The Island Legacy

by Ruth Saberton

  Yes. That had been the plan – and in London, where supercars cruised the streets and the West End teemed with the designer-clad wealthy, it had seemed like a good one. The only problem was that down in Cornwall, where people wore cut-off jeans and zipped about in boats that probably cost less than his deck shoes, Max was starting to feel a bit of an idiot.

  All right then, scratch bit. He was feeling like a complete tosser. If Adam was right – and, given that his best friend was now well and truly going native, Max had no reason to doubt him – Ness was far more likely to be looking across the water and laughing. Just imagining the scorn in those green eyes made Max take a big swig of his Coke. At times like this he wished he drank!

  “Yep, totally screwed,” said Adam cheerfully.

  “Thanks for the support, mate,” grumbled Max. “I thought you’d be a bit more sympathetic, seeing as you’re the one heading up this project.”

  Adam shrugged his brown shoulders. He was very tanned, Max noticed with a small jolt of envy. Christ, it must be nice to work outside rather than being cooped up in an office pushing paperwork about and pandering to planners and government officials. He wasn’t often tempted to throw in the towel and retreat to Cornwall for a life of pottering about on the water, but sometimes it appealed. If he could only persuade Ness that developing the castle was the right thing to do then he could be justified in finishing with this project – maybe even take some time out to actually enjoy what he’d achieved, rather than hurtling onwards to the next big thing like a hamster on a bloody big wheel.

  The island was slumbering just ahead, the waves so calm that they barely seemed to break on the rocky necklace ringing it. Shimmering in the haze and bold against the bright sky, it looked like something out of a novel. Max’s gut tightened with longing. If he could only get his hands on it. What an amazing place it could be and what a project! It would be the pinnacle of his career. Perhaps then he could turn his attention to the shelter and his charities and to actually having a life.

  If only that stubborn, infuriating, gorgeous woman across the water would see some sense…

  “I offered her eight bloody million,” he said, scowling at the horizon. “What more can I do? Should I go to nine?”

  Adam spluttered into his can. “Nine million? Jesus, Max, have you gone mad?”

  Max said nothing. He wasn’t going to tell Adam what his actual budget for the purchase could be, because for the first time in their long friendship he wasn’t entirely sure where the other man’s loyalties lay. Instead, he pressed the windlass switch and raised the anchor before knocking the engines into gear and steering the boat towards the island. On the bow, Aimee didn’t stir so much as a golden hair, while Adam simply raised his face to the sunshine. Max resisted the urge to let the powerful boat fly and instead crept slowly across the water, picking his way through the tripping boats and elegant white-sailed yachts, before turning towards the back of the island and opening up the throttles. This was Grace Note Bay, a private and sheltered spot that was perfect for swimming and snorkelling. When he owned the island, Max was tempted to sink an artificial reef a little farther out to attract even more marine life. Diving was a passion of his and to have his own dive haven would be a dream come true.

  “There might be seals over here,” he called to Aimee, who didn’t reply. To be honest, Max wasn’t even sure why he thought she might. Unless it was a seal from Louis Vuitton or Chanel, Aimee wouldn’t be impressed. A city creature through and through and something big in PR, she was good as a companion at corporate functions or dinner parties, but otherwise the conversation was limited. Then again, Max didn’t usually spend time with women for their conversational skills.

  “Cool!” said Josh, who was sitting in the bow. Clad only in his swimming trunks, he looked as brown and as healthy as his father. “Can we swim?”

  “If your dad says it’s OK,” answered Max. The idea of diving into the water very much appealed to him right now; in fact, he could hardly wait. He was still a ten-year-old boy too deep down inside – although his board members might be amazed to know this.

  “Fine by me,” said Adam. “It’ll be cold though. Maybe put your wetsuit on?”

  Josh crinkled his nose. “Don’t be such a sissy! Ness and Merryn swim there all the time and they wear swimming costumes.”

  Max tried not to think about Nessa Penwellyn in a swimming costume, firstly because it felt inappropriate when Aimee was on board and secondly because he needed to concentrate on navigating around the hidden rocks that guarded the entrance to Grace Note Bay. It soon became evident that he wasn’t focused on this task at all: if it hadn’t been for his echo sounder he’d probably have sunk the boat. Christ. He really needed to buy this island and get Nessa out from under his skin.

  Once they were safely through the razor-sharp maze of barely visible rocks, Max dropped anchor again, cut the engines and admired this side of the island. You couldn’t see the town from here and it felt as though miles and miles of ocean separated the boat from the shore. Seabirds called, wild grasses blew in the wind and fat seals lounged on the rocks, growling and grumbling to one another. There was an enormous splash as Josh launched himself into the water, and a shriek from Aimee as the icy spray covered her taut tummy.

  “He loves it here,” Adam said to Max. “It’s done him so much good. I owe you, mate.”

  The two men watched Josh swimming. Adam threw him a snorkel and soon Josh was busy exploring the watery world below.

  “I’m glad it’s worked out,” Max replied. “You’ve both had a shit time.”

