The Secret Cove in Croatia

Thankful to reach the bottom, she kept herself pressed up against the stairs. If she could see the pile of matching, very flash luggage, could they see her? She stiffened and then stared. Lord, was it really Louis Vuitton? Having spent enough time in Paris, she knew that was seriously expensive stuff and just how many cases did they have between them? She didn’t own that many clothes. Leaning forward just a touch, she held her breath, although why she did that she had no clue – did she think she was some sort of spy or something?

She could just see the tops of two people’s heads. Neither were looking up, so she risked another peek. The taller man had sandy blond hair and, beside him, looking like a delicate waif, was a teeny, tiny petite woman with lots of blonde hair glistening with golden lights, wearing white jeans, which looked considerably more expensive than Maddie’s Tesco numbers and a floaty silk top that had designer written all over it. From here, she couldn’t tell if they were famous or not, but they were certainly wealthy.

But, wealth or not, this ship was not yet open for business, so they could sit tight. Hugging the walls, she inched her way along until she reached the next stairwell that would allow her to cross to the other side of the yacht, where there was no chance they could see her.

She was going to use one of the cabin bathrooms on the lower deck. Creeping along, she froze when she felt the boat dip slightly as if someone had jumped on board.

The cheeky bastards. Ivan had been quite clear. Check-in was five-thirty. And she’d planned her day so that she’d have this last hour uninterrupted to make the most of the sundeck. Who did these people think they were? Just because they had money it didn’t mean that they could do what they liked.

She listened hard. No! Someone was winching down the gangplank.

Throwing back her shoulders, the pressing engagement to relieve her bladder forgotten, she marched along the corridor and mounted the short flight of stairs to the bow and flung open the wooden door, only then remembering she was in nothing more than a very small bikini.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, quickly taking in the scene.

The blond man turned guiltily, the gangplank now lowered into position onto the jetty.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

His face flared red and he opened his mouth but, before he could say anything, an aristocratic drawl interrupted.

‘We’ve been waiting ages. Didn’t you hear us? Who are you?’

On six, maybe even seven-inch heels, the woman marched across the gangplank with the ease of a mountain goat, a feat that had Maddie gawping in surprise, as well as at her sheer effrontery. Flipping heck, the woman was take-your-breath-away stunning. Maddie stared, unable to help herself – this was the sort of person you saw in magazines or in films. She had to be famous or something.

Just the sight of her and her imperious, entitled manner had Maddie’s confidence leaking away with every second, horribly aware of her semi-nudity and less than perfect body.

‘Well, don’t just stand there. Are you going to let us in or not?’

Maddie clenched a fist behind her back. Remember, she told herself, paying customer. Remember the manual. It had been quite specific about the treatment of guests. Basically, suck up to them or else.

‘I’m terribly sorry but check-in isn’t until five-thirty. You’re supposed to wait at the main reception and everyone is brought over by the skipper.’

‘Well, what are you doing here?’ The woman arched a scathing eyebrow.

‘I … I’m one of the crew.’

‘Oh.’ In the one word, the woman managed to capture a wealth of disapproval and disdain.

‘No one is supposed to come on board before check-in.’

‘Well, we’re here now and I am not trooping all the way back over there, not in this heat and not in these shoes.’ She eyed Maddie’s bikini with a sneering look, her eyebrows raising as if in surprise as she focused on the swell of flesh just above her hips. ‘It’s not as if you appear to be terribly busy at the moment.’ The clear implication being that Maddie was just being lazy. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and held out her hand to the man, with mute, winsome appeal, who took it to help her over the last half metre of the gangplank, even though she’d been perfectly capable for the previous few metres.

Maddie swallowed. There’d been nothing in the manual about this.

Nick was feeling fed up and, if he were completely honest, slightly embarrassed at being caught out by someone on the boat. Since arriving at the airport Tara had been quite demanding, insisting that they got a taxi into Split in case she was recognised, and he still couldn’t believe that she’d brought three suitcases with her. He’d brought one piece of hand luggage. Shorts, that was all you needed on holiday, although he still wasn’t sure about the shorts Tara had persuaded him to buy or the cap-sleeved T-shirt. If his brothers had caught sight of them, he’d never have heard the end of it. The words big girl’s blouse sprang to mind, but Tara seemed to like them and their shopping trip had gone much more smoothly once he’d acquiesced to her taste. After all, she worked in fashion, she knew what she was talking about and shopping was his least favourite thing.

Since they’d arrived in the baking heat at the marina Tara had been quite piteous and he’d been really quite worried she might faint or something. But now they were here, what was the harm in going up on deck? It seemed entirely reasonable. They could just dump their luggage in the bow and at least have a cold drink or something. Surely Douglas, who had chartered the boat, could do the check-in stuff.

‘Look, I don’t make the rules, but the skipper made it quite clear,’ said the girl in the bikini, looking red and flushed in the face. He frowned. They’d clearly interrupted her important work – sunbathing.

‘Why don’t you leave your luggage here and go back to the marina to wait to be checked-in properly?’

