The Secret Cove in Croatia
JULIE CAPLIN

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

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HarperImpulse

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Copyright © Julie Caplin 2019

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Julie Caplin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008323691

Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008323684

Version: 2019-06-20

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1: Northumberland

Chapter 2: London

Chapter 3: Croatia

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

For Gordana Sikora-Presecki who introduced me to Croatia

… and sharing inspiring pictures when we should have been working!

Chapter 1
Northumberland

Nick huddled into the collar of his coat, grateful for the thick tweed barrier protecting him from the brisk northerly wind that whipped around the lee of the craggy hillside. A wry smile touched his mouth at the sight of the two models shivering together like highly strung Arabian fillies.

Today the models were dressed in vibrant — Pucci style, he’d been informed, whatever that was — wool ponchos. Although, if anyone had asked his opinion, he’d have said it looked as if someone had run amok in a paint shop, but he was no fashion expert. The outfits were topped with dashing tam-o’-shanter hats, perched jauntily on their heads while striped woollen scarves, wrapped several times around their elegant long necks, flapped in the breeze like Himalayan prayer flags. The poor frozen models were as out of place as a pair of tropical birds as they waited for the photographer to line up the next shot.

Normally, at seven-thirty in the morning, he’d have the bleak moorland to himself, and if it hadn’t been for the quelling looks his sisters-in-law had shot his twin brothers, Dan and Jonathon, over dinner last night, there might have been a few more people up here.

‘Tara, stand on that rock in the shaft of sunshine,’ directed the brusque photographer whose facial expression was well hidden behind dark bushy eyebrows and a fearsome, glossy black beard of biblical proportions, a stark contrast to his bald head.

Nick had to give her credit; the minute Tara moved into the unforgiving eye of the lens, she stopped shivering and threw a cool indifferent pose as if the freezing temperature was nothing. Her thin, haughty face stared out over the view, dispassionate and seemingly oblivious to the valley unfolding before her, the rich green grass softening the contours of the hillside and the sunshine dancing on the distant sea at the mouth of the valley five miles in the distance. Something twisted in his stomach at the sight of her standing on the outcrop of rocks, with one knee bent, a delicate, almost fey figure, with her flawless complexion and mane of golden hair burnished with red and gold threads picked out by the spring sunshine. She looked as if she might slip away into another realm at any moment. Then he told himself off for allowing the little kick of something to affect him and the odd desire to want to protect her from the cold. Compared to her, he was a steady, reliable carthorse hitched to unremitting destiny while she was like a delicate faerie creature, as unattainable and remote as the stars. She came from another world. A world a million miles away from this remote farm and the village community where he knew everyone and everyone knew him and had done since he was born. This was home. Always had been, always would be. His mouth twisted. Besides, if he weren’t here, what else could he do? This was all he’d ever known or was likely to know.

‘Nick, can you get one of the sheep into the foreground?’ called a peremptory voice, waving a finger indicating where the animal was required.

‘Sure,’ he said, whistling to his border collie, Rex, not bothering to correct the photographer’s assistant. He’d tried to explain several times yesterday but no one was interested in the difference between the sheep – actually ewes – and the lambs. They wanted the cute, photo-friendly lambs, which were now six weeks old and more photogenic than the just about to be sheared sheep, which looked scraggy and unkempt with their mud-encrusted, shaggy fleeces.

Since British Wool had approached him to photograph their brochure on Hadley land, offering to pay for his time, this job had proved one of the most … entertaining was probably the best word. Who knew that taking a few photographs was actually a full-scale production? Two vans had arrived two days ago, filled with several rails of clothes and enough photographic kit and caboodle to take pictures of the entire population of Bowden Rigg. These had been followed by three taxis from Carlisle station conveying a full entourage of four models, two stylists, two wardrobe ladies, the photographer, his assistant, a creative director, a PA and two clients from British Wool.

Rex rounded up one of the lambs, which skipped into shot baaing furiously, making the model smile winsomely. ‘Oh, isn’t he so cute?’

‘He’d be a damn sight cuter if he stood still,’ grumbled the photographer, peering through his lens.

Following a quick whistle and a few subtle commands, Rex nudged the skittish lamb back into place. Nick, impressed by her patience, watched as Tara tilted her head this way and that, angling her body to show off the garments. To his surprise, she turned her sleepy almond eyes his way, a sultry smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she stared rather blatantly at his.

‘Yes, Tara. Yes, that look. Lovely. Lovely. Just tilt your head to the right, keep looking at Nick. Yeah, that’s it. You want him bad. I’m loving it.’

A wicked glint lit the model’s eyes and Nick felt himself blush to the very roots of his blond hair and a heated flush raced up his body. With a swallow, he resisted the urge to duck his head. Instead, he met her slightly mocking gaze with a quick lift of one eyebrow and some heat of his own. Country born and bred didn’t mean that he was clueless. Nick Hadley, to his mother’s despair, had yet to find the right woman, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t played the field.

Tara smirked in retaliation and then, in accordance with the photographer’s next slew of commands, put her hands on her hips and threw her head back, once again distant and unattainable. Nick suddenly felt like a third wheel; he had a ton of stuff that he should be doing this morning instead of hanging around like … like a grubby schoolboy.

The photographer called out to Tara, ‘OK, you’re done for the moment.’

As Nick walked forward to chase the lamb back to the rest of the flock, Tara stepped forward to the edge of the rock. ‘Catch me,’ she said and launched herself into the air.

Surprised, Nick took a step forward and caught her easily in his arms. She weighed nothing and she crowed delightedly at his catch, as if he’d done something amazing, making him feel like every superhero rolled into one. Gently, he set her down on the ground, disentangling himself from her poncho and scarf. He gave her a smile. ‘There you go, safe and sound.’

‘You’re all man,’ she breathed and he almost wanted to laugh; it was such a clichéd line, but the knowing, suggestive look in her eyes stalled him.

‘Last time I looked,’ he said with easy confidence. Now it was her turn to blush. ‘You’re staying at The George Inn, in the village, I believe.’

She nodded. ‘Quaint, but I’ve stayed in worse on location.’

‘Dinner?’ asked Nick.

‘Are you asking me, or telling me?’ Tara replied, her eyes coy, with a gentle smirk playing around her mouth.

‘There’s a very good restaurant at the local manor house. I could pick you up at seven-thirty.’

‘Make it eight and you have a date,’ returned Tara, with the air of someone who was used to having her own way.

Damn, it was after six. It had taken longer than he’d planned to finish today. Unfortunately, farming waited for no man and he’d had to catch up with those jobs that going out on the photoshoot had forced him to neglect.

The warm glow of the farmhouse kitchen, filled with the scent of sausages and Yorkshire pudding coming from the Aga, along with the comforting sound of chatter and laughter, embraced him – a hug of familiarity and simple pleasure. The huge pine table in the centre of the room was being laid by Gail, married to his eldest twin brother, Dan, and she looked up to give him a quick warm smile. He liked both of his sisters-in-law, although had yet to fathom how on earth either of the twins, Dan and Jonathon, had persuaded them that they would make suitable husbands. But then he’d grown up with them.

‘Hey, Nick,’ called Dan from where he stood in front of the dresser, rummaging through the assorted phone chargers and cables. ‘Long day.’

He nodded.

At thirty-three, like his twin brothers and their wives, he still ate in his mother’s kitchen, partly through sheer laziness but also because the warm, busy kitchen had been so much part of his life for so long. However, much as he loved them all, he was thankful for his own small cottage on the edge of the farm which afforded the necessary privacy for a bachelor, especially one whose mother was keen for him to settle down.

‘Hey, Mum –’ he turned to her ‘– I’m sorry. I’ve only just finished work but I’m going out tonight.’

‘Excellent,’ said Jonathon, eyeing up the toad-in-the-hole she was in the process of removing from the Aga. ‘More sausages for me.’

‘Are you sure you don’t have time for a quick bite to eat? I’m literally serving up now. You can eat and run.’ She grinned at him. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Or he could sod off down the pub and leave the sausages for us,’ said Jonathon, dancing past his mother and pinching a piece of crisp Yorkshire pudding.

She gave his knuckles a sharp rap.

‘Yeah, I vote for more sausages,’ agreed Dan, backing up his twin. ‘You can sod off to the pub.’

‘There’s plenty,’ said Lynda Hadley, shaking her head with a tut. ‘Honestly, boys, you’d think you’d been starved all your life. It’ll take me two minutes to serve up and your father should be here any second.’

Bugger. He’d really hoped to make his excuses and make a quick getaway.

‘No, seriously, Mum. I haven’t got time. I haven’t even washed up yet.’

‘But when will you eat? You’ve been up since silly o’clock and I bet you only had sandwiches for lunch.’

‘I’m eating out,’ he said, edging towards the door.

Just then his father came in, tossing his car keys on the dresser on the side, scooping his wife up for a quick kiss. ‘Evening. I’ve just been in the village. I hear you’re eating at Bodenbroke Manor this evening, Nick.’ He raised his eyebrows with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

Nick held back the groan. Thanks, Dad. Drop me in it, why don’t you?

‘Bodenbroke Manor,’ piped up Jonathon, settling against the back door, his arms folded and a mischievous smile playing on his face. ‘Now that’s fancy. A date, is it? Who’s the lucky girl this week?’ He frowned. ‘I thought you’d finished with that posh, horsey bird.’

‘Her name is Henrietta,’ said Nick with a frown. ‘And I’m not seeing her any more.’

‘Didn’t last long,’ observed Gail with a sly smile.

Nick shrugged, edging ever closer to the door, hoping that Jonathon would move sooner rather than later. ‘It was mutual.’

‘When did you fix this up?’ asked Dan, joining in the conversation, having found a charger to fit his phone and plugged it in. His face creased in sudden interest.

‘Today,’ said Nick. ‘Look, if the inquisition can lay off, I need to shower and change.’

He was so close to the door and he actually had his hand on the doorknob when Dan suddenly crowed, ‘It’s one of those London photo women, isn’t it? You’ve been up on Starbridge Fell all day. You sly devil. You asked one of them out.’

Jonathon laughed and stepped back to block the door. ‘What? And they said yes?’

Nick froze. ‘Why shouldn’t they?’ he asked, regretting the sudden stiffness in his voice.

‘Punching above your weight, aren’t you?’ teased Dan. ‘Which one is it? One of the wardrobe ladies? The blonde one. What’s her name … Georgina?’

Nick shook his head.

‘What, the darker one?’

‘Neither of them,’ he said, trying to keep his expression pleasant.

‘Well, who then?’ asked Jonathon, screwing his face up in perplexed confusion. ‘The stylist woman is married and so is the PA and Creative Director.’

‘Bloody hell, you didn’t pull a model, did you?’ gasped Dan, pretending to reel back, bumping into a chair, which screeched across the tiled floor in protest.

Gail and Cath shook their heads in mutual mock despair at Dan’s theatrics and then Gail said, with a naughty grin, ‘And why not? Let’s face it, he’s the best-looking one out of all of you.’

Dan clutched his chest. ‘I’m hurt, dear wife. I thought I was.’

‘You’re the best-looking of my husbands,’ she teased, winking at Nick, who was grateful for the brief diversion in conversation. Sadly, Jonathon wasn’t about to let it go.

‘Seriously? Which one?’

Nick sighed, knowing if he were going to get out of here in time to wash and change, capitulation was the only solution. ‘I’m going out with Tara. We got chatting. We fancied dinner together. For God’s sake, it’s not as if I’m going to ask her to bloody marry me or anything. She’ll be gone by the end of the week. And I’ll still be here.’ His voice rose. Realising that he’d made a bit of a tit of himself, he grasped the door handle and yanked it open, leaving behind a collective gasp and a telling silence.

‘Gosh, this place is really rather nice,’ said Tara, taking in the expensive wallpaper, which reputedly cost over two hundred pounds a roll, the stylish furniture and the retro designed lighting. ‘We could almost be in London,’ she added in a conspiratorial whisper behind one hand.

Nick lifted his wine glass and took a sip. ‘We’re not all heathens up here, you know.’

‘I think I can see that,’ said Tara, giving his body a rather blatant once-over.

From the minute he’d picked her up from the George, she’d been flirtatious and forthright, which was a huge relief. If he were honest, as he was driving to collect her he’d had a sudden last-minute panic. What on earth was he going to talk to her about all evening?

He needn’t have worried; as he’d helped hoist her tiny frame into his truck, she’d murmured, ‘Oh, this is very masculine,’ as she’d settled herself into the seat. ‘I don’t think I know anyone who drives a truck,’ she’d said, drifting her hands across the dashboard as he’d started the engine up. Within a few miles one hand had drifted to his thigh and he drove the rest of the way trying not to wriggle like an overexcited teenager.

She wore a floaty chiffon pantsuit thing with tiny straps that dipped so low it made it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her legs in skyscraper heels, so high you surely needed a health and safety certificate to walk in them, looked endless and made his heart bump uncomfortably in his chest. She was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her glorious hair was bundled in a big messy updo of some sort, with lots of tendrils curling around the white alabaster column of her throat.

For God’s sake, get a grip, man – she’s a flesh and blood woman, not a flaming Greek statue.

