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‘Subordination?’
‘It’s my English,’ he apologised, sounding suddenly very Spanish. ‘As in captains say to their crew, “I will not tolerate insubordination!” just before they give them a hundred lashes and toss them in the brink.’
‘What’s the brink?’
‘I have no idea,’ he confessed. ‘I’m sure the Marquita doesn’t have one, which is what I’m telling you. Whereas most captains won’t tolerate insubordination, I am the opposite. If you’d like to argue all the way around the Horn, it’s fine by me.’
‘You want me to argue?’ She was too close to him, she thought, and he was still holding her hands. The sensation was worrying.
Worryingly good, though. Not worryingly bad. Arguing with this guy all the way round the Horn…
‘Yes. I will also expect muffins,’ he said and she almost groaned.
‘Really?’
‘Take it or leave it,’ he said. ‘Muffins and insubordination. Yes or no?’
She stared up at him in the moonlight. He stared straight back at her and she felt her heart do this strange surge, as if her fuel-lines had just been doubled.
What am I getting into, she demanded of herself, but suddenly she didn’t care. The night was warm, the boat was lovely and this man was holding her hands, looking down at her in the moonlight and his hands were imparting strength and sureness and promise.
Promise? What was he promising? She was being fanciful.
But she had to be careful, she told herself fiercely. She must.
It was too late.
‘Yes,’ she said before she could change her mind—and she was committed.
She was heading to the other side of the world with a man she’d met less than a day ago.
Was she out of her mind?
What had he done? What was he getting himself into?
He’d be spending three months at sea with a woman called Jenny.
Jenny what? Jenny who? He knew nothing about her other than she sailed and she cooked.
He spent more time on background checks for the deckies he employed. He always ran a fast check on the kids he employed, to ensure there weren’t skeletons in the closet that would come bursting out the minute he was out of sight of land.
And he didn’t employ them for a year. The deal was always that they’d work for him until the next port and then make a mutual decision as to whether they wanted to go on.
He’d employed Jenny for a year.
He wasn’t going to be on the boat for a year. Had he thought that through? No, so he’d better think it through now. Be honest? Should he say, Jenny, I made the offer because I felt sorry for you, and there was no way you’d have accepted my offer of a loan if you knew I’m only offering three months’ work?
He wasn’t going to say that, because it wasn’t true. He’d made the offer for far more complicated reasons than sympathy, and that was what was messing with his head now.
In three months he’d be in Bangladesh.
Did he need to go to Bangladesh?
In truth, he didn’t need to go anywhere. His family inheritance had been massive, he’d invested it with care and if he wished he could spend the rest of his life in idle luxury.
Only…his family had never been like that. Excluded from the royal family, Ramón’s grandmother had set about making herself useful. The royal family of Cepheus was known for indolence, mindless indulgence, even cruelty. His grandmother had left the royal palace in fear, for good reason. But then she’d started making herself a life—giving life to others. So she and her children, Ramón’s father and aunt, had set up a charity in Bangladesh. They built homes in the low lying delta regions, houses that could be raised as flood levels rose, homes that could keep a community safe and dry. Ramón had been introduced to it early and found the concept fascinating.
His father’s death had made him even more determined to stay away from royalty; to make a useful life for himself, so at seventeen he’d apprenticed himself to one of Cepheus’s top builders. He’d learned skills from the ground up. Now it wasn’t just money he was throwing at this project—it was his hands as well as his heart.
During the wet season he couldn’t build. During these months he used to stay on the island he still called home, spending time with his mother and sister. He’d also spent it planning investments so the work they were doing could go on for ever.
But then his mother and his sister died. One drunken driver and his family was wiped out. Suddenly he couldn’t bear to go home. He employed a team of top people to take over his family’s financial empire, and he’d bought the Marquita.
He still worked in Bangladesh—hands-on was great, hard manual work which drove away the demons. But for the rest of the year he pitted himself against the sea and felt better for it.
But there was a gaping hole where his family had been; a hole he could never fill. Nor did he want to, he decided after a year or so. If it hurt so much to lose…to get close to someone again seemed stupid.
So why ask Jenny onto his boat? He knew instinctively that closeness was a very real risk with this woman. But it was as if another part of him, a part he didn’t know existed, had emerged and done the asking.
