“I’ve already had my lucky break,” Helen said, heaping food onto the paper plate Marcio placed in front of her.
“What do you mean?”
Helen hadn’t told Marcio about the picture of Rosa, not wanting to sound as if she were bragging. As she explained now she felt her face growing hot as Marcio’s expression became one of disbelief.
“Do you think I’m not a proper photographer, because my first assignment was pure fluke?” Helen felt hurt but could think of no other explanation for his expression.
“No, don’t be daft. You took that picture? Of all the freaky coincidences. I have that photograph on my wall to remind me we are none of us destined to be just one person in life.”
“Really? Are you sure it isn’t just because Rosa looks hot?” Helen raised an eyebrow at Marcio and thought it rather endearing when he blushed.
“That, too.”
Helen smiled, but then gave a little sigh. “I still say it was luck. I haven’t taken anything half as good since.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, I had a sneaky peak at your pictures, some of them are very striking.” Marcio settled back, chewing his food thoughtfully.
Helen sighed again.
“That’s not the normal response to good feedback!” Marcio teased her, “You’re meant to be pleased, or at least receive the compliment gracefully.”
“Sorry, of course it’s lovely you think that. I miss my job, that’s all.” She took a bite of food and pondered on the melancholy feelings. “I never thought I’d say it, but there is something to be said for the predictability of working nine-to-five. Not to mention maternity leave and a guaranteed income when you’re ready to get back to the grindstone.”
“So why not try and get your old job back? What did you do before his highness decreed you should wait on him hand and foot?”
Helen chuckled at the portrait of Daniel. “I was an executive assistant.” She saw Marcio’s bewildered expression and giggled. “That’s a secretary to you. A good one. That’s how I met Daniel; we worked in the same office, though thankfully I wasn’t his assistant. That would have been just too corny.”
“There must be other companies in the city that need good executive assistants,” he rolled the words round his mouth experimentally before popping in an olive.
“There are, of course, but it’s such an incestuous world. Everyone knows someone who knows someone. I would never be sure whether people were gossiping about me behind my back, especially being pregnant.” Helen nodded as Marcio offered her a glass of sparkling water, gratefully taking the plastic cup from him and sipping the chilled liquid.
“So, let them gossip, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Helen laughed, glad of the sun to warm the chill that rose up when she thought about work, about her last lunch with Marie.
“Have you ever worked in an office? Unless you have iron skin it’s hard not to care what people are saying, particularly because they have a tendency to judge your work ability by what they heard about you on the grapevine.” She laughed, as she remembered something. “I’ve had colleagues who judged ability on whether a person took time to straighten their hair in the morning. Can you imagine working in that environment with twins? I’ll probably be lucky if I manage to shower once a week.”
“Sounds like you’re best out of it. What about outside the city? You could always look a bit further afield. The world doesn’t stop at the M25 you know!”
“Oh I know, but who would hire me anyway?” She put on her best PA voice, “Hello, I’m Helen, lovely to meet you. Yes I’d love to work for you, but I’m about to have twins and go on maternity leave for at least half a year, is that okay?” She took another sip of water and hoped that Marcio would change the conversation. It didn’t seem right to spoil such a gorgeous day thinking about it all.
“Surely they’re not allowed to discriminate against that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, probably not, but it wouldn’t be hard to find another reason to choose someone else would it? It’s not exactly rocket science; the kind of skills people are looking for are hard to quantify. Easy to claim I’m not the best candidate for the job.”
Marcio settled back on the deck and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the white sails billowing in the offshore breeze. “Maybe the twins will be so photogenic you’ll be able to hire them out for commercials, then they can pay their own way.”
Helen followed Marcio’s example, lying on her side and propping her head up on one arm. She surveyed his profile silently, feeling content for the first time in a long time. It was a feeling she could get used to.
“What about you?” She said eventually. “Do you ever tire of wondering where the next paycheque is coming from?”
“Only until I clear my debts.” He turned his head to look at Helen. “Aborting a wedding with all the guests already sat in the church leaves a lot of bills.”
“I expect there are quite a few bills from my aborted wedding too. I do hope Daniel isn’t expecting me to pay for them? Surely Mia should be picking up the tab?”
“I haven’t had the inclination to ask her. To be honest, until our chat the other night, I couldn’t even imagine going within a hundred yards of her. But you made me see it in a different light and now I don’t want to burden her new life with worries about how to pay off the old one.”
“Very noble,” Helen commented, “if a bit stupid.” She let the laughter in her voice soften her words. “So, when you’ve cleared the debts, what then?”
“Who knows? I had planned to move back here with Mia, finish renovating this baby,” he caressed the deck lovingly, “then maybe run charters when I wasn’t writing. Now, the future’s wide open.”
He rolled onto his side to face her, mirroring her posture, and reached out with his free hand to brush some hair away from her face.
“The future’s looking a whole lot brighter,” he said huskily, stroking her cheek. He cupped his hand around her neck and pulled her face gently towards his. “As long as you’re in it, the future can be whatever it wants to be.”
