by Karen Swan
Ahead, she could see a man and boy walking up the hill towards her – the first non-estate people she’d seen since arriving here – and she slowed her pace. The path was so narrow they would have to drop back into single file to pass each other.
They were talking animatedly, a football in the boy’s hands, a bucket in the man’s. The boy was almost chest-height to his father, and when he said something to make him laugh, the father reached down and mussed the boy’s hair affectionately. Clem tried to remember ‘good evening’ in Italian.
They drew closer and she saw that they were both dark-haired, rangy and blessed with the smooth, even dark tan that comes from living in a sunny climate. Clem slowed to a walking pace, her ponytail no longer bouncing manically across her shoulders, and her eyes met theirs as they prepared to pass, the father hanging back to let the boy walk in front.
No!
She dropped her eyes quickly, looking down at the paving stones as they moved past her.
‘Buonasera,’ the boy said politely, looking up at her.
‘Grazie,’ the father followed up, a question mark in his voice and eyes. Clem turned almost to the wall, away from them, the sound of her own blood rushing in torrents in her ears.
They were behind her now, but she could hear only one set of footsteps continuing onwards. Small ones, light ones. Then they stopped, too. She broke into a run, arms pumping, breathing erratic, her ponytail swinging in full revolutions around the back of her head. No style, just power; no grace, just acceleration.
She was around the corner in seconds, her hand on the left wall and opening the gate. She leapt into the garden and closed the door behind her, throwing closed the bolt. She heard footsteps sound on the path, big ones, heavy ones, getting closer. They stopped and she heard breathing on the other side of the wooden gate.
She held her breath. No. No. No. No. No.
Time stopped. Seasons changed. Years rolled back.
Or so it felt.
Then the footsteps moved away again, becoming fainter, disappearing around the corner and continuing along the path to the lighthouse.
She exhaled with a sob, her heart pounding at three times the rate it had hit on the run. She bent double, her hands on her knees, trying to control herself. But she was far beyond that. She tried walking but her legs wouldn’t support her. She leaned against the wall, but the effort even of that was too much. Survival instinct took over. Her body folded three times and, with violent efficiency, she turned and threw up in the bushes.
The shower didn’t help. The run had already happened. She couldn’t understand a word on the TV. She couldn’t ring Stella and talk to her about it. She couldn’t even get drunk – there was no fridge in the folly and she didn’t fancy waking Signora Benuto at this time of night.
It was gone eleven but she was still shaken up. Sleep was a distant promise tonight, she already knew. She walked to the window and looked out at the twinkling light of the glamorous Cinque Terre towns on the far side of the bay. Life continued. It always did, but that was far from comforting to her tonight.
Her eyes rose to the sky. The moon was full and the sky practically clear, only long wispy clouds that looked like they could be threaded through a needle, drifting parallel to the horizon and casting bright shadows on the deep, dappled cove below her. The sea was calm tonight, calmer than it had been at any point since she’d arrived, and she watched it gently buffeting the basalt rocks with a soothing ‘shush’, like a mother pushing a cradle.
Even from this distance, in this light, the water looked clear and cold. Numbing.
She blinked slowly at the thought. Then, pulling a striped mohair jumper on over her knickers, she jogged down the stairs and settled the door on the latch behind her. She had seen the dirt track from the folly to the beach; it was steep in some places and overgrown in others, but she picked her way down carelessly, barefoot, almost enjoying the sweet sharp scrape of brambles against her flesh. The tangible pain felt more bearable than the one buried deep inside her, like an ache she couldn’t cup, an itch she couldn’t scratch.
She was down within minutes, and she stepped out of her clothes, gasping as she immersed her feet in the shocking, almost icy water. It would be another two months before the sea heated to a comfortable temperature, but tonight, comfortable was precisely what she didn’t want. Defiantly, she stepped in deeper, her feet trying to grip onto the bald, slippery stones. Her body tightened and contracted in defence, and she gasped, almost crying out as the water welcomed her with viscous fingers.
