‘You’re smiling?’ He sounded incredulous, as well he might.
‘Yes, that’s stupid. And yes, I was really stupid.’ Enough with the scrubbing—any more and she’d start taking off wood. She tossed her brush into the bucket and stood up, leaning against the rail and letting the sun comfort her. How to explain Kieran? ‘My father had just died, and I was bleak and miserable. Kieran came into port and he was just…alive. I met him on the wharf one night, we went dancing and I fell in love. Only even then I knew I wasn’t in love with Kieran. Not with the person. I was in love with what he represented. Happiness. Laughter. Life. At the end of a wonderful week he sailed away and two weeks later I discovered our precautions hadn’t worked. I emailed him to tell him. He sent me a dozen roses and a cheque for a termination. The next time I emailed, to tell him I was keeping our baby, there was no reply. There’s been no reply since.’
‘Do you mind?’ he said gently.
‘I mind that Kieran didn’t have a chance to meet his son,’ she said. ‘It was his loss. Matty was wonderful.’ She pulled herself together and managed to smile again. ‘But I’d imagine all mothers say that about their babies. Any minute now I’ll be tugging photographs out of my purse.’
‘It would be my privilege to see them.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Why would I not?’
Her smile faded. She searched his face and saw only truth.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, disconcerted. She was struggling to understand this man. She’d accepted this job suspecting he was another similar to Kieran, sailing the world to escape responsibility, only the more she saw of him the more she realized there were depths she couldn’t fathom.
She had armour now to protect herself against the likes of Kieran. She knew she did—that was why she’d taken the job. But this man’s gentle sympathy and practical help were something new. She tried to imagine Kieran scrubbing a deck when he didn’t have to, and she couldn’t.
‘So where’s your family?’ she asked, too abruptly, and she watched his face close. Which was what she was coming to expect. He’d done this before to her, simply shutting himself off from her questions. She thought it was a method he’d learned from years of employing casual labour, setting boundaries and staying firmly behind them.
Maybe that was reasonable, she conceded. Just because she’d stepped outside her personal boundaries, it didn’t mean he must.
‘Sorry. I’ll put the buckets away,’ she said, but he didn’t move and neither did she.
‘I don’t like talking of my family.’
‘That’s okay. That’s your right.’
‘You didn’t have to tell me about your son.’
‘Yes, but I like talking about Matty,’ she said. She thought about it. It wasn’t absolutely true. Or was it?
She only talked about Matty to Cathy, to Susie, to those few people who’d known him. But still…
‘Talking about him keeps him real,’ she said, trying to figure it out as she spoke. ‘Keeping silent locks him in my heart and I’m scared he’ll shrivel. I want to be able to have him out there, to share him.’ She shrugged. ‘It makes no sense but there it is. Your family…you keep them where you need to have them. I’m sorry I intruded.’
‘I don’t believe you could ever intrude,’ he said, so softly she could hardly hear him. ‘But my story’s not so peaceful. My father died when I was seven. He and my grandfather…well, let’s just say they didn’t get on. My grandfather was what might fairly be described as a wealthy thug. He mistreated my grandmother appallingly, and finally my father thought to put things right by instigating legal proceedings. Only when it looked like my father and grandmother might win, my grandfather’s thugs bashed him—so badly he died.’
‘Oh, Ramón,’ she whispered, appalled.
‘It’s old history,’ he said in a voice that told her it wasn’t. It still had the power to hurt. ‘Nothing could ever be proved, so we had to move on as best we could. But my grandmother never got over it. She died when I was ten, and then my mother and my sister were killed in a car accident when I was little more than a teenager. So that’s my family. Or, rather, that was my family. I have an aunt I love, but that’s all.’
‘So you don’t have a home,’ she said softly.
‘The sea makes a wonderful mistress.’
‘She’s not exactly cuddly,’ Jenny retorted before she thought it through, and then she heard what she’d said and she could have kicked herself. But it seemed her tongue was determined to keep her in trouble. ‘I mean…Well, the sea. A mistress? Wouldn’t you rather have a real one?’
His lips twitched. ‘You’re asking why don’t I have a woman?’
‘I didn’t mean that at all,’ she said, astounded at herself. ‘If you don’t choose to…’
But she stopped herself there. She was getting into deeper water at every word and she was floundering.
‘Would you rate yourself as cuddly?’ he asked, a slight smile still playing round his mouth, and she felt herself colouring from the toes up. She’d walked straight into that one.
He thoroughly disconcerted her. It was as if there was some sort of connection between them, like an electric current that buzzed back and forth, no matter how she tried to subdue it.
She had to subdue it. Ramón was her boss. She had to maintain a working relationship with him for a year.
‘No. No!’ She shook her head so hard the tie came loose and her curls went flying every which way. ‘Of course I’m not cuddly. I got myself in one horrible mess with Kieran, and I’m not going down that path again, thank you very much.’
‘So maybe the sea is to be your partner in life, too?’
‘I don’t want a partner,’ she said with asperity. ‘I don’t need one, thank you very much. You’re very welcome to your sea, Mr Cavellero, but I’ll stick to cooking, sailing and occasional scrubbing. What more could a woman want? It sounds like relationships, for both of us, are a thing of the past.’ And then she paused. She stared out over Ramón’s shoulder. ‘Oh!’ She put her hand up to shade her eyes. ‘Oh, Ramón, look!’
Ramón wheeled to see what she was seeing, and he echoed her gasp.
They’d been too intent on each other to notice their surroundings—the sea was clear to the horizon so there was no threat, but suddenly there was a great black mound, floating closer and closer to the Marquita. On the far side of the mound was another, much smaller.
The smaller mound was gliding through the water, surfacing and diving, surfacing and diving. The big mound lay still, like a massive log, threequarters submerged.
‘Oh,’ Jenny gasped, trying to take in what she was seeing. ‘It’s a whale and its calf. But why…’
Why was the larger whale so still?
They