‘How long have you been modelling?’ he asked, forcing himself to make sensible conversation instead of staring at her like a lovesick puppy.

‘For ten years.’ She pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I’m old.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He laughed. ‘What, you’re twenty-six, twenty-seven?’

‘Twenty-seven,’ she whispered, looking around the room, ‘but don’t tell anyone. That’s quite old in this business. Although I’m ready to move on now. Do something a bit more meaningful, you know? I’d like to be an ambassador for something worthwhile. You know, saving the planet. Eradicating plastic. Something like that.’

‘Sounds noble,’ he teased.

For a moment her nostrils flared and he saw the tendons in her neck tense.

‘I’m serious. I feel very passionate about some of the issues facing our planet. The amount of plastic in the sea is a terrible thing. It’s a big issue. Animals are dying.’ She fixed him with a rather intense stare.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to belittle your ambition. I was teasing. I’m used to brotherly banter.’

She dipped her head with gracious acquiescence. ‘We have to save our planet.’

‘You’re right,’ he concurred, realising that this was a big deal to her. ‘Although I tend to get worked up about issues closer to home, I guess.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘Bit selfish, really. We’re already seeing the effects of climate change on the seasons.’ Last year’s hot dry summer had had a major impact on the grasslands where the sheep grazed. ‘So what will you do?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll be an ambassador. You know, do photoshoots highlighting the issues. Be the face of a campaign. I’m just waiting for the right offer.’

Nick nodded, feeling a little out of his depth. He had no idea how these things worked. They lapsed into silence for a minute, until the waiter came to take their order.

‘I’ll have the medallion of beef,’ said Tara before adding, to Nick’s surprise, ‘and can I have chips with it?’

‘We do pommes frites,’ said the waiter in a slightly stuffy accent, which made Nick want to laugh. They played five-a-side together on Thursdays and he was light years from stuffy.

‘Perfect,’ said Tara.

Nick grinned as soon as the waiter departed, taking his own order for confit of duck and seasonal vegetables. ‘And there you’ve blown the preconception that models never eat anything but salad and carrot sticks.’

Tara tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘I have a fabulous metabolism. I can eat what I like.’ She almost sounded defiant.

Nick smiled. ‘That’s good to hear as the food here is excellent.’

Tara nodded and picked at the tines of her fork, before rearranging her cutlery several times.

‘So, do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Nick asked to fill the silence.

She shook her head, pulling her mouth into a sad little moue. ‘Just little old me. Mummy and Daddy had me very late in life. Poor Mummy nearly died, so Daddy put his foot down and said no more children. Mummy said that I was such a beautiful child, she was glad she couldn’t have any more children because she couldn’t bear risking having another child in case they were a disappointment.’ Tara gave a tinkling laugh and tilted her head on one side, looking up at him. ‘Isn’t that the sweetest thing? Of course, utter nonsense. All parents think their babies are perfect.’

Nick laughed. ‘You should speak to my mother. She doesn’t have any illusions about her children, but then she had five of us.’

‘Five! Good lord.’ Tara’s eyes widened dramatically and she put her hand on her stomach. ‘Gosh. That’s a lot. Your poor mother. That must have wrecked her figure.’

Nick’s mother would have laughed her head off at that comment; she adored all of her children. He was sure she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. ‘I’m not sure she sees it like that.’

‘Are they all as good-looking as you?’ Tara slapped her hand over her mouth, as if the compliment had slipped out by accident. She lowered her eyes to the table.

Nick laughed, thinking of the conversation between his brother and sister-in-law as he’d left. ‘I’m one of four brothers and one sister. I think we all agree that our little sister is the best-looking.’

‘Oh,’ said Tara, as if this was a very strange thing to say.

‘So what do you do when you’re not sheep farming?’ she asked.

‘It’s not exactly a nine-to-five job,’ said Nick, ‘but when I can, I like to get away from the farm. My sister lives in Paris—’

‘Oh, I adore Paris. I was there for the Paris Fashion Shows. I did a catwalk show for Dior this year. It’s such a super city. When were you last there?’

They talked Paris, with Nick dredging up everything he could possibly remember of his two visits there, until dinner arrived.

Tara certainly had a healthy appetite and scoffed down her food as if she were starving.

‘You were hungry,’ he said, looking at her clean plate as he finished the last of his food.

‘I was in the fresh air all day,’ snapped Tara, again sounding defensive.

‘I had no idea modelling was such hard work,’ said Nick. Clearly she wasn’t used to the sort of banter he enjoyed with his family. He ought to remember she wasn’t from a big family like his.

‘It’s not for everyone. I don’t think people realise how hard it is. They just think we turn up and have our photos taken.’

The waiter appeared and took away their plates before returning with the dessert menu. ‘Would you like anything else?’ he asked.

‘I shouldn’t,’ said Tara, perusing the menu, her tongue poking out rather adorably between her lips. ‘Are you going to have anything?’

‘I’ve not really got a sweet tooth.’

Her face fell.

‘But we could share something, perhaps?’ he suggested.

‘Yes, the profiteroles. I adore them.’

Nick ordered dessert with two spoons, although he needn’t have bothered because, although the dish was placed in front of him, as quick as a snake, Tara’s hand would strike and snatch a spoonful of choux pastry and cream. She made regular moans of delight with each mouthful.

‘I haven’t had chocolate in ages. I’d forgotten how delicious it is. Such a sensual pleasure, don’t you think?’ She dipped her spoon in the last of the chocolate sauce and slowly licked the back of it with long slow strokes, all the while her eyes intent on Nick. She let out a breathy sigh. ‘That silky richness on your tongue.’ She ran her tongue up and down the handle of the spoon, her eyes dark and sultry with the sort of promise that had Nick shifting in his seat, very relieved that the tablecloth was covering things up.

When the waiter came to clear away the dessert dish, Nick was ready to decline coffee and take Tara straight back to the George. Given the suggestive signals she’d been sending him, he thought they were on the same page, but she rose from her seat, tossing her napkin on the table.

‘Darling, could you order me an espresso? I just need to go to the ladies. Sort myself out.’

‘OK,’ he said, ordering himself a cappuccino and settling back in his seat, feeling his heated skin start to cool. He pulled out his phone, quickly checking his Facebook feed, smiling as he saw a post from his sister, Nina.

Chocolate Heaven was the caption underneath a picture of a perfect chocolate éclair and her fingers and thumbs just beyond it, shaped in a love heart.

God, how much would Tara enjoy one of those and what sort of state would he be in, watching her eat it?

Looks delish, sis, he posted quickly, scrolling through more of her pictures. Since going to Paris to run a patisserie and moving in with her boyfriend, Sebastian, who happened to be Nick’s best friend, Nina had become the queen of éclairs and all things sugar. Perhaps he could take Tara there one day. He had a sneaking suspicion she might rather like it.

He commented on a few pictures, liked a few others and then realised a full fifteen minutes had elapsed. Where was Tara? Please don’t say she’d done a runner. No, surely not. Despite his pre-date qualms, it had gone pretty well. She certainly seemed interested. Without being big-headed about it, he got on with women. Most dates he went on turned out well, more than well sometimes, although there had been the one time he’d been on a blind date with one of Gail’s friends, who turned out to be best friends with one of his exes. That had been rather excruciating.

Just as he was seriously considering sending a search party up to the ladies, Tara reappeared, her eyes glittery and her face all smiles as she slipped back into her seat and took a sip of espresso as if there was nothing wrong.

Perhaps she’d had some female issue and she was too embarrassed to say anything.

‘Ugh, this espresso is cold,’ she said, pulling a face.

‘Would you like me to get another?’ said Nick equably, not wanting to make her feel self-conscious by saying that she had been rather a long time.

‘No, it’s OK. It’s quite late now and it will probably keep me awake.’ She looked at her watch and then gave him a beautiful, sorrowful smile. ‘You need to drop me back at the hotel. I’m afraid I need my beauty sleep. I can’t turn up tomorrow with bags under my eyes.’

‘Let me get the bill,’ said Nick, wondering at what point the evening had suddenly petered out.

Chapter 2
London

Maddie gripped her knees together, her hands clasped over the kneecaps to stop them shaking, as Henry Compton-Barnes, complete with suede patches on the elbows of his jacket and a dicky bow, stared down at her work. It seemed to take forever before he finally looked up and spoke.

‘Professor Gregory is a good friend of mine and you’ve come highly recommended. I shall therefore be completely honest with you.’ His mouth pulled into a regretful line as if someone were tugging at strings attached to each end of his lips. ‘Technically, you are very good. These are well executed. The detail, in fact, is brilliant.’

Despite the words, she knew there was a giant-sized ‘but’ headed her way.

‘What I’m looking for in a painting … for this gallery …’ He shook his head. ‘These have no originality. No flair. They’re missing that je ne sais quoi, the indefinable, that makes a piece of art stand out. What I’m looking for is something that only the artist can conceive. When you look at their work, you know that only they could have painted it. I liken it to a singer, someone like, forgive me, I’m considerably older than you, but someone like Carly Simon, for example. You hear her voice and you know immediately it’s her. Her voice, like a signature, is unique and that’s what I’m looking for in a painting.

‘These, I’m afraid, are good, very good, but I don’t see your soul or any investment from you as an individual.

‘Can I give you some advice, Maddie? Go somewhere new and different. Forget everything you’ve ever been taught or thought you knew – break the rules – experiment but, most of all, paint from the heart.’

Paint from the heart. Maddie rolled her eyes, picturing a Salvador Dali image of a red heart skewered by a giant paintbrush on a desert plain, with scarlet drops dripping from the brush onto the pale yellow sand. Paint from the heart. What the hell did that mean? Had anyone told Picasso to paint from the heart? Rodin? Van Gogh? Maddie winced. Not that she was anywhere close to emulating anyone in that league.

Sitting in Costa, she sipped at her coffee, regretting the impulse to drown her sorrows with a ridiculously expensive cappuccino.

‘Dear God,’ drawled an upper-class voice as someone sat down behind her. ‘What a chav. What was Henry thinking?’

‘What? That girl that’s just been in? I thought she was in fancy dress. You know, Toulouse-Lautrec.’

Maddie clutched the felt beret on her lap under the table.

‘He was doing a friend a favour. He told me when he put the appointment in the diary.’

‘Did he take her on? Surely not. God, the gallery would be going downhill fast.’

‘Don’t think so. By the look of her when she left, I think he sent her out with a flea in her ear. I could have told him when she turned up he was wasting his time. I mean, seriously, did you hear the way she spoke?’

The other girl let out a peal of laughter. ‘Common as muck.’

‘Shh, you can’t say things like that now. It’s not PC. I’m not sure you’re even allowed to say chav any more.’

Both girls laughed with malicious superiority as Maddie flushed, feeling the heat in her cheeks. She probably looked like an overripe Christmas elf. Picking up her beret, she crammed it firmly onto her head and turned around. One of the girls looked up and at least had the grace to start, her mouth opening in a gasp.

‘Thing about chavs,’ said Maddie conversationally, ‘is that they have no class, speak their minds and don’t take crap from supercilious, stuck-up bitches like you two. Not all of us were born into money and, quite frankly, if that’s how you talk about people, you need to go back to school and learn some manners. You should be ashamed of yourselves.’

Pleased with the way both girls sat there gawping like a pair of guppies, she sailed out of the coffee bar with her head held high.

Unfortunately, having the last word didn’t change the fact that she had failed at her one and only shot at actually getting through the doors of a gallery in London and used up her only useful contact.

Maddie glared up at the departures board at Euston. Another two hours before her cheap fare train departed. Back to Birmingham and another conversation with her mum about another failed job interview. Maddie hadn’t actually told anyone, apart from Professor Gregory, what she was really doing in London.

Sighing, she scrolled through her WhatsApp feed.

Urgent. Urgent. Urgent. Do you still need a job?

It’s temporary but it’s in Europe and they’re desperate. Call me. Nx

The message from her friend, Nina, made her smile. They’d met in Paris while Maddie was on her year of study abroad and, with so much in common, had quickly become firm friends. Both came from big families and, like Nina, Maddie was one of five, and while they missed being part of a community, they didn’t necessarily miss the demands of their families.

The key word in the brief message was Europe. A siren call. Maddie longed to get as far away from home as possible. Since her time in France last year, she just didn’t feel like she fitted in any more.

‘OK, what’s the deal?’ she asked as Nina picked up the phone on the first ring. ‘Where in Europe? And what? Grape-picking?’

‘Something much classier.’ Nina’s voice bristled with that ta-da excitement. ‘It’s Croatia.’

‘Did you just sneeze?’

‘Very funny. No, seriously. Nick phoned Sebastian half an hour ago. He’s going on this amazing holiday with his new girlfriend; a bunch of them are chartering a yacht … but the girl that was going to work on board as a hostess dropped out yesterday and they go in three days’ time. All you have to do is a bit of cleaning and cooking. Basically looking after the guests. And there are only six of them.’

‘I’m your girl,’ said Maddie without hesitation, despite the fact that she’d never been on a boat in her life, unless you counted the pedalo in Tenerife that time. Thanks to a bit of tuition from Nina’s chef boyfriend, Sebastian, she’d learned a lot in six months. Her cooking skills had come on loads, for someone whose repertoire once consisted of nothing more than shepherd’s pie and Lancashire hotpot. Besides, didn’t everyone on holiday live on salads and ice cream?

