“We’ve overshot Hill Head by a good two miles. See, there’s Lee.” She pointed out the large white clubhouse, clearly visible a few hundred metres away on the shore. “We can get a good anchor hold here. We’ll drop the heavy anchor and then take the rubber duckie ashore. We’re going to get really wet.”
“I don’t think I could get any wetter anyway,” said Corbin with a sigh.
An hour later, exhausted, they came ashore in the boat’s grey rubber dingy. Getting a firm anchor hold had not been as easy as Zani had thought, and then securing the boat and getting the dingy into the water had been a slow and painstaking job. As if to make up for it, luck was with them once they left the boat. The tide was coming in and with the wind and waves behind them they surfed easily ashore on a large wave.
Zani wobbled a little as she stepped out of the rubber duckie. She had the odd feeling that, like the sea, the land rose and fell beneath her feet. Unbalanced, she stopped for a moment, steadying herself on the grey inflatable, waiting for the world to sort itself out. Corbin was at her side in a second.
“Are you all right? You look awful. I’m sorry, I should never have put you through this. We should have stayed on the island.”
Zani was inclined to agree with him, but simply said, “Help me get this up the beach.”
With Corbin safely stowing the dingy in the sailing club’s boat-park, making sure it couldn’t blow away, and the Vixen straining at her anchor but staying put, Zani wearily climbed the stairs to the club’s bar, not sure if she could get one leg in front of the other. The warm, convivial atmosphere enveloped her, and she breathed in the familiar smell of stale beer that wafted up from the dark red carpet.
A couple of old salts propped up the bar, and they nodded a greeting to her.
“Lousy out there…” ventured one. Zani tried a smile of agreement, but her face was too numb to be sure she had any expression at all.
“Hot toddy?” asked the barman, and Zani nodded.
“Two please…”
The scalding drink of bourbon, honey and lemon arrived swiftly, and Zani wrapped her shaking fingers around it, putting it down with an exclamation when it burnt her. Considering that it contained alcohol, she decided she didn’t care how hot it was and picked it up again. She gingerly took a sip, relaxing as cozy warmth spread through her, and her shivers started to subside.
She’d just begun a detailed description of their sail, when Corbin stamped up the stairs.
“A Lagoon 440, I’ve read about them…” interrupted the other old salt, seeing Corbin.
“Zani sailed it back. She’s awesome,” said Corbin with a broad grin.
Warmth that had nothing to do with the bourbon made Zani flush. “No, no,” she said, delighted.
There was more stamping up the stairs, the door burst open and the Search and Rescue team barreled in.
“Zani, how the hell are you?” Dave the much gossiped about helicopter pilot, hurried over and planted a wet kiss on her cheek.
“Yuck,” she said, wiping it off. “How’s Tiffany?” she asked.
“Aren’t you supposed to be rescuing people?” asked Corbin, eyeing with disapproval the pint of beer that Dave had been handed.
“End of our shift mate, and phew, it was a nasty one today. I deserve this.” He took a defiant sip of his drink.
“Of course. We heard a mayday whilst we were out there. Zani said you’d be busy.”
“Yup, that one was quite straight forward. They were awash and slowly sinking. We just winched the couple off the boat, no big deal.”
“You risked your life. I think that is a big deal,” said Corbin.
“We knew you were out there. Roger Holmwood called and let us know that Zani was stuck with some mad French fellow who didn’t give a stuff about her safety and was making her sail a boat back. Still, we knew Zani’d be okay. There’s no stopping this little sailor-girl.” Dave gave Zani a quick hug then let his arm rest along her shoulders.
“Dave, this is Corbin. Corbin, Dave,” said Zani.
“He’s French,” added one of the old salts helpfully.
“You don’t say,” said Dave in mock amazement. “Bit of a day-tripper, are you? Don’t you know the first rule of sailing in bad weather is not to?”
“At the time I didn’t feel I had a choice, but now I concede that it was foolish of me to insist. I made a mistake, and I am very sorry for it,” replied Corbin, looking at Zani, who tried unsuccessfully to ease away from Dave’s tentacle.
