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‘There’s no end to my talents,’ she agreed and grinned, and then peered under the hatch. ‘Speaking of talent…How did these birds do this? They must have lain on their sides and aimed.’
‘It’s a competition between them and me,’ Ramón said darkly. ‘They don’t like my boat looking beautiful. All I can do is sail so far out to sea they can’t reach me. But…you have a Spanish background? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You never asked,’ she said, and then she hesitated. ‘There’s lots you didn’t ask, and your offer seemed so amazing I saw no reason to mess it with detail. I could have told you I play a mean game of netball, I can climb trees, I have my bronze surf lifesaving certificate and I can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf. You didn’t ask and how could I tell you? You might have thought I was skiting.’
‘Skiting?’
‘Making myself out to be Miss Wonderful.’
‘I seem to have employed Miss Wonderful regardless,’ he said. And then…‘Jenny?’
‘Mmm?’
‘No, I mean, what sort of Spanish parents call their daughter Jenny?’
‘It’s Gianetta.’
‘Gianetta.’ He said it with slow, lilting pleasure, and he said it the way it was supposed to sound. The way her parents had said it. She blinked and then she thought no. Actually, the way Ramón said it wasn’t the way her parents had said it. He had the pronunciation right but it was much, much better. He rolled it, he almost growled it, and it sounded so sexy her toes started to curl.
‘I would have found out when you signed your contract,’ Ramón was saying while she attempted a bit of toe uncurling. Then he smiled. ‘Speaking of which, maybe it’s time you did sign up. I don’t want to let anyone who can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf get away.’
‘It’s a dying art,’ she said, relieved to be on safer ground. In fact she’d been astounded that he hadn’t yet got round to making her sign any agreement.
The day before they’d sailed he’d handed Charlie a cheque. ‘How do you know you can trust me to fill my part of the bargain?’ she’d asked him, stunned by what he was doing, and Ramón had looked down at her for a long moment, his face impassive, and he’d given a small decisive nod.
‘I can,’ he’d said, and that was that.
‘Playing a gum leaf’s a dying art?’ he asked now, cautiously.
‘It’s something I need to teach my grandchildren,’ she told him. And then she heard what she’d said. Grandchildren. The void, always threatening, was suddenly right under her. She hauled herself back with an effort.
‘What is it?’ Ramón said and he was looking at her with concern. The void disappeared. There went her toes again, curling, curling. Did he have any idea of what those eyes did to her? They helped, though. She was back again now, safe. She could move on. If she could focus on something other than those eyes.
‘So I’m assuming you’re Spanish, too?’ she managed.
‘No!’
‘You’re not Spanish?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘You sound Spanish.’ Then she hesitated. Here was another reason she hadn’t told him about her heritage—she wasn’t sure. There was something else in his accent besides Spain. France? It was a sexy mix that she couldn’t quite place.
‘I come from Cepheus,’ he said, and all was explained.
Cepheus. She knew it. A tiny principality on the Mediterranean, fiercely independent and fiercely proud.
‘My father told me about Cepheus,’ she said, awed that here was an echo from her childhood. ‘Papà was born not so far away from the border and he went there as a boy. He said it’s the most beautiful country in the world—but he also said it belonged to Spain.’
‘If he’s Spanish then he would say that,’ Ramón growled. ‘If he was French he’d say the same thing. They’ve been fighting over my country for generations, like eagles over a small bird. What they’ve come to realize, however, is that the small bird has claws and knows how to protect itself. For now they’ve dropped us—they’ve let us be. We are Cepheus. Nothing more.’
‘But you speak Spanish?’
‘The French and the Spanish have both taken part of our language and made it theirs,’ he said, and she couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.
‘What’s funny?’ He was suddenly practically glowering.
‘Your patriotism,’ she said, refusing to be deflected. ‘Like Australians saying the English speak Australian with a plum in their mouths.’
‘It’s not the same,’ he said but then he was smiling again. She smiled back—and wham.
What was it with this man?
She knew exactly what it was. Quite simply he was the most gorgeous guy she’d ever met. Tall, dark and fabulous, a voice like a god, rugged, clever…and smiling. She took a deep breath and went back to really focused scrubbing. It was imperative that she scrub.
She was alone on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a man she was so attracted to her toes were practically ringlets. And she was crew. Nothing more. She was cook and deckhand. Remember it!
‘So why the debt?’ he asked gently, and she forgot about being cook and deckhand. He was asking as if he cared.
Should she tell him to mind his own business? Should she back away?
Why? He’d been extraordinarily kind and if he wanted to ask…He didn’t feel like her boss, and at this moment she didn’t feel like a deckie.
Maybe he even had the right to know.
