The Secret Cove in Croatia

by Julie Caplin

  Was he enjoying the film? It was difficult to tell; he was keeping himself ramrod straight and upright. Clearly he was avoiding touching her and keeping everything under control.

  Then she caught his mouth twitch.

  ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ she said, nudging him, unable to help herself.

  ‘What, the film? Or the subject matter?’ Nick’s focus on the screen didn’t waver.

  ‘Both.’ Maddie was beginning to think that this had been a bad idea; maybe she should leave him to it and head for bed.

  ‘He’s a caricature; he’s not real. No one is that rude, or that self-entitled.’

  Maddie raised an eyebrow before drawling, ‘We are hot, the boat has been paid for and we’d like to sit down somewhere cool and wait for the rest of our party.’

  Nick flushed and turned to face her, his blue eyes holding a touch of chagrin. ‘OK, I admit I was a bit off that day. But …’

  ‘But what?’ Maddie lifted her head in challenge, her mouth quirking in memory of the imperious words. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook, even if she’d long since forgiven him. ‘You were above the rules? More important than anyone else?’

  He closed his eyes for a second, his mouth twisting before he gave her a rueful smile. ‘I was being a dickhead. Trying too hard to impress Tara. Be something I wasn’t.’ He reached out and touched her forearm. ‘I apologise for being an arse.’

  She forced herself not to react to his touch. Oh, shit, she wanted him to touch her again, to stroke her skin with those warm hands. She was turning into a nutcase.

  ‘Apology accepted,’ she said primly.

  Nick rolled his eyes before asking with a quick dimpled grin, ‘And you weren’t being a tad passive-aggressive and deliberately difficult at all?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, folding her arms, all innocence, charmed by the mischief in his voice. But his words gave her pause for thought; if she were honest she had been deliberately antagonistic. ‘OK, perhaps I could have handled it a bit better. I did have a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I thought you were some rich posh bloke, throwing your weight around.’

  ‘Truce?’ suggested Nick and this time he nudged her, leaving his forearm next to her, his body relaxing into the space so that they were now thigh to thigh.

  ‘Truce,’ agreed Maddie, swallowing, all too aware of the hair on his thighs teasing the nerve endings of her skin. She needed to focus on the film. Forget he was here.

  She woke, her cheek pressed against something soft and warm and a buzzing noise coming from the television speakers. Slowly she lifted her head from Nick’s chest. His ribcage rose and fell with the slow, even, rhythmic breaths of deep sleep. A small sigh eased from her. It was tempting to snuggle back in and enjoy the fantasy. For a moment she held her breath, conscious of the weight of his arm across her shoulders, not wanting to wake him.

  Outside, the reflected lights twinkled in the ink-black sea and she could hear the sound of low-level chatter of people on one of the other boats, their laughter bouncing across the water. She looked at her watch; it was one o’clock in the morning and around the harbour most of the bars and restaurants were closed.

  With his head tilted back against the sofa, Nick looked so much better and so peaceful, compared to the fitful sleep he’d had last night; she was loath to wake him. Perhaps she should just find a blanket and cover him.

  Those long eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks and he stirred slightly.

  His eyes opened, blue and confused for a minute, and then he gave her a sweet, sleepy smile at complete odds with sharp planes of his masculine face. ‘Hey, Maddie,’ he said, his voice raspy and low.

  Her heart went clunk and her mouth dry. Oh, lord, she was in so much trouble. She’d been fighting this ever since she’d met him but … in that moment, she wanted to kiss Nick Hadley. She wanted him to kiss her back. This was bad news. Her eyes widened and his expression softened. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Er … um … er … yeah.’ She couldn’t even string a sentence together and he was looking at her with such gentleness in his eyes. He closed them and with the arm around her shoulders pulled her back into him with a sigh.

  Maddie closed her eyes. He was obviously still half asleep. Carefully, she disengaged herself with a pang when his hold momentarily tightened.

  Then his eyes opened and refocused as he pushed his hand through his hair. ‘What time is it? I must have dozed off.’