“Thank you,” she mouthed at Corbin. Their eyes met, and for a moment the rest of the crowd in the bar faded away.
“A mistake… Do you know how many mistakes on the water cost lives each year?” asked Dave loudly, clearly about to start a lecture.
Zani gave an exaggerated shiver, causing Dave to tighten his tentacle even more. “Boy, the drink helped, but I’m freezing,” she stuttered, adding wide-blinking eyes.
Immediately conciliatory, Dave unpeeled himself. “You poor love. Look, I’ve got some old clothes in my locker downstairs. I’ll get them. You can get yourself dry.”
“Thanks, that’d be kind,” said Zani.
Dave disappeared.
“A good friend?” asked Corbin.
“No, not really. He just can’t bear it that he hasn’t beaten me racing in the last three years.” Zani grinned. “Dave doesn’t like to lose, especially to a girl, and he tries to assert his superiority in other ways.”
Dave crashed back through the door and handed Zani a plastic bag with “Hill Head Chandlers” written on it.
“Here, some warm clothes. They’ll be too big, but it’s all I have.”
“Thanks, you’re an angel,” said Zani sweetly, then hurried to the Ladies.
“Tough day, mate?” she heard one of the men at the bar say as the door swung shut behind her. It took her a while to change. The rain and waves had seeped in through the neck of her all-weather jacket and her clothes underneath were soaked. They clung like a second skin and took some effort to peel off over her numb, rubbery flesh.
After a very brief debate she decided to dispense entirely with her soaked underwear. Trying to ignore a wave of scorn and self-loathing, she bitterly peeled off the coffee coloured lingerie she’d bought the day before.
“Pathetic, you’re just totally pathetic,” she told herself. Just admit it, you don’t think Corbin has anything to do with the leaking of the Sunberri secrets, and you fancy him rotten. It’s been a super excuse, trail around after Corbin on the pretence that you’re helping your father, when really you’re just hoping he’ll notice you. She glared at herself in the mirror. Admitting it made it all worse, not better.
After blotting herself dryish with paper towels, she slid into Dave’s huge, tracksuit pants, t-shirt and a jumper that made her look like a teddy bear. They smelled musty, and she hoped they were clean, but decided not to look too closely.
Corbin still stood at the bar when she returned. He had his hot toddy in his hand and was talking to the two old salts and the bartender. Dave and the Search and Rescue team had moved away a little. Zani hesitated, just by the door, listening.
“The pornography is not the problem. Phil Thorpe will be arrested and action will be taken against him. It is in the hands of the police and the lawyers. You come across slime like him from time to time. It was important that I attended at the police station and we needed to notify the press and so on, but in this—” he gestured out the large windows which rattled violently in the wind, “—the only thing we can do now is try to get home,” said Corbin.
“Zani.” Dave spotted her. “I’ve got the Jeep downstairs, I’ll give you and er…him, a lift back to Hill Head.”
As they piled into Dave’s four-wheel drive, the rescue helicopter passed low overhead, taking off from the Daedalus airfield, a few hundred metres behind the sailing club. “Geez, if it gets much worse we’re going to have to ground her,” said Dave, peering at the chopper.
They crawled slowly t
oward Hill Head. Even with the windscreen wipers going full tilt, the visibility in the rain was only a few metres.
“This is a nightmare…” muttered Zani, and Corbin shifted uncomfortably in the back.
They made it as far as the roundabout on Solent Street. A barrier blocked the road. “Road Closed” announced a sign, somewhat redundantly.
“No worries, I can go into Stubbington and around the back via Coach Lane.”
“No, it’ll be fine, just leave us here. It’s only two hundred metres to the sailing club from here. Thanks, Dave.” Zani opened the jeep door purposefully. The wind nearly ripped it from her grasp and the rain sheeted down. She gave the somewhat crestfallen Dave a smile and stepped into the weather.
