The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2)
Read The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) Online
Authors: Lucinda Riley
For Susan Moss, my ‘soul’ sister
I would not creep along the coast but steer
Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars
George Eliot
A
TLANTIS
Pa Salt –
the sisters’ adoptive father (deceased)
Marina (Ma) –
the sisters’ guardian
Claudia –
housekeeper at Atlantis
Georg Hoffman –
Pa Salt’s lawyer
Christian –
the skipper
T
HE
D’A
PLIÈSE
S
ISTERS
Maia
Ally (Alcyone)
Star (Asterope)
CeCe (Celaeno)
Tiggy (Taygete)
Electra
Merope (missing)
June 2007
The Aegean Sea
I will always remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard that my father had died.
I was lying naked in the sun on the deck of the
Neptune
, with Theo’s hand resting protectively on my stomach. The deserted curve of golden beach on the island in front of us
glimmered in the sun as it sat nestled in its rocky cove. The crystal-clear turquoise water was making a lazy attempt at forming waves as it hit the sands, foaming elegantly like the froth on a
cappuccino.
Becalmed
, I’d thought,
like me
.
We’d dropped anchor in the small bay off the tiny Greek island of Macheres at sunset the night before, then waded ashore to the cove carrying two cool boxes. One was filled with fresh red
mullet and sardines that Theo had caught earlier that day, the other with wine and water. I’d set down my load on the sand, panting with effort, and Theo had kissed my nose tenderly.
‘We are castaways on our very own desert island,’ he’d announced, spreading his arms wide to gesture at the idyllic setting. ‘Now, I’m off in search of firewood so
we can cook our fish.’
I’d watched him as he turned from me and walked towards the rocks forming a crescent around the cove, heading for the tinder-dry sparse bushes that grew in the crevices. Given he was a
world-class sailor, his slight frame belied his strength. Compared to the other men I crewed with in sailing competitions who seemed to be all rippling muscles and Tarzan-like chests, Theo was
positively diminutive. One of the first things I’d noticed about him was his rather lopsided gait. He’d since told me how he’d broken his ankle falling out of a tree as a child
and how it had never mended properly.
‘I suppose it’s another reason why I was always destined for a life on the water. When I’m sailing, no one can tell how ridiculous I look walking on land,’ he’d
chuckled.
We’d cooked our fish and later made love under the stars. The following morning was our last aboard together. And just before I’d decided I absolutely had to resume contact with the
outside world by switching on my mobile, and then subsequently discovered my life had shattered into a million tiny pieces, I’d lain there next to him perfectly at peace. And, like a surreal
dream, my mind had replayed the miracle of Theo and me, and how we’d come to be here in this beautiful place . . .
I’d first set eyes on him a year or so ago at the Heineken Regatta in St Maarten in the Caribbean. The winning crew was celebrating at the victory dinner and I was
intrigued to discover that their skipper was Theo Falys-Kings. He was a celebrity in the sailing world, having steered more crews to victory in offshore races during the past five years than any
other captain.
‘He isn’t what I imagined at all,’ I commented under my breath to Rob Bellamy, an old crewmate with whom I’d sailed for the Swiss national team. ‘He looks like a
geek with those horn-rimmed glasses,’ I added as I watched him stand up to move across to another table, ‘and he has a very odd walk.’
‘He’s certainly not your average brawny sailor, admittedly,’ agreed Rob. ‘But Al, the guy is a total genius. He has a sixth sense when it comes to the water and
there’s no one I’d trust more as my skipper on stormy seas.’
I was introduced to Theo briefly by Rob later that evening and I noticed his hazel-flecked green eyes were thoughtful as he shook my hand.
‘So, you’re the famous Al D’Aplièse.’
Behind his British accent, his voice was warm and steady. ‘Yes, to the latter part of that statement,’ I said, embarrassed at the compliment, ‘but I think it’s
you
who’s famous.’ Doing my best not to let my gaze waver under his continued scrutiny, I saw his features soften as he let out a chuckle.
‘What’s so funny?’ I demanded.
‘To be frank, I wasn’t expecting
you
.’
‘What do you mean “
me
”?’
Theo’s attention was diverted by a photographer wanting a team photo, so I never did get to hear what it was he meant.
After that, I began to notice him across the room at various social events for the regattas we took part in. He had an indefinable vibrancy about him and a soft, easy laugh that, despite his
outwardly reserved demeanour, seemed to draw people to his side. If the event was formal, he was usually dressed in chinos and a crumpled linen jacket as a nod to protocol and the race sponsors,
but his ancient deck shoes and unruly brown hair always made him look as if he’d just stepped off a boat.
On those first few occasions, it seemed as if we were dancing around each other. Our eyes met often, but Theo never attempted to continue our first conversation. It was only six weeks ago, when
my crew had claimed victory in Antigua and we were celebrating at the Lord Nelson’s Ball that marked the end of race week, when he tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Well done, Al,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I replied, feeling gratified that our crew had beaten his for a change.
‘I’m hearing many good things about you this season, Al. Do you fancy coming to crew for me in the Cyclades Regatta in June?’
I’d already been offered a place on another crew, but had yet to accept. Theo saw my hesitation.
‘You’re already taken?’
‘Provisionally, yes.’
‘Well, here’s my card. Have a think about it and let me know by the end of the week. I could really do with someone like you aboard.’
‘Thanks.’ I mentally pushed aside my hesitation. Who on earth turned down the chance to crew for the man currently known as ‘The King of the Seas’? ‘By the
way,’ I called out as he began to walk away from me, ‘last time we talked, why did you say you weren’t expecting “me”?’
He paused, his eyes sweeping briefly over me. ‘I’d never met you in person; I’d just heard titbits of conversation about your sailing skills, that’s all. And as I said,
you aren’t what I was expecting. Goodnight, Al.’
I mulled over our conversation as I walked back to my room in a little inn by St John’s harbour, letting the night air wash over me and wondering why it was that Theo fascinated me so
much. Street lights bathed the cheerful multi-coloured house fronts in a warm nocturnal glow, and from a distance, the lazy hum of people in the bars and cafés drifted towards me. I was
oblivious to it all, exhilarated as I was by the race win – and by Theo Falys-King’s offer.
