Beyond The Island Page 6

  ‘Absolutely fine!’ Joanne steadied herself and relished the cool spray which splashed her face and heard him shout,

  ‘I’m increasing speed. Hold on tight.’

  Could the yacht withstand this pressure? She gripped the stanchion to keep her balance and felt her body jerk as they raced over the water while engine noise blasted the air.

  ‘I’m heading into the wind.’ Slowly their speed slackened until at last the engine just ticked over and the water around them calmed. The silence came to Joanne with a shock. She stared about. The Island looked a mere speck behind them while they seemed alone in the vast ocean. Renzo’s command of the yacht buried the flicker of anxiety as his voice filled the void.

  ‘Good practice run,’ he stated, ‘We’ll hoist the mainsail now,’ and he began to haul the huge sail up the mast. ‘Lend a hand, will you?’

  The tension stiffening her body subsided as Joanne took hold of the rope he indicated, determined not to show lack of effort. Nevertheless she was surprised how much strength was needed to counter the pull of the large sail. Pitting her strength, it was a satisfying moment when Renzo called to her,

  ‘Well done, Joanne. I’ll demonstrate how to cleat it.’ That accomplished he suddenly stated. ‘You’re going to take the helm for a few minutes.’

  She preferred the way he addressed her in a business like way. With growing confidence Joanne took the helm.

  ‘We’re heading out to sea. Just hold it steady on this course.’ And then to her surprise, added, ‘You’ve the makings of a fine sailor, Joanne.’

  It hadn’t sounded patronising. Clearly he trusted her abilities. But could she really tackle all the complexities of sailing a large yacht? However, after a while she grew to understand that ‘Bountiful’ handled like a dream. Joanne’s spirits soared, amazed how the yacht responded to the slightest variation of her touch on the wheel. The onshore breeze ruffled hair escaped from the bandana at the nape of her neck and fanned her cheeks. She felt invigorated and a thought entered her head. Maybe with Renzo’s instruction, she might by the end of her holiday be a proficient sailor. The question why invite her to crew remained uncertain but any ulterior motives now seemed unimportant.

  Renzo gave no indication of being lonely but was clearly a loner. Where were his friends? It occurred that maybe locals were wary of him. She’d seen some of them avert their eyes as he approached. Angelina had mentioned that historically here on the Island the name Balzarin conveyed memories of past persecution which had lingered into the 21st century. As if a screen cleared in her head, she found a possible reason for Renzo’s invitation to crew. She was a stranger to the Island. Although her idea lacked proof, for the time being it sufficed.

  Renzo’s enthusiasm was catching as he displayed all the yacht’s features. Conjecture about locals was suspended when as if in answer to her thoughts he explained, ‘When he’s not restoring his old fishing boat Marco, a local man takes pleasure looking after my yacht – he’s proficient at maintaining the engine.’

  Joanne wondered if this dedicated Marco was ever given a chance to sail as Renzo’s crew, but didn’t ask. Renzo seemed to read her thoughts.

  ‘Marco’s a fisherman - has his own fishing boat, a traditional craft he’s rebuilding from a near wreck. He spends most of his spare time tinkering on it when he’s not out fishing in his other boat.’

  This conversation led her to the perplexing thought that refused to go away. Almost without thinking, she asked. ‘Does your cousin Fabio enjoy sailing?’ and added quickly as a side issue, ‘Did you and your cousins own a boat when you lived at the family house?’ After all, she thought, living by the sea it would have been a natural activity.

  Renzo suddenly busied himself as if to judge their course. ‘Hang on a minute, Joanne. Take her about 10 degrees port, eh? There’s a fast motor cruiser to the starboard – she’s on course to cross our bows and a bit too close for my liking.’

  Joanne’s heart lurched as a fast cruiser, clinical white and big as a three storey block of flats bore down upon them. She managed to keep a steady head even when the sails flapped wildly as she altered direction and only released her breath as she managed to bring Bountiful steadily back on its course. In other circumstances she’d have been amused by the pesky little dog which had glared down from the lofty height on the cruiser’s prow but felt merely relieved at the manoeuvre she’d dealt with instinctively.

