nothing at all to say about Rosa’s career successes. Anna probably didn’t even know that Rosa was booked up months in advance, when she wanted to be, by publications looking for her particular style of photo journalism. Rosa was making quite a name for herself in her industry, not that it would mean anything to Anna and their father. Anything that happened outside the dreaming spires of Oxford’s academic elite simply didn’t matter to either of them.
Oh, well. La Isla Marina might not be huge, in island terms, but it had plenty of hidden corners and secret places—and Rosa had discovered all of them over the years. From secret coves for skinny-dipping to secluded bars and ‘relaxation zones’ dotted between the bungalows, Rosa could always disappear when she needed to. And if the worst came to the worst, she could pick up one of the island’s boats and head across to the mainland and Cala del Mar for some truly excellent tapas and views.
And she didn’t have to stay long. She never did. Her modus operandi was get in, get what she needed, and move on again. Always had been. It served her well in her work, and she had a feeling it would serve her just as well on La Isla Marina this week. She loved her mother dearly, but it was generally better for everyone if they didn’t spend more than a couple of weeks in each other’s company. They were just too alike—in the same way that she and Anna were just too different—to get along all the time.
It was all about identifying objectives. On assignments, she knew which shots she needed to tell the story that was playing out before her. Here, it was about reassuring her mother, making sure that everything was stable on the island again, then moving on guilt free.
Chances were, Anna would already have done all the hard work for her, and Rosa could be on her way again inside the week. There was a situation in Russia that she’d been keen to get closer to...
A pang of guilt twanged through her as she thought about her sister. How bad had things on the island really had to get for Sancia to call her? And how mad would Anna be that Rosa had left her to deal with it?
The thing was, it wouldn’t have mattered if Rosa had taken the first flight out. Anna, based over in Oxford, would still have beaten her there by sheer virtue of time zones and air miles. Which meant that Anna would have already taken charge, and taken over the island.
Anna had always made it very clear that she expected to do everything herself, her way, and to feel martyred about it afterwards. So really, what point had there been in rushing?
Besides, it wasn’t as if Sancia had dragged Anna away from anything important. Probably. Last time they’d spoken, Anna had been busy living up to their father’s academic ideals, and giving up any semblance of fun or a social life to mother him excessively in Sancia’s absence—despite the fact Professor Ernest Gray was an intelligent, grown man who could clearly take care of himself.
Rosa couldn’t really imagine that that situation might have changed in the last three years.
Three years. Had it really been three years since she last spoke to Anna? Three years since their grandfather died? Three years since she’d yelled back a whole host of home truths at her sister, then left the country? Three years since she’d been back in England, or to La Isla Marina? Three years since...well. She wasn’t thinking about that. About him.
She’d made a point of not thinking about Jude Alexander for a grand total of thirty-six months. She wasn’t breaking that streak now.
It was just that it was all tied up together in her head. That awful argument with Anna, everything that happened with Jude, why she had to get out of the country...and now, knowing she was about to see Anna again had brought it all back.
Well, tough. She was going to rock up to the villa, deal with her sister, hug her mother, accept the inevitable offer of a glass of wine, check that everything was fine now, and make plans for leaving again.
Easy.
Hopefully.
With a sigh, Rosa shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and carried on walking. She’d already lingered on the side of the path longer than necessary. The last thing she wanted was one of the guests reporting some suspicious character with a bag loitering in the greenery.
She frowned. Actually, she hadn’t seen any guests. At all.
It was late May; the island should be teeming with holidaymakers, enjoying all the luxuries the resort had to offer. So where was everyone?
Unless things were worse than she thought...
Rosa quickened her step and, in a brief few minutes, found herself standing in the cool, tiled reception area of the central villa. White arches soared overhead, leading to small, secluded balconies with wrought-iron bars and plenty of brightly coloured cushions on their chairs. Just beyond the main area, through wide open doors, was the central courtyard, with reflecting pool and more lush potted greenery, and plenty of places to sit and take in the view. In high season, it was used as the main restaurant area for breakfasts, and even now it should be buzzing with early evening cocktail seekers.
It was empty. As was the reception desk.
Refusing to ring a bell in her own home, Rosa dropped her bags by the desk, bypassed the winding staircase to the upper levels, and the hidden doorway that led to the private, family quarters. Instead, she moved through the courtyard, and out the other side of the villa onto the sheltered patio that overlooked the beaches and the wide expanse of turquoise sea on the more exposed side of the island.
There, at last, she found signs of life, and her family. If not exactly the ones she’d been expecting.
She froze, her chest tightening, as if she were preparing to run—or hide. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her?
‘Dad?’ Rosa pulled her sunglasses off to be absolutely sure of what she was seeing. Nope, she hadn’t imagined it. There, looking incongruous in a white shirt and stone-coloured jacket over chinos, and a panama-style hat, sat Professor Ernest Gray himself, a thousand miles and more away from where Rosa had expected him to be, locked up in the ivory towers at Oxford.
Of course, he was playing Scrabble with a dark-haired guy who had his back to her, so he was still finding some way to demonstrate his mental prowess. As usual. Rosa pitied his opponent.
Except now she’d drawn his attention, she’d given him a new target. It could only be a matter of time now before he turned his sharp mind and sharper words onto her—her choice of career, her lack of education, her inability to stay in one place, her unreliability... How could he possibly get through all her faults in one short visit?
‘Rosa.’ Her father inclined his head towards her, without smiling. ‘Your mother told us you’d be joining us. Eventually.’
And that was about all the family love and welcome she could expect from him, Rosa supposed. What was he even doing here? As far as she knew, he’d had as little contact with Sancia as possible, after she left, and they’d been separated ten years or more now. In all that time he’d certainly never visited the island that she’d escaped to. Why would he? Following Sancia to La Isla Marina would have been tantamount to admitting that he’d made a mistake, given her reasons to leave him. And if Rosa understood one thing about her father it was that Professor Ernest Gray would never admit that he was wrong.
So what could have brought him here now? Were things worse than she thought? Maybe it wasn’t the island that had Sancia panicked. Maybe it was something else. She should have got here sooner...
Her