The wind screamed in her ears, so phenomenally strong that Zani could hardly walk against it. She’d slipped her wet all-weather jacket back on, and the dampness soon soaked through the clothes she wore. The tracksuit pants kept out neither wind nor rain and she could feel the heat of her body being sucked away into the atmosphere as they hurried along.
They soon came to the reason the road was closed. The wind had blown down a brick wall, and masonry was scattered all over the place. Corbin grabbed Zani’s arm.
“Let me help you,” he yelled into her ear. She wanted to pull away, to do it herself, but the wind and the cold were rapidly sapping her strength. Instead she ducked her head against the weather and looped her arm through Corbin’s. A dust bin lid overtook them, bowling merrily along as if propelled by some phantom child with a stick. The street lights swayed and flickered, and the houses were dark, curtains tightly pulled shut against the tempest outside.
The road they struggled along sloped gently down, and just when Zani thought they’d never get there, they rounded a bend and arrived at the Hill Head Sailing Club. The wind tore above the harbor. A spit of land protected the inlet and created a small pool of calm. Only surging water from the mouth made the moored boats tug and sway. Zani could see why the locals called it The Haven. A rain squall swept across the water, and in the distance she could hear the rumble of heavy surf hitting the beach.
She trudged toward her car. Soaked through, she didn’t try to get undercover. Everything was wet. She’d not expected anything more than a simple day trip, and so hadn’t thought to bring dry clothes. There was an old, dog-hair covered picnic blanket in the back of her small car, and she had visions of herself driving home, naked, wrapped in the blanket.
Digging in her hand bag, she found her car keys and blipped the lock on her car.
“Goodbye, then,” she said awkwardly to Corbin.
“Wait…” he said. “Look, I need to talk to you. Let’s get out of this weather. Come to my car…”
Zani didn’t need asking twice.
The sudden silence when she closed his car door made her ears sing. It seemed very small and enclosed, especially with the large Corbin beside her. He clicked the engine on and turned up the heat. The blast of warm air made her skin prickle.
“I wanted to apologise again for putting you in this situation…” he started.
“Look, Corbin, please stop. I understand you’re sorry, we’re both fine, let it go, okay? I’ve made it around the Cape of Good Hope twice, trust me, this was a breeze compared to that.”
“Yes but… Merde,” he swore, leaning back in his chair then glancing sideways at her. His blue eyes glittered and his chocolate hair, darkened to black by the rain, curled damply across his forehead. He had a wolfish look she clearly remembered from the night of the art gallery exhibition.
“I am the world’s biggest idiot,” he said, and with that he leant over and roughly kissed her. It was brief, salty and windswept. There was no gentleness. The beginnings of stubble rasped her lips and the kiss suffocated her with its forcefulness. Almost instinctively she tried to pull away, but Corbin held her in a grip of steel. The wind, the endlessly falling rain buffeting the car all disappeared, and she was aware of nothing but his passionate kiss.
He broke away from her. “I’m sorry…”
Zani was saved from more apologies when his mobile rang. He hesitated, looking at her, but she nodded, needing a few moments to gather her scattered wits. He spoke rapidly in French. Unable to keep up, she gazed out the window at the weather and with one finger traced the kiss on her lower lip. She wanted to do it again. Soon.
When she’d kissed other men, in particular clammy Sebastian, it’d always been an experience that she’d not wanted to repeat. She’d keep thinking about germs and spit, or her latest boat design, or whether there was dog food at home for Fang and if she needed to get her kennel-cough jabs organised. Corbin’s kisses didn’t leave room for thoughts about small spaniels. They picked her up and swept her away like a freak wave. She wanted to do it again and again.
Corbin was firing questions at the person on the other end of the phone, sounding angrier and angrier as the conversation went on. From the sounds of it, further kissing was not going to be likely, and Zani tried not to be disappointed. He shut the phone with a snap and swore softly.
“Vivre, our closest competitor in the computer games market, has just released a new game. Almost identical to the one we are intending to release late next week. It will devastate Sunberri,” he bit out.
“Corbin, I’m so sorry,” Zani said. All thoughts of kissing were obliterated, and with a vague sense of panic she wondered what this news would mean for Paul and her father. “So the spy has struck again.”