  Adam nodded. “It’s not been great but I do feel like we’ve turned a corner now. This place suits us both. But, mate, I have to ask: what’s going to happen if this sale doesn’t come off? There’s not going to be the work I’d hoped for, is there?”

  Max’s eyes were storm-cloud grey. “Of course the sale will come off. You’re not having doubts as to whether I can do this, are you?”

  “I never doubt you,” said Adam, “but I’ve met Nessa Penwellyn and I promise you she’s not going to sell. You could offer her twenty million pounds and she’d still turn you down. It’s not about money.”

  “Rubbish. Everything’s about money,” scoffed Max. He glanced at Aimee, prone and plugged into her iPod. From her designer bikini to her French-polished toenails to her expensively dyed hair, she reeked of money. In his experience women loved the stuff.

  But Adam looked doubtful. “Not for Ness. She really loves this place and she’ll do everything to keep it in the family. The last thing she wants to see is some greedy developer carving it up.”

  “I’m not carving it up. I’m bloody rescuing it!” Max cried, exasperated. He loved this island and stretch of Cornish coast; for years he’d dreamed of being able to make his mark, nurture it and claim his own small piece of heaven. Jesus, he’d known as a schoolboy that this was what he was meant to do. Everything he’d achieved so far was just the precursor to this.

  “You and I know that, but Ness doesn’t,” Adam pointed out in his usual reasonable way. “If I was you, mate, I’d focus less on floating phallic symbols and big amounts of money and more on all the really good stuff Reynards does. Why don’t you tell her about the affordable housing? Or the university sponsorships? Or the homeless shelter? If she knew about those things then she’d see the real man rather than the corporate monster.”

  “Corporate monster?” Max was amused. “Is that how you see me? Some kind of boardroom Godzilla?”

  “I know you hate violent movies, would rather have a pizza than a gourmet meal and play a mean round of burp tennis, so no!” Adam laughed. He reached into the ice bucket and helped himself to another beer. “But she’s a woman with integrity, Max, and I don’t think fast boats and fat wallets will impress her. Just tell her the truth.”

  “Firstly, I haven’t played burp tennis since primary school and, secondly, all that charity stuff is private.” Max was adamant about this. His private life was someth
ing he guarded closely. He did the charity work because it actually meant something to him; it wasn’t supposed to be a PR exercise for the likes of Aimee to spin. Max cherished the honesty and anonymity of volunteering at Malcom’s Place. There he was just another helper who dished up food on Christmas Day or mopped the floors. Nobody cared what watch he wore or what car he drove: at the shelter he was simply Max. The idea of that changing made Max sick to the stomach. He’d never use his charities to impress a woman or to seal a deal. Malcom Reynard would never have dreamed of it and neither would his son.

  “I understand, mate. I just think that those things are more you than all this shit.” Adam swept a hand in the direction of the deck. “But it’s totally your call and I swear I won’t say a word.”

  He peered over the gunnels. “What’s the water like, bud?” he called to Josh, who’d surfaced and was blowing water out of his snorkel.

  “Cold!” his son called back. “Are you coming in, Dad? Are you, Max?”

  Adam threw a challenging look at Max. “Fancy a swim?”

  Max thought about it for a moment. The clear blue water might look inviting but he knew it would be freezing. Maybe next time he wanted to show off with a boat he’d stick to the Med. On the other hand, it was better than sitting here brooding over an island he couldn’t buy and trying to make conversation with Aimee.

  “Yeah, why not?” he answered.

  Max tugged his tee shirt over his head and kicked off his Sebagos. His wetsuit was in the bow locker but he couldn’t be bothered to disturb Aimee mid tanning, so his board shorts would have to do. Adam had already dived overboard; Max followed, gasping when the cold water snatched his breath away. For a moment or two he trod water, watching as his godson and best friend splashed one another, before turning to look at the beach. It couldn’t be more than a quarter of a mile away – a good distance that he would easily make. Exercise always cleared Max’s mind and right now a clear head was something he could do with. Surging into his powerful crawl, Max Reynard headed for Pirran Island.

  Ness had been in town very early to catch the tide and had caught a ride back over with one of the tripping boats. As she’d lugged her bags down the beach steps and clambered aboard, she’d reflected that losing the causeway was going to make life doubly hard. It was a sharp reminder of just how much she had to do before the winter set in. A few days had passed since her meeting with the other residents of Pirran Island, and everyone now seemed busy pursuing their respective ideas. Already there was a buzz of excitement building in town regarding Fern’s baby, the newly named Island Fest. Quite how this was going work, Ness wasn’t sure – but Fern seemed confident and Adam’s roadie friend, Zak, was happy to help too. So far Ness hadn’t had time to get involved: she’d been too busy putting her own plans into action.

  The next stage of those plans would have to wait until next week though, when she would be making a trip into London. This weekend Ness was determined to actually enjoy life on the island and to make the most of the glorious weather. As the small boat had carried her home, she’d watched a Sunseeker zipping across the water, towing rings and skiers – and she’d immediately recognised the lithe form at the helm. Even hundreds of metres away it was impossible to mistake the determination in the tilt of that dark head or the ease with which he held the powerful boat in check. It was Max Reynard, showing off in a flash boat and with some blonde Playmate type draped across the deck. Ness’s top lip had curled with scorn. What an absolute cliché. He did know this was Cornwall and not Miami?