Nina squealed. ‘Brilliant. You need to phone this Croatian guy. I’ll WhatsApp his number. Oh, you’re going to have such a great time. Two and a half weeks in Croatia! I’m quite jealous.’

Maddie squealed back. ‘That’s so cool. Thanks so much, Nina. And I can’t wait to meet your brother. I feel like I know him already.’

Chapter 3
Croatia

‘Whoa.’ Maddie dropped her duffel bag on the quayside. Everyone who’d told her to expect conditions to be cramped, with no room to swing a goldfish, had not got the right memo. This boat was big. She yanked her phone out from her pocket and checked the name on the back of the boat with the details on her phone. Nope, this was definitely it – Avanturista, Split.

This was where she was spending the next couple of weeks? Well, hello, gorgeous boat and thank you very much. She did a little jig on the spot. In her natty outfit of blue striped Breton T-shirt and red Capri pants – well, she thought it was natty, although the Capri pants were an awful lot more tomatoey than she remembered when she’d bought them.

She took a quick picture of the boat and began typing a caption.

Nina, seriously, babe. Look at this boat! It’s humungous. I love you. Thanks so much for getting me the gig. Now I’m doubly glad I paid attention to all those cooking lessons. Can you remember when we first met? I was the queen of nursery food and burnt cakes and now look at me. Can’t wait to meet your bro. Maddie xxx

She would have been quite content to sit on the quayside in the glorious sunshine and gaze at the boat, but she figured she was here to work, even if it didn’t feel like it. Since the coach from the airport had dropped her off at the busy ferry port she’d felt as if she was on holiday. The departures boards were full of the Jadrolinija line, with boats leaving for interesting-sounding places like Hvar, Jelsa, Stari Grad, Supetar, Bol, Milna, Dubrovnik, Korčula and Ancona. She grinned to herself. She wasn’t in Birmingham any more.

Then she’d realised she was in completely the wrong place and had to walk all the way back to the other side of the bay to the marina, which wasn’t quite the start for a shit-hot crew member but she hadn’t minded the walk, not when the weather was like this and she was abroad.

Having been at home for a year after being in France, it was heaven to be back in the sunshine with all the sights and smells that told her she was a long way from the Midlands. She adored her family, she really did, but she also liked being away from them. Being in charge all the time was exhausting. Her sisters, two brothers and her mother were all so flipping disorganised. It was like herding cats all the time and it wasn’t as if they were the least bit grateful. Theresa, the closest in age to her, had told her she was a bossy harpy and they’d been quite happy and had managed perfectly well when she was away in France. Which anyone with two eyes in their head could have pointed out was totally ridiculous, if they’d seen the state of the house when she’d got back. Brendan’s shoe collection had tripled, Theresa could have opened her own beauty counter with the amount of make-up she’d stockpiled, a fair amount of which Maddie was sure had been shop-lifted, and they were all living on Chicken Pot Noodles, when it was far cheaper to cook proper meals.

Just then a man clutching several striped carrier bags appeared and, before she had chance to say anything, nipped nimbly from the quayside onto the boat.

‘Hi,’ she called. ‘I’m Maddie. New crew member.’

Perfect white teeth framed by a bushy black beard curved into a piratical smile. ‘Welcome aboard. I’m Ivan, the skipper. We spoke on the phone,’ he said in heavily accented English as he mimed the action, as if reinforcing his words to make sure she understood.

Jumping the small distance onto the boat, she was immediately conscious of the unfamiliar bob of the boat on the water. She wasn’t even going to think about seasickness.

‘Nice to meet you.’ He held out a tanned forearm, thick with dark hair, and shook her hand with a bone-crushing grip, which no doubt came from lots of sailory-type activities that Maddie couldn’t begin to guess at. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’

Without looking back over his shoulder, Ivan pulled open a door and headed inside. She followed him below deck, down a few steps into a corridor which ran the full length of the boat. With solid, highly polished chestnut wood cladding the walls, floor and ceiling, it felt a little closed in and slightly claustrophobic but she was sure she’d get used to it.

‘Cabins,’ said Ivan, pointing to several doors leading off the corridor before taking her along through the boat to another short flight of stairs comprising no more than five steps. To the left there was a door, while a further flight of stairs led upwards and outside.

‘Galley.’ He indicated with his head as he led her into what she realised was the kitchen. She’d been warned by her brother Brendan’s best friend, who apparently knew a thing or two about boats, having spent some time in Hull, that she should expect something like a caravan on the water. Having spent many a holiday at a caravan park in Filey on the North Yorkshire coast, she’d anticipated a couple of gas rings and a tiny fridge tucked under a counter, with minuscule cupboards built into every conceivable nook and cranny. This was a revelation, the sort of kitchen you’d find in one of those posh executive homes that were springing up on the outskirts of towns with gated railings around them. It even had a range with five gas burners and a fancy griddle plate.

Maddie’s hopeful mental images of her preparing lots of salad and simply prepared meats went up in smoke. Holy moly, with this sort of set-up, was she expected to serve up Cordon Bleu standard food? Her cooking skills might have improved in recent years but they weren’t going to be winning any Michelin stars any time soon. Thank goodness she was arty; she could do presentation over substance any day of the week, especially since Sebastian had taught her a few techniques to help hide her less than stellar skills.

‘Wow.’ She took a long, slow look around the kitchen.

‘Nice, eh?’ He dumped the bags and held out his hand. ‘I picked up a few supplies for us before the guests arrive. After that you’re on your own. In charge of cooking and food. What sort of charter experience do you have?’

Maddie winced but gave him a confident I’ve-got-this-covered grin. ‘None, but I can cook, clean and I’m good with people. I’m a last-minute addition but don’t worry, I’m a hard worker.’

‘Better than the girl they had lined up then.’ Ivan shook his head.

‘When do the guests arrive?’ asked Maddie, her curious gaze taking in the big stainless steel run of fridges and the marble-topped counter.

‘Tomorrow. Plenty of time to get ready. I thought I’d have to get my grandma on board to help with the cooking and the serving. I’m grateful you could make it.’

Maddie gave him a brilliant smile. ‘Excellent,’ she said, making out she was far more confident than she was, but how hard could it be? She was going to be a glorified cook and chambermaid; as long as they didn’t ask her to drive the boat, she’d be fine. ‘This is all new –’ she waved a hand at the kitchen ‘– but I’m a quick learner.’ Her words were deliberately evasive.

‘Most of it is easy …’ He paused. ‘But they didn’t want to pay for any more crew, so you may need to help me from time to time.’ He grinned. ‘The sails, we don’t use. It’s mainly engine. But you’ll have to learn how to drive the launch.’

‘The launch? Great,’ she said, as if she was asked to do this sort of thing all the time. That was the little boat that had been roped to the side of the big boat?

‘Yes, with a trip like this, it’s difficult to moor in some of the popular places, especially Hvar, so it’s easier for us to drop anchor just outside and drive the guests in and out. A water taxi.’ He shrugged. ‘They call when they want picking up. And some celebrities like the privacy.’

‘Ooh, celebrities?’ Maddie’s eyes widened and her dark curls bobbed as she shifted on the spot. ‘Do you know who’s going to be on board?’

Ivan threw back his head and laughed. ‘Not until they get here. One year my friend had the big shock when Beyoncé and Jay-Z turned up on the boat he was skippering.’

She whistled, not having given too much thought before about who might be on board.

‘I do know they have lots of money. This boat costs over six thousand euros a day to charter.’ His eyes narrowed with sudden authority. ‘But I’m the skipper. I’m in charge. Me, I drive the boat, navigate. I’m the boss. You are the …’ He frowned, his English failing him. ‘What they want, you provide.’ Although his eyes twinkled, she got the impression that what he’d just said was non-negotiable.

‘So what about the quarters?’ asked Maddie, wondering about sleeping arrangements and keen to see her own bunk.

‘This gulet has eight cabins.’

‘Gulet? I thought it was a yacht.’

‘A gulet is just a type of yacht, usually two or three-masted, with several decks, typical of Turkey and Croatia. This has two masts.’ Maddie nodded as if she had any idea what he was on about.

Ivan gave another one of his quick charming grins. ‘This trip will be easy. Only six guests. The gulet sleeps many more.’

‘Gosh, six people on this huge boat.’

Ivan rolled his eyes. ‘Some people have money … Why they chartered a boat this big?’ He shrugged. ‘But it makes our lives easier. Especially yours. Not so many mouths to feed. Not so many rooms to clean. Not so many beds to make.’

‘Easy-peasy,’ said Maddie, thinking of home, with two brothers, two sisters and a mum who was disorganised at the best of times. Cooking, cleaning and tidying up after six people was the norm.

‘There is a manual for crew.’ He leaned down, opened a drawer and pulled out a royal blue ring binder with the charter company’s logo on the front. ‘Rules, regulations and guidance. The hours are variable …’ He lifted his shoulders in a fatalistic shrug. ‘You’re supposed to get some time off, but one of us is on call all the time from breakfast until the guests go to bed. It depends on the people. Some like to stay on board, others like to explore and take day trips. Today we have peace and quiet. Tomorrow, it will be busy when they arrive. I’ll show you to your quarters.’ He glanced at the big chunky watch on his wrist. ‘This evening I go home to Split. You like to come?’

Maddie unpacked her duffel quickly, a frisson of excitement running through her at the thought of being in sole charge of the boat. She must start calling it a gulet; that sounded far more professional.

Her cabin was on the upper deck, along with Ivan’s cabin and two guest cabins and, she giggled to herself, she had her own bathroom. Talk about real luxury, even though she’d figured out it was possible to pee and shower at the same time. Waiting for her on the bed were a couple of freshly laundered pale blue T-shirts with the company logo on the front. Uniform of sorts, she guessed. She’d been told to bring navy shorts (which had been impossible to buy in the quick turnaround) and navy trousers (would leggings do?) to wear when she was on duty, which, from the sound of it, could be all the time. Although being out here in Croatia on this gorgeous yacht didn’t feel the least bit like work. Well, not yet.

When she pulled shut her door, clutching the manual under her arm, she crossed to the rail to look out over the marina, tilting her face up to the sun. Not a cloud marred the sky and, at four o’clock in the afternoon, it was still very warm. This morning’s grey skies in Birmingham seemed a world away and her cramped three-bedroom home would fit on this yacht five or six times over. Ivan might have described her cabin as small but, compared to sharing with her sister Theresa, and having her own bathroom, even with the shower and toilet combo, it was luxury.

A couple wandering along the nearby promenade skirting the marina paused, staring at the yacht. Maddie pretended not to see them and for a moment imagined she was a guest on the yacht and enjoyed their envious gaze. She couldn’t begin to imagine what the man who’d chartered the boat did for a living to earn enough money to spend such an enormous sum renting this boat.

And this one wasn’t even close to being one of the biggest in the marina, although it dwarfed its nearest neighbours. Over on the other side of the port were some seriously swanky boats. Ivan had pointed out Roman Abramovich’s yacht, a sleek, sophisticated six-decked affair with so many satellites and gizmos on it that it looked more like a warship or a small cruise liner, and another not quite so large one that was reputed to have been chartered by Dua Lipa for the summer.

Beyond the marina was the town of Split, a collection of terracotta roofs huddled together in the narrow strip of land, bordered by a range of grey scree-covered rocky hills which rose steeply and ran in a sharp line parallel to the coast as far as the eye could see.

With a little skip of pure happiness Maddie dragged herself away from the view to explore the deck area. On this level, there was a small covered dining area at the rounded back end of the boat – there was probably some nautical term for it. Bow? Stern? She ran a hand over the bottles of a small, well-stocked bar tucked to one side. Beyond it, steps led up to the top deck, which she skipped up. Ooh, lovely. A collection of luxury wooden sun loungers with thick padded cushions in the now familiar navy blue were arranged around the small central deck, one of which she immediately decided had her name on it. Yes, a little G and T up here would be very nice.

Ivan had told her the guests couldn’t check in before five-thirty tomorrow and he would meet them at the reception desk at the marina before bringing them to board the yacht. That gave her a one-off opportunity for some sunbathing before everyone arrived.

On the main deck, as well as the four cabins, there was an indoor lounge area with low-slung white leather seats, covered in expensive-looking blue and white cushions in an ikat print, and black marble-topped occasional tables which opened out to a shaded area with a big table. She crossed through the lounge and out to another deck and let out a low whistle – a Jacuzzi and plenty more sun loungers. A further flight of stairs took her down to the lower deck with six more cabins.

Having explored her little kingdom with utter delight, Maddie decided to treat herself to that G and T and to start reading the crew manual before heading into Split to meet Ivan who’d already gone to see his family. He’d circled a point on a tourist map for her and told her to ring him when she got there because she’d never find the family apartment.

