Beyond The Island

by Mackenzie, Brenda

  Renzo arrived looking pristine as if modelling his sailing gear; a navy T shirt and dark jeans with a light blue sweater slung casually about his shoulders so it was hard to identify him with that person wearing a city suit. Joanne had changed into a pair of white jeans with a pink polo top she considered right for the purpose.

  Renzo greeted her warmly and added. ‘I see you’re ready!’ From the way he held on to a canvas duffle bag still it was clear he was eager to make a start.

  ‘I’m looking forward to this!’ she said with genuine enthusiasm.

  ‘I’ll point Bountiful out to you then we’ll go out to her in the dinghy and you can see her up close.’ He couldn’t keep the pride from his deep voice. ‘Tomorrow I’ve planned to take you out for a sail.’

  It seemed already Renzo was organising her time. Chiding herself for the thought Joanne smiled and nodded. Ischia certainly created a sense of well- being.

  Renzo waited impatiently drumming his fingers on the reception desk when she begged time to fetch her camera.

  ‘We’ll walk down to the harbour. No need for a taxi. I can do with stretching my legs after being stuck on the yacht since first thing.’

  Joanne gave a start. Why had he bothered to tell her that? ‘I’d sooner walk; it’s a marvellous day – I can’t wait to see your yacht,’ she said quickly.

  They walked briskly down the same route Joanne had taken that morning and she exclaimed, ‘What amazing villas,’ glancing from side to side. ‘They’re so stylish and their gardens are a dream’.

  ‘Mmm, yes, they’ve hardly changed over the years,’ Renzo remarked without much enthusiasm. He frowned. ‘Things must move with the times though; get the Island on the bigger tourist map. Its state of the art hotels not these old private villas that offer the potential to bring in revenue.’

  Joanne held back a quick reply. Did that mean Ischia’s charm might be swallowed by a seamless stretch of hotels? Her mind clouded as she noted Renzo eyeing the properties as though assessing them for development. She had the impression from one of his remarks that his business involved construction enterprises.

  They hurried on and arrived at the harbour wall.

  ‘She’s moored out there, do you see?’ Renzo stood behind her. She felt his clean breath fan her cheek and tried not to flinch as he leaned over her shoulder and directed her gaze. ‘If you sight that flag,’ he pointed, ‘and line it up with the red marker buoy out on the water, she’s just to the right.’ He stood back and handed her a pair of binoculars.

  Conscious of him being too close she replied, ‘I’ve centred on a dark blue hull. I can just make out her name.’ Joanne peered through the binoculars. ‘Looks like “Bountiful”?

  ‘That’s her!’

  ‘She’s a lovely craft.’ Whatever had she been thinking? Why hadn’t she guessed he’d own a vessel of this huge? A sneaky thought came; at least there would be space to get away from him.

  Renzo nodded. ‘She’s Nicholson 38 footer, a fine vessel. ‘So, how about taking a closer look at her? We’ll just do a circuit of her in the dinghy so you can see Bountiful up close.’ He led the way to the slipway. ‘Wait here, Joanne. I’ll bring the dinghy back to you.’

  She stood and watched as he descended a vertical ladder, reached for an iron ring in the wall, released the rope attached to an orange rubber dinghy and tossed it inside. And then with a couple of strong tugs he got the outboard motor chugging and guided the dinghy to the slipway.

  She put her hand in his grip as she stepped in.

  ‘We’ll go aboard tomorrow. I’ll explain the routine and maybe we’ll take her out for a sail,’ he called out. The outboard motor roared as they steered away from shore in a circuitous route avoiding all the moored craft. She gripped the slippery rubber sides as the wash wobbled the dinghy.

  Joanne stared as they approached his yacht. ‘She’s bigger than I expected!’ she remarked as they came alongside. Her head crammed with riddles. Why had this wealthy man chosen a novice like her to crew his sophisticated boat? He must have guessed her knowledge would be inadequate. Yet anticipation coursed through her. Angelina said that Renzo would be keen to show off his yachting skills and instruct her. It was what men liked – a woman to hang on to every word. That is what’s on offer she told herself firmly and determined to learn fast.

