Offering her a job, persuading her to move to Florida, had been part of a half-formed plan, a way of getting to know her better under the camouflage of working together. Behind it came the hope that, given time and familiarity, she would begin to reciprocate his feelings and rethink her views on dating. Now, however, with her sitting beside him as his car ate away the miles, he knew he had taken an irrevocable step, and if he couldn’t make her want him then he would be heart sore for a very long time.
He didn’t have the first clue why he felt this way. Nor did he like it. It undermined his faith in who he was. The Daniel Marchant who had forsworn all serious relationships so that he could concentrate on the two jobs he was trying to hold down whilst also building his vision of the future, was no more. Instead he was a mess of conflicting emotions that all centred on the girl at his side and which, if he gave them the upper hand, might scupper all his plans.
What if he couldn’t persuade her to stay for longer than her six-month contract? What if he never managed to persuade her he was the right person for her? What if he never got past first base on her emotional chart? What if he did persuade her but she wanted to return to her home in England? What if…
The arrival of the elevator brought him back to the here and now. As they squeezed in with the suitcases, he forced a smile. “It’s not usually so crowded but not many of the people staying here bring six month’s worth of clothes.”
“I’ve probably packed far too much but Beth said to come prepared for most eventualities,” Claire gave him an answering smile across the pile of luggage.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve brought a snow suit,” Daniel aimed for light banter, anything to keep things uncomplicated between them. He could still remember the vehemence with which Claire had declared she wasn’t looking for a husband, partner, or even a boyfriend, so this was certainly not the time for him to make any sort of move. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he had brought her over so he could hit on her. No! He was going to have to keep his feelings strictly under control for the foreseeable future.
Chapter Seven
Claire stood in the centre of the large open plan room and turned in a slow circle. Now Daniel had gone she could concentrate, take in the surroundings that were going to be her home for the next six months.
The apartment was on the top floor of what appeared to be a large, wooden building, although it was difficult to tell in the darkness. She could hear the sound of the sea too, not loud, but loud enough to indicate it was nearby. Tomorrow was soon enough to explore though. It was far too dark to even bother to pull aside the drapes and go out onto the balcony that Daniel said ran the length of the apartment. Instead, she studied the interior and approved of the simple white paintwork, the blue upholstery, the rush matting on varnished floorboards, the blond wood of the kitchenette and, bliss upon bliss, the huge bowl of fresh oranges sitting on the kitchen counter beside a state-of-the-art juicer.
Too tired to even pull a bottle of water from the refrigerator, she turned towards the bathroom. Unpacking would have to wait until tomorrow. She didn’t even bother to go in search of her toothbrush. Instead she used the one that was in the complementary travel bag an air attendant had handed to her, and which she had stashed in her carry-on before she left the aircraft.
Then, after making sure that the door was secure, she made her way up a tightly spiraling staircase to a tiny bedroom in the eaves. Also furnished in white and blue but with the addition of citrus yellow flowers on the counterpane, it was fresh and airy. Throwing off her clothes, she opened a window. Mosquito netting was fixed across it and it was the unfamiliarity of the net, more than anything else, that made her realise how far away from home she was, and from everything familiar.
* * *
As Claire rolled over in bed she tried to identify the noise that had woken her. It sounded like a particularly tetchy baby and for a moment she wondered if one of her near neighbours was pacing the floor with a crying infant. Then, as full consciousness kicked in, she realized it was the raucous shout of a seagull and it was so close it might as well have been in the bedroom with her.
Suddenly wide awake and keen to explore her surroundings, she threw back the bedcovers, pulled on the T-shirt she had worn on her flight over, and made her way, barefoot, down the twisty stairs. Ten minutes later, having got to grips with the juicer, she dragged back the heavy blue drapes, fumbled with the door catch, and then stepped out onto the balcony with a glass of fresh orange juice in her hand. She didn’t lift it to her lips, however. Instead, she abandoned it on a small metal table that stood to one side of the balcony next to a stack of collapsible chairs, and took the two steps necessary to reach the railing. With her hands resting on the smooth, weathered wood, she stared out onto an expanse of water that exactly reflected the first pink streaks of dawn painting the sky. Overhead the seagull scolded her for disturbing its early morning solo.
A sound halfway between a sigh and a sob escaped her as she gazed in amazement at her surroundings. In front of her the view slowly coalesced into something picture postcard perfect as the pinks softened to apricot, to yellow, and then to a clear, soft daylight as the sun finally breached the horizon and settled into its morning routine.
Nobody had told her she would be living on a beach curving around a bay of water that was so calm its ripples barely frilled the white sand at its edge; a beach with views out to small islands lush with vegetation; a beach protected on one side by a small rock-strewn promontory, and on the other by the ramshackle order of a fishing pier that was already showing signs of early morning activity.
She watched as a lone fisherman busied himself with lines and bait, and a man wearing a green fleece and a black baseball cap tied an inflatable dinghy to one of the supporting pillars. Suddenly she wanted to be there too. She wanted to see Dolphin Key and her new home from a different perspective. She wanted to know what the fisherman hoped to catch. She wanted to get up close to the cluster of pelicans squabbling over a mess of spilt bait.
