start to slide unnoticed by them. Her mother, though, had little excuse. She’d been living here for nearly a decade, ever since she had drifted away from the family home for a holiday, a holiday that bled into an extended stay, which in turn became a separation. The same old frustration bubbled up and Anna curled her hands into loose fists. No doubt her mother had just employed her usual mantra of mañana, never worrying that one day she would have to deal with the rapidly escalating problems.
Well, she wasn’t dealing, was she? Anna was here dealing for her. As usual.
Only, who was she to cast aspersions? Wasn’t she doing exactly the same thing with her book? Hoping that somehow something miraculous would happen and it would all fall into place. Running away from her problems...
‘So tell me, what does being a Professor of European history with a feminist slant entail these days?’ Anna started, guiltily. It was as if Leo had read her mind. ‘You seem very young to be a professor.’
‘You’re not the first to say that.’ Although most people also snidely insinuated her renowned historian father had helped her climb the academic ladder faster than usual, that her name was responsible for her success, not her credentials. Or they looked down at the success of her first book, convinced a popular history book couldn’t be as well-researched, as important, as an academic paper read only by other specialists in her field. It had been easier to hold her head high when she hadn’t doubted herself, when she had been sure that the academic life was all she needed.
‘I’m sure I’m not. Is it all libraries and lectures?’
‘Mostly,’ she admitted. ‘There’s a huge pressure to publish papers as well as teach.’
‘And do you?’
‘Papers, books. A book,’ she amended, trying not to think about the mess that was book number two.
‘An author? How impressive. Would I have read your book?’
‘Only if you’re interested in a rehabilitation of Joanna the Mad from a feminist standpoint, looking at how difficult it was for intelligent women to thrive in a male-dominated world.’
‘I definitely missed that one. Joanna the Mad? Is she the one who carted her dead husband’s body all over Spain?’
‘That’s one of the myths my book works to dispel.’
‘Pity, I’ve always felt that if I got married I’d want my wife to love me enough to keep my corpse by her side at all times.’ Anna shot him a quick glance. Joanna’s husband had been famously known as Philip the Handsome, but surely even he would have paled into plainness next to the rugged good looks of Leo di Marquez. She caught his eye and felt her cheeks heat up yet again. What on earth was wrong with her? She’d never been a blusher before. If she carried on at this rate they could save money on an electrician and use her face as a lamp.
To Anna’s relief they finally reached the villa. Leo looked at the ornate, white building, more like a Moorish palace than a hotel reception and office, and whistled. ‘Nice.’
Despite herself Anna felt the old ripples of pride. As a child she had always felt so special, so chosen, to be part of the island’s heritage, to spend her summers in her little turret room surveying the island like some kind of medieval queen. ‘It’s not as old as it looks. It’s a turn-of-the-last-century reproduction built by my great-grandfather as a wedding gift for his bride,’ she explained. ‘This was their own private island, but when my grandfather inherited, he couldn’t afford to keep it as a second home. He and my grandmother turned the island into a resort. At one time, back in the fifties, this was one of the most exclusive resorts in the Mediterranean.’ Anna looked up at the veranda’s cobweb-infested ceiling and tried not to sigh. It was hard to imagine the island in its glamorous heyday right now.
‘And now?’
‘It’s been a while since I visited,’ Anna admitted. ‘Things are a little less glamorous than they used to be.’
The problem was the island was expensive to run. Her grandfather had often bemoaned the price of labour and food, all of which needed shipping out; the mainland might be just a few hundred metres away, but the island was still only accessible by boat. Maybe they needed to think differently, turn the island into an event destination rather than a hotel, for weddings and other special occasions?
They? She pursed her lips. There was no way her mother would be capable of running that kind of business, and it was unlikely Rosa would want to stay in one place and help. Maybe, much as the idea broke Anna’s heart, her mother should sell the island to someone who could look after it.
She’d broach the subject after the wedding. There was no point getting embroiled in a family drama before.
She led Leo through the grand hallway, now a hotel reception area, a board behind the huge desk holding the big iron keys that still unlocked the bungalow doors—no flimsy key cards here—and along the wooden panelled hallway until they reached the vast kitchen where her mother was still sorting crockery.
‘Mama?’
Piles of brightly painted terracotta plates, bowls and cups covered every surface and most of the floor. In the middle of the chaos Sancia stood swaying, her hair falling out of its customary loose bun, her eyes closed as she sang along to the ear-piercingly loud music blaring from the radio. Anna winced, unable to even glance in Leo’s direction.
The scene was all too reminiscent, a flashback to her teenage years. She’d soon stopped bringing friends home, no idea what would greet them once they walked through the front door into the untidy hallway. Sancia was usually at home, but she would be preoccupied with her current fad; dancing, painting, sculpting, cooking. Whatever it was tended to take over the whole house, a chaotic tangle of colour and mess. It was all about the creative journey, Sancia would say, whenever Anna or her father suggested she keep her artistic endeavours confined to one room. Which was a good thing as usually the end result was good for nothing at all. Anna preferred to spend her after-school time at her friends’ houses instead, in ordered, peaceful homes where everything had its place and routines ruled.
‘Mama!’ she said again, this time loudly and sharply, and Sancia’s eyes flew open, fastening onto her daughter reproachfully.
‘Querida, there is no need to shout.’ She switched her gaze over to Leo and her dark eyes widened, her still-full mouth curving into a smile. ‘Hola.’
Anna’s heart sank; she recognised that particular flirtatious smile. It was her mother’s default smile for any reasonably attractive man and Anna had seen it used, always to great effect, on friends of her father’s, and on her own friends’ fathers. No girl should have to grow up seeing grown men reduced to red-faced boys by her own mother. Anna knew it wasn’t conscious, that warm smile of appreciation, it wasn’t meant with malice or intent or even deliberate flirtatiousness, but it was all the more devastating for that.
Leo didn’t seem to be immune, his own smile wide as he bent over Sancia’s outstretched hand. ‘Hola,’ he answered, his voice so low it was a cross between a purr and a growl, a deep rumble Anna suspected was used as often as her mother’s smile and with a similar effect—only she was pretty sure Leo di Marquez knew exactly what he was doing.
Sancia preened. ‘Who is your charming amigo, Anna?’
Anna made a concerted effort not to grind her teeth. ‘Mama, this is Señor di Marquez, he is Valentina’s brother and he’s come to check the island