  ‘Excellent Joanne; couldn’t have done that better myself! Now, what were you saying? Oh yes, did we three cousins sail together as youngsters. Yes.’ He nodded, and turned his attention to the rigging. ‘We shared a small sailing boat, Signet 20 footer anchored just off our tiny beach.’ He shook his head and his expression seemed wistful as he added, ‘great fun we had taking her out all day during the holidays. Now I often sail Bountiful on my own.’ He hesitated before saying, ‘Fabio never sailed again after the dreadful...’ He looked away.

  Joanne failed to catch the rest of the sentence but her heart began to thump. All kinds of thoughts darted through her mind. Was Fabio badly injured? What dreadful thing had happened? But Renzo did not enlarge and she had no right to pursue his statement. She was surprised when he added;

  ‘It was many years ago.’ Renzo let out a sigh. ‘His mother drowned. Yes, Elspeth, his lovely mother drowned in a sailing accident with Fabio,’ he repeated, his face creased with sorrow, ‘such a loss. Fabio was devastated and vowed never to sail again.’

  ‘I’m dreadfully sorry to know this. I shouldn’t have asked but I’m grateful you told me.’ Poor Fabio, no wonder he doesn’t sail, she thought. I must be careful not to enthuse about sailing to Fabio. Another thought flashed in, perhaps Fabio’s mother was the beautiful woman in that photograph.

  Joanne focused as Renzo continued, his tone light-hearted, ‘I’m sure my cousin prefers racing about in that little sports car searching for different views of the island to paint – he goes out in all weathers. Cousin Angelina doesn’t care for sailing any more - spends her free time at her favourite hobby – gardening and her good work amongst the local elderly, of course. So you see Joanne, there’s no one in the family to share my activity. It was delightful to discover you had booked your holiday on the Island – and a keen sailor! I am privileged to have you here to crew.’

  Joanne smiled carefully in response. It still seemed odd. Why hadn’t Renzo invited someone else he knew? Surely he had many friends who would jump at the chance to act as crew? It was remarkable. And that carrot he’d dangled about employing her as a sailing instructor? Her caution was ingrained. Determined not to be fooled by his praise Joanne remained alert for hidden motives.

  Unaware that she gripped the helm like a lifeline her mood changed as casting care to the wind she made the choice to enjoy this great experience. Any lingering thoughts were cut short as Renzo’s voice penetrated,

  ‘We’ll drop anchor here; time for lunch. I’ll take the helm now.’

  The yacht stilled as it faced into the wind. It came with a sound of finality as she heard the heavy anchor chain rattle noisily from its housing and plunge into the sea with a splash. He spent a few minutes erecting a canvas awning to provide shade and like a genie produced a table and folding chairs from below deck. She laid out silver cutlery and wine glasses on a white cloth, her mouth -watering as smoked salmon appeared from a chilled bag together with antipasto, an asparagus tart, a mixed bean salad and various condiments. She was certain Renzo had been responsible for organising this lavish fare. A picture flew in of him standing over the hotel kitchen staff, placing his orders and checking every item. Money seemed limitless and he had the knack of commanding respect she mused, as he disappeared down the steps and returned with a bottle of chilled frascati.

  ‘What treats, Renzo.’ Joanne looked up with a smile and shook her head. ‘This is so lavish.’ She watched as he poured her a generous glass of wine and its fizz reflected her devil may care mood. ‘I’m in danger of becoming an alcoholic,’ she exclaimed with a
laugh. The act of drinking wine at every meal was way outside her normal experience. Back in England a bottle of coke or half a lager would be a treat. Put this down to another experience, she told herself; enjoy this life while you may. All too soon you’ll be back at the Language School and the only similarity to this, coping with a job you’re not trained to do. And so lulled by the unusual circumstance her usual caution remained at bay.

  She held her wine glass firmly while the yacht swayed gently in the deep water. ‘This is great,’ she murmured and waved a hand vaguely about.

  ‘It’s my pleasure entirely to have you share it with me,’ He’d popped his sunglasses atop his head in a practiced gesture but she fancied his eyes retained distance as picking up his glass of wine he strolled away to the cockpit.

  Joanne mused that this scenario resembled something projected in glossy travel brochures; images to be drooled over by lesser folk not so wealthy.

