With Ken still holding the other end of the line she wasn’t completely free, but she could rely on him to back off as much as possible, and give her the illusion. Francesco could learn so much from him. But Francesco would never face how much he didn’t know.
She kicked out with her flippers and powered through the water, relishing the sensation of it streaming past her. Suddenly she was at one with the water, part of it, glorying in it.
‘Wheeeeeeee!’ she cried.
‘Celia?’ Ken sounded nervous.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s just me going crazy.’
‘No change there, then.’
‘Nope. Wheeeeeeee!’
‘Do you mind?’ he complained. ‘That was my eardrum.’
She chuckled. ‘How far down am I?’
‘About a hundred feet.’
‘Let me have another forty.’
‘Twenty. That’s the limit of safety.’
‘Twenty-five,’ she begged.
‘Twenty,’ he declared implacably.
The line loosened and she sank farther, reaching out at plants and rocks, anything and everything in this marvellous world.
There had been another time when she’d thought the world was marvellous, when she’d just met Francesco. He’d walked into her workplace and stood talking to the receptionist. Celia had been alerted by a soft, ‘Wow!’ from Sally, her young assistant, who was sighted.
‘Wow?’ she queried.
‘Wow!’
‘That’s a lot of wow.’ Celia chuckled. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘He’s tall and dark with deep blue eyes. Probably late thirties, black hair, waves a bit. I like the way he moves—sort of easy and graceful—and he knows how to wear an expensive suit.’
‘You’ve priced his suit?’ Celia’d demanded, amused.
‘I’ve seen it on sale and it costs a fortune. In fact, from the way it fits, I’ll bet he had it specially made for him. He’s got that sort of something about him. An “air”—like the world is his, he’ll take it when it suits him, and in the meantime it can wait until he is ready.’
‘You’re really studying the subject, aren’t you?’ Celia’d said, chuckling.
‘Naturally I want to give you an accurate description. Oh, yes, and he’s got a brooding look that you only see in film stars—Oh, gosh, I forgot you haven’t seen any film stars. I’m really sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Celia’d said warmly. ‘I work hard to make people forget that I can’t see. You just told me I’ve succeeded. But I’ve always been blind, so I can’t imagine anything. I don’t know what colours look like, or shapes and sizes. I have to discover them by touch.’
‘Well, his shape and size would really be worth discovering by touch,’ Sally’d said frankly, and Celia’d burst into a peal of laughter.
‘He’s looking this way,’ Sally’d hissed. ‘Now he’s coming over.’
Next thing Celia heard a quiet, deep voice with the hint of an Italian accent. ‘Good morning. My name is Francesco Rinucci. I’m looking for Celia Ryland.’
The moment she heard his voice she could ‘see’ him—not in the kind of detail Sally had explained, but in her own way. Easy and graceful, an air as though the world was his; those she had understood at once.
Now, making her way through the water and remembering, she thought that the world really had been his. And when she was in his arms, the world had been hers.
But that had been five months ago. In five short months she’d loved him passionately, fought with him furiously, and learned that she must escape him at all costs.
Five months, and so much had happened in between. So much joy, so much bitterness, so much regret that they had ever met, so much thankfulness that she had known him even for a brief time.
She remembered everything of their meeting. Details reached her differently from other people, but more intensely. As was her way, she had been the first to offer her hand, and had felt him clasp it in return. His hand felt strong and good, with long fingers and a feeling of suppressed power. It had made her wonder about the rest of him.
‘Worth discovering by touch,’ Sally had said.
Celia had tried to put the thought out of her mind but without success. She’d been vividly aware of him moving carefully in the confined space near her desk, where much of the room had been taken up by Wicksy, her golden Labrador guide dog.
Wicksy’s manners were beautiful but reticent. He had accepted Francesco’s admiration as his due, returned it to the extent of briefly resting his snout in Francesco’s hand, then returned to curling up beneath Celia’s desk, apparently relaxed but actually on guard.
The newcomer had sat down close to her, and she’d been able to sense his height, the breadth of him, and something else, a pleasing aroma that shifted between spice and wood-smoke, borne by the breeze. It had spoken of warmth and life, and it had told her that she was living in a shell and should try to reach outside, where he might be waiting.
Only might?
It would be a chance worth taking.
‘Why were you looking for me?’ she asked.
He explained that he was part of Tallis Inc., a firm famous for the manufacture of luxury furniture. Its wares were excellent and it was expanding all over Europe.
‘We need a good PR firm,’ he said. ‘The one we’re using has gone downhill. I was advised to come here, and to ask for you personally. They say you’re the best.’
Being a gentleman, he made a valiant effort to keep the surprise out of his voice, without quite managing it.
‘And now you’re wondering why someone didn’t warn you that I was blind?’ she said impishly.
That threw him; she could tell. She burst out laughing.
‘No—I wasn’t—’ he said hastily.
‘Oh, yes, you were. Don’t deny it to me. I’ve been here too often. I know what people think when they meet me unawares.’
‘Am I that easy to read?’ His tone suggested a hesitant smile.
‘Right this minute you’re thinking, How the hell did I get into this, and how am I going to get out without being rude?’
It was a favourite joke of hers—to read their minds, trip them up, make them feel a little uneasy.