Split was buzzing. Wandering along the crowded promenade, as she’d left herself plenty of time, she stopped to listen to a live band playing. They weren’t in the first flush of youth, but played enthusiastic covers of the Rolling Stones, ZZ Top and Steve Harley, all of which Maddie recognised as favourites of her rock chick mum’s. It was tempting to join in the dancing along with the hardened crowd at the very front but then Maddie could picture her mum, leather-jacketed and chain-smoking, who’d have been tapping her feet in time, no doubt head-banging to the music and flicking fag ash around her with careless laziness. Besides, she needed to find Ivan’s house and didn’t want to be late.

Maddie turned away and carried on walking along the busy promenade past the many restaurants, from which delicious smells spilled as waiters, trays held high, whizzed in and around tables with speedy efficiency. To her left, the sea sparkled in the low sunshine, an incredible blue that had her fingers itching to grab a paintbrush and capture the scene. She’d stowed her watercolour pencils and sketchbook in the drawer under her bed in the cabin in the hope she might get some days off, although from reading that manual it was looking less likely. Ahead of her, she could see the busy port, with queues of cars waiting to board and another stream of cars disembarking from a recent arrival. A large white ferry was chugging away out towards the islands that could be seen in the distance. This was the gateway to the Dalmatian islands and she couldn’t wait to set sail and see them for herself.

Busy, busy, busy. And she loved it. There was a sense of life and vibrancy about the place. It had that European smell, the joie de vivre and the delicious warmth in the air. She’d missed living in Paris. Missed the cosmopolitan lifestyle. Now, here was her chance to live it again.

‘Welcome, welcome, Ivan’s friend. Come, come.’

Maddie, wide-eyed from leaving the thronging crowds of the narrow street and stepping into the cool quiet calm of the ancient apartment building, offered the bunch of flowers she’d bought in the market around the corner and stared curiously around at the stone-lintelled windows and the big archway over the door.

Ivan’s apartment, at the top of worn stone steps, was in the middle of a wild warren of streets dating back to Roman times, lined with stone buildings within the boundary of Diocletian’s Palace, which she’d glimpsed briefly on her way here. It was like stepping back in time.

Modern manners and the proffered bunch of flowers brought a torrent of smiles and Croatian from the prune-faced wiry lady who stood at the heavy wooden front door.

‘This is my grandma, Vesna. She speaks a little English,’ Ivan said.

‘Hello,’ said Maddie, smiling as the tiny woman studied her with dark raisin eyes before dragging her in through the door and closing it behind Maddie.

‘And this is my wife, Zita.’ A tall dark-haired woman appeared from the other room. Maddie guessed she was in her early forties although, with her flawless olive skin, it was difficult to tell.

‘Thank you for having me,’ said Maddie, feeling a little uncertain and worried that she was encroaching on family time.

‘Company is always good,’ said Zita with a broad smile, her dark brows lifting. ‘You’re very welcome. Both grandma and my mama are here today. They’re very excited to meet you.’

‘Really?’ asked Maddie, frowning and glancing at Ivan in question.

Zita laughed. ‘We love company and any excuse to celebrate together with some food. This is the Croatian way. We love our food and we love our family.’

‘Gosh, your English is amazing.’

Zita tossed her heavy black-brown hair over her shoulder. She was a striking-looking woman with dark eyes and strong features and when she spoke her face danced with lively animation. ‘I went to university in London, UCL. That’s where I met Ivan. We worked there for some years and then came back to Split when our family was young and that’s when Ivan bought the boat. He hires it to the charter company but skippers for them. I work at the airport, so I use my English. Every year the airport gets busier and busier.’

Maddie followed her through to the kitchen, a hive of bustling activity where diminutive Vesna and another, much taller, lady presided over two big pans like a pair of mad professors, throwing in seasoning and bay leaves from a large glass jar on the side. They were both talking away, shooting shy smiles towards Maddie and patting a little boy on the head every time he came within their reach, as he darted backwards and forwards through an archway to a long table with handfuls of cutlery clutched between his chubby fingers.

‘This is my mother, Tonka, and that’s Bartul, our son. He likes to be busy and help Nona Tonka. Both Nona and Mama are very excited because Ivan said you wanted to learn about Croatian food.’ Zita spoke a few rapid words of Croatian and Tonka turned round and responded, waving her hand towards the big steaming pan in front of her.

‘She says she hopes you like fish. She wants to show you a traditional fish dish brujet.’

‘Can you tell her that I’d like to learn, though I don’t know much about fish?’

When Zita relayed this, Vesna looked horrified.

Zita translated again. ‘She says, “But you live on an island”.’ They all laughed at that.

Vesna beckoned Maddie over as she grabbed a large plastic bottle and poured a generous glug of dark green liquid into a large frying pan.

‘Is that olive oil?’ asked Maddie, looking up at a shelf of assorted plastic bottles in varying sizes, all containing the same liquid.

‘Yes.’ Zita handed her the bottle. ‘Smell.’

The distinctive fruity smell of olives hit her. ‘Wow, that smells good. Fresh. Like … well, like real olives. You can almost imagine them being crushed.’

‘Picked last October.’ Zita tilted her head with a definite hint of pride. ‘Here every family has their own piece of land with olive trees. We have a plot on Brač, up in the hills. In the autumn the whole family goes to the island for the week – everyone helps. And then the oil is pressed at a local co-operative. You must take a bottle back to the boat.’

‘Thank you, that would be great,’ said Maddie, thinking she’d save it to make a really good salad dressing.

‘And you must have a glass of wine.’ Zita pointed to a row of outsize glass jars tucked behind the archway.

‘Wow,’ said Maddie, eyeing the big jars of deep blackberry-coloured wine with their traditional wicker weave which looked fabulously rustic. ‘What do you call those? And is the wine homemade as well?’

‘In English you’d call them demijohns.’ Zita laughed and shook her head. ‘And yes, the wine is homemade but not by us, but there is a family connection of Ivan’s – his cousin makes the wine.’

‘Here, try.’ Ivan thrust a thick glass goblet of the wine into her hand, having poured several from a jug on the side.

‘I don’t know much about wine,’ said Maddie, gingerly tasting it.

‘All you need to know is if you like it,’ said Ivan, lifting his glass. ‘Živilli.’

‘Živilli,’ said Zita.

‘Mmm, that’s good,’ said Maddie.

Zita took a sip from her own glass. ‘Dalmatian red wines are very good. We have many. The white is different and will often be served with water in the restaurants. The tourists get cross because they don’t like it to be watered down. The red, I think, is the best.’ She shrugged. ‘Ivan and I, we prefer the red. You must take some wine back with you as well.’

Maddie was handed an apron and ushered over to the oven, where Tonka had begun to fry several pieces of different fish. Her impromptu cookery lesson featured lots of sign language and laughter as Tonka and Vesna attempted to teach her how to cook the dish. After that, to Maddie’s surprise, they showed her how to make fresh pasta.

‘I thought pasta was Italian,’ she said to Zita.

‘We’re very close to Italy and our history is very intertwined. The Venetians ruled here for over three hundred years. We do eat lots of pasta although, when it is a main dish, it is made with meat and shellfish, not fish. We do add what we call rezanci, vermicelli in Italian, to some of the fish stews and my mother has her own special ingredient, which I know –’ Zita’s eyes twinkled with amusement ‘–she’ll want to show you.’

Tonka was certainly an enthusiastic teacher, patting Maddie hard on the shoulder at regular intervals, while Vesna stood by and nodded approvingly.

‘Mmm, that tastes amazing,’ said Maddie when Tonka offered her a spoonful of brujet. The simplicity of the dish in terms of ingredients was belied by the fragrant, fresh flavours. ‘I’m not sure mine will be this good,’ she said, pulling faces and pointing to herself, to the amusement of Tonka, who patted her on the shoulder again and nodded in reassurance, while pointing to the fish and the herbs on the side.

‘Mama says if you use good fresh fish from the market and lots of seasoning, you can’t go wrong,’ translated Zita.

Maddie smiled her thanks towards the older woman. ‘That’s what she thinks. But at least I know what fish to buy now.’ Thanks to Zita, she had a page of copious notes and a list of fish to ask for at the market, as well as several recipes that Tonka had dictated, waving her wooden spoon at Zita, who’d painstakingly translated them all under Vesna’s watchful eye. It was a real team effort.

Shaking her poor cramped hand, Zita looked up. ‘Mama wants to show you her finishing touch. You’re very honoured. Some of these recipes are closely guarded secrets and this one she’s never given to me before.’

‘Come, come,’ said Vesna, pointing to the table as she started to ladle out the fish broth into wide soup bowls.

Maddie sat between Tonka and Zita and listened to the flow of Croatian around her, with Zita’s occasional translations to keep her involved.

‘Mama is talking about her neighbour, who she met in the market; she has trouble with her son. He started work on the top floor of his mother’s house to turn it into an apartment for him and his wife, but he has stopped halfway through the work and there is water running down the walls.’

Tonka was shaking her head and said something else, with a dramatic roll of her eyes. Zita giggled. ‘Apparently he’s a plumber.’

‘Oops,’ said Maddie. ‘I can see why he’s not very popular.’

Zita translated and Tonka let out a delighted laugh.

‘It’s very common in Croatia for families to have big houses and the next generation moves into the top floor,’ explained Zita.

‘God, I’m glad that doesn’t happen at home,’ said Maddie with a slight shudder.

Despite the language barrier, Maddie couldn’t remember an evening where she’d been made to feel so welcome. Without being unkind, she could have guaranteed that not one of her family would have been willing to try the fish or if they had they’d have stared at it with deep suspicion because fish came in batter with mushy peas and chips from the chippy.

‘Is good, yes?’ asked Vesna.

Maddie nodded. ‘Very.’ She patted her tummy in a Winnie-the-Pooh sort of motion that had everyone beaming. ‘If anything I make turns out this good, I’ll be very happy. Perhaps if I get stuck, Ivan can give me some help.’

Zita sniggered, translated for her mother and Ivan’s grandmother and there was a very pregnant pause before all three women burst into uproarious laughter.

‘That would be a no, then,’ said Maddie, joining in the laughter as Ivan shook his head.

‘I’m the captain of the boat.’ He winked at her. ‘I don’t do the cooking.’

Chapter 4

This was heaven. The whole boat to herself and the pick of the sun loungers. Maddie sipped at her gin and tonic, stretching out, enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin. She’d earned these few precious hours of sunbathing. The crew manual had been absolutely invaluable, as had her visit to Ivan’s house. She smiled at the thought of last night. She’d got it all sorted. Menu plans. Shopping lists. And, thanks to Zita, a complete selection of recommended markets and shops in all the different ports they were likely to visit. And first up, as soon as she got to a fish market, she would be making a fish broth.

Despite the delicious glasses of Ivan’s family’s red wine, which had slipped down rather well last night, she’d set her alarm for six and by eight-thirty this morning she’d checked all the cabins were clean, made sure every bathroom had fresh towels and planned today’s and tomorrow’s evening meal and lunch as well as early evening canapés, shorthand for olives, fresh anchovies and a plate of meat and cheese for the guests’ arrival at five-thirty.

As she reached for her drink, tilting her book up against the sun to shade her face, she became aware of voices and the rumbling rhythmic thud of suitcases being pulled over the wooden planks of the jetty. Ignoring them, she turned another page of her book and sipped at her gin and tonic.

She’d read several more pages of her book and was starting to consider setting the alarm on her phone to have a little snooze when someone called out, ‘Ahoy there, Avanturista. Anyone home?’

She froze, huddling rigid, back into her seat. Surely it couldn’t be guests. Ivan had been quite specific. No one checks in before five-thirty. Looking anxiously from side to side, she worked out that no one could see her from the quayside.

‘Hello, is anyone there?’ called a second, female, voice.

Maddie sat tight. It was only three-thirty. It wasn’t as if it was ten to five or anything. No one was supposed to be here and even if they’d made their way here by accident, this was far too early.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to relax now. Feeling resentful, she pressed herself back into the sun lounger, not even daring to use the straw in case she made an inadvertent noise. She listened, praying they might decide to turn around, but there was absolutely no sign of them shifting. Curiosity was also killing her. Who were the guests? She’d been wondering all day what they’d be like. There were no clues from the manifest as to whether the people were couples, family or a group of friends. Did she dare peep over the top and have a look? But she couldn’t because what if they saw her? Then she’d have to explain that they weren’t allowed on board and … well, she didn’t think she’d be able to hold her own against posh people who were paying her wages.

Basically, she was stuck on the deck in a new bikini she’d bought on a whim and would never have worn in public. With big bones, Maddie was never going to be a size ten; she was a healthy twelve to fourteen and her stomach had never, and was never going to be, flat and, yes, she had muffin tops – double chocolate chip muffin tops. All bought and paid for.

Now she knew they were there it was impossible to concentrate on her book. She hardly dared breathe as she listened to the two people talking. She couldn’t make out the words but one of them was getting quite irate and the other frustrated. Darn it and now she really wanted to pee. The more she tried not to think about it, the more she wanted to go. It was psychosomatic; she didn’t need to go. Her bladder disagreed. Oh, why, oh, why hadn’t she brought out her T-shirt to cover herself up? That would teach her for being so cocky at having sole run of the yacht.

