The Surprise De Angelis Baby

She hated thinking about him—hated the way just remembering how she had fallen for him, how he had messed her around, made her feel sick and foolish at the same time.

She definitely didn’t want to hear Sarah rehashing that horrible catastrophe. Delilah loved her sister, but ever since she could remember Sarah had mothered her, had made decisions for her, had worried on her behalf about anything and everything. The business with Michael had just fed into all that concern. Yes, it was always great to have the comfort of someone’s love and empathy when you’d just had your heart broken, but it could also be claustrophobic.

Sarah cared so much...always had...

Their parents, Neptune and Moon, both gloriously irresponsible hippies who had been utterly and completely wrapped up in one another, had had little time to spare for their offspring. Both artists, they had scratched a living selling some of their art, and later on a random assortment of crystals and gems after their mother had become interested in alternative healing.

They had converted their cottage into a little gallery and had just about managed to survive because it was slap-bang in the middle of tourist territory. They had always benefited from that. But when they had died—within months of one another, five years previously—sales of local art had already begun to take a nosedive and things had not improved since.

Sarah, five years older than Delilah, had been doing the best she could, making ends meet by doing the books for various people in the small village where they lived, but it had always been understood that once Delilah had completed her art degree she would return and help out.

As things stood, they had taken out a substantial loan to fund renovations to the gallery, in order to create a new space at the back where Delilah would teach art to anyone local who was interested and, more importantly, other people, keen on learning to draw and paint, who would perhaps attend week-long courses, combining sightseeing in the picturesque Cotswolds with painting indoors and outdoors.

It was all a brilliant if last-ditch idea, and whilst Delilah had been totally in favour of it she had suddenly, when offered the opportunity to extend her stay on board the Rambling Rose, been desperate to escape.

A little more time to escape the finality of returning to the Cotswolds and to breathe a little after her break-up from Michael.

Just a little more time to feel normal and relaxed.

‘It’ll be brilliant experience for when I get back,’ she offered weakly. ‘And I’ve transferred most of my earnings to the account. I’ll admit I’m not on a fabulous amount, but I’m making loads of good contacts here. Some of the people are really interested in the courses we’ll be offering...’

‘Really?’

‘Honestly, Sarah. In fact, several have promised that they’ll be emailing you for details about prices and stuff in the next week or so.’

‘Adrian’s just about finished doing the website. That’s more money we’re having to expend...’

Delilah listened and wondered whether these few weeks on the liner were to be her only window of freedom from worrying. Sarah would not countenance selling the cottage and Delilah, in fairness, would have hated to leave her family home. But staying required so many sacrifices that she felt as though her youth would be eaten up in the process. She was only twenty-one now, but she could see herself saying goodbye to her twenties in the never-ending task of just making ends meet.

She had had a vision of having fun, of feeling young when she had been going out with Michael, but that had been a very narrow window and in the end it had just been an idiotic illusion anyway. When she thought about him now she didn’t think of fun, she just thought of being stupid and naïve.

She knew that she was playing truant by extending her stay here, but the responsibilities waiting for her wouldn’t be going anywhere...and it was nice not being mothered by her sister, not having every move she made frowningly analysed, not having her life prescribed because Sarah knew best...

She hung up, relieved to end the conversation, and decided to spend what remained of the evening in her cabin.

Maybe she would ask a couple of the other teachers on the liner—young girls, like herself—to have something to eat with her in the cabin, maybe play cards and joke about some of the passengers, who mostly reminded her of her parents. Free-spirited ageing hippies, into all sorts of weird and wonderful arty pastimes and hobbies.

Tomorrow, she would be back to teaching, and she had a full schedule ahead of her...

* * *

Daniel stretched. Peered through the porthole to a splendid view of deep blue ocean. The night before he had enjoyed an expected below average meal—though not sitting at the captain’s table. That sort of formality didn’t exist aboard this liner. It seemed to be one big, chattering, happy family of roughly one hundred people, of varying ages, and fifty-odd crew members who all joined in the fun. He had mixed and circulated but he knew that he’d stuck out like a sore thumb.

Now, breakfast...and then he would begin checking out the various classes—all of which seemed destined to make no money. Pottery, poetry writing, art, cookery and a host of others, including some more outlandish ones, like astronomy and palm reading.