Slowly, she dropped her weight forward, sliding through the water like a cat till her shoulders were submerged. She dived under, wanting to freeze her head most of all and stop the thoughts and memories that were hardest to escape. She surfaced with a sob, but went under again. And again. And again.
Eventually, it worked. Eventually she couldn’t feel anything but a distanced buzz, and she tipped her head back and floated with a moonbeam on the heavy sea. Peace, of sorts.
A boat was speeding across the bay, she could hear the engines underwater, but she took no heed. If Portofino was known to the world, this cove neighbouring it was invitation only. She drifted, listening to the underwater crackle of microscopic sealife, wondering for once what lay beneath her, not ahead.
But the drone grew louder. Obtrusive. Unavoidable. She lifted her head and saw the boat heading towards her. She kicked away hurriedly, not because she was in danger of being hit, but because she was in danger of being seen. Though the light from the boat hadn’t reached her, the night sky was bright, toplighting the dark sea. She ducked underwater and swam to the shallows, perching crouched on a rock on the opposite side of the cove just as Stefano cut the engine and the Riva drifted in to the jetty.
She stayed perfectly still.
Another figure, who’d been standing by the front seat, turned to talk to him and she inhaled sharply as she recognized the Swimmer’s angular lines. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Stefano was nodding and restarted the engines. The Swimmer’s actions were hard to make out from across the water – he was in silhouette to her – but it looked like he had taken off his jacket and was now sliding off his tie. It was late. He must be desperate to sleep.
She kept still, waiting for him to disembark, her heart pounding as she savoured the sight of him from her hiding place. He stepped up out of the boat, but it was a moment before she realized his silhouette was facing her, not away. Then in the next instant he had thrown his arms above his head and dived in – cleanly, sharply – and was swimming, fully clothed, straight towards her.
Stefano carefully reversed the boat out of the bay and, within seconds, its elegant shape had disappeared around the headland, headed for the port. Clem looked back at the Swimmer, panicked by his actions. He was only 50 metres from her, and she tried to glide deeper into the shadows, but the moon was on super-strength and no friend to her tonight. There was no chance he hadn’t seen her.
He stopped just out of reach in front of her, his hair slicked back, the lower half of his face submerged so that she could see only his eyes. Those damned gleaming eyes that made a prisoner of her in the water, in the dark, in a crowded hotel lobby in the middle of the day.
‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.
‘I brought you here, remember?’
Stop. She couldn’t take the games. Not tonight. ‘I mean . . . here.’
His eyes read hers. ‘Who else would be swimming in these temperatures at this time of night?’
She blinked at him. ‘You’re ruining your clothes.’ Her voice cracked as the low temperatures and exhaustion, the stress and games caught up with her.
‘A small price to pay.’ He looked at her, concern filling his face as he saw her trembling. He intuitively understood it wasn’t from the cold. ‘Are you OK?’
She shook her head. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Here. Every night.’
‘But�
�’
‘I saw you arrive.’ She remembered the movement at the window. ‘I was trying to let you settle. I thought you might run again.’
He didn’t know that she couldn’t, that she was tethered here for reasons beyond him and that if she ran it would be for reasons beyond him. But she didn’t want to run from him any more. She was lost anyway, and there was only one safety she knew.
She glided over to him, her feet resting delicately on his as he balanced on the rock, and she felt him tense at the touch of her bare body pressing against his, the water moving them together in gentle rhythm, gentle friction. His eyes locked on hers as she ran her hands up his arms and shoulders to the back of his neck. She could see how much he wanted her, he had proved it over and over; his eyes had told her everything from the start. But she knew there was still only one way to start this.
‘Tell me your name,’ she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She watched him sleep, wondering how it was he could look even more beautiful when his eyes were hooded from her. She couldn’t stop looking at him, devouring him rapaciously as he slept deeply beside her, a look of utter calm on his features. He was lying on his back, one arm bent behind his head, and she took in the silky light brown hair of his armpits, the pale underside of his arm, the swell of his biceps, soft for now, the muscular ridges over his stomach, the hint of his ribs below his chest.