‘I lost my baby,’ she said flatly, trying to make it sound as if it was history. Only of course she couldn’t. Two years on, it still pierced something inside her to say it. ‘Matty was born with a congenital heart condition. He had a series of operations, each riskier than the last. Finally, there was only one procedure left to try—a procedure so new it cost the earth. It was his last chance and I had to take it, but of course I’d run out of what money I had. I was working for Charlie for four hours a day over the lunch time rush—Matty was in hospital and I hated leaving him but I had to pay the rent, so when things hit rock bottom Charlie knew. So Charlie loaned me what I needed on the basis that I keep working on for him.’
She scrubbed fiercely at a piece of deck that had already been scrubbed. Ramón didn’t say anything. She scrubbed a bit more. Thought about not saying more and then decided—why not say it all?
‘You need to understand…I’d been cooking on the docks since I was seventeen and people knew my food. Charlie’s café was struggling and he needed my help to keep it afloat. But the operation didn’t work. Matty died when he was two years, three months and five days old. I buried him and I went back to Charlie’s café and I’ve been there ever since.’
‘I am so sorry.’ Ramón was sitting back on his heels and watching her. She didn’t look up—she couldn’t. She kept right on scrubbing.
The boat rocked gently on the swell. The sun shone down on the back of her neck and she was acutely aware of his gaze. So aware of his silence.
‘Charlie demanded that you leave your baby, for those hours in the last days of his life?’ he said at last, and she swallowed at that, fighting back regret that could never fade.
‘It was our deal.’ She hesitated. ‘You’ve seen the worst of Charlie. Time was when he was a decent human being. Before the drink took over. When he offered me a way out—I only saw the money. I guess I just trusted. And after I borrowed the money there was no way out.’
‘So where,’ he asked, in his soft, lilting accent that seemed to have warmth and sincerity built into it, ‘was Matty’s father?’
‘On the other side of the world, as far as I know,’ she said, and she blinked back self-pity and found herself smiling. ‘My Kieran. Or, rather, no one’s Kieran.’
‘You’re smiling?’ He sounded incredulous, as well he might.
‘Yes, that’s stupid. And yes, I was really stupid.’ Enough with the scrubbing—any more and she’d start taking off wood. She tossed her brush into the bucket and stood up, leaning against the rail and letting the sun comfort her. How to explain Kieran? ‘My father had just died, and I was bleak and miserable. Kieran came into port and he was just…alive. I met him on the wharf one night, we went dancing and I fell in love. Only even then I knew I wasn’t in love with Kieran. Not with the person. I was in love with what he represented. Happiness. Laughter. Life. At the end of a wonderful week he sailed away and two weeks later I discovered our precautions hadn’t worked. I emailed him to tell him. He sent me a dozen roses and a cheque for a termination. The next time I emailed, to tell him I was keeping our baby, there was no reply. There’s been no reply since.’
‘Do you mind?’ he said gently.
‘I mind that Kieran didn’t have a chance to meet his son,’ she said. ‘It was his loss. Matty was wonderful.’ She pulled herself together and managed to smile again. ‘But I’d imagine all mothers say that about their babies. Any minute now I’ll be tugging photographs out of my purse.’
‘It would be my privilege to see them.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Why would I not?’
Her smile faded. She searched his face and saw only truth.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, disconcerted. She was struggling to understand this man. She’d accepted this job suspecting he was another similar to Kieran, sailing the world to escape responsibility, only the more she saw of him the more she realized there were depths she couldn’t fathom.
She had armour now to protect herself against the likes of Kieran. She knew she did—that was why she’d taken the job. But this man’s gentle sympathy and practical help were something new. She tried to imagine Kieran scrubbing a deck when he didn’t have to, and she couldn’t.
‘So where’s your family?’ she asked, too abruptly, and she watched his face close. Which was what she was coming to expect. He’d done this before to her, simply shutting himself off from her questions. She thought it was a method he’d learned from years of employing casual labour, setting boundaries and staying firmly behind them.
Maybe that was reasonable, she conceded. Just because she’d stepped outside her personal boundaries, it didn’t mean he must.
‘Sorry. I’ll put the buckets away,’ she said, but he didn’t move and neither did she.
‘I don’t like talking of my family.’
‘That’s okay. That’s your right.’
‘You didn’t have to tell me about your son.’
‘Yes, but I like talking about Matty,’ she said. She thought about it. It wasn’t absolutely true. Or was it?
She only talked about Matty to Cathy, to Susie, to those few people who’d known him. But still…
‘Talking about him keeps him real,’ she said, trying to figure it out as she spoke. ‘Keeping silent locks him in my heart and I’m scared he’ll shrivel. I want to be able to have him out there, to share him.’ She shrugged. ‘It makes no sense but there it is. Your family…you keep them where you need to have them. I’m sorry I intruded.’
‘I don’t believe you could ever intrude,’ he said, so softly she could hardly hear him. ‘But my story’s not so peaceful. My father died when I was seven. He and my grandfather…well, let’s just say they didn’t get on. My grandfather was what might fairly be described as a wealthy thug. He mistreated my grandmother appallingly, and finally my father thought to put things right by instigating legal proceedings. Only when it looked like my father and grandmother might win, my grandfather’s thugs bashed him—so badly he died.’