Could she slide onto the floor and commando crawl her way across the deck to get to the stairs? The Mission Impossible tune unhelpfully played in her head. But then she’d have to slide down each step head first on her stomach. It was no good; she had to go to the loo. Gingerly, she lowered herself onto the wooden deck and, like a caterpillar, inched her way towards the stairs. How would Tom Cruise manage this? She regretted her initial decision to manoeuvre down the stairs on her stomach. Now she’d started, there wasn’t enough room for her to stand back up again.

Thankful to reach the bottom, she kept herself pressed up against the stairs. If she could see the pile of matching, very flash luggage, could they see her? She stiffened and then stared. Lord, was it really Louis Vuitton? Having spent enough time in Paris, she knew that was seriously expensive stuff and just how many cases did they have between them? She didn’t own that many clothes. Leaning forward just a touch, she held her breath, although why she did that she had no clue – did she think she was some sort of spy or something?

She could just see the tops of two people’s heads. Neither were looking up, so she risked another peek. The taller man had sandy blond hair and, beside him, looking like a delicate waif, was a teeny, tiny petite woman with lots of blonde hair glistening with golden lights, wearing white jeans, which looked considerably more expensive than Maddie’s Tesco numbers and a floaty silk top that had designer written all over it. From here, she couldn’t tell if they were famous or not, but they were certainly wealthy.

But, wealth or not, this ship was not yet open for business, so they could sit tight. Hugging the walls, she inched her way along until she reached the next stairwell that would allow her to cross to the other side of the yacht, where there was no chance they could see her.

She was going to use one of the cabin bathrooms on the lower deck. Creeping along, she froze when she felt the boat dip slightly as if someone had jumped on board.

The cheeky bastards. Ivan had been quite clear. Check-in was five-thirty. And she’d planned her day so that she’d have this last hour uninterrupted to make the most of the sundeck. Who did these people think they were? Just because they had money it didn’t mean that they could do what they liked.

She listened hard. No! Someone was winching down the gangplank.

Throwing back her shoulders, the pressing engagement to relieve her bladder forgotten, she marched along the corridor and mounted the short flight of stairs to the bow and flung open the wooden door, only then remembering she was in nothing more than a very small bikini.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, quickly taking in the scene.

The blond man turned guiltily, the gangplank now lowered into position onto the jetty.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

His face flared red and he opened his mouth but, before he could say anything, an aristocratic drawl interrupted.

‘We’ve been waiting ages. Didn’t you hear us? Who are you?’

On six, maybe even seven-inch heels, the woman marched across the gangplank with the ease of a mountain goat, a feat that had Maddie gawping in surprise, as well as at her sheer effrontery. Flipping heck, the woman was take-your-breath-away stunning. Maddie stared, unable to help herself – this was the sort of person you saw in magazines or in films. She had to be famous or something.

Just the sight of her and her imperious, entitled manner had Maddie’s confidence leaking away with every second, horribly aware of her semi-nudity and less than perfect body.

‘Well, don’t just stand there. Are you going to let us in or not?’

Maddie clenched a fist behind her back. Remember, she told herself, paying customer. Remember the manual. It had been quite specific about the treatment of guests. Basically, suck up to them or else.

‘I’m terribly sorry but check-in isn’t until five-thirty. You’re supposed to wait at the main reception and everyone is brought over by the skipper.’

‘Well, what are you doing here?’ The woman arched a scathing eyebrow.

‘I … I’m one of the crew.’

‘Oh.’ In the one word, the woman managed to capture a wealth of disapproval and disdain.

‘No one is supposed to come on board before check-in.’

‘Well, we’re here now and I am not trooping all the way back over there, not in this heat and not in these shoes.’ She eyed Maddie’s bikini with a sneering look, her eyebrows raising as if in surprise as she focused on the swell of flesh just above her hips. ‘It’s not as if you appear to be terribly busy at the moment.’ The clear implication being that Maddie was just being lazy. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and held out her hand to the man, with mute, winsome appeal, who took it to help her over the last half metre of the gangplank, even though she’d been perfectly capable for the previous few metres.

Maddie swallowed. There’d been nothing in the manual about this.

Nick was feeling fed up and, if he were completely honest, slightly embarrassed at being caught out by someone on the boat. Since arriving at the airport Tara had been quite demanding, insisting that they got a taxi into Split in case she was recognised, and he still couldn’t believe that she’d brought three suitcases with her. He’d brought one piece of hand luggage. Shorts, that was all you needed on holiday, although he still wasn’t sure about the shorts Tara had persuaded him to buy or the cap-sleeved T-shirt. If his brothers had caught sight of them, he’d never have heard the end of it. The words big girl’s blouse sprang to mind, but Tara seemed to like them and their shopping trip had gone much more smoothly once he’d acquiesced to her taste. After all, she worked in fashion, she knew what she was talking about and shopping was his least favourite thing.

Since they’d arrived in the baking heat at the marina Tara had been quite piteous and he’d been really quite worried she might faint or something. But now they were here, what was the harm in going up on deck? It seemed entirely reasonable. They could just dump their luggage in the bow and at least have a cold drink or something. Surely Douglas, who had chartered the boat, could do the check-in stuff.

‘Look, I don’t make the rules, but the skipper made it quite clear,’ said the girl in the bikini, looking red and flushed in the face. He frowned. They’d clearly interrupted her important work – sunbathing.

‘Why don’t you leave your luggage here and go back to the marina to wait to be checked-in properly?’

‘Because, as Tara pointed out, we are here, we are hot, the boat has been paid for and we’d like to sit down somewhere cool and wait for the rest of our party,’ said Nick firmly, deciding to take no nonsense. He wasn’t at home now. This was Tara’s world and he’d seen how her friends acted. Imperious and direct. That was how you got things done in this world. ‘Is it going to inconvenience you hugely?’ He gave a pointed look at her bikini, immediately regretting it when the girl glared at him, her face turning pink.

Now she was making him feel guilty. He couldn’t bloody win. One thing he knew for sure was that his mum would not have been impressed with his behaviour. Refusing to meet the girl’s eyes, he turned and stalked down the gangplank to collect Tara’s luggage. At this very moment, he would have been happier in a pub on his own with a large pint of beer.

Tara swanned ahead and was already climbing the wooden stairs to the deck. As he wheeled one of her cases onto the gangway, she’d reached the rails and was waving down at him.

‘Oh, this is lovely. Come up. Oh, you couldn’t bring up my little case, could you?’

By the time he’d carried all the cases on board and went up to the first deck, taking with him Tara’s small cabin bag, she had settled in the air-conditioned lounge and kicked off her shoes – quite literally, they were lying in the middle of the floor – stripped off her jeans and was lounging on a white leather sofa, all long tanned legs and a tiny pair of briefs.

Nick blinked at her, not sure where to look.

‘Oh, darling, isn’t it lovely to have nothing to do.’ Peering up at her phone, held in one hand above her head to take a selfie, she stretched lazily. For a fleeting, disloyal second, when her white top rose to reveal a smooth flat stomach and the minuscule scrap of lace and silk masquerading as underwear, he wondered if she’d done it deliberately. His mouth went dry and he realised he was staring.

Peeling his eyes away from her endless legs, he turned and looked around at the boat, letting out a low whistle. ‘This is rather nice.’

He was dying to take lots of pictures and post them onto the family WhatsApp group, but Tara seemed to take all this in her stride and he didn’t want to look too keen and gauche in front of her.

With a careless shrug, she said, ‘I guess,’ and reached over to her tote bag to pull out one of the stack of glossy magazines she’d bought at the airport. ‘I wonder what time the others will get here. Has that awful girl gone? Honestly, some people are such jobsworths.’

She opened her magazine and began flicking through the pages, tutting and shaking her head.

As she was clearly absorbed, he left the lounge area to step out into the warm air on the deck. With a quick grin, he took in the view of the hazy outline of the islands in the distance, lifting his head towards the pleasant balmy breeze. Standing with his legs slightly apart, his hands gliding with pleasure along the smooth surface of the glossy wooden rail, he enjoyed the slight bob and dip of the boat. He was really here. Nick Hadley, on board an expensive yacht with a stunning model girlfriend. Who’d have thought it?

Chapter 5

Now properly covered up, wearing her crew T-shirt and navy shorts, Maddie had taken herself off to the kitchen – sorry, galley – and was hacking a poor cucumber to death. If this pair of self-entitled dickheads were indicative of the guests, it was going to be a long trip.

She checked Tonka’s recipe and grabbed an onion, peeling back the golden skin. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to mix with the guests too much and they might not all be like Mr and Mrs We-know-we’re-gorgeous-and-that-means-we-can-do-what-the-hell-we-like. Nina’s brother, she consoled herself, wouldn’t be like that. In fact she was hoping he’d be an ally. This pair were everything she’d feared about this trip. Maddie was looking forward to meeting Nick; at least he wouldn’t have any airs and graces. You couldn’t get more down to earth than a northerner and a farmer at that.

Chopping and slicing soothed her and she kept a close eye on the time. When she finally heard voices and the clatter of footsteps and cases, she knew the rest of the guests had arrived. That was her signal and she dashed out to lay the canapés on the table in the bow, as per instruction in her handy bible.

Hearing people start to assemble on deck, she tucked the ice bucket and champagne under one arm and picked up a tray of glass flutes, holding it, somewhat precariously, in one hand and headed out to meet the guests. The manual said champagne on the first day, although she was dying to bring out one of Ivan’s demi-johns for a bit of Croatian authenticity.

As soon as she appeared on the deck, a woman with short bright red hair cut in a gamine pixie crop clapped her hands together. ‘Oooh, bring on the champers. The holiday has begun. Can I help you with that?’ She reached for the champagne bucket perched on the tray, carefully lifting it away from the six flutes.

‘Thanks,’ said Maddie, immediately warming to her and following her over to a table. ‘So not all the guests are complete knobs then.’

The woman let out a loud belly laugh and to Maddie’s horror she realised she’d said the words aloud.

‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.’

‘Not a problem.’ She winked at Maddie. ‘I like people who say it like it is. I’m Siri. And no, I don’t have the answer to everything.’

‘Ah, everyone, this is Maddie,’ announced Ivan, who now appeared to be wearing fancy dress.

Maddie bit back a laugh and looked down at her feet. She could bet that Tonka and Vesna would love the dashing naval officer look with the white shirt complete with black and gold epaulettes, a white peaked hat and white trousers. She suspected Zita, with her wicked sense of humour and more pragmatic approach, would have a lot more to say.

‘Hi everyone.’ She looked around at the faces, deliberately avoiding the gruesome twosome, as she’d now dubbed them, who were on the far side of the table. Four other people had joined the party, two men and two women, and Maddie took a minute trying to work out the relationships between them all. They looked unlikely couples. Seated nearest her, on the ends of the benches, were the two men, one tall, dark and the sort of movie star handsome that could make you go weak at the knees. It was probably no accident that his blue linen shirt brought out the depth of his dark blue eyes. He sat with his long legs out, crossed at the ankle, leaning back in his chair with an arrogant confidence as if he owned the place. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was as dark as Nina, she might have thought he was the man that had chartered the boat, but he had to be Nick.

‘Maddie is your hostess for the trip,’ explained Ivan. ‘She’ll be looking after your cabins, serving breakfast and lunch and dinner, and on those nights we’re not in moorings or too far from port, she’ll take you in on the launch.’

‘Hi, Maddie,’ said the man she assumed was Nick, in a deep and very smooth voice, with a charming friendly smile. Of course he was being friendly; he knew she was Nina’s friend. Maddie’s breath stalled in her chest as she turned to face him. Why hadn’t Nina warned her? But then she guessed Nina probably didn’t even notice and, if she was anything like Maddie, she thought of her brothers as nothing more than pains in the arse. Phew! Those eyes were amazing.

‘Can I help you with that?’ He took the bottle from her, his fingers brushing hers. Smooth. The corner of her mouth turned up; Nina’s brother was full of surprises. He gave her a warm smile and then put out his other hand. ‘Simon. Simon Beresford.’

‘S-Simon.’ Automatically she shook his hand, her brain whirling. ‘Hi,’ she said in a pathetic wheezy little voice.

She shot a look at the second guy, holding hands with the tall, slim woman next to him, who had a dark curtain of blue-black hair that hung in a perfect straight plumb line. So that was Nick. She remembered Nina saying he was going out with a model. With hair like that, the woman had to be a shampoo model at the very least. The thick lustrous locks glowed with health and vitality, which was a bit of a shame as they contrasted unfavourably with the thinning red-gold sandy hair of poor Nick, who was definitely on the losing side of the battle against baldness. Maddie pinched her lips to hide her surprise. Nick was no looker, although, despite his pudgy, pug-like face, there was something arresting about his hazel eyes which shone with bright enthusiasm as he looked round at everyone with eager beaver happiness.

In the meantime, Simon picked up the champagne bottle and with a deft twist undid the metal cage and removed the foil before removing the cork in a practised move which suggested he’d done it a time or two before. Not a drop was spilled and he handed the bottle to her with an easy smile.

‘Thank you; you have had some practice, then.’

‘Lots,’ he said, managing to make the single word sound suggestive.

She grinned at him and filled the glasses one by one, handing them out to Simon, who passed them back around the table.