  Shaking her head, Ness had carried the groceries up to the castle kitchen and unpacked them. There was nobody at home: Lucy was presumably doing her best to man the tea room together with one-armed Merryn, and Fern was helping Fred in the gardens. The place was still and cool, and for once Ness found herself feeling uneasy. Usually somebody was about, even if it was just Biscuit to chat to. All alone in the echoey kitchen, she became very aware just how ancient the castle was. The stillness was thick and heavy. How many people had passed through here over the years? How many previous occupants had unpacked shopping or leaned on the sill and stared out of the arched window? And how many of them had lain awake at night with panic pressing down upon their chests as they desperately tried to think of ways to keep the place afloat?

  She needed a break from all this, Ness decided. The weeks since her arrival here had been intense and strange, and there’d barely been a moment to stop and reflect. To think she’d once considered her life in St Antonia hectic! At least there she’d been able to dive most days or just float lazily in the Caribbean Sea. Diving and swimming had soothed her soul after Addy’s death, and she’d taken these activities for granted. Whenever she was stressed or sad Ness always yearned to be near water; she’d found it difficult to be so far away from it when her father, who’d never been a fan of the sea, had decided to move them inland. Perhaps the ocean was in her blood.

  In her blood and literally on her doorstep, so whatever was she waiting for?

  Having unpacked her shopping, Ness had grabbed a bottle of water, snatched a towel and then run up to her room to change into her bikini and shorts. Armed with some sun cream, her Kindle and a rare free hour, she’d swapped the cool quiet of the castle for the bright sunshine and Grace Note Bay. There she’d swum in the clear water and afterwards basked in the sunshine with her book. It wasn’t the Caribbean but the sand was almost as white and the water every bit as blue. And just as in St Antonia, there were idiot millionaires with speedboats who thought they could behave as though they owned the place.

  Ness had been dozing by the rocks, her limbs salty from the sea and gritty with sand, and enjoying the rhythmic sighs of breaking waves and the barks of seals. The warmth of the sun and the swim had made her drowsy – so it was annoying to have the peace interrupted by the roar of a speedboat. She sat up, shading her eyes against the glare of the light on the water, and groaned when she realised who’d arrived.

  Just typical. Was nowhere sacred?

  There was the clanking of an anchor chain over rollers before the engines were cut and a small figure dived into the water. Then a woman shrieked and there was the sound of male laughter, followed by conversation. Irked at being interrupted, Ness reached for her sunglasses and did her best to ignore the goings-on in the bay. Two more splashes signalled that the men had both dived into the sea as well. Ness watched as one loan swimmer struck out for shore while the other two drifted about with snorkels. The woman didn’t move but continued to soak up the sun on the bow. If it hadn’t been for the goosebumps that dusted her skin when the breeze blew, Ness could have been right back in St Antonia.

  The swimmer was slicing through the waves with a strong front crawl, each stroke making easy work of the distance. Ness sat up a little straighter and squinted. He was headed for the shore, and the closer he came the more certain Ness was of his identity. Only one man around here would power through the sea with the same determination and certainty as he powered through business deals or swept a girl off her feet. It was Max Reynard; of course it was.

  Mesmerised, she drew her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them as his glistening torso emerged from the sea. In spite of her annoyance she couldn’t help but notice how toned his upper body was and how sculpted his arms were. As rivulets of salty water trickled over his pecs, her gaze was powerless to do anything more than follow them. He strode out of the surf and onto the beach, shaking seawater from his face and hair. As he did so, glittering rivulets streamed from his narrow waist and muscular brown legs. Ness knew she was staring but she couldn’t help herself. It was a pure Mr Darcy moment and she simply couldn’t look away.

  “Hello, Ness,” Max said, those grey eyes amused to have caught her gawping at him. “You look a little surprised. Didn’t you think I could swim?”

  Ness could have ripped her eyes out. Thank goodness she was wearing sunglasses. She wished she was wearing more than her green bikini though; as his eyes raked her body she
was acutely aware of how revealing her choice of swimwear was. Alas, if she made a dive for her shorts and tee shirt he’d know she was feeling awkward, and Ness didn’t want to give Max that satisfaction. Oh well. Judging by the blonde draped all over his ridiculous penis extension of a boat, Ness’s bikini revealed nothing much that Max Reynard hadn’t already seen before. Telling herself this, she stood up and pushed her shades onto the top of her damp head.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Nessa.”

  Max Reynard didn’t miss a beat; if he was at all bothered about being on someone else’s private beach clad only in his shorts and looking like he’d stepped from a Calvin Klein advert, then not so much as a flicker of that handsome face gave it away. Instead he stood on the sand, legs proudly apart and with his hands on his hips, as if he owned the place, inhaling deeply to recover his breath after the exertion of the swim.

  “This is a private beach,” Ness snapped. “You’re trespassing.”

  Max inclined his dark head. “Yes, you’re right. Sorry about that. I just thought I’d have a quick swim to the shore while the others snorkelled.”