not even going to ask.’
‘You don’t really need to, do you?’ he asked.
His sexuality was so frank, his appetites so shameless that she didn’t know where to look. She began to rifle through some pastel-coloured costumes, but Renato’s big hand came out of nowhere and stilled hers.
‘Not those,’ he said. ‘This one.’
He held up a bikini but she instinctively shook her head. ‘No, I can’t—’
‘Why not? It’s very modest.’
That was true. As bikinis went it was unfashionably modest. The lower part would cover most of her behind, and the upper part would enclose her breasts satisfactorily. But Heather had always seen herself as a once-piece person.
‘And I can’t wear cerise,’ she argued. ‘I’m too fair.’
‘There’s no law to stop you wearing reds. Risk it.’
‘Right, I will.’
When he’d gone she changed, realising that in this place the dramatic colour seemed natural. She found a matching scarf in the wardrobe and tied it around her head, letting her hair fall free behind it. To cover her semi-nakedness she slipped on a robe of white lacy silk.
Back on deck she found Renato in the stern section, with a table that bore snacks and tall glasses. Above him a striped awning offered shelter from the sun. He handed her gallantly to her seat, and served her. The chilled wine was delicious; the little almond cakes were superb. Heather began to feel that she could easily get used to this.
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