  ‘It’s one o’clock. I fell asleep too.’

  ‘Wow, I guess we both missed the end of the film then.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maddie, trying to sound casual, as if waking up in his arms was nothing to write home about, despite the fact that her limbs all seemed soft and pliable.

  ‘I’m not surprised; you must be shattered.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Thanks for staying with me last night.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ Maddie tried to brush his words off but he picked up her hand.

  Surely he could hear the galloping of her heart, thudding away in the silence of the salon.

  ‘No, seriously, it was really kind of you. I don’t think I said thank you properly. You didn’t have to and … when I was feeling really wretched in the middle of the night – I hate being sick – it was so reassuring to have someone there.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad I helped.’ She wanted to snatch her hand out of his grasp in case she betrayed herself by doing something stupid like squeezing it back. Like she was doing right now.

  ‘You more than helped.’ His fingers rubbed over hers and she glanced down at where their fingers were linked and then back at his face. The moment took on a life of its own as they stared at each other, neither of them able to look away. She could hear buzzing in her ears as his eyes darkened, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

  ‘Uh, it’s late. We should get some sleep.’ Maddie pulled her hand away.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Nick, rising slowly and a little clumsily to his feet. She put a hand out to steady him and he turned and grasped it to pull her to her feet. ‘Bedtime.’

  ‘Yes. What time do you think you’ll be up?’

  ‘Why?’

  She lifted her shoulders.

  ‘I can get my own coffee.’

  ‘I know, but …’

  He shook his head and squeezed her hand. ‘You are not on duty for the next few days. Let’s just enjoy the peace and quiet. If you’re good I might show you the secret of how to make the perfect bacon butty!’

  ‘There’s a secret?’

  ‘There is and if you’re good I’ll make them for you for breakfast.’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’

  He lifted one eyebrow.

  She sighed. ‘All right.’

  Nick smiled. ‘Most people would be grateful for a lie-in.’

  ‘I just feel … I’m taking advantage.’

  ‘If it weren’t for me, you’d have the boat to yourself.’

  ‘There is that,’ Maddie conceded, although she wasn’t quite so sure that she wanted the boat all to herself any more.

  Chapter 23

  Sipping at her coffee, Maddie watched as a bird skimmed the water beside the boat, dipping its wings before arcing back up into the sky. The boat next door was preparing to leave and bustled with activity, the engine churning up the water and the captain at the helm, while two of the crew unwound the lines from the mooring posts. They gave her a friendly wave as they jumped on board and the boat puttered away, out along the channel towards the open sea.

  Maddie tipped her neck back and looked up at the sky, her eyes tracking the distant, almost translucent puffball clouds that contrasted with the pure blue backdrop. Another glorious day, the sort that made you glad to be alive. Across the street, the sun warmed the pale stone of the buildings opposite, making them glow with a golden hue. As she stood on the boat, her feet square against the rocking motion with the swell of the departing boat, she smiled to herself. Life didn’t get much better than this. Her eyes scanned
the building opposite, committing the details to memory: the tall square windows with battered green wooden shutters, the heavy stone lintels and the vine tracing its way up to the balconies. Each of these were filled with a profusion of different-sized pots bursting with vivid scarlet geraniums, which were also peeping their way through the wrought iron railings fencing the flight of steps that led up to a pair of doors flanked by a pair of olive trees in enormous terracotta pots.

  A steady stream of people carrying beach bags and mats walked past in colourful T-shirts and shorts, ambling with that all-the-time-in-the-world holiday gait: couples hand in hand, small family groups pushing buggies bursting to the gunnels with water wings, Lilos and parasols, all heading out of the little town, clearly ready for a day of swimming and sunshine. Maddie breathed in; the air here felt so clean and fresh, with the tang of the sea in the air along with the scent of pine.

  She turned, hearing Nick’s footsteps coming along the deck, ignoring the sudden lift of her heart.

