folded up the ladder but when he turned around she lost her nerve.
‘I just wanted to say thank you. For the roof.’
‘Hadn’t you heard? Working holidays are all the rage.’ His hand brushed her shoulder, lingered for a moment, as he passed. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘I’ll shut the French doors.’
* * *
Cleve put the ladder away in the garage. Alberto had kept it pristine. Everything shelved, labelled, tools cleaned, oiled and hung in clips, the layer of dust lending a Sleeping Beauty air to the place. Clearly the cars were his Beauties and Cleve made a note to buy a new hasp and padlock for the door while they were out.
He took clean clothes from his grip and tossed them on the king-size bed in which a king had once slept with his mistress. Having just had a fairly heavy hint that Miranda did not intend to follow Sofia’s example, he let the water run cold.
Twenty minutes later, following the unmistakable sound of a scooter engine, he found Miranda riding around the courtyard, wearing a smile as wide as a barn door.
She pulled up beside him.
‘You managed to start it.’
‘It was as clean as a whistle. I pumped some air into the tyres and put the battery on charge earlier. The tyres stayed pumped and the engine started first time. If you open the gate we can go.’
‘When was the last time you rode one of these things?’ he asked as he hauled open one of the gates and fastened it back.
‘Years, but it’s like riding a bike. Don’t worry, I won’t pitch you into a ditch.’
‘If you say so.’
A dozen things went through his mind, not least the fact that they should be wearing helmets. He wanted to wrap Miranda in cotton wool, keep her safe, but that was his problem, not hers and he threw his leg over the saddle.
‘Hold on.’
He needed no encouraging to wrap his arms around her waist as she shot through the gate and onto the road. He took full advantage of the opportunity to hold her close so that her back was close up against his chest, his cheek resting against her hair, which still smelled faintly of smoke, taking the curves as if they were one. His only problem was that they reached the edge of the village and the DIY warehouse far too soon.
Half an hour later, roofing supplies ordered with the promise that they would be delivered that afternoon, they were sitting outside the blue painted café, wine and water on the table, a waiter listing what was on the menu for lunch.
Miranda ordered a swordfish steak with a salad.
‘You seem to have regained your appetite,’ he said as he ordered the same with a side order of fries.
‘Sunshine, fresh air...’ She shook her head. ‘The truth is that I was stressing over how to tell you about the baby.’
‘Why would you do that?’
She looked at him helplessly. ‘Cleve...’
‘Stupid question.’ She was stressing because she thought he was screwed up with grief but it was too lovely a day to darken with the truth—that he was simply screwed up.
He’d kept Rachel’s secret but Miranda would have to know everything before she took an irrevocable decision about her future. Not now, though. Not here. ‘I hope it hasn’t put you off your food.’
‘No.’ Andie shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
Nearly fine.
Neither of them spoke for a while but the silence was the comfortable kind between two people who’d known one another for a long time and didn’t need to fill every moment with banal conversation. Instead they watched the bustle of a busy working harbour, the boats coming and going, men washing down decks, a skinny black cat creeping along on its belly, stalking something that only it could see.
‘I like this place,’ Cleve said as their food arrived.
‘Me too.’
The waiter asked if there was anything else they wanted, wished them ‘Buon appetito’ and left them to it.
They tasted the fish and pronounced it good. Andie helped herself to some of his fries. He asked why she hadn’t ordered her own. It was the normal, everyday stuff that was no different from lunch in the mess or down the pub and within minutes they were talking about work. The performance of the Learjet. How the Cyprus office was bringing in more business from the Middle East. Nothing personal. No more straying into dangerously emotional territory where the past could trip them up.
Cleve ordered an espresso. She refused to be tempted by cheesecake. Cleve paid the bill, checked the time and stood up. ‘The tiles are being delivered this afternoon. You can stay in town if you like but I’d better get back.’
She knew that nothing would happen until four o’clock when the shops would reopen and the town would come to life but she’d inadvertently invoked bad memories and sensed he needed some time alone.
‘The village has grown since I was last here. It’s almost a town now and I’d like to explore a little. Walk off lunch.’
‘Take care riding back. See if you can find a helmet.’
‘I will if you promise not to go up on the roof unless I’m there.’
He drew a cross over his heart. ‘Scouts’ honour.’
‘If you need me just ring the bell.’
His steel-grey eyes softened. ‘Never doubt that I need you, Miranda.’ She was still taking in his words when he caught the back of her head in his hand and kissed her. His mouth lingered momentarily as if tasting her and then he was gone before she could catch her breath.
She raised her hand to her mouth. It hadn’t been a heavy kiss, just firm enough to leave the faintest tingle and send sparks flying in all directions.
A promise.
The waiter returned with his receipt and, startling him with a smile, she said, ‘I think I’ll have that cheesecake after all.’
When she returned, there was a car outside and in the courtyard Cleve was erecting a scaffolding deck. ‘Where did that come from?’ she asked.
‘I hired it. Health and safety. I don’t see a helmet.’
‘I couldn’t find a motorbike accessories shop. Has Matt brought his mother? I thought we might have scared him off. Did he say anything?’
‘I was inside when they arrived and he took her straight down to the beach.’
‘I’ll try and catch them when they come up. To thank them for the marmalade. I would have bought a replacement jar but the shop isn’t open until four.’
‘We can pick one up in San Rocco tomorrow and drop it off on the way back,’ he suggested.
‘You can ask him to be your witness.’
He nodded, tightened a clamp.
‘I’m going to see if I can start the little runaround. I’ll feel safer driving into the city in that and we’ll have somewhere to put the shopping.’
‘My knees will be under my chin. Why don’t you see if you can start the convertible?’ he suggested, testing the connection before adding another piece.
‘That is a valuable vintage automobile and I’ve seen how the locals drive.’
‘Like Ben Hur in a chariot race?’
That was so close to her own thought that she laughed. ‘Exactly.’
‘Point taken.’ He was smiling when he looked up. ‘My knees and chin will probably survive the indignity.’
* * *