She leaned over and lightly kissed his nipple, unable to stop herself, able to still taste the salt on his skin. His clothes, sodden and torn from where he’d pulled them off, were in a ragged heap on the floor; hers were still on the beach. She looked up at him, startled to find him watching her back.
They blinked at each other as last night’s memories replayed between them. She didn’t feel shy, but words were lost to her in his gaze. She had been right to fear this, right to succumb to it. All the pain that had lodged in her over the past week had been dissipated in his arms. She could feel gravity losing its hold on her as he drew her into his orbit, his world, his bed, his body. She felt delirious, almost happy.
In one swift movement, he reached over and pulled her up, settling her on his stomach so that she nearly covered the length of him. Their bodies matched, moulding together perfectly. He clasped her head with his hands and raised his own to kiss her, his stomach rock solid beneath hers. ‘Good morning.’
‘Hi,’ she breathed, not wanting him to stop.
He obliged, kissing her again. ‘Sleep well?’
Clem nodded. Being so close to those eyes, seeing the lust, humour and tenderness dancing through them all at once, she wanted to dive in and play. Now that she’d started, she didn’t want to stop.
‘Are you hungry?’
She almost shivered. His accent gave the words an edge Freddie Haycock, Josh or Jake could never muster. ‘Not for food,’ she murmured, pushing herself up to kiss him again.
He groaned as she opened her legs around him, straddling his hips, and in the next instant, he rolled her in one fluid movement onto her back, pinning her beneath him. She arched up into him as he kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, before finding her mouth again, his hands covering hers, and sliding her arms back above her head. She moaned, both helpless and helpless with desire.
‘Clem, Clem,’ he murmured, his eyes blackened with lust. ‘I think you will be the undoing of me.’
She laughed, hooking her ankles around him and keeping him as tightly pinned to her as she was to him. So long as they never had to leave this room, everything would be OK.
‘Gabriel.’
Chad looked up at her in surprise as she dropped her bag on the cobbles and sat down in the chair beside him. A white Americano coffee was already waiting for her.
He shifted position and regarded her carefully, taking in her loose-limbed movements and flushed skin, the provocative look in her eyes. ‘I see,’ he murmured, a slow, hesitant grin beginning to climb over his face. ‘So then things just became—’
‘A lot less complicated? Yes.’ She sipped her coffee, looking at him across the rim. ‘But discretion is the better part of valour. Please keep it to yourself. I’m only telling you because we’re working so closely together.’
‘Well, I’m glad you told me,’ he nodded, beaming broadly now. He looked out to sea. ‘Wow!’
Clem giggled, looking around them with an ease that would have been unthinkable twenty-four hours earlier. She felt protected, cocooned now, as if her heart had been bubble-wrapped and anything that tried to get in would simply bounce off her. ‘Any joy with the tweeds?’
‘Joy?’ he repeated, amused by her newly buoyant vocabulary. ‘Sure Check this out.’ He opened up the iPad and brought up some images, flicking from page to page slowly. ‘I’ve got samples being couriered over for these ones,’ he said, pointing to a honey tweed with blue vertical thread, and a mossy green with a red thread. ‘Should be here this arvo.’
Clem rolled her eyes at the Australianism – put on for her benefit – as she watched a photogenic couple jog across the piazzetta from the castle and into the near corner that would take them inland. Did Gabriel run? He must do. He exuded athleticism, a low-key but sharp strength and stamina that he’d proved time and again over the last thirty-two hours. She checked her watch. He would be back at ten tonight. Twelve hours to go. She could hardly bear it.
‘Oh my God, look at you!’ Chad chuckled. ‘You’re grinning like a crazy woman.’
‘Am I? Sorry.’
‘You’re a goner, you know that, right?’