  Renzo cut the engine and allowed the dinghy to drift to the starboard side of the yacht. As he busied himself fending the dinghy off the yacht Joanne gazed towards the open sea. Beyond the entrance to the harbour she spotted a fortified ruin, set on its own little islet. ‘That’s interesting,’ she pointed, ‘a fairy tale castle.’

  Without warning a huge motor cruiser roared by and its bow waves hurtled towards them making the dinghy rock violently and had she not clutched the slippery gunwale she’d have been thrown into the sea. Disorientated for a few seconds, her mind registered the bubbles of spray along her arms, a glitter like tiny diamonds in the sun’s rays while scarcely aware of her soaking wet shorts as water sloshed in the dinghy. She came to as Renzo yelled; his face was tight with anger. ‘Dratted plutocrats – might have sunk us! You’re all right, Joanne?’ He turned towards the receding monster and shook his fist. ‘

  Joanne relaxed. She was finding him an easier person to be with now. Master of his ship maybe, but with his flushed face he seemed a little more human, someone she could relate to. Joanne grabbed the bailer and began to bail out. She sensed Renzo’s approval as he turned and nodded his thanks.

  When the sea had calmed Renzo explained the castle on the tiny islet. ‘Delightful, eh? Privately owned; forbidden to visitors - but,’ he added giving her a sidelong glance, ‘we shall be able to sail around it.’

  She saw his eyes half close, mysteriously. ‘I might be able to persuade the authorities to allow us a visit one of these days.’ He nodded as if to confirm the statement. ‘There’s an old fortress and ruins of a Cathedral; lots of twisty lanes you might care to explore.’

  ‘Sounds fascinating.’ Joanne couldn’t help but admire his knack to overcome obstacles. ‘You’ve been there, then?’

  Renzo nodded. ‘Fabio and I often trespassed as boys.’ He changed the subject. ‘Now, Joanne, how about a sail tomorrow?’ He beamed a smile. ‘My lady love will be waiting.’

  Joanne’s eyes widened until she realized he referred to his yacht. She should have remembered; all boats were ladies. ‘Of course, I’d love too.’ Better get it over with, she decided. Once Renzo had put her to the test he might change his mind about his offer to crew.

  Joanne thought it best to be honest. ‘I’ve sailed on the Norfolk Broads but never on the open sea.’ Right then she made up her mind to tackle the sailing and demonstrate her willingness to learn.

  ‘Then it’ll be my great pleasure to instruct you.’ Renzo sounded positive.

  Joanne grinned, thinking - all the better if he’s the sort of skipper who bellows if the crew fails to react quickly; she could cope with that. Yet the thought came that she couldn’t see Fabio barking at her. She puzzled why Fabio didn’t sail with Renzo. Surely Fabio must take a break from painting sometimes. Did he not care for sailing? It seemed odd to be born on the Island and not enjoy the sea. She was about to ask until instinct forbade her.

  Turning her gaze out to sea she saw specks on the horizon shimmering in heat haze as triangles of taut white sails billowed then snapped on the breeze. Her heart beat fast with the prospect of learning to sail this beautiful yacht, pleased to know the terms for rigging, winches and cleats. Novices often had no idea that taking the helm meant sailing the boat on the compass.

  ‘That’s enough for the first day,’ Renzo declared. ‘We’re heading back. Get ready to go about!’

  ‘Aye, aye, skipper!’ she moved to sit on the other side of the dinghy.

  As Renzo guided the small dinghy Joanne studied the other boats which motored past them towards the open sea. Within the harbour, pleasure boats and sailing craft swayed in the water, a kaleidoscope of pattern b
eneath the fierce blue sky. A cooling breeze tempered the heat and the chink, chinking sounds of rigging at the top of sailing masts heightened her excitement for learning to sail this large yacht.

  Voices echoed over the water to mingle with traffic noise from the town as Renzo skilfully headed back to the harbour wall. This holiday promised to be fabulous, she decided.

  Renzo pointed out gigantic white motor cruisers which dwarfed even the largest yachts. ‘Celebrities own those monsters.’ His features darkened with disapproval. ‘Upstarts - they know nothing about sailing but employ a qualified skipper and crew.’ His mouth turned down. ‘Hardly any venture out to sea - only used for drinking parties.’

