Wife By Arrangement

He leapt lightly down onto the deck and reached up to settle both hands about her waist. The next moment she was swinging through the air to land beside him. ‘All right?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly. The sudden movement had taken her by surprise.

He introduced the crew, who were lined up to greet her.

‘This is Alfonso, my captain, Gianni and Carlo, the crew. And this,’ he added, indicating a little man, ‘is Fredo the cook. He can manage anything from the fastest snacks to cordon bleu.’

The sun was bright and warm, a strong breeze whisked across the water, and soon they were edging out of the harbour into the wide sea beyond. After a few minutes Heather became used to the movement, and even began to find it pleasant.

‘Well?’ Renato asked, watching her face. ‘Do you want to go back, throw yourself overboard, throw me overboard—?’

‘That last one sounds nice,’ she said, laughing.

He shared her laughter, showing strong white teeth against his tanned skin. After the tense, argumentative man she’d met in England, this was a transformation. His clothes, too, were different. The elegant formality of last night was replaced by blue shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt, that was unbuttoned all the way. He looked powerful, glowing with life, intensely masculine.

‘Let me show you your kingdom,’ Renato said, taking her hand.

Below, it was like a little palace. In the galley Fredo, surrounded by the most modern equipment, was furiously at work on a feast. Along the narrow corridor was the master bedroom, complete with luxurious private bathroom. Everywhere was panelled with gleaming honey-coloured birchwood. At the centre was a huge double bed, the perfect place for lovers on their wedding night.

‘This is yours for today,’ Renato told her. ‘Why not change into a swimsuit?’

‘I don’t even own one.’

He pulled open a wardrobe to display a series of swimsuits on hangers. Heather stared. There must have been about ten, in all colours, styles, and varying degrees of daringness.

‘But how come you—?’ She checked as she saw the wicked humour in his eyes. ‘I’m not even going to ask.’

‘You don’t really need to, do you?’ he asked.

His sexuality was so frank, his appetites so shameless that she didn’t know where to look. She began to rifle through some pastel-coloured costumes, but Renato’s big hand came out of nowhere and stilled hers.

‘Not those,’ he said. ‘This one.’

He held up a bikini but she instinctively shook her head. ‘No, I can’t—’

‘Why not? It’s very modest.’

That was true. As bikinis went it was unfashionably modest. The lower part would cover most of her behind, and the upper part would enclose her breasts satisfactorily. But Heather had always seen herself as a once-piece person.

‘And I can’t wear cerise,’ she argued. ‘I’m too fair.’

‘There’s no law to stop you wearing reds. Risk it.’

‘Right, I will.’

When he’d gone she changed, realising that in this place the dramatic colour seemed natural. She found a matching scarf in the wardrobe and tied it around her head, letting her hair fall free behind it. To cover her semi-nakedness she slipped on a robe of white lacy silk.

Back on deck she found Renato in the stern section, with a table that bore snacks and tall glasses. Above him a striped awning offered shelter from the sun. He handed her gallantly to her seat, and served her. The chilled wine was delicious; the little almond cakes were superb. Heather began to feel that she could easily get used to this.