  ‘Morning. What a beautiful day.’ He came to stand beside her, looking at the view.

  ‘It is. And you look so much better.’

  ‘I feel better, completely human. Ready for coffee. That smells good.’ He pointed to the mug in her hand and laughed, stretching his arms up and making his T-shirt ride up. ‘And I wouldn’t have said that yesterday.’

  Maddie averted her eyes. ‘I … I’ll get you some.’

  He turned to look at her, his blue eyes full of teasing reproach. ‘I thought we’d agreed last night. You’re not waiting on me.’

  ‘It’s just coffee.’ She shifted on the spot and took another sip of her drink.

  He tsked. ‘If you were here on your own today, what would you be doing? What plans would you have?’

  She waited a moment before answering. What would he say if she told him she’d like to spend the day with him?

  ‘I’d take a couple of slices of toast up to the top deck with my coffee.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’d sit on the top deck and …’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Paint,’ she said.

  ‘Paint?’ He smiled. ‘Well, you’ve certainly got plenty of inspiration. It is beautiful here.’ He looked at her. ‘What sort of painting do you do?’

  ‘Er … watercolours and sketching, although I use watercolour pencils, easier when you’re travelling.’

  He nodded and then frowned. ‘I feel I should have known you paint. Those sketches you did for Bill were fantastic.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Through my sister. She’s talked about you.’ And then she saw the light bulb moment. ‘You did the mural in her patisserie.’

  Maddie smiled at the memory of the glorious wall painting in Paris. ‘I helped restore it. Touched up would be more accurate.’

  ‘So you can paint.’

  ‘It’s all in the eye of the beholder. Now, I’m going to make breakfast … and I’m making myself a poached egg on toast, which would be good for your stomach. It’s probably still a bit tender and you need to go steady.’

  He didn’t looked terribly thrilled by the idea and she laughed at the sight of the pout on his face. It should have looked ridiculous on a grown man; instead it looked rather endearing.

  With just the two of them on board, life was so much simpler. Chatting to Maddie was easy; there were no uncomfortable silences. Although he couldn’t seem to quash the desire to touch her all the time. He came from a huggy, touchy sort of family; maybe that was it. He just felt comfortable with her. As soon as they finished breakfast, the poached eggs tasting far better than he could have imagined, but perhaps because he was absolutely starving, having eaten nothing for thirty-six hours, he and Maddie took the plates down to the galley and she washed up and he dried with the radio on in the background.

  She was up on the top deck painting and she’d been up there for a couple of hours while he’d been having a WhatsApp exchange with the family on the Hadley Massive group, sharing a series of photos of the view from the boat.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked as he reached the top of the steps, carrying a tray with two tall glasses filled with ice, a slice of lemon and Coca Cola. It was the best excuse he could find to come up and see her. For the last hour his book had failed to keep his attention and he’d wanted to … he’d wanted to be with her.

  Maddie looked round, a pencil in her mouth, a second one in her hand. With her curls piled on top of her head, secured with a colourful scarf, wearing a postbox-red bikini which accentuated her white freckled skin and a sarong wrapped around her waist, she looked every inch the bohemian artist. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she took the pencil out of her mouth and she said, ‘Oh, you star. I’d love one.’

  Her body hid the painting, which was propped up against the sun lounger next to her, but as he stepped closer she pulled the painting towards her like a mother shielding her baby from the sun.

  He put the tray down and handed her a drink.

  ‘Tell me if I’m interrupting,’ he said, trying to work out the expression on her face – not defensive but something, perhaps a touch wary. Was he interrupting? Would she rather he buggered off? And since when had he turned into this needy, wanting-her-approval, bloody idiot? That sickness bug, food poisoning thing had a lot to answer for.

  ‘No, I was ready for a break.’

  ‘Got much done?’ he asked, deliberately casual. OK, he was being nosy; he was dying to see the picture but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

  The sudden beam on her face took his breath away. One minute he was fine, the next someone had punched him in the heart. And suddenly all the weird emotions started to make sense.

