by Julie Caplin
Nick shrugged. ‘No, I just wanted to stretch my legs and see something of Split.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘My brother and his wife are avid armchair travellers. If I don’t take the chance to see the city while I’m here, I’ll never hear the end of it. According to TripAdvisor and Dan and Gail, I need to see Diocletian’s Palace, otherwise I might as well have not come.’
‘Yeah, Ivan said it was worth seeing.’
‘You’ve not seen it?’
‘Only a tiny bit the other night and it was impressive,’ she admitted, feeling she ought to try and see a bit more while she could. ‘I might take a quick diversion once I’ve bought the fish from the market and found this bakery and picked up the pastries for breakfast.’ She pulled out her phone and opened up the maps app, trying to work out which direction to head in. The bakery was one Zita had recommended. ‘See you later.’ Holding up her phone, she began to pace back the way they’d just come, then frowned and turned around. Bugger, the little blue dot kept heading in the wrong direction.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ asked Nick.
‘Yes,’ she said defensively, looking down at her screen. Oh, damn, she was going in the wrong direction again. Map reading, even with GPS, was not her forte. Her sense of direction was woeful.
‘Why don’t I come with you to the bakery and then we can both go to Diocletian’s Palace? I’ll help you find both. You don’t even have to talk to me.’
She gave him a considering look. ‘All right then. I might even let you select a couple of buns, if you’re good.’
Nick laughed, his face lighting up. Bugger, he was a good-looking sod after all. Yesterday she’d been too pissed off to take it in properly. He took her phone from her hand and began to walk across the street to one of the small side streets.
‘Buns.’ He emphasized the northern ‘u’. ‘What happened to pastries? I bet you don’t call them that in front of Nina.’
‘God, no, Nina would scalp me.’ She grinned at him as they walked along the narrow stone paved street. ‘She’s rather particular about her patisserie these days.’
‘Yeah, she’s done well.’ He nodded, a proud smile tipping his lips.
‘She certainly has. Her éclairs are to die for. You know they sell out by lunchtime every day?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
They smiled at each other.
‘So how come you don’t have such a strong northern accent? You sound quite posh for a sheep farmer.’
‘Nina been filling you in?’
‘Well, it stands to reason – if she grew up on a sheep farm, you must have done too. Don’t worry, I wasn’t asking about you.’
‘Never thought for a minute you were. And, to answer your question. I got a scholarship to a local independent school. They were big on rugby and it just so happened that all of us, Nina excepted, were pretty handy with a rugby ball.’
‘Ah, that explains it. Public schoolboy.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing!’
‘You do have a bit of a chip on your shoulder, don’t you?’
‘No,’ said Maddie a shade too defensively. It was just that posh people … well, they made her feel stupid, clumsy and uneducated. On her History of Art degree course there’d been an awful lot of very wealthy people who’d grown up being taken to galleries and museums. It had taken her a lot of study and travel to catch up.
‘Up here,’ said Nick, indicating a street corner.
It was a good job Nick was with her, as her basket was quickly filled with delicious Croatian delicacies and she needed a second bag to carry the bread she’d stocked up on because they might not be mooring up again for a few days. Without asking, he took the bulging carrier bag from her.
They wound through tiny streets flanked by white stone buildings which were blinding in the sunlight.
‘I had no idea it was like this,’ exclaimed Maddie when they rounded a tiny corner and found themselves in what looked like a ruined Roman palace, with tall stone columns and windows high in the walls.
They wandered through a maze of tiny streets, munching on a croissant each; neither of them had been able to resist the delicious smell in the bakery and had succumbed as soon as they’d left. The quiet lanes at this time of day were peaceful and shady with interesting little shops, sunken doorways and large stone flags. It was easy to imagine you’d slipped back in time until, turning a corner, they came to a big open square full of cafés and restaurants.
‘Have we got time for a coffee?’ asked Nick.
‘A quick one, but, like you say, they can’t sail without me and as you’re a guest I can blame you if I’m late back.’
