His PA had been a little startled but she was in her sixties, had worked for him for so long that she deserved a medal and had decided a decade ago that sorting out his emails and arranging his meetings was just a small part of her designated role.
‘Take as much time out as you want, Luca,’ she had soothed. ‘You work too hard. You’re thirty-four years old and you need to relax more or you’ll have a heart attack before you know it. Stress. It kills. Those grapes will keep growing and the machinery will keep working until you decide to get back.’
His father had been largely indifferent. He’d handed over the reins of the sprawling family empire to his son a long time ago and had, since then, devoted his life to marrying and divorcing inappropriate women. Four at the last count although thankfully things had been quiet on that front for the past two years. Luca knew better than to expect that to last. He loved his father but he was far too aware of his failings to assume that a brief respite from unsuitable liaisons could herald anything more than the same old, same old.
And since then...
He looked at his watch. Then at the view spread out in front of him. From where he was sitting, waiting for her at the café on the waterfront, he had a splendid view of the harbour and just at the moment, with the sun shining, it was a picturesque sight. Blue water, the boats bobbing on the surface and people criss-crossing the road in front of him, taking their time getting out of the way should a beaten up car decide to drive past. It was a very far cry from the trendy seaside village where his house resided in a prestigious position on a hill overlooking a marina, which was dotted with expensive yachts and pleasure boats owned by the expensive people who flocked to the Michelin-starred restaurants and chic pubs and quaint tea rooms. The house was the last link to his mother, an expensive youthful present from way back when, when his father had slipped the engagement ring on her finger and led her to a house in the very place where she had grown up, so that she could maintain easy links with her friends and what little family she had left. His old man, even then, had done things in style.
That house summed up, for Luca, the way love and loss were so entwined, and, with everything going on in his life when he had decided to clear his desk and take time out, he had escaped back to it for just such a timely reminder. There was no such thing as love without loss.
He killed pointless musings dead.
As Cordelia had told him when she had shown him round the village two days previously, this was a working fishing village. There were occasional tourists in summer, in search of a more authentic Cornish experience, but largely the place was inhabited by locals, most of whom were involved in the fishing business in one way or the other.
As for Cordelia, Luca had discovered that she was a woman of many talents. Most of her time was spent helping her father run his small business. She did his books and, in summer, oversaw the rental of two of his boats further along the coast at one of the more popular seaside towns. She made sure that everything ticked along.
‘Dad depends on me,’ she had told him. ‘I may not go out there on the trawler with him but I pretty much do everything else. Of course, if needs be, I’m more than capable of helping him at sea if one of the guys is off, but I’m better off staying here and working behind the scenes. He’s hopeless when it comes to anything to do with filling in forms or paperwork and forget about computers.’
Luca saw her before she spotted him. She was glorious. Long limbs, arms swinging, her hair, as always, tied back. She radiated vitality and health and he marvelled that he had succeeded in keeping his hands to himself when he’d spent the last three days itching to reach out and touch her. His freedom might be on the brink of disappearing but, right now, he was still as single as the day was long.
But for once, he hadn’t dared. There was an innocence about her that kept him at bay. For the first time in his life, he also had no idea how she would react if he made a pass at her. Slap him down? Kick him out of the house? Fling herself into his arms and beg for satisfaction? He had no idea and the uncertainty was paralysing.
He waved when she spotted him and she beamed back at him.
For a second, Luca felt a stab of guilt at the way he had played fast and loose with the truth. He’d talked a lot about his country but had been diplomatically light on detail. He knew that she’d somehow assumed that he’d been over on holiday, maybe chartered a boat for a day out, but the fact that he was hanging around had led her to assume that he was currently jobless and he hadn’t disabused her of the notion. Why would he? He would soon be gone and this rare chance to be whoever he wanted to be was addictive.
‘I’ve brought us a picnic.’ Cordelia dumped a basket on the table and looked at him.
It was hot. A perfect summer day. This part of the world did perfect summer days like nowhere else. Bright blue sky, turquoise sea, clean smell of the ocean and the soft sound of the water slapping against the sides of the fishing boats.
She shielded her eyes from the glare and stared at him. With only the clothes on his back when she rescued him, he had had
