.
She’d hardly seen him at work today, either, except for the incident of Gianni’s outburst, when she’d made it clear she wouldn’t welcome his involvement. Had that been why he’d seemed so preoccupied every time she’d been near the pass? Why he’d kept his back to her, intent on loading or unloading the dishwasher whenever she was depositing a pile of crockery? Why he’d been outside, in the alley for his break at a completely different time from her own? Had she offended him again, the way she had when she’d tried to push him away just a little bit by suggesting he didn’t have to go to the museum with her?
When she thought about that, she realised it had been a forlorn effort to protect herself because she knew how much she was going to miss him when he disappeared from her life as suddenly as he’d entered it.
But all she’d achieved was to find herself missing him already, when he was still here. How stupid was that?
It had confirmed something, though. She needed to protect herself. If it felt this bad with him still here, how much worse was it going to be when he was gone for ever?
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