Today he ditched the jeans in favour of a pair of low slung khaki shorts, a faded grey polo shirt and deck shoes, which he used on his own sailing boat when he occasionally took to the sea.

He paused, in passing, to glance in the mirror.

He saw what he always saw. A lean, bronzed face, green eyes, thick dark lashes, dirty blond hair streaked from the Australian sun. When he had time for sport he preferred it to be extreme, and his body reflected that. Boxing sessions at the gym, sailing on his own for relaxation, skiing on black runs...

It was after nine, and on the spur of the moment he decided to skip breakfast, pulling a map of the liner from his pocket and, after discarding some of the more outrageous courses, heading for the section of the liner where the slightly less appalling ones were taking place.

He had no idea what to expect. Every single passenger seemed to be an enthusiastic member of some course or other, and as he made his way through the ship, his sharp eyes noting all the signs of dilapidation, he peered into full classes. Some people were on deck, enjoying the sun, but it had to be said that the majority had come for the educational aspect of the cruise.

It took all sorts, he thought as he meandered through the bowels of the liner.

Inside the ship, as outside, it was very hot. The rooms in which the various courses were being taught were all air-conditioned, and for no better reason than because his clothes were beginning to stick to him like glue, he pushed open one of the doors and stepped inside.

* * *

In the midst of explaining the technique for drawing perspective, Delilah looked up and...

Her breath caught in her throat.

Lounging indolently by the door was the most stunningly beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. He definitely hadn’t joined the cruise when they had started. He must have embarked in Santorini, a late member of the passenger list.

He was tall. Very tall. And built like an athlete. Even wearing the standard gear of nearly every other passenger on the liner—longish shorts and a tee shirt—it was impossible to miss the honed muscularity of his body.

‘May I help you?’

Everyone had turned to stare at the new recruit and she smartly called them back to attention, and to the arrangement of various little ceramic pots they had been in the process of trying to sketch.

Daniel had been expecting many things, but he hadn’t been expecting this. The girl looking at him questioningly was tall and reed-slender and her hair was a vibrant shade of copper—a thousand different shades from red through to auburn—and had been tugged back into a loose ponytail which hung over one shoulder.

He sauntered into the room and looked around him at the twenty or so people, all seated in front of canvasses. A long shelf at the back held various artists’ materials and on the walls several paintings were hanging—presumably efforts from the members of the class.

‘If I’m interrupting I can always return later...’

‘Not at all, Mr...?’

‘Daniel.’ He held out his hand and the girl hurried forward and briefly shook it. ‘I joined the cruise yesterday,’ he expanded, ‘and I haven’t had time to sign up to any of the courses...’

‘But you’re interested in art?’ That brief meeting of hands had sent a sharp little frisson skittering through her and it was all she could do to maintain eye contact with him. ‘I’m Delilah Scott, and I’m in charge of the art course...’

Up close, he was truly spectacular. With an artist’s eye she could appreciate the perfect symmetry of his lean face. The brooding amazing eyes, the straight nose and the wide, sensual mouth. His hair looked sun-washed—not quite blond, but nothing as dull as brown—and there was something about him...something strangely charismatic that rescued him from being just another very good-looking guy.

She would love to paint him. But right now...

‘I can explain the course that I run...’

She launched into her little set speech and edged slightly away, because standing too close was making her feel jumpy. She’d had enough of men to last a lifetime, and the last thing she needed was to start feeling jumpy around one now.

‘Of course I don’t know what standard you’re at, but I’m sure you’ll be able to fit in whether you’re a complete beginner or at a more intermediary level. I can also show you my qualifications... You would have to return later to get the proper lowdown, because as you can see I’m in the middle of taking a class and this one will last until lunchtime... But perhaps you’d like to see some of the work my class have been doing...?’

Not really, Daniel thought, but he tilted his head to one side and nodded with a show of interest.

She was as graceful as a ballerina. He liked women curvy and voluptuous. This girl was anything but. She was willowy, and dressed in just the sort of appalling clothes he disliked on a woman. A loose ankle-length skirt in a confusing number of clashing colours and a floaty top that left way too much to the imagination.