  He swallowed. ‘May I see?’

  Her white teeth nibbled at her lip. ‘They’re nothing special.’ Shyness and diffidence coloured her low tones and he felt bad for pushing her.

  ‘If they put that look on your face, they must be,’ he said in a low urgent voice, reaching out and touching her forearm in reassurance. ‘But if you really don’t want to show me, you don’t have to. I’m just being nosy. They’re private.’

  She laughed, the sound sparkling and lively in the still quiet midday air, and then sobered, shaking her head and looking at him with an expression of gratitude.

  ‘What?’ he asked, puzzled but also feeling like he’d won a prize.

  ‘You’ve just shown me a huge truth. I’ve always told myself I’m not a real painter. It’s not something people like me do. But …’ she gave him another dazzling grin that made his pulse kick ‘… if they’re private, then how will I ever know if I could even be a painter?’

  ‘A very good point,’ said Nick, trying to keep his expression bland when inside fireworks were going off and he was experiencing a bit of a hallelujah moment. Then he said with more urgency, ‘Why shouldn’t a person like you be a painter?’

  ‘Because of where I come from.’

  ‘Another planet?’

  ‘No, I grew up in a council house in Birmingham. People like me don’t paint, not unless they’re painters and decorators. The people who do are super-gifted.’

  ‘You studied History of Art. Surely you know plenty of artists that have come from less privileged backgrounds.’ He folded his arms and regarded her with a fierce stare to hide everything that was churning inside him. Somehow it felt as if he’d not really seen her before. How had he missed the way she crackled with light and life or how her glossy curls, threaded with chestnut streaks, glowed in the sunlight? How had he not seen the freckles on her creamy skin, dotting her nose and cheeks, or her wide, mobile mouth that smiled more often than not? He realised he was staring, adding up all her features as if trying to calculate a complicated sum. Luckily she was frowning down at her picture and not paying too much attention to him.

  She didn’t say anything and it hurt that she didn’t believe in herself.

  He spoke again. ‘Like I said last night. You can be anything you want, but sometimes you have to make
compromises along the way. I’d say compromising on the private would be a step in the right direction, wouldn’t you?’

  With a quick smile she lifted her brown eyes, twinkling as usual, and shook her head. ‘You’re very persuasive, Nick Hadley.’

  ‘I know.’ Their eyes met and for a moment there it was again, that quick fizz of something. He lowered his voice, being gentle with her. ‘Are you going to show me?’

  ‘OK,’ she said, lifting her chin in the air like a warrior steeling themself for battle. ‘But you have to promise to be honest.’ She levelled a serious gaze at him. ‘I trust you.’

  Her solemn declaration made his heart hitch.

  ‘If you don’t like them or think they’re crap you have to say so; otherwise there’s no point showing them to you.’

  Nick swallowed. ‘That’s a tough call. A lot of responsibility. It’s all subjective and I’m no expert.’ He paused for a moment, now nervous. ‘Are you pleased with them?’

  ‘I think any artist always thinks they can do better. I suppose I need to take a risk and shove one out of the nest. They’re like little baby birds. Once they’re done they’ll fly or die.’

  ‘OK then, let’s see your fledglings.’

  Leaning forward, she whipped one of the paintings out of the stack of cartridge sheets lying face down on the sunbed, handing it to him as if entrusting him with something that could be easily broken. Trust.

  As soon as he looked at it he took a sharp, sure intake of breath. It wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He laughed out loud.

  ‘Oh my God. This is fantastic. I love that –’ he pointed to the angular dog splashing a chubby baby in the turquoise shallows ‘– and he’s hilarious.’ He leaned closer to study the older man, the sunlight bouncing off the sunglasses perched on his bald head. The picture encompassed several vignettes, stories in themselves on a pebbled beach with the islands beyond. The more he looked at it, the more the picture drew him in. A broad smile broke out over his face, part relief and part genuine pleasure. My goodness, she had talent in spades. She’d brought the people to life with such simple strokes.