The Argus is my favourite of any of the boats we’ve worked on,’ she said. ‘I love its wonderful Art Deco style. It’s from another era of graciousness.’
‘Would you like me to show you around?’ he said.
If she said yes, he would make only a cursory inspection of the luxury bedrooms, the grand stateroom. He did not want her to get the wrong idea. Or to torture himself with thoughts of what could never be.
She shook her head. ‘No need. I’m familiar with the layout,’ she said. ‘We held a corporate party here earlier in the spring. I’d like to catch up with my staff now.’
‘Your waiter has already set up for lunch on the deck.’
‘I’d like to see how it looks,’ she said.
She had a large tan leather bag slung over her shoulder. ‘Let me take your bag for you,’ he said.
‘Thank you, but I’m fine,’ she said, clutching on to the strap.
‘I insist,’ he said. The habits of courtliness and chivalry towards women had been bred into him.
She shrugged. ‘Okay.’ Reluctantly, she handed it to him.
The weight of her bag surprised him, and he pretended to stagger on the deck. ‘What have you got in here? An arsenal of wooden spoons?’
Her eyes widened, and she laughed. ‘Of course not.’
‘So I don’t need to seek out my armour?’
It was tempting to tell her about the suits of medieval armour in the castle he called home. As a boy he’d thought everyone had genuine armour to play with—it hadn’t been until he was older that he’d become aware of his uniquely privileged existence. Privileged and restricted.
But he couldn’t reveal his identity to her yet. He wanted another day of just being plain Tristan. Just a guy getting to know a girl.
‘Of course you don’t need armour. Besides, I wasn’t actually going to hit you with that wooden spoon, you know.’
‘You had me worried back in that kitchen,’ he teased. He was getting used to speaking English again, relaxing into the flow of words.
‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ she said. ‘You’re so much bigger than me, and—’
‘And what?’
‘I...I trusted that you wouldn’t hurt me.’
He had to clear his throat. ‘I would never hurt you,’ he said. And yet he wasn’t being honest with her. Inadvertently, he could hurt her. But it would not be by intent. This was just one day.
‘So what’s really in the bag?’ he asked.
‘It’s only bits and pieces of my favourite kitchen equipment—just in case I might need them.’
‘Just in case the chef can’t do his job?’ he asked.
‘You did want me here to supervise,’ she said, her laughter gone as he reminded her of why she thought she was on board. ‘And supervise I need to. Please. I have to see where we will be serving lunch.’
There was a formal dining area inside the cabin, but Tristan was glad Party Queens had chosen to serve lunch at an informal area with the best view at the fore of the boat. Under shelter from the sun and protected from the breeze. The very professional waiter had already set an elegant table with linen mats, large white plates and gleaming silver.
Gemma nodded in approval when she saw it. Then straightened a piece of cutlery into perfect alignment with another without seeming to be aware she was doing it.
‘Our staff have done their usual good job,’ she said. ‘We’ll drop anchor at Store Beach at lunchtime. That will be very romantic.’
She stressed the final word with a tight twist of her lips that surprised him.
‘I don’t know where Store Beach is, but I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ he said.
‘It’s near Manly, which is a beachside suburb—the start of our wonderful northern beaches. Store Beach is a secluded beach accessible only from the water. I’m sure you and your...uh...date will like it.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘In the meantime, it’s only ten o’clock. We can set up for morning tea or coffee now, if you’d like?’
‘Coffee would be good,’ he said. Sydney had surprised him in many ways—not least of which was with its excellent European-style coffee.
Gemma gave the table setting another tweak and then stepped away from it. ‘All that’s now lacking is your guest. Are we picking her up from another wharf, or is she already on board?’
‘She’s already on board,’ he said.
‘Oh...’ she said. ‘Is she—?’ She turned to look towards the passageway that led to the living area and bedrooms.
‘She’s not down there,’ he said.
‘Then where—?’
He sought the correct words. ‘She...she’s right here,’ he said.
‘I don’t see anyone.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’
He cleared his throat. ‘You are my guest for lunch, Gemma.’
She stilled. For a long moment she didn’t say anything. Tristan shifted from foot to foot. He couldn’t tell if she was pleased or annoyed.
‘Me?’ she said finally, in a voice laced with disbelief.
‘You said there was a rule about you not spending time outside of work with clients. So I arranged to have time with you while you were officially at work.’
Her shoulders were held hunched and high. ‘You...you tricked me. I don’t like being tricked.’
‘You could call it that—and I apologise for the deception. But there didn’t seem to be another way. I had to see you again, Gemma.’
She took a deep intake of breath. ‘Why didn’t you just ask me?’
‘Would you have said “yes”?’
She bowed her head. ‘Perhaps not.’
‘I will ask you now. Will you be my guest for lunch on board the Argus?’
She looked down at the deck.
He reached out his hand and tilted her chin upwards so she faced him. ‘Please?’
He could see the emotions dancing across her face. Astonishment. A hint of anger. And could that be relief?
Her shoulders relaxed, and her dimples made a brief appearance in the smoothness of her cheeks. ‘I guess as you have me trapped on board I have no choice but to say “yes”.’
‘Trapped?
