Page 54 of The Wedding Proposal
‘But it’s important to me that you accept my apology partly because I mean it, partly because living together on the boat is going to be a pain in the arse if there’s a heavy atmosphere, and partly because I want your help with something.’ Then, aware from her stare and the way that her hands paused in their task of washing up that peremptory demands probably weren’t endearing him to her, added a belated ‘Please. I’ve talked to my boss about doing a Bubblemaker Session for the Nicholas Centre and you know a lot more about the place than I do.’
Elle frowned, turning back to washing up the coffee jug. ‘Go on.’
He took a seat on the galley steps and recounted his conversation with Vern, outlining how the presentation would normally go and the fun experience the kids could expect from fifty minutes in a pool wearing scuba gear.
She listened to him gravely. ‘Does the event have a price tag?’
‘It’s a freebie. The instructors and divemasters would give their time; Dive Meddi would provide the equipment and air. The kids would just need normal swim gear. And we’d have to work out a way of transporting them up to the dive centre in StJulian’s.’ His seat on the steps put her bare legs at his eye level. In the days when he and Elle had been together he would have considered bare legs an invitation to play. He could almost imagine the softness of her inner thigh under his mouth—
‘Would you be the one to run the session?’
He forced his gaze to remain fixed on her face. ‘I’d organise everything but I’m not an instructor. A divemaster assists, not instructs. The instructors at the centre are Vern, Polly and Lars, and they’d run the session. There are children-to-adult ratios we have to observe, and the instructors will want divemasters in the water. We’ll need some adults from the centre, too.’
‘In the water?’ Her eyes suddenly brightened.
‘In the water and out. We need to work out how many kids are interested and how many we can accommodate. Joseph’s obviously the guy I need to talk to but it would be great if you could get involved — talk to Joseph with me, maybe.’
‘Could I be one of the adults in the water?’
She looked so intrigued by the idea that he laughed, half-sorry that he hadn’t talked to her about something like this before she put him on her shit list. He could have invited her to the dive centre and showed off. ‘Definitely. If Carmelo’s one of the kids involved I expect he’ll demand it.’ Then, as a shadow crossed over her face, ‘How is he today?’
‘I haven’t seen him.’ She sighed. ‘Joseph’s talked to the mum and seems fairly upbeat, thinks Carmelo running away was a bit of a wake-up call for her.’ She managed a hesitant smile. ‘Thanks, by the way, for helping with him last night. I knew I’d be able to rely on you.’
‘It wasn’t much.’ But he was aware of a dart of pleasure that she’d put aside the tension and come to him.
‘I can imagine what — I mean, s-s-some people might have reacted differently if I’d brought home a child I’d found lurking in the dark.’ She turned away from him, busying herself with fitting the jug back on the coffee maker.
It meant that he could let his gaze drop to her legs but that didn’t distract him completely from that tiny telltale stutter over ‘some people’. So far as he knew, she hadn’t lived with many people. Her parents, her uni flatmates and—
‘Ricky?’ he asked, making it sound like an idle enquiry.
She went on fussing with the coffee maker, taking the jug off and on again as if unhappy with the fit. Just when he thought she was going to ignore his question, she answered. ‘He didn’t have much compassion.’ She changed the subject brightly. ‘I’m going over to Valletta on the ferry with Charlie and Kayleigh. Want to come? Joseph told me about a good pizzeria in Republic Street. We can get the last ferry there and return by bus.’
‘Great.’ He rose easily and turned sideways so that he could pass without brushing against her. ‘I’ll shower.’ He felt as if he’d scored some kind of victory. She’d answered a question about Ricky, and one that gave real insight, at that. And the invitation for pizza must constitute forgiveness for his behaviour over Kayleigh.
As he showered, he wondered if she’d keep the dress/shorts thing on. That much leg on display definitely came under the heading of ‘A good thing’. Especially bare leg. The great thing about hot climates was that women rarely bothered with tights or stockings.
Not that he was against stockings . . .
He felt himself stirring. Maybe he should be against stockings — on Elle Jamieson, anyway. And bare legs. And cute hats. In fact, his life would be a lot less complicated if Elle Jamieson would wear a sack with just her head sticking out. Preferably with that blond hair cut off instead of in its current glorious mane form. He might have a lot fewer frustrating thoughts and mixed emotions.
* * *
Elle didn’t make extensive preparations for the evening. After she’d let her hair dry in the warm breeze up on the flybridge, she brushed it and then made up simply with mascara, eyeliner and lip gloss.
Her heart was light. Carmelo’s situation looked to have improved, she was still buzzing from drawing a line in the sand that Oscar must not creep over, and a good night out was in prospect. Maltese pizza was good, she liked Kayleigh, she’d missed Charlie, and Lucas and Charlie were fun together. Now Lucas had made the effort to clear the air, she could enjoy everybody’s company.
She checked that she had enough euros for the evening and emerged from her cabin at the same moment as Lucas strolled out of his, almost colliding with him in the tiny area in front of the galley. Their arms brushed and Elle sucked in her breath at the hot liquid sensation of his skin sliding over hers.
Lucas stepped back and Elle thanked him politely as she trod lightly up the steps and through the saloon. But the heat of his touch clung to her skin like ink.
They locked up the boat and walked along the seafront. Elle kept her gaze on the twinkling water of the creek as she tried to parcel up her reaction to Lucas’s touch and return it safely to that folder in her memory marked ‘past’. By the time they saw Charlie and Kayleigh, waving as they dodged the traffic, she’d recovered enough for conversation.
Charlie talked enough for four, anyway, joking around on the water taxi, complaining about the slippery pavement leading into the citadel of Valletta, which glowed like rose gold in the early evening sun. Huffing and puffing, they climbed the steep roads to Republic Street, the thoroughfare of limestone buildings that ran like a spine down the length of Valletta.
Elle couldn’t remember when she’d last laughed so freely as she did that evening, gathered around the table at the pizzeria. Kayleigh’s humour was dry, Charlie’s was impish, and Lucas slid in enough acerbic jibes to keep his younger brother in his place. Having munched her way through most of a monster crusty pizza and drunk her fair share of wine, it was nearing midnight when Elle began to think that she ought to slow down on the alcohol. And then her phone rang.
She frowned. Her phone didn’t ring that often when she was in Malta. She sometimes thought she only carried it around out of habit. It took her a moment to fumble it from the tiny bag she’d slung over her chair back, hoping it wasn’t Joseph with bad news about Carmelo.