Clem bit her lip, trying to contain her delight. She’d been a goner long before she’d ever kissed him. Long before she’d known his name. He’d captured her that night at the Electric, that night . . .
Her smile disappeared. Fleur. She’d forgotten all about her. That day in Claridge’s he had said he’d end it with her there and then, but had it just been a line? This girl had, after all, attended a meeting for remodelling his house and boat, which was hardly something she would do if their relationship was just a casual thing. Then again, he’d got Clem doing exactly the same thing, remodelling his house and boat to her vision, before she’d even known his name. How many other women did he have, all thinking they were number one in his life? Stella and Tom had been right that day when they’d landed the contract – she never usually cared if they had girlfriends, but she felt fattened by the thought now.
She tried to push the thoughts out of her mind, looking around them. It was early May and high season was just beginning, but the port was already almost at capacity, with tourists taking photos of themselves down by the water’s edge, and the outside tables of the cafés and bars all taken. She watched in a new subdued silence as awnings were steadily rolled out, parasols put up; the sun was making its way over the hills behind them and throwing beams like bombs into the port.
Not that the white-hot glare was a problem for Clem. She was already incognito in her Tom Ford shades – the khaki green ones – worn with flip-flops and an easy grey-marl drop-waist minidress. No leather today As Chad had said, it was getting too hot.
She watched a three-legged dog trot across the square, scaring off the pigeons that were pecking fishy remnants on the slipway
‘Are you seeing anyone, Chad?’ she asked.
‘Engaged actually My fiancée lives in Rome.’
She tried to imagine him as a groom. Today he was wearing pale purple jeans, a white linen shirt and a grey v-necked cardigan. She didn’t see him in morning suit or black tie. ‘Rome? But then what are you doing here?’
‘Gotta go where the work is.’ He shrugged. ‘I get back often enough and most weekends.’
‘She must miss you.’
‘She’s a busy girl. She’s got her own things going on.’
‘Is she Aussie as well?’
‘Native Roman. We met when I did up her father’s place.’
Clem smiled. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Fiammetta.’
‘Beautiful
.’
‘Yeah, she is. Most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. She’s like one of their statues come to life.’
‘I’m really happy for you, Chad.’
He looked across at her and patted her hand. ‘I’m really happy for you. I thought you were the saddest girl I’d ever seen when we met last week.’
She tried to smile it off. ‘I’ve had a lot going on.’ Understatement of the century.
‘Well, I’m glad things have turned out right. Now you can spend all Gabriel’s money without any concerns at all.’
That did make her laugh. ‘Exactly.’
Her phone beeped and she knew without looking at it that it was Stella. She hadn’t picked up her messages at all yesterday, which was tantamount to placing an obituary in The Times.
‘WTF? What’s going on? Text back NOW or calling Interpol.’
She rolled her eyes and tapped back as Chad asked for the bill.
‘NOW.’
‘Hafuckingha. Was worried!’
‘Don’t be. All good here.’
‘Good how?’
Clem paused. ‘I know his name.’
‘*screaming*’
‘I can hear you from here.’
‘Good?’
‘Too good.’
‘No such thing. Jealous!’
‘We’ll see.’
‘STOP that. Enjoy him. Is three-month limit in place?’
‘Hopefully.’
‘Hopefully? Hopefully not then.’
The waiter came over with the bill and Chad paid. Clem could see the uniformed driver, Luigi, walking towards them.
‘Gotta go.’
‘Call me later. Insist.’
‘Fine x’
She rose and picked up her bag. They were driving down to the boatyard today – the wind had picked up and the water was too rough for an hour-long journey – to start consulting together on the interior spec. It was much more Clem’s forte and she was looking forward to it. Most boats were fitted out with marine leather finishes, as it was waterproofed and easy to keep clean from the twin corrosives of salt and sandy rain. She had been mugging up on the very latest technologies the week before she’d flown out, and had a file full of ideas, but she still needed Chad’s input for areas like the bathrooms and entertaining salons. ‘I’m just going to the loo,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you in the car in a minute.’