Reclaiming her orange juice she gulped it down, left the empty glass on the table, and took the stairs to her bedroom two at a time. In moments she had pulled on her jeans, run cursory fingers through her hair, unearthed a cotton sweater and a pair of trainers from the bottom of one of her suitcases, and was ready to go. For a moment her hands hovered above her camera but then she turned away. Now was not the time. She needed to get a feel for the place first, learn all about it. There would be plenty of time for photos later.
* * *
The beach was deserted except for several sandpipers bobbing about at the tide line. Claire watched them for a moment before she scattered them by walking across the white sand to investigate the clumps of seaweed and shingle that had been washed in by the tide.
Twenty minutes later, having trawled every inch of the tiny beach, and poked at every piece of flotsam, she climbed up onto the road and made her way across to the pier. It was busier now. A truck, with a trailer attached, was unloading a motorboat onto the slipway, and a few more fishermen had arrived and were standing in a group. Without pausing in their discussion, they nodded as she walked past them. Claire gave a shy smile. She wasn’t used to being acknowledged by complete strangers because in recent years she had chosen to be a city girl, not someone living somewhere as small as Dolphin Key.
Less than a thousand inhabitants, Daniel had told her when he was filling in the details about the job. What else had he said? That its main income came from tourism; that it took ecology seriously; that it was an ideal place to get away from the pressures of life. And something else too! She paused in her stroll along the pier. Something about everybody knowing everybody else’s business. Something about it not just being the summer heat that was stifling. Then he had laughed and changed the subject, telling her to take no notice of him; saying it would be different for her because she hadn’t been brought up there.
She leaned on the railing and stared across the bay to her new home,
keen to see it from a new perspective. She noticed she had left the door to the balcony wide open and quickly dismissed it. At four stories up her apartment was hardly going to be a major attraction for any would be intruder. With a shrug she turned her attention to the building as a whole and immediately her face creased into a delighted smile. She was living in a wooden clapboard house, ON STILTS, for goodness sake! She guessed it was to protect it from flooding but it still felt as if she was living in a storybook…apart from the bit about being rescued by a handsome prince of course because, unfortunately, her particular handsome prince had made it very clear that other, far more important things, occupied him. She sighed. Whatever had got into her? This was the twenty-first century, and damsels, distressed or otherwise, had been looking out for themselves for a very long time.
* * *
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” The voice and the question came from somewhere below her.
Peering over the railing she saw Daniel smiling up at her from the stern of the dinghy she had noticed from her balcony. He was the man in the baseball cap, except that now he had taken it off and tossed it into the bottom of the boat where it perched on a coil of ropes, next to several nets and a small rucksack.
It took her a moment to push the fact she had been thinking of him to the back of her mind and produce an answer.
“Like a log, thank you. And when I woke up and saw the view, well I just had to come out and be part of it. You didn’t tell me it was going to be like this!”
“Didn’t I?” His eyes twinkled as he looked up at her. “Maybe I was afraid that if I made it sound too idyllic you would come for all the wrong reasons. Besides it’s not always like this. Sometimes we have hurricanes. In fact one of the first things you’re going to have to learn about is the evacuation plan, and what to do if the siren sounds.”
Claire looked at him in horror. “Are you serious?”
“’Fraid so. But we’re a long way off hurricane season so you don’t need to worry about it yet.”
Thinking that the onset of the hurricane season might be yet another good reason to return home when her six months were up, Claire dragged her eyes away from Daniel’s upturned face, and particularly away from the generous curves of his grinning mouth, and turned her gaze back towards the beach.
“I’m just off to take a look at the white pelicans. Want to come with me?” The question was a casual one as Daniel readied himself to start up the engine.
Remembering the note from Beth she had found propped on the kitchen counter, Claire shook her head. “Another time. I need to unpack before Beth arrives.”
He gave something that sounded like a snort or derision. “That’s not any kind of an excuse. Beth won’t be with you until ten, and the trip out to the sandbar will only take half-an-hour or so. Come on Claire, you’ve plenty of time. And early morning is the best part of the day to see them, before the boat trips start.”
Knowing he would think her foolish, maybe even pathetic, Claire still searched for reasons why she couldn’t join him. Her heart told her it was too soon. Later, when she had settled into her job, it would be fine. He would just be wallpaper by then. Someone she was used to being around. Now though, the sight of his laughing face and the curling ends of his dirt blond hair were causing her actual physical pain.
“I can’t. I haven’t even showered yet, and besides I haven’t had breakfast.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. And I have enough breakfast for both of us.” He nodded towards the rucksack. “Coffee, juice, fruit and bread.”
Out of excuses, and knowing when she was beaten, Claire made her way to the ladder leading down to the mooring. By the time she reached the lowest rung he was holding the boat steady and waiting to help her. For once extremely grateful for her long legs, she ignored his outstretched hand and jumped, landing gracefully in the middle of the boat.