“Spy, what do you know about a spy?”
“Oh, you must have mentioned it…”
“I haven’t said anything to anyone about a spy. Who are you?” he practically howled at her. “Mon dieu, I am sick of deceitful females.” He grabbed her upper arm, and Zani scrabbled backwards against the door.
“For the last time, tell me what is going on.” He sounded desperately frustrated.
“Look, I know, and you know, there are things I need to tell you. I’m sorry about the game, but truly it had nothing to do with me. Can I just explain? Maybe there’s something I can do to help,” she gasped, desperate to deflect his anger and to make him listen.
“I think you’ve done enough already, Zani whoever-you-are,” he bit at her, and she reeled at his ferocity. She shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew she deserved it. Swept away in the storm and the romance of their perilous trip, she’d almost forgotten the lies and deceit, and the reasons she’d come to Sunberri in the first place.
“Do you think you can look at me with your innocent eyes and lie and lie and lie? Just how much of a fool do you take me for? Nothing you tell me makes sense.”
“I…” began Zani.
“I cannot be dealing with you, don’t you see? Get out,” he snarled.
“What? But you just…”
“I said get out, I have to leave. Now,” he barked with a finality that made her believe he fully intended to never see her again.
Opening the door, she almost fell out of the car in her haste to get away. She slammed it shut, and he accelerated out of the carpark in a spray of gravel, leaving her standing there, shaking with shock and holding two fingers to her lips as if to hold her desolation inside.
Secret Intentions
Chapter Seven
Corbin sped out of the carpark, avoiding the blocked-off road. As he turned into Coach Lane the tires screeched and the car shuddered as the anti-skid braking did its work. He eased off on the accelerator.
He gritted his teeth against a shiver and turned the car’s heating up to full. It was an hour long drive to his home in Woodend, a small village north of Chichester. Hopefully he would have dried by then. The weather was getting worse, and the dismal grey light had faded to pitch dark.
Sunberri’s new game had somehow been sold to Vivre. He couldn’t quite believe it and mentally checked the date. January twenty-seventh. Not April Fools. He’d have dearly loved it to be a joke.
The finger pointing, the public slanging matches, the court cases, the negot
iations. It’d take years to sort out, and he bleakly wondered if he could be bothered. Lately his work had palled. He liked his team, and the company usually ran like clockwork. But it wasn’t exactly saving the world, or even really improving it. Gradually, somewhere along the line, he’d become bored.
He thought of Zani. She wasn’t boring at all.
He tightened his hands on the steering wheel as a wave of guilt washed over him. He shouldn’t have yelled at her like that. He shouldn’t have made her sail the boat back from the Isle of Wight, and he really shouldn’t have kissed her. Both times. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Probably because she looked so ridiculously kissable, pink cheeked and for once not wearing those terrible glasses. And, he admitted to himself, he’d wanted to kiss her all day.
He was fully aware it was illogical. She’d done nothing but deceive him; it was as plain as the nose on his face. Zani hid something huge. Why was it every time he came across a female who looked like she might give him the run around he fell, hook, line and sinker for her? Pixie had been exactly the same.
He shivered again and slowed even more as leaves, small branches and other rubbish whipped across the glare of his headlights. The torrential rain and howling gale buffeted the car as he drove down narrow country lanes, heading for the motorway that would take him back to Chichester.
Women. They just weren’t to be trusted.
He wondered for the hundredth time what Zani could be up to. Why did she have so much to hide? Why had she turned up at Sunberri? Maybe she’s some kind of lunatic, or a compulsive liar. He smiled wryly at the thought. She couldn’t lie to save her life, and it’d be a truly sad thing for someone to fail so fundamentally at their compulsion.
He couldn’t help but wonder if she had some kind of background. Maybe his first instinct had been right and she was a journalist. The thought chilled him more than the howling wind and pouring rain. He could not end up plastered across the tabloids again. The humiliation of the last time had nearly sent him fleeing home to France, never to return to England again.
Secret Intentions Page 10