marketing and day-to-day working rotas as soon as possible and Anna was just the girl to sort that out for her.
Of course there was the little question of fifty-two bungalows needing a lick of paint, a damn good clean and some DIY. Hopefully there was no need for Anna to get her hands dirty; DIY was not her forte. Luckily her sister was handy with a toolkit. ‘When is Rosa getting here?’ Anna’s stomach clenched apprehensively as she waited for her mother to reply. She hadn’t seen her sister in several years either, only in her case there weren’t any weekly phone calls, not even the odd tag on social media. If Sancia had mentioned earlier that she had also begged Rosa to come and help, would Anna have agreed to come too? The truth was she had no idea. Three years was a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten a single one of the bitter words she and her sister had exchanged back then. She wasn’t eager for a repeat performance.
‘As soon as she can. She’s on an important assignment, you know. She said she wouldn’t be able to get here in the next two weeks but she’ll do her best to get here as soon as possible after that.’
Anna compressed her lips. Of course, whatever Rosa chose to do was important as far as their mother was concerned. She was always far more impressed by Rosa’s unconventional approach to life than by Anna’s achievements and qualifications. At twenty-eight she should be too old to be hurt by her mother’s lack of interest in all Anna had worked so hard for. But Anna hadn’t been able to help noticing that her mother’s apartment was filled with framed copies of Rosa’s photos—and she hadn’t seen one copy of her book anywhere.
‘Two weeks?’ Anna looked back over the half of the resort visible from the terrace and swallowed. There was no way they would be able to wait two weeks before starting the practical work. Which meant, unfamiliar as she was with a paintbrush, Anna had little choice. She was going to need to learn—and fast.
* * *
‘First things first,’ Anna muttered. With two cups more of her mother’s excellent coffee buzzing through her veins, she was almost raring to go. First they needed a list. Lists. Lists of repairs, lists of things they needed to make the bungalows suitable for a supermodel’s wedding guests, lists of everything that needed repairing. Which meant inspecting every bungalow, every path, every deckchair and table, the beach bars, the tennis courts... She needed another list of all the lists she needed to make.
She left Sancia in the kitchen checking all the crockery for chips, dents and suspicious stains, glad of the solitude after spending a whole morning alone with her mother for the first time in more years than Anna could remember. The hotel used to be so vibrant; filled with her grandparents, their long-time staff, visitors and guests. Now it was a ghost of its old self, just one cleaner, one groundsman and a cook in residence, a couple of maids journeying over from the mainland. No guests at all. Anna suppressed a shiver. It was too quiet. Maybe she would head over to the mainland today after all, even if she only went to the small village just a few hundred metres away across the narrow strip of sea to have lunch.
The island wasn’t very big, less than a mile from one end to the next, and it didn’t take Anna long to reach the sheltered beach overlooking the mainland. Palms fringed the delicate yellow sand and Anna paused, taking in a deep breath, tasting the salt of sea, the lemon wafting over from the citrus trees. The sea was so blue it almost hurt, a deep turquoise that tugged at her, enticing her closer and closer. She shucked off her shoes, stepping onto the soft sand, wiggling her toes into the warm grains. When had she last been barefooted outside? Holding out her arms, she closed her eyes, feeling the sun penetrating every atom, every cell, warming her straight to her bones. The dark hair and olive skin she had inherited from her mother never really felt warm enough in Oxford; they craved this contact with the Mediterranean sun, even an early May sun better than none.
She took another deep breath, her bones aching as they absorbed the longed-for heat, inhaling the scents that always conjured up the island. For the first time in a long while she felt as if she was home.
She jumped, pulled back to the job at hand as the sound of a vacuum cleaner buzzed through the air. She wasn’t on holiday, she was here to help her mother—and more importantly she was here to forget her troubles. A month away from her classes, from her research, from expectations, might give her overtired mind the reboot it so desperately needed.
Anna pulled out her notebook. She might as well start off by checking the seaworthiness of the boats. The jetty was in the next cove along, situated by the natural rock harbour, which separated the gentle, sheltered mainland-facing beaches from the more rugged sea-facing ones. The wide wooden jetty housed all the small kayaks and rowing boats kept for guests who wanted to venture out in the safe strip of sea.
Pushing her refreshed feet back into her pumps, Anna followed the narrow path as it wound round the corner and past the trees until, pushing her way through a particularly overgrown fern, she emerged, blinking, onto the boardwalk, her hair falling over her eyes.
What is that? She skidded to a stop, staring at the jetty in disbelief. In addition to several kayaks pulled high onto the pebbly beach and the boats moored tightly to the wooden posts, a white and chrome boat sat proudly in the deeper water. It was large enough to be an ocean-going boat, but this was no practical craft. Every gleaming rail, every white sail, every fitting she could see screamed ‘rich man’s toy’ at her.
An equally gleaming dinghy was tied onto the jetty, a clear sign that someone had come ashore.
The island was private property, but occasionally day-trippers or passing boats did stop—and if they had money to spend were usually welcome. Anna looked around. She hadn’t seen anyone on the main path. ‘Hola!’ she called. ‘Hello. Can I help you?’
No answer.
She hesitated. The sign on the jetty clearly instructed visitors—in six different languages—to head straight along the main path to Reception. Not that there was anyone actually on Reception...
‘Dammit, as if I don’t have enough to do.’ What was her mother thinking? How could she possibly think a staff of four enough to get the island into shape for the season, let alone prepare for the wedding of the year? Sancia’s airy assurances that she had enough seasonal staff ready to start soon rang hollow. They should be here by now, painting, cleaning and making sure the island was in tip-top condition.
Swivelling, Anna looked around, sucking in her breath as she saw a tall, broad figure casually strolling around the nearest bungalow, peering in through the shutters as if he had every right to be there. She thrust her shoulders back, indignation filling her. The signs were quite clear—this was private property. Without stopping to think twice she marched over to the bungalow by the straightest possible route, pushing her way through the overgrown trees and shrubs, barely noticing the branches scratching her skin.
‘Excuse me.’ Her Spanish completely escaped her as she reached hailing distance of the bungalow. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
Indignation had carried her within touching distance before common sense reasserted itself and she stopped abruptly, catching her breath as she took in the intruder. This was no overentitled, overweight businessman out for a gentle sail. This was a pirate. Over six feet of muscled pirate. There wasn’t an inch of fat—no, not a centimetre of fat—on him; his bare torso, exposed by his open white shirt, could have served as the model for Michelangelo’s David. His dark hair was cropped short, his even darker eyes raking her up and down with an arrogance that made her tremble with rage.
Rage and awareness of just how grubby she was, no make-up, a crumpled old T-shirt, hair bundled hastily up. She resisted the urge to straighten her top, to shake out her hair and did her best to ignore the zing that shot straight through her traitorous body as his