“You’ve done that before,” he said with a nod of approval.
“Mmm. I spent a summer on the canals with my parents,” she told him. “It was their maritime period! Dad wore an old sailor’s cap all the time, and Mum dressed like a pirate, right down to the red bandana and striped T-shirt! Not exactly the open sea, of course, but it was the best they could manage. I had to secure the ropes at every lock, so I became quite good at jumping on and off moving boats.”
“Sounds fun. Surely you enjoyed some of it.” He had heard the disparagement in her voice and his face was serious as he untied the painter and pushed them clear of the pier.
The memories came flooding back as she heard the waves slapping against the prow. It was years since she had been in any sort of boat. Suddenly she remembered the freedom of that hot summer when her bare feet had become so tough she had been able to climb trees and walk across rough stones without flinching. It had been a summer when she had had only the most cursory relationship with hot water and a flannel, and had worn next to nothing for days on end until even her normally pale skin had turned biscuit brown in the sun. A summer of alfresco meals on riverbanks; of non-existent bedtimes; of watching the stars rock to and fro as she slept on the cabin roof with only her old dog Barney for company. To her surprise she was overcome with a feeling of sadness. Where had it all gone, all that freedom? Why had she buried herself in a city and lived most of her adult life through books?
Her reply, when it came, was thoughtful. “A lot of it was really good. In fact it was probably what started my interest in photography. I was about ten years old and I remember I spent hours walking along the towpath picking wild flowers and searching for bugs and butterflies. I can remember getting really frustrated too because I couldn’t draw well enough to record them. Then, one day, Dad disappeared for ages, and when he came back he presented me with an old camera he’d found in a second-hand shop. I thought it was fantastic and…well I’ve never stopped taking pictures since. ”
“There you go. You obviously benefited from your crazy childhood far more than you realize.”
“I guess,” Claire agreed. Then she changed the subject. She didn’t want to think about her childhood anymore, particularly not now that Daniel had made her feel guilty about her attitude towards her parents. After all, if she had a bit more of their adventurous spirit then visiting Dolphin Key and working with Daniel wouldn’t be such a big deal.
Chapter Eight
They didn’t say very much for a while after that. Daniel was too busy guiding the dinghy round the pier and out into the bay, and Claire was too busy absorbing everything that came into view. Only when she laughed out loud at the sight of at least twenty brown pelicans perched every which way on a derelict wooden structure that had collapsed into the sea, did Daniel speak.
“It’s the local doss house,” he told her with a grin. “Once upon a time it was part of an old landing stage but most of it disintegrated years ago. These guys took this bit over a few years back and now it’s one of the iconic images of Dolphin Key.You’ll see it everywhere. On postcards, books, posters…even on letterheads.”
“I can see why. It’s just so funny, and yet picturesque at the same time,” Claire turned her head as he steered the dinghy away from the pelicans and their dilapidated roost.
“The white pelicans are a bit different,” he told her, opening up the throttle in a noisy burst as they sped across the bay. “Much more stately; they are almost aristocracy compared to their common cousins.”
But Claire had stopped listening to him. Instead she was looking over his shoulder, her eyes wide with disbelief. He turned his head to follow her gaze and was just in time to see a pod of dolphins flip into the air before arcing back into the sea.
“Hunting for breakfast,” he said. “Same as the white pelicans will be. Everyone eats early around here.”
After looking in vain for another sighting, Claire brought her gaze reluctantly back to the boat. Daniel smiled at her. “Your first time?”
She nodded.
“It gets everyone the same way. Soon you’ll be used to it
though. There are so many of them around here that before long you will start to recognize individual dolphins because they swim in a particular place at a regular time each day.”
Claire stared at him. “Are you serious? This just gets more and more like fantasy land!”
He grinned at her. “You’d better believe it. Was I right that you will love living here?”
“Maybe.”
Claire wasn’t prepared to commit herself completely, not until she had met her colleagues and started work, but she had to admit that so far, if it weren’t for the complication of how she felt about Daniel, then life in Dolphin Key would be close to heavenly. She turned to look for dolphins again and was rewarded, instead, by her first sight of the white pelicans. At the same time Daniel cut the throttle, and in a moment the only sounds were the slap of water against the boat and the squabble of the feeding birds. He let the dinghy drift in among the reeds fringing one of a string of tiny islands and threw out an anchor.
“Time for our breakfast too, although I can’t offer you any choice.” He leaned forward and pulled the rucksack towards him. In moments he had handed her a bottle of orange juice, a banana and a hunk of bread torn from a fresh loaf.
Claire took it gratefully. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she saw the food. Now she tucked in greedily, not caring at all that it was the sort of unsophisticated picnic she might have put together herself when she was about twelve years old.
* * *
As they watched the pelicans wheeling and diving in their search for food, Daniel told her a little about them. Then, when he noticed how focused she was, he stopped talking entirely and just let her watch them. He saw how she took in every detail and realized that it was her gift of concentration that made her a good photographer.
Reluctant Date Page 6