  At least Renzo’s not one of them, Joanne thought with relief. It was late afternoon and she saw fishing vessels preparing to set sail. Renzo held the dinghy steady as she stepped onto the slipway. She stood on the quay and watched as he manoeuvred to the vertical ladder and secured the dinghy to the metal ring in the wall. Within a short time he’d climbed up to join her.

  ‘Carina,’ the careless Italian word slipped from his mouth and Joanne looked up quickly, perturbed by his familiarity. He chewed his lower lip.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Joanne, it’s...’ he frowned and seemed to hesitate.

  A brief flutter of concern told her she might not want to hear what was coming.

  ‘Joanne,’ he repeated, eyebrows raised as he gave her a quizzical look. ‘I was just going to say, why not allow me to get the hotel to make up a packed lunch to take tomorrow? We can have a picnic on board.’

  She nodded, not at all sure if she cared for that kind of intimate meal with him. His manner had put her on alert. She hoped this idea of picnics ‘tete a tete’ would not be a regular thing. However, Joanne suspected his picnic idea wasn’t what he’d been about to say. But mindful not to spoil their first outing together she said, ‘Yes, sounds a great idea.’

  *** *

  Joanne found Renzo rather quiet that evening. He had suggested she dine with him in her hotel. It gave her another cause for concern. Would this become a ritual? It was something she hadn’t considered but could hardly refuse without sounding rude. Tonight, as far as she could tell he wasn’t annoyed, just lost in thought. There was a weakness about the mouth that she hadn’t noticed until now since his direct manner usually tightened his features. She gave up trying to make pleasant conversation and settled like him to the enjoyment of their meal. The thought crossed her mind that maybe he’d received some awkward business calls.

  They sat either side of a small table on the wide hotel terrace enjoying a delicious meal of sea bass. Later they discussed dessert and chose the cassata. Joanne never failed to be surprised at Renzo’s change of manner. When the waiter had gone, Renzo poured the rest of the Chablis into her glass and raised his own glass in a toast.

  ‘To your special sailing holiday Joanne.’ And, he added, ‘maybe you’ll make a perfect sailor...?’ His smiled a slow, lazy smile as their glasses chinked.

  Startled she was conscious of the warm hand which hovered over her arm. Why this sudden change of mood, a flash of things not quite right? She sensed something hidden behind his remarks and instantly was on the alert. What did he have in mind for her? Why had he invited her to crew? She was unused to situations without the freedom to make her own plans. She tried to bury her qualms and decided there was plenty of time to decline possible overtures or forestall monopoly of her days.

  ***

  The plan was to set off to sail very early. Almost without realizing it Joanne was forced to accept that her holiday would revolve around sailing trips. She shrugged. Sailing skills could be useful. Reassured that it was in her interest to learn, Joanne quickly dressed in denim shorts and T shirt and pushed a warm sweater and swimming things into a holdall ready for any contingency and then pulled on a spotted navy bandana to cover her hair.

  Soon, she was on her way down to the quay. It was easy to pick out Renzo for he stood taller than most people around him. As on the previous day, he was immaculate; this time a striped navy and white sweat shirt and khaki cotton shorts and he wore a navy Breton sailing cap. Joanne pictured him posing on the cover of a glossy sailing magazine against an exotic background. It occurred that perhaps Renzo’s fastidiousness, his direct manner, even his over-tipping, shielded some inner failing, perhaps regret? But then the picture of Fabio in paint stained smock and worn jeans filed her mind. His attraction couldn’t be denied.

  ‘Good morning, Joanne,’ Renzo beamed. ‘How lovely you look again. I’ve been out and taken our picnic on board. The dinghy’s down there. No need to start the outboard motor. The water’s calm so I’ll paddle it out. Shall we go?’

  She smiled, noting how sunlight lit his grey sideburns as he turned towards the sea and pondered if he would take action to remedy it. His eagerness was infectious and her response quick, ‘Yes, can’t wait.’ There was a waft of his subtle after shave lotion as he gave her a hand into the dinghy. Perched on the thwart, she took covert glances at him as he rowed towards the yacht, his head thrown back on his strong neck and it seemed that his somewhat haughty features resembled a Roman emperor from ancient times. His arms executed powerful even strokes with the paddles and she noted how he glanced about, careful to avoid bumping into other craft. Some women would find this man divertingly attractive, she thought, but for me he is far too urbane.