He brushed her lips with his and, when she didn’t pull away, kissed her soft and deep, the fingers entwined in her copper locks saying louder than words that he never wanted to let her go.
Chapter Eleven
Helen woke some time later, with the sun well past midday. She sat up with a start and looked at her watch. Reaching over to shake the sleeping form next to her, she hissed, “Marcio, Marcio, it’s past three. My flight’s at six.”
Marcio stretched languidly, his naked chest inviting Helen like a freshly made bed. Slowly pulling his t-shirt over his tousled hair, his muffled voice came through the cotton. “I can’t believe we fell asleep!”
Helen couldn’t believe it either. It wasn’t even as if they’d made love, although she felt they both would have succumbed had the other suggested it. Instead they’d kissed for a long time before wrapping each other close in a comforting embrace. The rich food and warm sun had done the rest. Looking above her head at the sail that Marcio had unfurled, even though they were at anchor, she was grateful for its protection from the sun’s rays, otherwise she’d be lobster red by now..
Eventually Marcio was on his feet and reaching down to pull her upright. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you to the airport for your flight.”
“Are you always this relaxed?” Helen looked nervously at her watch again. She couldn’t afford to stay another night at the hotel and wasn’t ready to consider alternative sleeping arrangements just yet.
“I am when I’ve had such a relaxing afternoon,” he brushed her hair away from her face, dropped a quick kiss on her swollen lips, before striding to the helm to take them back to the harbour.
It turned out Marisol could move quite quickly when the need arose and they were soon packed into Marcio’s car and heading for the airport.
The atmosphere in the car was again tense, but this time it wasn’t through awkwardness but reserve
. Neither wanted to broach what happened next. Even though they both lived in London most of the time, it was one thing to have a fling in Spain, another to start a relationship in the city, where their respective histories would seem more of a barrier.
Marcio knew without a doubt, however, that he wanted to see Helen again and soon.
“Can I call you?” he asked, just as Helen was about to speak.
“Yes, of course.” She searched through her bag for a pen and something to write on. Scribbling furiously she wrote her phone number and email address. She was about to add her home address too but didn’t want to come across as too forward. She tucked the paper into his shirt pocket.
“When will you be back in London?” Helen couldn’t quite get the longing out of her voice.
“Sooner than when you asked me last time.” He rubbed her knee without taking his eyes from the busy street ahead. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back. I won’t try and call from the vineyard, the line is unreliable and it’s very hard to make conversation. But I’ll be back in a few days.”
Helen looked out the window as Marcio negotiated the turn into the airport. All too soon they were parked outside Departures and Marcio was unloading her bag from the boot of his car.
“I’d love to come in and wait with you,” he murmured into her ear as they embraced as best they could around her bump, “but mother will be expecting me for dinner.” He knew it was an excuse to mask the fact that he couldn’t bear to watch her leave.
“It’s fine, there isn’t long before take-off. Give my regards to your family.”
Marcio stroked her hair and kissed the soft skin under her ear. She shivered and felt a weakness in her knees that had no right to be there. Holding tight and burying herself in his warmth, Helen wasn’t sure how she would find the strength to let go. She hadn’t realised how lonely she had been before, until now when she felt cared for again. It was a sensation she didn’t want to lose a second time. Then one of the babies kicked hard and Marcio broke off, laughing.
“Ow! Okay I take a hint.” He addressed the bump, as he ran his hand over the surface and was rewarded with another kick.
“You two take care of your mummy, okay?”
He looked up to see Helen trying to smile. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he stroked her face gently. “I’ll see you all soon.” With that he turned abruptly and got back into his car. Another vehicle was waiting impatiently to take his parking space, so he gave a swift wave and was gone.
Helen stood watching the car weave its way through the departing traffic. Her mind swam in a sea of unidentified emotions. Another kick from one of her babies brought her back to the present and the urgent need to get checked in for her flight. Time enough to analyse what she was feeling when she was safely on board the aircraft.
Once he was free of traffic and on the main road out of the airport, Marcio took the paper from his top pocket and quickly contemplated the two pieces of information that were now the only things connecting him to Helen. Her email address looked to be some sort of nickname followed by numbers. He wondered idly if she had changed it to something obscure to stop Daniel finding her, or if it were merely a remnant of her student days. It wasn't great for a freelancer; he could see she might need some friendly advice on that front.
He smiled. The idea of a future where they could discuss freelancing and other things made his heart billow and swell like a sail full of wind.
Tucking the paper back in his pocket, he returned his attention to the road in front. As he drove away from the airport and followed signs to the hills where his mother lived he had a strong urge to turn instead towards the city, to find an internet cafe where he could email Helen so she would have a message waiting when she got home. There was no internet at the farm, no phone signal for that matter. The solitary writer in him usually cherished the disconnection from the busy world, but today it seemed not just archaic but barbaric.