He’d have to explain Bangladesh to her. Or would he? When he got to Cepheus he could simply say there was no need for the boat, the owner wanted her in dry dock for six months. Jenny was free to fly back to Australia—he’d pay her fare—and she could fill the rest of her contract six months later.
That’d mean he had crew not only for now but for the future as well.
A crew of one woman.
This was danger territory. The Ramón he knew well, the Ramón he trusted, was screaming a warning.
No. He could be sensible. This was a big enough boat for him to keep his own counsel. He’d learned to do that from years of sailing with deckies. The kids found him aloof, he knew, but aloof was good. Aloof meant you didn’t open yourself to gut-wrenching pain.
Aloof meant you didn’t invite a woman like Jenny to sail around the world with you.
A shame that he just had.
‘The Marquita’s reported as having left Fiji two weeks ago. We think Ramón’s in Australia.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Sofía pushed herself up on her cushions and stared at the lawyer, perplexed. ‘What’s he doing in Australia?’
‘Who would know?’ the lawyer said with asperity. ‘He’s left no travel plans.’
‘He could hardly expect this awfulness,’ Sofía retorted. ‘There’s never been a thought that Ramón could inherit.’
‘Well, it makes life difficult for us,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘He doesn’t even answer incoming radio calls.’
‘Ramón’s been a loner since his mother and sister died,’ Sofía said, and she sighed. ‘It affected me deeply, so who knows how it affected him? If he wants to be alone, who are we to stop him?’
‘He can’t be alone any longer,’ the lawyer said. ‘I’m flying out.’
‘To Australia?’
‘Yes.’
‘Isn’t Australia rather big?’ Sofía said cautiously. ‘I mean…I don’t want to discourage you, but if you flew to Perth and he ended up at Darwin…I’ve read about Australia and it does sound a little larger than Cepheus.’
‘I believe the smallest of its states is bigger than Cepheus,’ the lawyer agreed. ‘But if he’s coming from Fiji he’ll be heading for the east coast. We have people looking out for him at every major port. If I wait in Sydney I can be with him in hours rather than days.’
‘You don’t think we could wait until he makes contact?’ Sofía said. ‘He does email me. Eventually.’
‘He needs to take the throne by the end of the month or Carlos inherits.’
‘Carlos?’ Sofía said, and her face crumpled in distress. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘So you see the hurry,’ the lawyer said. ‘If I’m in Australia, as soon as we locate his boat I can be there. He has to come home. Now.’
‘I wish we could find him before I make a decision about Philippe,’ she said. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘I thought you’d found foster parents for him.’
‘Yes, but…it seems wrong to send him away from the palace. What would Ramón do, do you think?’
‘I hardly think Prince Ramón will wish to be bothered with a child.’
‘No,’ Sofía said sadly. ‘Maybe you’re right. There are so many things Ramón will be bothered with now—how can he want a say in the future of a child he doesn’t know?’
‘He won’t. Send the child to foster parents.’
‘Yes,’ Sofía said sadly. ‘I don’t know how to raise a child myself. He’s had enough of hired nannies. I think it’s best for everyone.’
Chapter Three
THIS was really, really foolish. She was allowing an unknown Spaniard to pay her debts and sweep her off in his fabulous yacht to the other side of the world. She was so appalled at herself she couldn’t stop grinning.
Watching Cathy’s face had been a highlight. ‘I can’t let you do it,’ she’d said in horror. ‘I know I joked about it but I never dreamed you’d take me seriously. You know nothing about him. This is awful.’
And Jenny had nodded solemn agreement.
‘It is awful. If I turn up in some Arabic harem on the other side of the world it’s all your fault,’ she told her friend. ‘You pointed him out to me.’
‘No. Jenny, I never would have…No!’
She’d chuckled and relented. ‘Okay, I won’t make you come and rescue me. I know this is a risk, my love, but honestly, he seems nice. I don’t think there’s a harem but even if there is…I’m a big girl and I take responsibility for my own decision. I know it’s playing with fire, but honestly, Cathy, you were right. I’m out of here any way I can.’
And what a way! Sailing out of the harbour on board the Marquita with Ramón at the helm was like something out of a fairy tale.