‘Oh, Ramón,’ she whispered, appalled.
‘It’s old history,’ he said in a voice that told her it wasn’t. It still had the power to hurt. ‘Nothing could ever be proved, so we had to move on as best we could. But my grandmother never got over it. She died when I was ten, and then my mother and my sister were killed in a car accident when I was little more than a teenager. So that’s my family. Or, rather, that was my family. I have an aunt I love, but that’s all.’
‘So you don’t have a home,’ she said softly.
‘The sea makes a wonderful mistress.’
‘She’s not exactly cuddly,’ Jenny retorted before she thought it through, and then she heard what she’d said and she could have kicked herself. But it seemed her tongue was determined to keep her in trouble. ‘I mean…Well, the sea. A mistress? Wouldn’t you rather have a real one?’
His lips twitched. ‘You’re asking why don’t I have a woman?’
‘I didn’t mean that at all,’ she said, astounded at herself. ‘If you don’t choose to…’
But she stopped herself there. She was getting into deeper water at every word and she was floundering.
‘Would you rate yourself as cuddly?’ he asked, a slight smile still playing round his mouth, and she felt herself colouring from the toes up. She’d walked straight into that one.
He thoroughly disconcerted her. It was as if there was some sort of connection between them, like an electric current that buzzed back and forth, no matter how she tried to subdue it.
She had to subdue it. Ramón was her boss. She had to maintain a working relationship with him for a year.
‘No. No!’ She shook her head so hard the tie came loose and her curls went flying every which way. ‘Of course I’m not cuddly. I got myself in one horrible mess with Kieran, and I’m not going down that path again, thank you very much.’
‘So maybe the sea is to be your partner in life, too?’
‘I don’t want a partner,’ she said with asperity. ‘I don’t need one, thank you very much. You’re very welcome to your sea, Mr Cavellero, but I’ll stick to cooking, sailing and occasional scrubbing. What more could a woman want? It sounds like relationships, for both of us, are a thing of the past.’ And then she paused. She stared out over Ramón’s shoulder. ‘Oh!’ She put her hand up to shade her eyes. ‘Oh, Ramón, look!’
Ramón wheeled to see what she was seeing, and he echoed her gasp.
They’d been too intent on each other to notice their surroundings—the sea was clear to the horizon so there was no threat, but suddenly there was a great black mound, floating closer and closer to the Marquita. On the far side of the mound was another, much smaller.
The smaller mound was gliding through the water, surfacing and diving, surfacing and diving. The big mound lay still, like a massive log, threequarters submerged.
‘Oh,’ Jenny gasped, trying to take in what she was seeing. ‘It’s a whale and its calf. But why…’
Why was the larger whale so still?
They were both staring out to starboard now. Ramón narrowed his eyes, then swore and made his way swiftly aft. He retrieved a pair of field glasses, focused and swore again.
‘She’s wrapped in a net.’ He flicked off the autopilot. ‘Jenny, we’re coming about.’
The boat was already swinging. Jenny dropped her buckets and moved like lightning, reefing in the main with desperate haste so the boom wouldn’t slam across with the wind shift.
Even her father wouldn’t have trusted her to move so fast, she thought, as she winched in the stays with a speed even she hadn’t known was possible. Ramón expected the best of her and she gave it.
But Ramón wasn’t focused on her. All his attention was on the whale. With the sails in place she could look again at what was in front of her. And what she saw…She drew in her breath in distress.
The massive whale—maybe fifty feet long or more—was almost completely wrapped in a damaged shark net. Jenny had seen these nets. They were set up across popular beaches to keep swimmers safe, but occasionally whales swam in too close to shore and became entangled, or swam into a net that had already been dislodged.
The net was enfolding her almost completely, with a rope as thick as Jenny’s wrist tying her from head to tail, forcing her to bend. As the Marquita glided past, Jenny saw her massive pectoral fins were fastened uselessly to her sides. She was rolling helplessly in the swell.
Dead?
No. Just as she thought it, the creature gave a massive shudder. She was totally helpless, and by her side her calf swam free, but helpless as well in the shadow of her mother’s entrapment.
‘Dios,’ she whispered. It was the age-old plea she’d learned from her mother, and she heard the echo of it from Ramón’s lips.
‘It’s a humpback,’ she said in distress. ‘The net’s wrapped so tight it’s killing her. What can we do?’
But Ramón was already moving. ‘We get the sails down and start the motor,’ he said. ‘The sails won’t give us room to manoeuvre. Gianetta, I need your help. Fast.’
He had it. The sails were being reefed in almost before he finished speaking, as the motor hummed seamlessly into life.
He pushed it into low gear so the sound was a low hum. The last thing either of them wanted was to panic the whale. As it was, the calf was moving nervously away from them, so the mother was between it and the boat.