‘Or we could grab a cab. It’s quite a long walk back.’
‘If you’re paying,’ said Maddie cheekily.
‘I’m guessing I’m paying for the coffee too,’ said Nick with a roll of his eyes.
‘If you’re offering.’
They chose one of the pavement cafés and sat outside. As it was still early the square was busy with tradespeople pushing trolleys loaded with boxes of fruit and vegetables, waiters laying up tables ready for the lunch crowd and a few eager tourists with sensible walking shoes and guidebooks, clearly anxious to make the most of the day.
‘This is nice.’ Maddie lifted her espresso and toasted Nick. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem. You like espresso?’
‘I acquired a taste for it in Paris.’ It also, she liked to think, made her look more sophisticated but she wasn’t about to admit that to Nick.
‘What were you doing in Paris?’
‘I was there on my year abroad, as part of my degree.’ She still got a kick out of saying that. The first in her family to go to university.
She saw the quick flash of surprise cross his face. ‘Yes, I’m quite old. Thirty. I was a mature student; I didn’t go until I was twenty-six.’
‘I sometimes think it’s better to be a mature student; at least at that age you have a better idea about what you want to do. Rather than fall into the obvious.’ His mouth flattened. ‘What did you do?’
‘History of Art.’
‘Interesting. Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, I bloody loved it. I’ve always liked art … I know, imagine – me, Maddie Wilcox from Selly Oak, wanting to study art.’
‘Why shouldn’t you?’ asked Nick with a curious smile.
‘Because it’s not much bloody use to man nor beast, as my mum likes to remind me.’ She pulled a face and mimicked her mother’s strong Brummy accent. ‘How you going to get a job with a Mickey Mouse subject like that? Not much call for History of Art down Tesco, love.’
‘She has a point, I guess,’ conceded Nick. ‘But what do you want to do? I take it, by the last-minute nature of this job, crewing on a yacht is not your long-term career ambition.’
‘Given I’ve not done a full proper day yet, who knows? But it certainly wasn’t part of my plan.’
‘Do you have a plan?’ Nick’s question sounded almost plaintive.
Maddie stared at the rooftops on the opposite side of the square, wondering what he’d say if she told him what she really, really wanted to do. He followed her gaze and they both stared at the line of the terracotta roof tiles creating a horizon against the pure blue of the sky.
‘Not exactly. I know what I want to do, but …’ She shrugged almost fatalistically. ‘What about you? Did you go to university?’
‘Yes –’ he gave a short self-deprecating laugh ‘– Harper Adams. It’s an agricultural college.’
‘And what’s wrong with that? It sounds eminently practical if you wanted to be a sheep farmer.’
‘Who says I wanted to be a farmer?’ said Nick, suddenly candid, his blue eyes holding hers, and she saw in them a mix of emotions: anger, sadness and confusion.
‘Family expectation?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ said Nick hurriedly. ‘It’s in my blood. I enjoy it.’
Their eyes met and then slid away from
each other and Maddie got the distinct feeling that perhaps Nick was being as circumspect with his true feelings as she was.
‘Well, this has been nice, but unfortunately one of us has to get back to work and real life, otherwise I will turn into a pumpkin. Whereas you have got to get back for a life of decadence and leisure.’
A shadow crossed Nick’s face. ‘Yup, I guess so.’ He peeled some Croatian kuna from his wallet and laid the notes in the saucer with the bill. ‘Back to real life.’
For someone who had nothing to do but laze around being looked after for the next few weeks, he looked remarkably ungrateful about it.
Chapter 7
At exactly nine-thirty Ivan turned on the engines, taking his place at the wheel in the small cockpit area just off the lounge, and the yacht puttered its way out of the marina, heading for the open sea. The boat scythed through the waves, heading towards the green-covered islands in the distance as the sunlight sparkled on the water like silver sparklers.
First port of call was a cove just off a place called Sutivan on the island of Brač, where Ivan promised them the perfect spot for lunch and an afternoon of swimming and paddleboarding.