‘Cheers everyone,’ said Nick in an unexpectedly plummy voice, lifting his glass. ‘To a bon voyage. May all who sail in this vessel have a jolly good time … and if you don’t, I don’t want to know.’ He took an enthusiastic swig of his drink, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Because this boat cost a ton of cash to hire, so anyone that doesn’t enjoy themselves will have to walk the plank. Happy holidays.’

‘Oh, Douglas,’ scolded his girlfriend, pulling her hand away.

Douglas! Maddie blinked, completely confused, and realised she’d mouthed his name. If he was Douglas … No, no way. Maddie shot the man in the far corner a surprised look which, unfortunately, he happened to look up and catch at exactly the wrong moment. He lifted a sardonic eyebrow and she hastily looked away.

He was Nick! And by the look on his face, he knew she’d realised who he was at that very minute. She shook her head slightly and he lifted his champagne glass in a mocking toast.

‘You can be so crass sometimes.’ Douglas’s girlfriend was still scolding him.

‘What?’ he asked with a crestfallen expression.

‘Nothing,’ she said, pursing her lips and sipping at her champagne.

Simon and Siri lifted their glasses, repeating, ‘Happy holidays.’

‘Sorry, m’dear, I should have done proper introductions. I’m Douglas and,’ he added rather proudly, ‘I chartered the boat.’

‘I think we all know that,’ muttered his disgruntled girlfriend.

Ignoring her, he carried on making the introductions. ‘This is my girlfriend, Cory.’ The girl with the blue-black hair nodded politely, her eyes a little vacant as if she were miles away.

‘And over there, that’s Tara and Nick and this is Siri, my sort of cousin.’ He shot her a warm smile.

Siri nodded, while Tara, who was now talking to Cory, didn’t even look up and Nick stared with complete disinterest, away out across the sea.

‘Lovely to meet you all,’ said Maddie. ‘I hope you have a great trip.’

‘I’m sure we will,’ said Douglas. ‘I’ve just briefed Ivan on our course for the next two and a half weeks –’ he tapped at one of the charts on the table ‘– and we’re going to have an excellent time, island-hopping and partying.’

‘I’m sure you’re going to have a wonderful time. Now, would anyone like some canapés?’

‘Lord, yes, I’m absolutely starving,’ said Douglas. ‘And what time is dinner? The girls will want to freshen up, if I know them.’

‘What time would you like it?’ asked Maddie.

‘Cory, Tara, what time would suit you ladies?’

Tara frowned thoughtfully. ‘Well, if I change for dinner, I’m not going to be ready before nine.’

‘Me neither,’ said Cory.

‘Nine?’ Nick looked ill at ease. Serves him right, thought Maddie; he deserved his picky girlfriend.

‘Tara, darling,’ drawled Simon. ‘You don’t need to stand on ceremony with us. Some of us are bloody starving. An airline lunch just doesn’t cut it.’

‘Nine is a little bit late,’ said Douglas apologetically. ‘And we barely ate a thing on the plane.’

‘You had a sandwich and that packet of shortbread biscuits,’ countered Cory, looking quite indignant.

‘That is not proper sustenance,’ announced Simon and Douglas gave him an obliging look.

What a bunch of hen-pecked wusses, thought Maddie.

‘I’m always hungry,’ announced Siri. ‘Let’s eat at seven-thirty.’

Thank goodness for someone decisive.

‘Done,’ said Douglas fervently.

Maddie beat a hasty retreat before anyone could change their mind.

‘You don’t mind, do you, Nicky darling?’ asked Tara, laying a hand on his chest. ‘But I really need my sleep, otherwise I get the most horrendous bags under my eyes. Poor Cory says that Douglas snores and keeps her awake half the night. Not, of course, that you would snore, but I just find it difficult to share a bed.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ said Nick, taking her hand. ‘Besides, I’m not sure I’d fit in a cabin with all your clothes.’

‘Uh …’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Can you believe it? There’s nowhere to hang anything. I don’t know how I’m going to manage.’ She looked at the slim gold watch on her wrist. ‘It’s so tiresome to have to eat so early. The Spanish know how to do it. When we were in Barcelona last year we never ate before ten.’

‘Well, I for one am very grateful that we’re not in Spain,’ said Nick. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Lucky you have such a good metabolism.’ She ran a suggestive hand down his chest. ‘And such delicious abs,’ she added with a naughty expression.

He lowered his head to kiss her, wrapping his arms round her. Touching her lips with his, he pulled her tiny frame closer, conscious as always that she was so delicate. For a second she kissed him back, with a little murmur, and he deepened the kiss, pushing his hands into her hair, stroking the back of her neck. She leaned into him, her hips grazing his thighs, which made his blood start to race.

‘Mmm,’ she said, and then pulled away, immediately smoothing her hair back into place. ‘As the men have decreed an early dinner, I’ve hardly got any time to get ready.’

‘Tara, you look perfect. You always do.’ He pushed her glorious hair back and dropped a kiss on her shoulder. She squirmed, smiling up at him. ‘Nicky, stop tempting me. I have to get ready.’

Knowing it was useless to argue – Tara redefined the word stubborn – he pushed back the ungallant thought that he hadn’t actually ever managed to tempt her.

‘OK, I’ll see you at dinner.’

She pouted. ‘Aren’t you going to knock for me?’

He laughed. ‘If you really want me to, but as my cabin is on the main deck we might as well meet at dinner.’

‘All right then.’ She turned and flounced into her room.

With a wry smile, Nick made his way up to his own cabin. There was no doubt that Tara knew her own mind. That was admirable, wasn’t it?

Chapter 6

‘Oof.’ Maddie hit a broad wall of chest as she rounded the corner of the back – no, she must remember to call it the stern – of the boat as she headed out for an early morning trip to the bakery, Bobis, that Zita had recommended. She hadn’t expected to see anyone at this ridiculous hour.

‘Sorry. Oh, it’s you.’ Nick’s voice sounded disapproving.

She raised her gaze to meet narrowed blue eyes.

‘What? You don’t apologise to the help?’ sniped Maddie. How disappointing to realise that he was Nina’s brother.

‘That’s not what I meant.’ He glared down at her and she glared back up at him. They were like two boxers in a ring, posturing before either threw the first punch. He stepped back with a snarky smile. ‘After you,’ he said, allowing her to go first down the gangplank.

She inclined her head with a brief nod and strode down the narrow corridor, clutching the wicker basket, the discovery of which, five minutes ago, had given her so much pleasure – she’d always wanted to go shopping with a proper basket. Now she wanted to use it to bash the irritating Nick over the head.

He fell into step with her as she hit the jetty. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘Into Split,’ she replied, remembering that he was a guest and she owed him a modicum of politeness. At this hour she’d assumed all the guests were asleep.

‘Is the centre far?’ asked Nick, shading his eyes against the already brilliant sunshine and looking towards the town.

‘Not too far, but a good twenty-minute walk,’ she said.

‘Presumably I’ve got time to see it, if you’re going in. The boat won’t leave without you.’

He stuck like unwanted glue beside her as they walked along the jetty. Unfortunately, from here there was only one route along the promenade.

‘We’re due to sail at nine-thirty. When everyone’s had breakfast. I’m serving it at eight-thirty but I need to be back at eight.’ She looked at her watch, which gave her a good two hours.

Nick let out a laugh. ‘Good luck with that. Tara isn’t an early riser and neither is Cory.’

‘What? You know both of their sleeping habits?’ asked Maddie. ‘That’s impressive.’

Nick pursed his lips. ‘They share a flat. And models work long hours, lots of late nights.’

‘Hmph,’ snorted Maddie. ‘Nice work if you can get it.’

‘It’s quite demanding,’ said Nick.

‘Yeah, I bet you really break into a sweat standing around looking gorgeous for a few hours.’

‘And you would know?’

‘Ouch,’ said Maddie with a rueful laugh. ‘He noticed I’m not a size zero.’

Nick stiffened, his mouth twisting. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

‘What did you mean? I’m dying to know because from here it sounded pretty …’ She deliberately left the sentence to trail, leaving him to fill in the blanks in any way he chose.

‘I meant if you’ve ever been on a photoshoot, you’d realise that it is quite hard work.’

Maddie raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘No mate, hard work is when you break into a sweat, put in twelve-hour shifts, come home and your back is aching and you earn a pittance doing it.’

‘Sounds like someone’s got a bit of a chip on their shoulder. Is crewing hard work? Seems quite a nice gig to me. Didn’t look as if you were working too hard yesterday when you couldn’t be arsed to let us on board.’

‘Like I told you, check-in was at five-thirty. Everyone else managed to get it right … or are you so important normal rules don’t apply?’

His jaw clenched and Maddie was pleased to see that he looked mightily pissed off.

‘Are you always this rude to guests?’

‘No,’ said Maddie cheerfully, swinging her basket as she strode along. ‘Just you.’

Nick didn’t have anything to say to that. They walked along in silence, Maddie smirking to herself. She could not believe this was Nina’s brother. She’d been led to believe he was a nice, normal, down-to-earth bloke and, to be honest, she was a little bit disappointed. So much for her foolish imaginings that he might be a mate or even an ally on this trip. In those shorts, he looked, well, a bit of a dick, which he’d proved himself yesterday. Seriously, who wore shorts that tight, although they did wonders for his backside. If she didn’t know better, in that get-up, she’d have assumed he was gay. And, judging from the second glance of the guy that had just walked by, she wasn’t the only one.

‘I think you’ve pulled,’ she said, trying to keep her face straight.

‘What?’ Nick looked at her, puzzled.

‘The guy that just passed us. Couldn’t take his eyes off your arse.’

She laughed at the startled expression on his face as he shot a quick look over his shoulder and then laughed even more when the dark-haired guy grinned at Nick, revealing lots of perfect white even teeth.

‘All the better to bite you with,’ said Maddie, gurgling with laughter.

Nick’s mouth was pinched shut in a straight line and he swivelled his head back so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t crick his neck.

‘Told you. I think it’s the shorts.’ She eyed the tight fabric with the dodgy turn-ups. They didn’t even look that comfortable.

‘What’s wrong with them?’ he asked warily.

‘Nothing, I guess, if you’re a trainee gigolo or a bit of a fox.’

Nick blew out an annoyed breath. ‘They’re shorts.’

‘They certainly are,’ teased Maddie.

‘You a fashion expert as well now?’ he asked through gritted teeth.

‘You’re on holiday, not the catwalk. Time to relax and enjoy yourself. I’d have thought dressing for comfort was the most important thing.’ Her lips twisted as she tried hard not to smile. In those shorts he might have difficulty fathering children in the future, although she’d be the last to deny that those muscular thighs, covered in crisp sandy gold hair, were pretty impressive and she was on the same page as the gay guy when it came to Nick’s bum. Shame he was such an arse. ‘You want to watch you don’t cut your circulation off.’

‘Is there any kind of filter with you?’ asked Nick.

‘No,’ said Maddie matter-of-factly.

They continued in silence until they reached the palm tree lined promenade, the white stone pavement giving off a strong glare in the bright sunshine.

‘It was pretty lively along here the other night,’ said Maddie, feeling a little guilty that she’d given him such a hard time and that he’d seemed lost in brooding thought for the last five minutes. ‘Are you headed anywhere particular?’

Nick shrugged. ‘No, I just wanted to stretch my legs and see something of Split.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘My brother and his wife are avid armchair travellers. If I don’t take the chance to see the city while I’m here, I’ll never hear the end of it. According to TripAdvisor and Dan and Gail, I need to see Diocletian’s Palace, otherwise I might as well have not come.’

‘Yeah, Ivan said it was worth seeing.’

‘You’ve not seen it?’

‘Only a tiny bit the other night and it was impressive,’ she admitted, feeling she ought to try and see a bit more while she could. ‘I might take a quick diversion once I’ve bought the fish from the market and found this bakery and picked up the pastries for breakfast.’ She pulled out her phone and opened up the maps app, trying to work out which direction to head in. The bakery was one Zita had recommended. ‘See you later.’ Holding up her phone, she began to pace back the way they’d just come, then frowned and turned around. Bugger, the little blue dot kept heading in the wrong direction.

‘Do you know where you’re going?’ asked Nick.

‘Yes,’ she said defensively, looking down at her screen. Oh, damn, she was going in the wrong direction again. Map reading, even with GPS, was not her forte. Her sense of direction was woeful.

‘Why don’t I come with you to the bakery and then we can both go to Diocletian’s Palace? I’ll help you find both. You don’t even have to talk to me.’

She gave him a considering look. ‘All right then. I might even let you select a couple of buns, if you’re good.’

Nick laughed, his face lighting up. Bugger, he was a good-looking sod after all. Yesterday she’d been too pissed off to take it in properly. He took her phone from her hand and began to walk across the street to one of the small side streets.

‘Buns.’ He emphasized the northern ‘u’. ‘What happened to pastries? I bet you don’t call them that in front of Nina.’

‘God, no, Nina would scalp me.’ She grinned at him as they walked along the narrow stone paved street. ‘She’s rather particular about her patisserie these days.’

‘Yeah, she’s done well.’ He nodded, a proud smile tipping his lips.

‘She certainly has. Her éclairs are to die for. You know they sell out by lunchtime every day?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

They smiled at each other.