  She sat down on the warm deck boards and mulled over all the fine things that had come her way. Apart from that false start in Naples her days now seemed bathed in golden light. She ticked off everything that a short time ago would have been fantasy; her delightful new friends Angelina and Fabio; luxury room in the hotel with its fine facilities and the superb restaurants where Renzo insisted on dining her. And here, she was reclining like a celebrity after a delicious al fresco lunch aboard a yacht in the Mediterranean.

  Renzo returned and declined her help to clear away the remains of their feast.

  ‘No, I insist you rest,’ he declared. ‘This is the skipper’s task.’

  Needing no persuasion, Joanne settled back, aware her head swam dizzily. Not sea sicknes, but too much wine in the heat of the day. In future she must be firm and decline refills of her glass. In the corner of her eye, she saw Renzo disappear down below transporting the remains of their picnic. He came back and followed with the folded table and chairs.

  A sudden cold flurry puckered her forehead at the strangeness of her situation. It was as if a glass marble bounced down the sharp pins on a Corinthian board. Try as she might to shake it off, the puzzle reared up in her head. But the combination of wine and heat overcame Joanne before the thought was fully formed and she must have dozed off. When her eyes snapped open she stared disorientated at the sky which, like a steel blue girdle, enclosed them on the vast, emptiness of sea.

  A horrid sense of being trapped jerked Joanne upright, her heart thumping as Renzo returned on deck and spoke.

  ‘When you’re ready, I’ll show you another device on board.’ He took her empty glass which had fallen onto her lap, placed it carefully down and beckoned her to follow.

  Joanne scrambled to her feet and forced attention as Renzo led her to the stern and indicated,

  ‘This is the self- steering gear, a useful device when sailing alone at night. See this stern fin? It’s linked to that cable attached to our helm,’ he raised his arm and pointed, urging Joanne to take a close look. ‘It takes over which means I can leave it to steer safely on course even if I take a nap.’

  ‘That’s clever! I’ve never sailed at night so would never have believed something could steer automatically.’ Joanne shook her head. ‘I’m learning such a lot.’

  Renzo patted the top of her head and though annoyed, she took this as a friendly gesture.

  ‘I get a lot of satisfaction teaching you carina,’ he murmured. ‘You are clever at grasping instructions.’

  Oh no! That use of endearment again. Even allowing that he was at least a decade or so older, it did sound patronising. If it were not for gaining useful sailing skills she might have responded with a flippant remark. She was relieved when he said they must return to their mooring in the harbour. Joanne took deep breaths of salty air to settle her mind.

  The sail back was uneventful and the sea calm, only tiny waves rippled around them as the yacht sliced easily through the water. Joanne sat holding one of the ropes, mesmerised by the burning orange disc as the sun sank gently on the horizon. Imperceptibly, clouds transformed into a luminous dark screen against the paler sky. She sat enthralled by the sight of sea birds drifting on air currents glowing underneath like fiery embers floating up from a bonfire.

  They were approaching their mooring buoy and she stood and steadied herself. First she fixed the rope in the cleat and then reached for the long boat hook. She must be ready to hook the mooring rope at the right instant, drag it up on board and secure it fast. If she missed it would mean Renzo making a tricky manoeuvre back to the buoy.

  Renzo skilfully brought the yacht within striking distance of the buoy. ‘A simple matter in calm conditions,’ he called out. ‘Not so easy when a strong wind tosses the yacht about!’

  Joanne braced herself, determined to hook the mooring rope first time and let out a deep breath as she snatched it up at the end of the hook.

  ‘Well done!’

  It helped that Renzo hadn’t shouted instructions. So far she’d not let him down. A good thing about him was how he always remarked on good performance.

  She heard the sails rustle as Renzo lowered them and watched as he secured them along the boom.

  ‘A good sail today, eh?’ he turned to her with a smile that lifted the deep lines etched either side of his mouth and briefly Joanne glimpsed how he’d looked in his youth.

  ‘Thanks, Renzo. That was a marvellous sail - and the picnic was delicious.’ She relaxed. Everything will be all right. ‘What a spectacular sunset,’ she pointed.