Breakfast had been relatively quiet as neither Tara, Cory nor Simon emerged before they set sail. Maddie wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or pleased; on the one hand it meant that there were plenty of pastries left over for the next day but, on the other, she’d had to hang on and hang on, leaving the breakfast things out in case they appeared. It also meant she had to tidy away while they were sailing, which was much harder as trying to balance in the small galley wasn’t easy.
She managed to get quite a bit done, singing to herself in the galley, making sure everything was prepared for lunch. Cured meat, a couple of big salads and the fresh bread she’d bought that morning. When she went on deck to check if anyone wanted refreshments, Cory and Tara had now emerged, both looking immaculate in tiny bikinis and matching sarongs, which happened to co-ordinate with each other rather beautifully. Was that accident or design? wondered Maddie.
‘Oh, cabin girl,’ said Tara. ‘Can’t remember your name. Do you have any orange juice?’
Maddie smiled pleasantly. She’d just put everything away and was about to go and clean the cabins and make the beds.
‘It’s Maddie and yes, we do; would you like some?’
‘Is it freshly squeezed?’
‘Um,’ said Maddie, putting on an apologetic face, ‘no, I don’t think it is.’
Tara sighed. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s made from concentrate. I can’t abide that.’
‘I’m not really sure. It’s a local make. So I’m guessing it probably is fresh.’
‘Hmm, have you got any pomegranate juice?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘And I suppose it would be ridiculous to suppose you might have any coconut water.’
‘Yes,’ said Maddie.
‘What, you have got some?’
‘No, I meant … we haven’t got any.’
Tara narrowed her eyes and under her suspicious scrutiny Maddie managed to keep her face impassive. ‘Well, I suppose the orange juice will have to do.’
‘Stop being a bitch, T,’ drawled Simon. ‘The poor girl’s doing her best. It’s not like there’s a Harvey Nicks food store round the corner. The wrong orange juice is not going to spoil that beautiful figure of yours. Come and sit down and tell me all about that friend of yours that got booted off the set in Antibes last week.’
Tara’s eyes suddenly gleamed, avid at the prospect of the opportunity to gossip.
Maddie headed back down the steps into the lounge area towards the galley as Tara called, ‘No ice.’
‘No pleases or thank yous either,’ she muttered and then went pink as she realised that Douglas was sitting poring over one of the charts on the table, a pair of binoculars at his side.
He gave her a sly wink and a gentle smile before picking up the binoculars and peering out to the sea as if he hadn’t heard a thing. At breakfast he’d been so excited about their departure, peppering Ivan with question after question, peering at the charts with him, boyish wonder lighting up his rounded face. Maddie thought if he was presented with his own captain’s hat he’d be as pleased as Punch.
Cleaning cabins was her first port of call. Maddie grinned to herself. Port of call – see, she was right at home already. Grabbing her bucket of supplies, she mounted the small flight of wooden steps leading to the main deck, where she found Siri sitting reading a book on one of the padded seats hugging the V shape of the bow of the boat.
‘Hi, Maddie – isn’t this fab?’ Siri waved her hand at the view – the sunlight sparkling on the water, the choppy waves dancing up and down and the islands ahead of them shimmering with adventure and promise.
‘It’s a gorgeous day, that’s for sure.’
‘Will you get any time off to enjoy it?’ she asked, looking at Maddie’s bucket of cleaning supplies.
Maddie gave her a quick confiding grin. ‘I thought I’d do these cabins first, so that I could be up on deck.’
‘Ah, good plan. And what about later?’
‘Probably not. It’s dependent on what you lot get up to. When you’re on board, I’m on duty.’
‘No rest then, today,’ said Siri, her eyebrows dancing with mischief.
‘Not today, but it sounds blissful if you’re a guest. Swimming and sunbathing in a secluded cove.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Siri, her voice dry. ‘Cory and Tara are like a pair of toddlers; they’ll get bored before too long. I bet you anything Cory will start nagging to go ashore for dinner. And Douglas will give in because he always does. Why do you think we’ve got this whacking great yacht, big enough for about twenty people, and there are just six of us?’