  ‘Keep a look out Joanne,’ he instructed.

  And she did so, hoping this boded well for her trials on board.

  They’d reached Bountiful stern and the dinghy nudged against the rubber floats suspended from the yacht. Climbing up the fixed steel ladder, Joanne noted how Renzo tied up the rubber dinghy and let out the rope so it floated behind the yacht. That task completed, he looked at her.

  ‘Doesn’t take too long to prepare the yacht for a sail but everything must be done in strict order.’

  ‘Yes, I see that.’ She was admiring the gleaming brass capstan and polished wooden decks and could tell no expense had been spared to create this elegant sailing craft.

  ‘She’s such a lovely yacht.’ Her comment clearly pleased him.

  ‘She’s my special lady,’ Renzo nodded and his heavy lidded eyes screwed up with satisfaction. ‘Come, I’ll show you below decks.’

  Joanne was intrigued by the fitments in the small cabin that contained everything from buoyancy aids to supplies of food and clothing. A folding table was screwed to the floor in front of a banquette of seating.

  ‘These can be made into extra sleeping bunks,’ Renzo explained and then sliding a cupboard door above the seating, ‘storage space for bedding; and here,’ he lifted a wooden lid to a box secured to the floor, ‘is where life jackets are stowed.’ He reached inside and took one out and first checking the size, handed it to Joanne. ‘I’ll demonstrate how to put it on up on deck.

  Good Joanne thought, and let out her breath. At least he’s prepared to teach me the basics.

  The yacht was neatly arranged and functional. Joanne marvelled at the ingenuity to accommodate a small stainless steel fridge and oven, gleaming cooking pots and a waste disposal unit.

  ‘My cabin which is also my office is in the stern,’ he moved a few paces, opened the cabin door a crack and indicated the interior with a nod.

  She caught a glimpse of a neat bunk bed. And just before he shut the door, a chart table, a computer and box files with fitments along the side walls. There was no doubt this was his working area.

  He’d moved and opened a wooden door amidships. ‘The other important facilities,.’ Renzo explained. All mod cons. you see, referred in sailing lingo to ‘The Heads’.

  Joanne stared at the toilet, hand basin and a shower above a shallow well enclosed in a tiny cubicle. Quite suddenly, she felt stifled. Waves of unease flooded her as Renzo’s presence crowded her in the small confines of the cabin. She found it hard to breathe. It prompted her to exclaim, ‘Everything here, nothing forgotten, all ship shape and Bristol fashion
!’ Her voice sounded high pitched. Furious with herself for such an inane remark Joanne moved quickly away from him, held onto the rails at either side of the wooden steps and climbed.

  The sound of Renzo chuckle though more a derisory snort echoed about the cabin as she emerged back on deck and she flinched as he came up and stood beside her.

  ‘Pull the jacket over your head and bring the ties around to the front.’ His manner sounded serious and it had the effect of jolting her back to normality.

  ‘There’s the whistle,’ he pointed to one attached on the front of the life jacket. ‘Never had occasion to use it but its best always to be prepared at sea.’

  The demonstration over and determined not to appear inadequate, Joanne set to and helped him unfurl the sails. Once engaged with tasks, she was able to relax, pleased with her competence.

  Renzo nodded his approval as he checked how she’d fixed the shackles and her sense of well-being restored Joanne paid careful attention to all his instructions, pleased these were relayed to her in a matter of fact way.

  She stood at the stern, jolted by the sudden roar of the engine which shattered the calm. Renzo was testing the motor and must have been satisfied for it was returned to neutral and made a quiet thrum. He then strode about, checking everything was in order.

  ‘Right Joanne!’ he shouted. ‘All ready. We’re away!’

  Renzo steered skilfully through the moored craft and headed the yacht past the breakwater into the open sea. ‘You okay. back there Joanne? Get ready to act when I shout.’ He thrust the motor in high gear and it screamed with the effort of charging through the waves, while the motion sent bow ripples of churning water splaying over the deck in the wake. Joanne felt a thrill rise in her throat. This is the life! She thought, tasting salt on her tongue.