  ‘Yes, perfect,’ he agreed and without preamble, ‘I’ll miss my crew when she’s gone.’ His comment came with a convincing shake of his head.

  A pleasant thing to say, she thought as he moved to the stern. It almost chased away any remaining doubts about him. Until his next words carried back to her,

  ‘Perhaps I’ll lock you in the cabin so you can’t get away.’

  It was a moment or two before this sank in. It appeared spoken in jest, yet humour failed to reach his features and his eyes remained hooded as he returned to her side. Where was her sense of humour? Joanne chided herself; he’s just concentrating on final tasks.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning whilst enjoying an early breakfast Joanne reviewed her holiday so far. She’d had few spare moments to herself and craved time to explore the Island. She sat back and made up her mind to explain this to Renzo in the nicest possible way. Her mobile phone rang and her heart lifted to see a text from Angelina.

  ‘Are you free to come for a picnic later today? I can collect you from the hotel to meet the children after school.’

  Joanne replied straight away. ‘Absolutely love to. I’ll be ready when you arrive.’

  This offered a valid excuse to forgo sailing. Surely Renzo would be pleased that Angelina had befriended her?

  With the pleasant idea of an outing with Angelina in mind, Joanne decided she would go for a short morning sail if Renzo wished. Spurred on with purpose, she changed into sailing clothes and hurried down to the harbour. It occurred that she was drawn to Angelina as though part of a family and with that realization came hope there would be more opportunities to meet her.

  ***

  After a good, instructive sail they were back on dry land. ‘We’ll make it a longer sail tomorrow,’ Renzo declared. ‘I’m working this afternoon.’

  It was a statement and prompted Joanne’s response. ‘I really appreciate your generosity – it’s great having the chance to gain instruction from you.’ She didn’t mention her plan to meet Angelina and before she had time to form the words added, ‘I can’t go sailing tomorrow as I intend to explore the Island and do some photography.’

  A brief silence and then he said, ‘that’s fine, Joanne. There are still many days left for sailing.’ His words were measured as his mouth lifted in a stiff smile. ‘If you are not happy to sail with me, you will let me know?’

  ‘Oh it’s nothing like that! I love being crew,’ Joanne hastily reassured him.

  ‘That’s good. Now yo
u go off and enjoy yourself on the Island.’

  It felt as if he was extending his permission, but conscious that she owed him a great deal, Joanne let it pass.

  ***

  That afternoon she was waiting when Angelina collected her from the hotel. ‘So pleased you are free, Joanne.’

  ‘Me too,’ and she can’t know how much I mean that, Joanne thought. ‘I can’t wait to see the children again,’ she said, her eyes sparkling.

  School finished at 2pm. Joanne grinned as the children almost bowled her over with hugs and a babble of questions. It warmed her heart and made her feel part of the family as they fought to gain her attention.

  ‘Joanne! You must hear about what happened at school today...’ it was Francesca.

  ‘Do you like sailing on Uncle Renzo’s yacht? He says he’ll take me out one day. I’m bigger. I’m ten already!’ it was Nico.

  ‘Look at my fingers. They’re all paint!’ it was Cecilia.

  Joanne laughed and tried to get a word in.

  ‘They are so happy to see you again,’ Angelina murmured.

  They drove along lanes past fields of tomatoes, their huge bunch of fruit dragging down to the ground. ‘Wow! Don’t find anything like those in the supermarket back home,’ Joanne exclaimed, ‘just packets of identical size tomatoes without much flavour.’

  The undulating slopes were dotted with volcanic rocks bleached white by the sun interspersed with scrubby land planted with rows of vines.

  ‘How’s the sailing going?’

  ‘Really well. Renzo is such a good instructor and its marvellous sailing on the open sea.’

  Angelina nodded and drove on.

  Joanne hadn’t known such a place existed on the Island. As Angelina brought the car to a halt she stared about a flower strewn meadow with glimpses of the sea far in the distance.

  ‘Oh, wonderful! It’s so peaceful.’

  The sun beat down unmercifully in an electric blue sky and the heat pressed against her body under the thin cotton dress. Save for the gentle swish of a breeze, there was only the occasional bleating of goats to disturb absolute silence. Joanne saw it was a great place for the children to play.