‘He seems very nice,’ ventured Maddie, intrigued by the dynamics of the group and not willing to be drawn to comment. ‘How do you all know each other?’
‘Douglas is my sort of cousin.’
‘Sort of cousin? I’ve never heard of one of those before.’ She raised her eyebrows in a teasing grin.
‘Our parents are best friends. Like the best of friends. Do everything together. Parties. Holidays. And we’re both only children. I call his mum Aunty Margot. We’re the same age, even though he acts as if he’s ten years older, and we’ve been pretty much thrown together throughout our childhood and, yes, he is a lovely man, now. Bloody pain in the arse when he was fourteen.’ She pulled a face. ‘And at sixteen too, actually. But he got better. I quite like him now.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘Ironically, now we’re not stuck with each other, we actually voluntarily spend time together and he’s one of my best friends.’ For a second she looked a touch wistful as her gaze drifted out to sea and then she raised her head and said in a much more matter-of-fact way, ‘Of course, now he’s all grown up he’s as rich as Croesus and …’ her eyes darkened ‘… in love with Cory. And I bloody introduced them. I’m a fashion stylist –’ she lowered her voice ‘– which is why Cory and Tara humour me. They know I could make them look crap on a photoshoot if I wanted to and we cross paths often enough for them to worry about it.’ Her sudden smile was positively Machiavellian. ‘Simon went to school with Douglas; they’ve been friends for ever and he knew Cory from his tennis days.’
‘Am I supposed to know who he is?’ whispered Maddie, looking over her shoulder.
Siri let out a deep, dirty laugh. ‘Yes,’ she said, widening her eyes in mischief.
‘Oh, heck,’ groaned Maddie. ‘Epic fail. He is some sort of celeb?’
‘He thinks he is.’ She paused before adding in a kindlier tone, ‘He used to play tennis – junior Wimbledon doubles finalist, twenty years ago. To be fair, he was pretty good, but he never quite made the grade after that.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Don’t feel too sorry for him; he seems to have built an entire career on it. And he’s not exactly steeped in regret and misery.’
‘Tara is Cory�
��s best frenemy – whatever you do, don’t get caught between the two of them. They’re either joined at the hip or spitting like cats at each other, but it can change in an instant. Never side with one or the other of them.’
‘And Nick?’ asked Maddie casually.
‘The new beefcake. Cute, isn’t he?’ Her eyes gleamed.
Maddie wrinkled her nose. ‘Not my type.’
‘Can’t see him lasting long; he’s not Tara’s usual type. Her usual preference is for someone who can get her onto a red carpet, into a good party or is paparazzi friendly. Maybe this time it’s something more.’ She lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. ‘He’s certainly easy on the eye and not a complete idiot, although time will tell.’ She laughed and waved her book at Maddie. ‘And I am a cynical old harpy. Been in the business too long. Douglas is the best one of the lot of them. Not much to look at but the kindest heart.’ Suddenly she lifted her chin, giving Maddie a quick sharp smile before she went back to her book.
Well, that was enlightening, thought Maddie, making her way to the first of the two guest cabins which were up on this deck, along with Ivan’s and hers. She was intrigued to see how the six guests had spread themselves out among the cabins. As the boat danced through the waves, the wind whipped at her short curls, which had escaped the ponytail she could just scrape her hair into, making her wonder how Cory would keep her incredible hair under control. The first cabin she came to was empty. Given that there were eight cabins between six people, of which four were couples, that wasn’t a big surprise.
The second showed a few sparse signs of occupation. A comb by the bedside table, a book and a phone charger. At the sight of the book, she paused. Someone after her own taste; she loved a good Dick Francis. This one was an ancient and battered copy. Then she smirked. A pair of salmon-pink shorts had been tossed onto the unmade side of the double bed. Pinching her lips, she folded the shorts and laid them neatly on the chest of drawers built into the bulkhead.