‘Because, as Tara pointed out, we are here, we are hot, the boat has been paid for and we’d like to sit down somewhere cool and wait for the rest of our party,’ said Nick firmly, deciding to take no nonsense. He wasn’t at home now. This was Tara’s world and he’d seen how her friends acted. Imperious and direct. That was how you got things done in this world. ‘Is it going to inconvenience you hugely?’ He gave a pointed look at her bikini, immediately regretting it when the girl glared at him, her face turning pink.

Now she was making him feel guilty. He couldn’t bloody win. One thing he knew for sure was that his mum would not have been impressed with his behaviour. Refusing to meet the girl’s eyes, he turned and stalked down the gangplank to collect Tara’s luggage. At this very moment, he would have been happier in a pub on his own with a large pint of beer.

Tara swanned ahead and was already climbing the wooden stairs to the deck. As he wheeled one of her cases onto the gangway, she’d reached the rails and was waving down at him.

‘Oh, this is lovely. Come up. Oh, you couldn’t bring up my little case, could you?’

By the time he’d carried all the cases on board and went up to the first deck, taking with him Tara’s small cabin bag, she had settled in the air-conditioned lounge and kicked off her shoes – quite literally, they were lying in the middle of the floor – stripped off her jeans and was lounging on a white leather sofa, all long tanned legs and a tiny pair of briefs.

Nick blinked at her, not sure where to look.

‘Oh, darling, isn’t it lovely to have nothing to do.’ Peering up at her phone, held in one hand above her head to take a selfie, she stretched lazily. For a fleeting, disloyal second, when her white top rose to reveal a smooth flat stomach and the minuscule scrap of lace and silk masquerading as underwear, he wondered if she’d done it deliberately. His mouth went dry and he realised he was staring.

Peeling his eyes away from her endless legs, he turned and looked around at the boat, letting out a low whistle. ‘This is rather nice.’

He was dying to take lots of pictures and post them onto the family WhatsApp group, but Tara seemed to take all this in her stride and he didn’t want to look too keen and gauche in front of her.

With a careless shrug, she said, ‘I guess,’ and reached over to her tote bag to pull out one of the stack of glossy magazines she’d bought at the airport. ‘I wonder what time the others will get here. Has that awful girl gone? Honestly, some people are such jobsworths.’

She opened her magazine and began flicking through the pages, tutting and shaking her head.

As she was clearly absorbed, he left the lounge area to step out into the warm air on the deck. With a quick grin, he took in the view of the hazy outline of the islands in the distance, lifting his head towards the pleasant balmy breeze. Standing with his legs slightly apart, his hands gliding with pleasure along the smooth surface of the glossy wooden rail, he enjoyed the slight bob and dip of the boat. He was really here. Nick Hadley, on board an expensive yacht with a stunning model girlfriend. Who’d have thought it?

Chapter 5 (#ulink_5a59f332-8b56-50ce-a405-a566d11e9ccf)

Now properly covered up, wearing her crew T-shirt and navy shorts, Maddie had taken herself off to the kitchen – sorry, galley – and was hacking a poor cucumber to death. If this pair of self-entitled dickheads were indicative of the guests, it was going to be a long trip.

She checked Tonka’s recipe and grabbed an onion, peeling back the golden skin. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to mix with the guests too much and they might not all be like Mr and Mrs We-know-we’re-gorgeous-and-that-means-we-can-do-what-the-hell-we-like. Nina’s brother, she consoled herself, wouldn’t be like that. In fact she was hoping he’d be an ally. This pair were everything she’d feared about this trip. Maddie was looking forward to meeting Nick; at least he wouldn’t have any airs and graces. You couldn’t get more down to earth than a northerner and a farmer at that.

Chopping and slicing soothed her and she kept a close eye on the time. When she finally heard voices and the clatter of footsteps and cases, she knew the rest of the guests had arrived. That was her signal and she dashed out to lay the canapés on the table in the bow, as per instruction in her handy bible.

Hearing people start to assemble on deck, she tucked the ice bucket and champagne under one arm and picked up a tray of glass flutes, holding it, somewhat precariously, in one hand and headed out to meet the guests. The manual said champagne on the first day, although she was dying to bring out one of Ivan’s demi-johns for a bit of Croatian authenticity.

As soon as she appeared on the deck, a woman with short bright red hair cut in a gamine pixie crop clapped her hands together. ‘Oooh, bring on the champers. The holiday has begun. Can I help you with that?’ She reached for the champagne bucket perched on the tray, carefully lifting it away from the six flutes.

‘Thanks,’ said Maddie, immediately warming to her and following her over to a table. ‘So not all the guests are complete knobs then.’

The woman let out a loud belly laugh and to Maddie’s horror she realised she’d said the words aloud.

‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.’

‘Not a problem.’ She winked at Maddie. ‘I like people who say it like it is. I’m Siri. And no, I don’t have the answer to everything.’

‘Ah, everyone, this is Maddie,’ announced Ivan, who now appeared to be wearing fancy dress.