‘So how come you don’t have such a strong northern accent? You sound quite posh for a sheep farmer.’

‘Nina been filling you in?’

‘Well, it stands to reason – if she grew up on a sheep farm, you must have done too. Don’t worry, I wasn’t asking about you.’

‘Never thought for a minute you were. And, to answer your question. I got a scholarship to a local independent school. They were big on rugby and it just so happened that all of us, Nina excepted, were pretty handy with a rugby ball.’

‘Ah, that explains it. Public schoolboy.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing!’

‘You do have a bit of a chip on your shoulder, don’t you?’

‘No,’ said Maddie a shade too defensively. It was just that posh people … well, they made her feel stupid, clumsy and uneducated. On her History of Art degree course there’d been an awful lot of very wealthy people who’d grown up being taken to galleries and museums. It had taken her a lot of study and travel to catch up.

‘Up here,’ said Nick, indicating a street corner.

It was a good job Nick was with her, as her basket was quickly filled with delicious Croatian delicacies and she needed a second bag to carry the bread she’d stocked up on because they might not be mooring up again for a few days. Without asking, he took the bulging carrier bag from her.

They wound through tiny streets flanked by white stone buildings which were blinding in the sunlight.

‘I had no idea it was like this,’ exclaimed Maddie when they rounded a tiny corner and found themselves in what looked like a ruined Roman palace, with tall stone columns and windows high in the walls.

They wandered through a maze of tiny streets, munching on a croissant each; neither of them had been able to resist the delicious smell in the bakery and had succumbed as soon as they’d left. The quiet lanes at this time of day were peaceful and shady with interesting little shops, sunken doorways and large stone flags. It was easy to imagine you’d slipped back in time until, turning a corner, they came to a big open square full of cafés and restaurants.

‘Have we got time for a coffee?’ asked Nick.

‘A quick one, but, like you say, they can’t sail without me and as you’re a guest I can blame you if I’m late back.’

‘Or we could grab a cab. It’s quite a long walk back.’

‘If you’re paying,’ said Maddie cheekily.

‘I’m guessing I’m paying for the coffee too,’ said Nick with a roll of his eyes.

‘If you’re offering.’

They chose one of the pavement cafés and sat outside. As it was still early the square was busy with tradespeople pushing trolleys loaded with boxes of fruit and vegetables, waiters laying up tables ready for the lunch crowd and a few eager tourists with sensible walking shoes and guidebooks, clearly anxious to make the most of the day.

‘This is nice.’ Maddie lifted her espresso and toasted Nick. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem. You like espresso?’

‘I acquired a taste for it in Paris.’ It also, she liked to think, made her look more sophisticated but she wasn’t about to admit that to Nick.

‘What were you doing in Paris?’

‘I was there on my year abroad, as part of my degree.’ She still got a kick out of saying that. The first in her family to go to university.

She saw the quick flash of surprise cross his face. ‘Yes, I’m quite old. Thirty. I was a mature student; I didn’t go until I was twenty-six.’

‘I sometimes think it’s better to be a mature student; at least at that age you have a better idea about what you want to do. Rather than fall into the obvious.’ His mouth flattened. ‘What did you do?’

‘History of Art.’

‘Interesting. Did you enjoy it?’

‘Yes, I bloody loved it. I’ve always liked art … I know, imagine – me, Maddie Wilcox from Selly Oak, wanting to study art.’

‘Why shouldn’t you?’ asked Nick with a curious smile.

‘Because it’s not much bloody use to man nor beast, as my mum likes to remind me.’ She pulled a face and mimicked her mother’s strong Brummy accent. ‘How you going to get a job with a Mickey Mouse subject like that? Not much call for History of Art down Tesco, love.’

‘She has a point, I guess,’ conceded Nick. ‘But what do you want to do? I take it, by the last-minute nature of this job, crewing on a yacht is not your long-term career ambition.’

‘Given I’ve not done a full proper day yet, who knows? But it certainly wasn’t part of my plan.’

‘Do you have a plan?’ Nick’s question sounded almost plaintive.

Maddie stared at the rooftops on the opposite side of the square, wondering what he’d say if she told him what she really, really wanted to do. He followed her gaze and they both stared at the line of the terracotta roof tiles creating a horizon against the pure blue of the sky.

‘Not exactly. I know what I want to do, but …’ She shrugged almost fatalistically. ‘What about you? Did you go to university?’

‘Yes –’ he gave a short self-deprecating laugh ‘– Harper Adams. It’s an agricultural college.’

‘And what’s wrong with that? It sounds eminently practical if you wanted to be a sheep farmer.’

‘Who says I wanted to be a farmer?’ said Nick, suddenly candid, his blue eyes holding hers, and she saw in them a mix of emotions: anger, sadness and confusion.

‘Family expectation?’

‘No, no, not at all,’ said Nick hurriedly. ‘It’s in my blood. I enjoy it.’

Their eyes met and then slid away from each other and Maddie got the distinct feeling that perhaps Nick was being as circumspect with his true feelings as she was.

‘Well, this has been nice, but unfortunately one of us has to get back to work and real life, otherwise I will turn into a pumpkin. Whereas you have got to get back for a life of decadence and leisure.’

A shadow crossed Nick’s face. ‘Yup, I guess so.’ He peeled some Croatian kuna from his wallet and laid the notes in the saucer with the bill. ‘Back to real life.’

For someone who had nothing to do but laze around being looked after for the next few weeks, he looked remarkably ungrateful about it.

Chapter 7

At exactly nine-thirty Ivan turned on the engines, taking his place at the wheel in the small cockpit area just off the lounge, and the yacht puttered its way out of the marina, heading for the open sea. The boat scythed through the waves, heading towards the green-covered islands in the distance as the sunlight sparkled on the water like silver sparklers.

First port of call was a cove just off a place called Sutivan on the island of Brač, where Ivan promised them the perfect spot for lunch and an afternoon of swimming and paddleboarding.

Breakfast had been relatively quiet as neither Tara, Cory nor Simon emerged before they set sail. Maddie wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or pleased; on the one hand it meant that there were plenty of pastries left over for the next day but, on the other, she’d had to hang on and hang on, leaving the breakfast things out in case they appeared. It also meant she had to tidy away while they were sailing, which was much harder as trying to balance in the small galley wasn’t easy.

She managed to get quite a bit done, singing to herself in the galley, making sure everything was prepared for lunch. Cured meat, a couple of big salads and the fresh bread she’d bought that morning. When she went on deck to check if anyone wanted refreshments, Cory and Tara had now emerged, both looking immaculate in tiny bikinis and matching sarongs, which happened to co-ordinate with each other rather beautifully. Was that accident or design? wondered Maddie.

‘Oh, cabin girl,’ said Tara. ‘Can’t remember your name. Do you have any orange juice?’

Maddie smiled pleasantly. She’d just put everything away and was about to go and clean the cabins and make the beds.

‘It’s Maddie and yes, we do; would you like some?’

‘Is it freshly squeezed?’

‘Um,’ said Maddie, putting on an apologetic face, ‘no, I don’t think it is.’

Tara sighed. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s made from concentrate. I can’t abide that.’

‘I’m not really sure. It’s a local make. So I’m guessing it probably is fresh.’

‘Hmm, have you got any pomegranate juice?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘And I suppose it would be ridiculous to suppose you might have any coconut water.’

‘Yes,’ said Maddie.

‘What, you have got some?’

‘No, I meant … we haven’t got any.’

Tara narrowed her eyes and under her suspicious scrutiny Maddie managed to keep her face impassive. ‘Well, I suppose the orange juice will have to do.’

‘Stop being a bitch, T,’ drawled Simon. ‘The poor girl’s doing her best. It’s not like there’s a Harvey Nicks food store round the corner. The wrong orange juice is not going to spoil that beautiful figure of yours. Come and sit down and tell me all about that friend of yours that got booted off the set in Antibes last week.’

Tara’s eyes suddenly gleamed, avid at the prospect of the opportunity to gossip.

Maddie headed back down the steps into the lounge area towards the galley as Tara called, ‘No ice.’

‘No pleases or thank yous either,’ she muttered and then went pink as she realised that Douglas was sitting poring over one of the charts on the table, a pair of binoculars at his side.

He gave her a sly wink and a gentle smile before picking up the binoculars and peering out to the sea as if he hadn’t heard a thing. At breakfast he’d been so excited about their departure, peppering Ivan with question after question, peering at the charts with him, boyish wonder lighting up his rounded face. Maddie thought if he was presented with his own captain’s hat he’d be as pleased as Punch.

Cleaning cabins was her first port of call. Maddie grinned to herself. Port of call – see, she was right at home already. Grabbing her bucket of supplies, she mounted the small flight of wooden steps leading to the main deck, where she found Siri sitting reading a book on one of the padded seats hugging the V shape of the bow of the boat.

‘Hi, Maddie – isn’t this fab?’ Siri waved her hand at the view – the sunlight sparkling on the water, the choppy waves dancing up and down and the islands ahead of them shimmering with adventure and promise.

‘It’s a gorgeous day, that’s for sure.’

‘Will you get any time off to enjoy it?’ she asked, looking at Maddie’s bucket of cleaning supplies.

Maddie gave her a quick confiding grin. ‘I thought I’d do these cabins first, so that I could be up on deck.’

‘Ah, good plan. And what about later?’

‘Probably not. It’s dependent on what you lot get up to. When you’re on board, I’m on duty.’

‘No rest then, today,’ said Siri, her eyebrows dancing with mischief.

‘Not today, but it sounds blissful if you’re a guest. Swimming and sunbathing in a secluded cove.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Siri, her voice dry. ‘Cory and Tara are like a pair of toddlers; they’ll get bored before too long. I bet you anything Cory will start nagging to go ashore for dinner. And Douglas will give in because he always does. Why do you think we’ve got this whacking great yacht, big enough for about twenty people, and there are just six of us?’

‘He seems very nice,’ ventured Maddie, intrigued by the dynamics of the group and not willing to be drawn to comment. ‘How do you all know each other?’

‘Douglas is my sort of cousin.’

‘Sort of cousin? I’ve never heard of one of those before.’ She raised her eyebrows in a teasing grin.

‘Our parents are best friends. Like the best of friends. Do everything together. Parties. Holidays. And we’re both only children. I call his mum Aunty Margot. We’re the same age, even though he acts as if he’s ten years older, and we’ve been pretty much thrown together throughout our childhood and, yes, he is a lovely man, now. Bloody pain in the arse when he was fourteen.’ She pulled a face. ‘And at sixteen too, actually. But he got better. I quite like him now.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘Ironically, now we’re not stuck with each other, we actually voluntarily spend time together and he’s one of my best friends.’ For a second she looked a touch wistful as her gaze drifted out to sea and then she raised her head and said in a much more matter-of-fact way, ‘Of course, now he’s all grown up he’s as rich as Croesus and …’ her eyes darkened ‘… in love with Cory. And I bloody introduced them. I’m a fashion stylist –’ she lowered her voice ‘– which is why Cory and Tara humour me. They know I could make them look crap on a photoshoot if I wanted to and we cross paths often enough for them to worry about it.’ Her sudden smile was positively Machiavellian. ‘Simon went to school with Douglas; they’ve been friends for ever and he knew Cory from his tennis days.’

‘Am I supposed to know who he is?’ whispered Maddie, looking over her shoulder.

Siri let out a deep, dirty laugh. ‘Yes,’ she said, widening her eyes in mischief.

‘Oh, heck,’ groaned Maddie. ‘Epic fail. He is some sort of celeb?’

‘He thinks he is.’ She paused before adding in a kindlier tone, ‘He used to play tennis – junior Wimbledon doubles finalist, twenty years ago. To be fair, he was pretty good, but he never quite made the grade after that.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Don’t feel too sorry for him; he seems to have built an entire career on it. And he’s not exactly steeped in regret and misery.’

‘Tara is Cory’s best frenemy – whatever you do, don’t get caught between the two of them. They’re either joined at the hip or spitting like cats at each other, but it can change in an instant. Never side with one or the other of them.’

‘And Nick?’ asked Maddie casually.

‘The new beefcake. Cute, isn’t he?’ Her eyes gleamed.

Maddie wrinkled her nose. ‘Not my type.’

‘Can’t see him lasting long; he’s not Tara’s usual type. Her usual preference is for someone who can get her onto a red carpet, into a good party or is paparazzi friendly. Maybe this time it’s something more.’ She lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. ‘He’s certainly easy on the eye and not a complete idiot, although time will tell.’ She laughed and waved her book at Maddie. ‘And I am a cynical old harpy. Been in the business too long. Douglas is the best one of the lot of them. Not much to look at but the kindest heart.’ Suddenly she lifted her chin, giving Maddie a quick sharp smile before she went back to her book.

Well, that was enlightening, thought Maddie, making her way to the first of the two guest cabins which were up on this deck, along with Ivan’s and hers. She was intrigued to see how the six guests had spread themselves out among the cabins. As the boat danced through the waves, the wind whipped at her short curls, which had escaped the ponytail she could just scrape her hair into, making her wonder how Cory would keep her incredible hair under control. The first cabin she came to was empty. Given that there were eight cabins between six people, of which four were couples, that wasn’t a big surprise.

