to put in an appearance at her brand-new blue beach umbrella by the rusty Vespa shed. By that time Serena had replayed the memory of Pete Bennett’s kisses at least a thousand times and every cell in her body was screaming for more. The man was a genius.
But he wasn’t alone. Sam tagged alongside him, wary and silent but nonetheless there. So much for wrapping herself around Superman right then and there.
Make that evil genius.
‘Hey, sailor,’ she said, smiling at Sam who’d finagled a morning out on Nico’s boat tomorrow. Tomorrow being Saturday, and that being the deal he’d made with Chloe if he went to school all week. ‘Got a message for you. Nico said he’ll swing by on his way down to the dock at around four-thirty a.m. Speaking from experience, you’d better be ready because the tide waits for no man and neither does Nico. Wear a jumper and a hat and don’t worry about gloves. He’s found some for you that’ll fit.’
Serena watched as Sam’s face lit up like the sun, a fleeting grin, gone almost as soon as it had arrived but she’d caught it nonetheless, along with a hefty dose of hero-worship for her cousin. ‘Meanwhile, there’s a Vespa been coughing and spluttering and I need someone to take it around the paddock a few times to see if it gives any grief.’
‘What’s in it for me?’ said Sam.
‘Experience,’ she said dryly, handing him a helmet.
‘It just so happens that the bike you’ll be trialling could well be the second-fastest bike on the island.’
‘So Aunt Chloe went for it?’ asked Pete as they watched Sam fasten the helmet, start the bike and ride slowly along the fence line. ‘That’s the second-fastest bike on the island?’
‘Well, no. Not any more. Maybe thirty years ago.’ Right now, it was the slowest ride she had. ‘And Chloe caved two days ago after two more trips to the principal’s office on account of our friend here’s somewhat disquieting habit of disappearing from school around mid-morning and failing to return.’ The bike coped with the downhill run easily enough, but coughed and groaned all the way up the hill. ‘I think it needs a new spark plug.’
‘That or a decent burial,’ muttered Pete.
‘We don’t discard our old around here. It’s just not done,’ she told him. ‘And it’s about time you showed up.’
Pete Bennett smiled. ‘Miss me?’
‘Maybe. Did you miss me?’
‘Of course. How many goddesses of buckets and sensuality do you think I know?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Never mind. I tried to get back here earlier,’ he murmured. ‘Unfortunately, not many people know about this place. It’s a hard sell. Maybe you should hurry up with those postcards.’
‘Maybe I will.’ She eyed his carryall speculatively, wondering how Sam had found him so fast, wondering exactly how long he was staying this time. ‘Are you staying overnight?’
He nodded. ‘What time do you finish up here?’
‘The last of the bikes should be back by five, give or take half an hour,’ she told him. ‘Why? What did you have in mind?’
‘I’m thinking of taking a stroll up the hill.’
‘What hill?’ She followed his gaze to the mountain looming behind them. ‘Oh. That hill.’ She’d climbed it before. It wasn’t easy. ‘That’s a big hill.’
‘Sam says there’s a path to the top.’
‘Well, yes. There is. If you’re a goat.’
‘And that you can see the entire island when you get to the top.’
There was that.
‘Bring your camera. You might catch the sunset.’
She’d been here for five months, four days, and counting. She’d photographed everything more times than she cared to remember, including the sunset. ‘I’ll need more incentive than that.’
‘It’s good exercise.’
‘Boy, do you have a lot to learn about women and incentive.’
‘C’mon, Rena. Haven’t you ever wanted to touch the sky?’
He had the soul of a poet. The smile of a devil. Serena couldn’t resist either. ‘All right. I give in. We’ll walk to the top and touch the sky.’
His smile promised more, much, much more, and she knew for a fact he could deliver. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he murmured.
‘I never do.’
* * *
It was half past five before the last of the bikes were locked away for the night and Serena had shooed Sam home. Closer to six by the time they’d taken her cooler and the cashbox down to the cottage. There was enough daylight left for getting up the hill. Not nearly enough daylight for getting back down. Serena picked up a small canvas bag and went in search of a torch and a couple of bottles of water before slinging it over her shoulder. ‘Ready?’
With a gesture that came as automatically to him as breathing, Pete removed the bag from her shoulder and slung it over his. ‘Lead on.’
She led him behind the cottage and across the bitumen road to where the goat track began. If there was one thing she’d become used to on Varanissi, it was walking up hills. Her body had grown quite fond of it; her legs no longer gave protest. She was healthy. Fit. And still she had the feeling that if necessary, Pete Bennett with his lazy stride and easy breathing could have taken the slope at a dead run. She picked up the pace, figuring that if she had to exercise she might as well make it worthwhile.
Half an hour later they reached their destination, a desolate plateau dropping away sharply on three of its four sides, but what the rocky, barren plateau lacked in visual appeal it more than made up for with its panoramic view of the village and harbour below.
The island had charm; she’d give it that. And the people on it were as good as you’d find anywhere. Maybe better.
But the world was bigger than this, and so were Serena’s dreams. Pete Bennett knew how to dream big too. She could see it in the way he looked to the sky, sense the restlessness in him, a burning need to keep moving, keep going … to run, and to fly. ‘You love it, don’t you? Being up here.’
‘Yeah,’ he said simply, looking skyward. ‘It’s the next best thing to being up there.’
‘Why helicopters?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you choose to fly planes?’
‘I’ve flown both,’ he said. ‘But helicopters are more sensitive, more tactile machines than planes. Planes are all about power. Helicopters are about finesse.’
‘You fly planes too?’
He flashed her a grin. ‘Serena, I fly everything.’
‘Have you always wanted
