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Authors: Nicola Doherty
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the thought of stripping off in front of this gang at all – is daunting. Eventually, though, I decide to brave it. I abandon my T-shirt and head towards the ladder. I would normally dive in, but not in this thing – the straps have an alarming tendency to go walkabout.
The wateris beautiful, cool and silky under the hot sun. I feel instantly refreshed. I dip my head under the water, then swim away from the others. Swimming always makes me feel so free. As I look up at the sky, I manage to forget about everything for a few moments and just enjoy floating . . .
Suddenly, something thwacks against my leg, and I jerk upright into a treading-water position. My heart banging,I look around to see if it’s a shark, but it’s Sam. He must swim like Michael Phelps; he was nowhere near me a minute ago.
‘Ow! That hurt,’ I splutter, though it didn’t really.
‘Sorry,’ he says ungraciously. ‘You know, you shouldn’t float so close to a boat. You can get sucked under.’
‘Or get kicked to death,’ I retort, under my breath.
I notice Sam glancing down, and follow his gaze. Oh, God . One strap of the stupid suit has come away, exposing me to his startled eyes. I adjust it instantly, and look up, but he’s already swimming towards the yacht, which is probably the best thing he can do, under the circumstances. As he hauls himself up the rope ladder, I notice two heads bobbing together in the distance, one dark and one gold: Luther and Annabel. Bugger.
We’ve come ashorefor lunch. Hiding in the tiny bathroom of the restaurant, and trying to make myself presentable, I feel as if I’ve reached a new low point. My T-shirt had a huge blob of sun-tan lotion down the front when I got back to the boat. Annabel looked all innocence, but I suspect sabotage. So I’ve changed into the brown dress, which is now damp from my wet hair. My nose is sunburnt, and there’s a huge redburn on one shoulder. In fact – I lean closer – that’s not all that’s become burnt. I’ve forgotten to apply suntan lotion on my upper lip, and it’s now red to match my nose. That’s bad enough, but if it goes brown,I’ll have a tan moustache. And, just to round everything off, Sam has seen me topless.
I look at myself in the mirror, and I can feel the panic rising in my throat. What am I doinghere? How am I ever going to get this book done? What happens if Luther just keeps on evading it and leading me on a dance around the hot-spots of Sicily? He’s being friendly enough in a distant way, but I’m paranoid that I’ve antagonised him somehow. I could call Olivia or Alasdair, but I don’t know what they could do. I’m on my own now.
Outside, everyone is already gathered around the tableon the restaurant terrace. The town is very pretty, with ochre and white houses tumbling down the steep hillside to a bustling harbour. The restaurant overlooks the marina, where sleek yachts are clinking away gently. On the water-front, crowds of beautiful couples, families and one intrepid roller-blader are gliding back and forth, seeing and being seen. Everyone, even the children, it seems, iswearing sunglasses and beautiful light-coloured clothes. The men here are unbelievably gorgeous, but Luther still stands out – in my opinion anyway.
As I approach our group, I can see how glamorous everyone looks – except me, obviously, in my sackcloth. Luther’s got shades on and is facing away from the seafront: a couple of people have obviously spotted him and there’s a little ripple of interestand buzz that ebbs and flows around him, but nobody has actually approached him. The others are lounging around looking bronzed and healthy. Annabel is making a big fuss about the fact that she’s facing the sun – she wants Sam to swap with her, but he refuses. In retaliation she moves her chair so that she’s out of the sun and sitting beside Luther, and is scanning the crowds hungrily – I imaginefor any signs of paparazzi.
‘That’s better,’ she
The wateris beautiful, cool and silky under the hot sun. I feel instantly refreshed. I dip my head under the water, then swim away from the others. Swimming always makes me feel so free. As I look up at the sky, I manage to forget about everything for a few moments and just enjoy floating . . .
Suddenly, something thwacks against my leg, and I jerk upright into a treading-water position. My heart banging,I look around to see if it’s a shark, but it’s Sam. He must swim like Michael Phelps; he was nowhere near me a minute ago.
‘Ow! That hurt,’ I splutter, though it didn’t really.
‘Sorry,’ he says ungraciously. ‘You know, you shouldn’t float so close to a boat. You can get sucked under.’
‘Or get kicked to death,’ I retort, under my breath.
I notice Sam glancing down, and follow his gaze. Oh, God . One strap of the stupid suit has come away, exposing me to his startled eyes. I adjust it instantly, and look up, but he’s already swimming towards the yacht, which is probably the best thing he can do, under the circumstances. As he hauls himself up the rope ladder, I notice two heads bobbing together in the distance, one dark and one gold: Luther and Annabel. Bugger.
We’ve come ashorefor lunch. Hiding in the tiny bathroom of the restaurant, and trying to make myself presentable, I feel as if I’ve reached a new low point. My T-shirt had a huge blob of sun-tan lotion down the front when I got back to the boat. Annabel looked all innocence, but I suspect sabotage. So I’ve changed into the brown dress, which is now damp from my wet hair. My nose is sunburnt, and there’s a huge redburn on one shoulder. In fact – I lean closer – that’s not all that’s become burnt. I’ve forgotten to apply suntan lotion on my upper lip, and it’s now red to match my nose. That’s bad enough, but if it goes brown,I’ll have a tan moustache. And, just to round everything off, Sam has seen me topless.
I look at myself in the mirror, and I can feel the panic rising in my throat. What am I doinghere? How am I ever going to get this book done? What happens if Luther just keeps on evading it and leading me on a dance around the hot-spots of Sicily? He’s being friendly enough in a distant way, but I’m paranoid that I’ve antagonised him somehow. I could call Olivia or Alasdair, but I don’t know what they could do. I’m on my own now.
Outside, everyone is already gathered around the tableon the restaurant terrace. The town is very pretty, with ochre and white houses tumbling down the steep hillside to a bustling harbour. The restaurant overlooks the marina, where sleek yachts are clinking away gently. On the water-front, crowds of beautiful couples, families and one intrepid roller-blader are gliding back and forth, seeing and being seen. Everyone, even the children, it seems, iswearing sunglasses and beautiful light-coloured clothes. The men here are unbelievably gorgeous, but Luther still stands out – in my opinion anyway.
As I approach our group, I can see how glamorous everyone looks – except me, obviously, in my sackcloth. Luther’s got shades on and is facing away from the seafront: a couple of people have obviously spotted him and there’s a little ripple of interestand buzz that ebbs and flows around him, but nobody has actually approached him. The others are lounging around looking bronzed and healthy. Annabel is making a big fuss about the fact that she’s facing the sun – she wants Sam to swap with her, but he refuses. In retaliation she moves her chair so that she’s out of the sun and sitting beside Luther, and is scanning the crowds hungrily – I imaginefor any signs of paparazzi.
‘That’s better,’ she
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