the idea of sailing down the Adriatic from Venice to the Greek islands in that classic nineteenth-century sailing yacht, and if Kit Merchant happened to be at the helm there would always be something attractive to look at.’
Eve felt her cheeks heat at the mention of his name. ‘Isn’t he estranged from his family?’
‘There was a big row three or four years ago. Christopher didn’t want him to take part in the round-the-world race. He said it was time to stop playing and concentrate on the business.’
‘Sailing is his life.’
‘The resort is his father’s.’
Eve had to clear her throat, stop herself from looking around, although she suddenly felt as if she had a great big sign on her back saying ‘HERE’ before she could manage a bright, ‘Maybe a brush with death will soften his father’s attitude.’
‘Maybe. Ah, now this is the one I’ve been looking for.’ Martha picked up a pen, wrote her name and a substantial bid for a vacation at the Merchant Spa in Phuket. Then she held out the pen. ‘Your turn.’
Eve looked back at the African trip.
‘Just to show my support,’ she said, raising a fairly modest bid that someone had already made.
She had only just put down the pen when a man picked it up and outbid her.
Martha had met someone she knew and, while she was talking, Eve checked by how much she’d been outbid. Five hundred dollars... It was still ridiculously cheap, and she placed another bid.
Just to help push up the price.
She straightened to find Martha, thoughtful, watching and guiltily put down the pen. ‘It’s going to go much higher.’
‘They’re starting to serve dinner,’ she said. ‘We should go back to our table.’
As they moved away someone else stepped up to make another bid. As Eve smothered a squeak of protest, Martha took her arm.
‘Leave it until after dinner when we know what we’re up against.’
‘Yes... No!’ Realising how quickly she’d been sucked in, she said, ‘Wow, that’s dangerous.’
‘The trick is to decide on your top bid and not to get carried away. Well, not too much,’ Martha added, smiling.
‘Oh, no, I’m done,’ Eve declared, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking back, fingers twitching.
THE FOOD WAS EXCELLENT, the company—if more her godmother’s generation than her own—was interesting and the wine flowed freely enough that she was pleasantly relaxed by the time Barbara Merchant returned to the stage.
‘Hi, yes, sorry it’s me again but this is a charity dinner and you all knew you’d have to dig deep, right? Has everyone bought raffle tickets?’ There was a murmur from the room and she said, ‘Well, buy some more! We’ll be drawing some amazing prizes very soon.’ She paused a moment for the laughter to die down, then said, ‘Before you all rush to spend money on a good cause, and to tell you why this fundraiser is so important, I’d like you to welcome my son, Kit, who, after his father’s stroke, has come home to give us all his support.’
Eve was only half listening, her thoughts focussed on the past, and, not sure she’d heard right, she turned to look and there he was, standing beside his mother.
‘Kit?’
The word was little more than a whisper but Martha leaned over and said, ‘Word is that he’s resigned as skipper of the Cup team.’
Before she could take that in, Barbara Merchant said, ‘I’ll leave Kit to introduce his friend and fellow sailor who has come all the way from New Zealand to tell you why this clinic is so desperately needed.’
This couldn’t be happening. She’d checked the team’s blog before she left for Nantucket, just to be sure. There had been a photograph of him, taken less than a month ago, at the helm of the new yacht he and his team were putting through its paces in the Southern Ocean.
Even as her mind was rejecting the possibility that he was not simply in Nantucket but in this very room, Kit Merchant’s low, baritone voice reached out across the space and touched her like a lover’s caress.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, friends...’
For a moment Eve couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move...
And then the reality of his mother’s introduction, Martha’s whispered comment, sank in. This wasn’t a flying visit, Kit was back, if not for good, then for the foreseeable future.
‘My mother has already thanked our generous partners throughout the world who have joined Merchant Resorts to offer thrilling, one-off experiences for this auction, but events such as this do not organise themselves...’
Every cell in her body was warning her to keep absolutely still; she was afraid that any movement would attract his attention, draw his gaze in her direction.
And then what?
From that distance all he would see was a badly dressed woman with mousy hair. The kind of woman who wouldn’t hold his attention for a second.
She’d seen his face on a hundred magazine covers in the years since their encounter on the beach. She knew the exact shade of blue of his eyes, knew each line weathered into his face by sun, saltwater and wind, the shape of the close-trimmed beard that he’d grown. She knew the way his thick, sun-streaked hair stuck up as if he’d just dragged his hand through it. As if she had just dragged her hand through it.
It had been just one night, but she could still feel the soft thickness of it beneath her own fingers, still knew the taste of his lips, the sweet murmur of his voice, the scent of sharp, clean sweat on his skin.
‘...thank those of you who have given your time to help my mother and sister organise this amazing auction.’
She wanted to slide from her chair, curl up and hide beneath the table but she was frozen, unable to look away as, oblivious to her presence, he was turning to the lovely young woman standing beside him.
‘Before you all rush to top up your bids,’ he said, ‘I want to introduce Lucy Grainger. Along with her brother Matt, she was a member of my crew. Matt was my first mate, my best mate, a friend, a brother from a different mother, who died last year. This auction is because of his death...’
As he stepped back Kit’s eyes swept the room and for a moment, one brief shocking moment, they came to rest on her.
It was as if he could see through the brown dye to the red curls desperately trying to burst out of the clamped-down chignon. As if he could see through the boring dress to the body that she had once, desperately, thrown at him and which he had caught so deftly.
Relief came as he stepped back to leave Lucy in the spotlight and, as if released from some unseen force field, her breath could finally escape, allowing her body to sag as the tension left her.
‘Eve? Are you okay?’ Martha whispered.
‘I’m a bit warm. The wine...’ She shook her head when Martha suggested some fresh air, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She could slip away as soon as everyone made a move. ‘I’ll be fine.’
She sipped a glass of water as the young woman told the audience about her brother, Matt, a gifted international yachtsman like Kit, who’d hidden an injury so that he could continue competing and, as a result, had become addicted to painkillers. First prescription and then later, when they stopped working, to stronger and stronger drugs bought on the Internet and finally from the streets.
She was young, beautiful, there were tears in her eyes as she spoke of his kindness, his talent, and