The second showed a few sparse signs of occupation. A comb by the bedside table, a book and a phone charger. At the sight of the book, she paused. Someone after her own taste; she loved a good Dick Francis. This one was an ancient and battered copy. Then she smirked. A pair of salmon-pink shorts had been tossed onto the unmade side of the double bed. Pinching her lips, she folded the shorts and laid them neatly on the chest of drawers built into the bulkhead.

Then she frowned. It looked as if Nick was sleeping solo, not that it was anything to do with her. Quickly she remade the bed and gave the gleaming wood a quick once-over with a cloth. Everything had been cleverly designed to fit into the tiny room, the wardrobe built into an alcove, the bed tucked tight under the window and the bathroom a masterpiece in space saving. Nick was certainly clean and tidy and travelled light. Cleaning the bathroom took all of five minutes, wiping around a simple shaving kit, a small bottle of aftershave and the complimentary bottles of shower gel, shampoo and conditioner. She’d just finished in there when the door opened and she looked up to find a bare-chested Nick hovering uncomfortably on the threshold of the doorway.

‘Oh, hi. Sorry, I … er … I just came up to get my sunglasses.’

‘It’s your room,’ she said.

‘Yes. I … er … didn’t … um … expect maid service. I thought you’d have enough to do.’ He stepped into the cabin and it immediately felt very small.

‘I’m like Cinderella at sea,’ quipped Maddie, desperately trying not to look at his broad muscled chest. Being in the same tiny room as a half-naked man suddenly felt rather intimate and she was noticing a lot more about Nick than she had done earlier. ‘My work is never done. Would you like me to leave?’ she asked, her voice over-bright. No wonder Tara fancied him.

‘No, if I could just grab them from the bathroom, that would be cool.’

‘No problem.’ She moved to one side as he moved past her into the bathroom. ‘I see you changed your shorts.’

Moving down to the lower deck, she found that Douglas and Cory had taken the master suite nestled in the bow of the boat. Simon and Siri had a cabin each. His had enough male grooming product to stock a branch of Boots and Siri’s had a massive stack of books. And although it was quite untidy, with lots of bits of jewellery, scarves and shoes left lying around, all her clothes were put away.

Opening a few more doors, Maddie found Tara’s room and very nearly slammed the door shut again.

‘Holy shit!’ she breathed, standing in the doorway. Surely nothing short of a tornado had swept through this room. Even her sister Theresa’s side of the bedroom at home had never been this bad and on a scale of ten in the messy range Theresa punched well above her weight with an eleven plus.

‘Where the hell do I start?’ she asked herself, resorting to talking out loud because in some weird universe that seemed to help. Even Hercules would have turned tail at this task. Her initial flicker of panic was quickly doused by indignation. What an inconsiderate cow! Was Tara expecting someone to pick up after her?

Discarded clothes covered every inch of the bed, but when she turned to look at the wardrobe she realised every last hanger was full and dozens of pairs of shoes were spilling out of the bottom. Two wet bath towels had been abandoned on the floor.

No wonder Nick didn’t want to share with her. Every available surface was strewn with stuff. There wasn’t a spare inch to be seen on the dressing table top, which was covered with make-up: palettes of eyeshadow, a dozen lipsticks, most with their caps removed, at least ten eyeliner pencils and four different mascaras, while on the narrow shelf above the double bed were tubes of moisturizer, body lotion and a million vials and pots of things that Maddie had never even heard of. Midnight oil elixir, skin rejuvenation capsules, orchid oil, mattifying detox and oxygenating mister.

Gritting her teeth, she got to work. What were the chances of Tara appreciating everything being put in order? With the room done, she moved to the bathroom.

She was dismayed by the sight of once pristine white hand towels, dished out just yesterday, which were now make-up stained. The bathroom had been well used; the sink was filthy and the toilet … surprisingly, it looked as if Tara had tried to clean it, although she hadn’t done a very good job. And then Maddie felt a little less self-righteous. It looked as if Tara had been sick. No wonder she hadn’t eaten much last night at dinner. Or maybe she was seasick. It had been quite odd going to sleep the first night in the cabin, getting used to the bobbing motion of the boat. Maddie had brought a good supply of Stugeron seasickness tablets with her; perhaps she should offer one to the other woman. Maybe that was why she was so demanding this morning; she wasn’t feeling well.

The hazy islands shimmering in the distance gradually morphed into green-clad hills rising out of the sea and while Maddie was laying the table for lunch, prolonging the task just to be on deck, she could feel the palpable air of excitement among the guests as they neared the island of Brač.

Everyone stood on the bow watching as Ivan guided the yacht into a quiet inlet just off the rocky coastline where the scrubby trees came right down to the water. The water glinted in the sunlight, a deep beautiful turquoise. It looked like paradise.

When Ivan dropped the anchor it was the signal for lunch and she brought up big platters of antipasti: cured meats, grilled peppers, artichokes, olives and local cheese, along with a selection of salads and some of the fresh bread she’d bought in the bakery this morning.

‘Thanks, Maddie,’ said Simon when he came to the table, where she waited for everyone to be seated. ‘Looks delicious.’

Once they were seated, Maddie asked what everyone would like to drink.

‘Well, I think we should celebrate our first day at sea with a lunchtime bottle of Prosecco,’ said Douglas, putting his map down.

‘Or we could have Bellinis,’ said Cory with a definite hint of challenge in her voice.

Maddie didn’t say anything, just waited for the consensus.

‘I’ll stick with Prosecco,’ said Simon.

‘I’m not fussy; I’ll have whatever’s going,’ said Siri, relaxing against the back of her chair like a contented cat. ‘Drinking at lunchtime feels so decadent.’

‘I’ll have a Bellini,’ said Tara.

‘Would it be possible to have a beer?’ asked Nick, almost apologetically.

‘No problem,’ said Maddie. ‘One beer, one bottle of Prosecco and two Bellinis coming up.’

The serene, I’ve-got-this-smile lasted until she reached the galley. Fuck! What the hell was a Bellini? She dug out her phone, grateful she’d still got a couple of bars’ worth of signal. Prosecco with peach puree! They had to be flipping kidding. Cory and Tara were having a laugh. Those two were clearly in a constant state of one-upmanship.

Who the flip kept peach puree as a store cupboard standby? Going through every cupboard, she learned there was Chinese five spice, Jasmine rice, baked beans and tahini paste but no peach puree.

She did, however, find a very dusty tin of peaches at the very back of one shelf. Pureed peach coming up.

Maddie one, Cory and Tara nil.

Nick stretched lazily on the sunbed, his muscles nicely aching after the afternoon’s paddleboarding, enjoying the sun on his skin and the rhythmic bob of the boat on the water. The scent of pine and salt filled the air and as far as he could see the sky was pure, deep, glorious blue.

‘Nicky darling, will you put some sun cream on my back?’ asked Tara, unplugging her earphones and putting down the phone, to which she was addicted. She was lying on her front but had undone her bikini top and her bottoms, if they could be called that, covered nothing. It was officially the smallest bikini he’d ever seen in his life, not that he was complaining. That was one very pert bottom but he dreaded to think what his mother would have thought of the thong-style pants.

‘Sure.’ He rolled onto his side, sitting up and spraying the expensive suntan lotion onto her back and then rubbing it carefully into the nape of her neck, her shoulders and down her delicate spine.

‘Mmm, ooh, that is nice,’ murmured Tara, wriggling sinuously under his touch. ‘Can you do my legs … and my bottom?’ Nick swallowed and paused. She lifted her hips in quick invitation, turning her head and saying over her shoulder, ‘Don’t be shy.’

‘Who said anything about being shy?’ he countered. ‘I’m just admiring the view.’

‘Like what you see, do you?’ she purred in a low sultry voice, giving him another sexy smile before dropping her head back onto her forearms to watch him with lazy half-closed eyes.

He sprayed the suntan lotion along the backs of her legs, massaging the fine spray into her calves, working his way up her slim thighs, conscious of her constant gaze. When he smoothed his hands over the perfect globes of her bottom, she murmured, ‘Mmm,’ lifting her hips and wriggling her bottom, squirming at his touch.

‘I think I could get used to this,’ she said in a throaty voice that had his senses humming.

‘So could I.’ He stroked her soft skin, the firm gorgeous flesh filling his hands as he pressed his palms over her bottom. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t absolutely perfect and as he rubbed his hands in small insistent circles, desire tightened his groin. He let it build as he continued to massage her skin, before sliding his hands up her back to rub a gentle finger over the nape of her neck.

He lay down on his side on the edge of his sunbed, his head next to hers, and leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on her pretty pink lips. ‘So beautiful,’ he whispered and she smiled up at him.

He kissed her again, tracing his mouth over hers, and put an arm over her back to pull her closer, longing to feel her stunning body against his.

‘Perhaps we should go back to one of the cabins for an afternoon nap,’ he suggested.

Tara shifted and let out a long mournful sigh. ‘Tempting, darling Nicky, but –’ she patted his cheek ‘– it’s imperative that I get an even tan. I need to do another half hour on my back and then half an hour on my front.’

‘That’s very precise,’ he teased, slipping his fingers under her hairline and caressing her neck, before sliding his fingers down her back, skimming her skin with a gentle touch. ‘Are you sure you can’t be persuaded?’

Her pretty mouth tightened and for a brief second he saw a flash of petulance on her face before she smiled, sincerity filling her rich dark eyes.

‘Darling Nicky, you know how hard it is being a model. You have to be on it all the time. And I don’t want Cory to be browner than me. We’re both up for the same shoot when we get back and they want someone with a good all-over tan.’

‘I’m sure a couple of hours won’t make that much difference,’ said Nick, nipping at her mouth with another gentle kiss as he put his arm around her shoulders, the sneaking thought batting at his mind that he was chasing an elusive butterfly.

‘It will,’ she said, her voice sharp as she shook him off. ‘And I’d have to shower and I don’t want to get my hair wet.’ She reached for her earphones and plugged them back in, tucking her head between her arms, effectively shutting him out.

Nick rolled over onto his back, hot and horny, but at the same time mortification burned his cheeks; he’d never force himself on a woman. He knew what no meant, but Tara had somehow managed to make him feel like some kind of overeager fumbling schoolboy. Embarrassed, as much by the signs of his physical reaction as the worry that he’d come across as some kind of sex pest, he rearranged his swimming shorts, grateful that they were baggy. ‘I think I’ll go for another swim,’ he said gruffly, not that she gave any sign of having heard him.

As he swung his legs over the side of the sunbed he looked up to see Maddie at the top of the steps with a knowing smirk on her face. He flushed and glared at her.

‘I was just coming to see if anyone wanted a drink.’ Amusement brimmed in her eyes, suggesting she’d overheard his thwarted attempt at seduction and thought it highly funny.

‘No, thanks,’ he snarled, his face burning as he walked past her down the stairs. For a moment it was tempting to push the dratted woman overboard. She always managed to catch him at the wrong moment.

As soon as he hit the water, the refreshing coolness calmed his bruised ego and he sliced into the waves in a determined crawl, wanting to put as much distance between him and the boat as possible. He focused on clean strokes, breathing and feeling the water stream over his body, working his muscles hard to burn up some of the antsy, edgy energy threatening to explode. Stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe.

When his shoulders started to burn he slowed and eased into a more leisurely breaststroke, taking the time to look around. Maddie was probably still laughing her head off. Why was it she had the ability to make him feel even more out of his depth than he already did? It always seemed as if she saw too much. He flipped on his back to gaze up at the sky and let out a long sigh. Tara confused him. She made him feel heavy-handed and gauche sometimes, but then there were other times, when she gave him that dazzling brilliant smile, that he felt he could conquer the world and fell armies for her. They came from such different worlds; there were bound to be teething problems but they could get through those, he could adapt. She was so beautiful; she was worth it, wasn’t she?

He frowned; perhaps part of the problem was that he wasn’t used to all this inactivity. At home, by this time he’d have already put in a full day’s work, been for a run, walked several miles and put in some hard physical labour, shifting sacks of feed, building fences or wrangling sheep. Every day was different, although there was a constant reassuring cycle of familiarity. Looking up at the sky and the land in front of him, the dark green, the azure blue above and turquoise sea, he shook his head. How could he even think he was missing home when all this was on offer? He could hear his mother’s amused voice telling him, ‘You must have turnips for brains’. He smiled. He missed his family, that was for sure, but that was allowed, wasn’t it? Knowing his place, the banter with his brothers, the unconditional love and the sense of community. Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes. Surely he wasn’t homesick. He was a grown man, for goodness’ sake, having the holiday of a lifetime. His brothers had been green with envy when he’d told them how amazing the boat was. How many other people were invited on a millionaire-style boat trip?

Come on, buck up, Nick, he told himself as he started to swim back to the boat. So your girlfriend didn’t fancy a shag; it’s not the end of the world.

‘Hey, Nick,’ called Siri, who was bobbing about on one of the ridiculous flamingo inflatables when he reached the boat again. ‘We’re going to get the jet ski out, fancy a go?’

‘You bet,’ he called back. Yeah, his brothers would be seriously envious when he told them about that.

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