As he was about to swing the car over to a city centre exit, unexpected doubts flooded his mind. Would she think he was too eager? A stalker even? She had accused him before of stalking her. He knew his own heart, but did she really feel the same? He tried to replay the last 48 hours in his mind but the more he dwelt on it the more elusive it became. He continued on to his mother’s with an increasingly heavy heart.
By the time Marcio arrived at the farm and quietly let himself into the kitchen, his face was pale. His mother was standing at the ancient sink washing up pots, her hair coming loose from its bun, curling around her neck in the steam from the sink. She didn’t hear him enter so he walked over and kissed her cheek.
Turning in greeting, she paused at the sight of his expression. “Marcio, el meu fill, why so melancholy? Where is your pretty lady?” Wiping her hands on a towel, she hugged him and gestured for him to sit at the huge oak table which dominated the kitchen.
Marcio sat wearily, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. He avoided his mother’s gaze as he responded. “She's gone back to London.”
“Ah jo entenc.” His mother’s face brightened with understanding as she poured Marcio a glass of wine and brought it over to him. “You have tenderness for her?” She sat at the table next to him and looked intently at his face. “You are sad to see her leave?”
His mother missed nothing. “I do, I am, but I don't know if she feels the same.” He picked up the wine glass but didn’t drink, merely swirled the deep red liquid round and round.
“Of a certainty she does preciós, she followed you with her eyes.” She paused, letting the idea settle, and smiled when she saw some of the greyness leave her son’s face. “The babies,” she continued, taking her turn now to avoid his gaze, “they are not yours?”
“No of course not.” Marcio sat up and drank some of the wine. “I was not unfaithful to Mia. I'm shocked you think I might have been.”
“I do not think it, but can you be their pare?”
“I wouldn’t want to be their father; by all accounts he’s a… not a very nice man.” He frowned as he thought about all the things Helen hadn’t said about Daniel. The silences had been more damning than the facts. “But could I love them as their father ought? I would hope so. That’s a long way off thankfully. The babies aren’t due for months. Who knows if I’ll still be seeing Helen by then.”
“She seemed just the lady for you, my son. She is beautiful and clever I think. She has empatia, how do you say?”
“Empathy? That’s a strange trait to like her for.”
“No, it is important. She will understand when you choose to sail off for days and write your books. She will support you.”
“What makes you think that? You barely spoke to her at the party.”
“Ah but I have lived long and seen much, el meu fill. Besides, your sisters have been talking.”
Marcio smiled for the first time since his arrival. “Oh I bet they have. Have they married us off already and chosen a house nearby?”
“Not quite all that, but they did not believe you when you said she was a friend only.”
“When I brought her to the party that’s all she was, if that even: I had only known her a few hours.”
“Sometimes that is all it takes.” His mother’s smile was enigmatic and Marcio wondered, for the first time, just how his mother and father had fallen in love. Had they met, like he and Helen, and squashed a two-year courtship into two days?
Marcio thought about the last few days and realised his mother was right. He had only spent 48 hours in Helen’s company and already he felt he knew her better than he had known Mia after a lifetime of friendship. They had clicked in a way he would have considered a terrible cliché if he had written it in one of his books. Maybe sometimes life did play out like a cheesy romance. He certainly hoped it continued that way.
Chapter Twelve
“Here we go, love.”
Helen looked blearily out the window at the familiar sight of her street and sighed with relief. Smiling gratef
ully at the taxi driver, as he retrieved her suitcase from the boot, she handed him a note and indicated he could keep the change. Her arm felt heavy as she tried to fit the key in the lock of her front door. She felt as if she’d been away for a fortnight. Her mind buzzed with everything that had happened in the few short days since she’d left home.
Gathering up the post from the mat Helen didn’t even glance at the envelopes, just balanced the lot on the breakfast bar. Putting her camera and phone both on to charge, ready to start work first thing in the morning, she then stumbled into the bedroom and crawled under the covers fully dressed.
“Helen Morley speaking.”
“Helen, it’s Sharni. How was Barcelona?”
Helen stared out the window at the sun tracing patterns on the white house opposite hers. For some reason she felt reluctant to tell Sharni everything about her trip away; as if it were something precious for just her and Marcio to share. At least for now.
“Good. It was good.” She knew her nonchalant tone wouldn’t fool Sharni and she held her breath waiting for the interrogation.
“Great, I’m glad. Listen, are you free? I need a chat.”
Helen realised there would be no cross-examination. Sharni was clearly too full of her own news.
“I should really be working on the pictures from my trip,”
“Oh…”
“But of course I can spare time for a coffee. Shall we meet at Pops in, say, half an hour?”
“Well, I’m there already, but sure, I can wait.”
Something really was up. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Helen hung up the phone, wondering what on earth had got Sharni so worked up. She wondered if her parents were making a renewed attempt to get their daughter to agree to a husband of their choosing. No chance of that. For all her slight frame and timeless beauty, Sharni had a will of steel.
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