Fairy tales didn’t include scrubbing decks, though, she conceded ruefully. There was enough of reality to keep her grounded—or as grounded as one could be at sea. Six days later, Jenny was on her knees swishing a scrubbing brush like a true deckhand. They’d been visited by a flock of terns at dawn—possibly the last they’d see until they neared land again. She certainly hoped so. The deck was a mess.
But making her feel a whole lot better about scrubbing was the fact that Ramón was on his knees scrubbing as well. That didn’t fit the fairy tale either. Knight on white charger scrubbing bird droppings? She glanced over and found he was watching her. He caught her grin and he grinned back.
‘Not exactly the romantic ideal of sailing into the sunset,’ he said, and it was so much what she’d been thinking that she laughed. She sat back on her heels, put her face up to the sun and soaked it in. The Marquita was on autopilot, safe enough in weather like this. There was a light breeze—enough to make Marquita slip gracefully through the water like a skier on a downhill run. On land it would be hot, but out here on the ocean it was just plain fabulous. Jenny was wearing shorts and T-shirt and nothing else. Her feet were bare, her hair was scrunched up in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes, her nose was white with sunscreen—and she was perfectly, gloriously happy.
‘You’re supposed to complain,’ Ramón said, watching her. ‘Any deckie I’ve ever employed would be complaining by now.’
‘What on earth would I be complaining about?’
‘Scrubbing, maybe?’
‘I’d scrub from here to China if I could stay on this boat,’ she said happily and then saw his expression and hastily changed her mind. ‘No. I didn’t mean that. You keep right on thinking I’m working hard for my money. But, honestly, you have the best job in the world, Ramón Cavellero, and I have the second best.’
‘I do, don’t I?’ he said, but his smile faded, and something about him said he had shadows too. Did she want to ask?
Maybe not.
She’d known Ramón for over a week now, and she’d learned a lot in that time. She’d learned he was a wonderful sailor, intuitive, clever and careful. He took no unnecessary risks, yet on the second night out there’d been a storm. A nervous sailor might have reefed in everything and sat it out. Ramón, however, had looked at the charts, altered his course and let the jib stay at full stretch. The Marquita had flown across the water with a speed Jenny found unbelievable, and when the dawn came and the storm abated they were maybe three hundred miles further towards New Zealand than they’d otherwise have been.
She’d taken a turn at the wheel that night but she knew Ramón hadn’t slept. She’d been conscious of his shadowy presence below, aware of what the boat was doing, aware of how she was handling her. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but she was new crew and to sleep in such a storm while she had such responsibility might have been dangerous.
His competence pleased her, as did the fact that he hadn’t told her he was checking on her. Lots of things about him pleased her, she admitted—but Ramón kept himself to himself. Any thoughts she may have had of being an addition to his harem were quickly squashed. Once they were at sea, he was reserved to the point of being aloof.
‘How long have you skippered this boat?’ she asked suddenly, getting back to scrubbing, not looking up. She was learning that he responded better that way, talking easily as they worked together. Once work stopped he retreated again into silence.
‘Ten years,’ he said.
‘Wow. You must have been at kindergarten when you were first employed.’
‘I got lucky,’ he said brusquely, and she thought, don’t go there. She’d asked a couple of things about the owner, and she’d learned quickly that was the way to stop a conversation dead.
‘So how many crews would you have employed in that time?’ she asked. And then she frowned down at what she was scrubbing. How on earth had the birds managed to soil under the rim of the forward hatch? She tried to imagine, and couldn’t.
‘How long’s a piece of string?’ Ramón said. ‘I get new people at every port.’
‘But you have me for a year.’
‘That’s right, I have,’ he said and she glanced up and caught a flash of something that might be satisfaction. She smiled and went back to scrubbing, unaccountably pleased.
‘That sounds like you liked my lunch time paella.’
‘I loved your lunch time paella. Where did you learn to cook something so magnificently Spanish?’
‘I’m part Spanish,’ she said and he stopped scrubbing and stared.
‘Spanish?’
‘Well, truthfully, I’m all Australian,’ she said, ‘but my father was Spanish. He moved to Australia when he met my mother. My mother’s mother was Spanish as well. Papà came as an adventuring young man. He contacted my grandmother as a family friend and the rest is history.
‘So,’ Ramón said slowly, sounding dazed. ‘Habla usted español? Can you speak Spanish?’
‘Sí,’ she said, and tried not to sound smug.
‘I don’t believe it.’
