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‘Stop that noise,’ he warned. ‘I’m not hurting you.’

She continued to struggle, kicking violently and hoping the towel would stay firm. He stopped by the bed, and when she cried out even louder he silenced her by the simple method of covering her mouth with his. She tossed her head, trying to escape him, but the pressure increased until she gradually went limp in his arms, His lips against hers sought to arouse her and the fight was lost. Forgetting the towel, Minella raised her arms and slid them round his neck, her fingers furrowing through his wiry dark hair, and she abandoned herself to the glorious, pulsating turmoil that rushed through her body as he crushed her to him. If there was never another moment like this in her life she would be sure this one was never forgotten. But as his mouth trailed kisses along the curve of her throat and down to her breast she began to struggle again in panic, realising just where her own reaction was leading, and she stretched her head until she could bite the lobe of his ear viciously.

He dropped her on the bed. His-eyes smouldered with dark, insatiable emotion.

‘If you weren’t so innocent, Minella, you’d know that that’s no way to stop a man doing anything. Quite the reverse.’

She was rigid with the effort to control her anger and confusion.

‘Isn’t it enough that you’ve got Annette?’ she blazed. ‘Do you collect women like scalps? You’re not safe to be near!’

‘What makes you think I’ve got Annette?’ A cold, suspicious ring crept into his voice.

‘I came to the hospital. You were kissing her.’ Tears she was ashamed of him seeing welled up and refused to be quenched, lying like diamonds on her lower lids before spilling over on to her cheeks. ‘Why can’t you leave us both alone?’

He was motionless, and the verbal retaliation she had expected didn’t come. Instead his eyes held hers and a deep sadness replaced the previous fires. He looked tired.

‘I’m sorry, Sparrow. There are things you don’t understand, and I can’t explain.’

He bent forward and gently stroked the tears from each cheek with the pad of his thumb, and the longing to take his hand and hold it to her lips was so strong she jerked her head aside.

‘I understand all too well,’ she snapped. ‘You’ve no feelings except the basest ones, and you don’t care if you hurt people. Now, will you please go away!’

He lifted his head and it was as if a mask fell into position, wiping everything demonstrative from his expression and leaving it hard and inscrutable.

‘I came to apologise for this afternoon’s fiasco,’ he said. ‘Things happened in such a rush and no one knew where you’d gone. Annette was very worried about you. I hope she knows you’re safely back here.’

‘I haven’t seen her,’ said Minella. She was about to tell him that Vasco had taken care of her, but it would have aggravated the situation, so she kept quiet about it. ‘I’m sure you’ll be glad of an excuse to go and tell her how you’ve found me ... if Greg isn’t with her, of course.’

It was a cruel remark, and for a tense instant she thought he would slap her, but he did nothing. A moment later he turned on his heel and strode away, unable to disguise a limp brought on by his damaged knee. When he had gone Minella propped herself up on her elbows and stared at the door, her heart pumping painfully, and she wished she’d commented about his injury, but in her present mood she was inclined to think it served him right.

Greg was fit again the next morning, full of disappointment that he had missed the fun and excitement and eager to make amends. By the time the
Samanne
was under way, heading back for Horta, he was at the controls, handling the powerboat as if he’d been doing it for years, while Sam reluctantly sat back.

‘He isn’t even supposed to put weight on that leg,’ said Annette anxiously, ‘and he’s been walking around ever since we left the hospital. The doctor was afraid it might bleed again and it could be difficult to stop.’

Nothing much had been said about the emergency treatment Sam had had to receive. He refused to talk about it other than to make light of the incident and both Minella and Annette had avoided precipitating a discussion. Clearly Annette was worried, but awkward questions would have been difficult to answer, as Minella now realised.

Minella had spent a restless night. She had wanted to speak to Annette and tell her she knew the truth, but it would have been an intrusion. She watched them at dinner, two people who had once been in love and planning to marry, but now bewildered by their feelings after the long estrangement. Did Sam regret it? He was being particularly careful to treat her with casual friendliness, but Annette was in danger of letting the extent of their familiarity be known. Her concern for him after the accident was obvious, though she tried to hide it.

The one thing Minella longed to know was how Sam had acquired such a bad knee wound in the first place. It must have been a traumatic experience if it had cost him his job and necessitated exiling himself on a lonely Atlantic island. It had to be quite a story, but she didn’t think she was ever likely to hear it. The truth was probably unpalatable anyway. If it had been impossible to stay in England and marry the girl he loved it must have been a shameful business. He was an insensitive brute!

But Annette was still in love with him, in spite of her marriage. She had said she was too happy to risk spoiling everything, so Greg must never find out. Poor Greg, blissfully unaware that his wife was playing a dangerous game! Minella’s heart ached for him, which made it easier for her to harden herself even more against Sam Stafford.

They were back at the house in Horta in time for lunch, but Minella had little appetite, and was glad everyone was too engrossed with their own problems to notice that she was abnormally quiet. No matter how much she tried to think of other things her mind returned to Sam and Annette with increasing curiosity. Somehow she had to help Annette get this fever out of her system, but it would be difficult unless she knew whether Sam’s love had ever been genuine. If it had, and he was serious about her now, what chance was there of saving her brother’s marriage?

One way to find an answer, she was sure, was to see for herself the portrait Sam had painted all that time ago. Vasco had idiotically fallen in love with it, so it must be quite revealing. The idea of trying to see it had come to her yesterday, outside the hospital, and all she had to do was persuade Vasco to take her to the cottage. It shouldn’t be too difficult.

She decided not to wait for him in the house. If Sam saw him he would try to prevent her going out. Keeping on her shorts and T-shirt, she said she was going for a walk round the harbour, pleading a headache that needed air. Greg and Annette were stretched out on loungers in the courtyard under the shade of the fig-tree, and Sam was nowhere about, so it was easy enough to get away. Minella was fairly sure which way Vasco would come and walked down to a comer to wait just before the time they had arranged, listening for the sound of his motorbike to announce his impending arrival, and he was there in a matter of minutes.

He greeted her effusively. ‘Minella Sparrow, I have been counting the hours and looking at the weather. I prayed nothing would stop you coming back to me.’ She wished he wouldn’t call her Sparrow. It reminded her of Sam, and she wanted to forget him.

There hasn’t been any bad weather since the night I arrived,’ she laughed. ‘If I hadn’t experienced that terrible storm I’d have thought you only had idyllic days.’

‘The storm was Fate,’ said Vasco, as she climbed up behind him. ‘Where would you like to go?’

‘I want to go to Sam’s cottage.’

He looked round at her in surprise and his face lit up. ‘That is a
very
good idea. Why did I not think of it myself.’

She hadn’t expected him to agree with quite such alacrity. Persuading him to get a key for the hut by the lake would have to wait until later.

It was fun to be on the motorbike again, and the exhilarating feel of the wind tearing at her hair refreshed her more than anything else could have done. She clung to Vasco as he sped along the quiet roads and wondered how he would have liked driving in England. Judging by his love of speed and the risky way he took the corners, he would probably have been in his element doing top speed along a motorway, but though she wished he would go slower nothing would make her admit it.

At Minella’s insistence they stopped to see Dr Porva on the way through Santa Silva. Vasco tried to dissuade her, saying it was the doctor’s busy day, but Minella had grown fond of Henrique during their brief but eventful acquaintance and she knew he would be disappointed if she returned home without a word.

‘You are right,’ Henrique Porva said, ‘I would not have forgiven you. When you came here you were a little drowned bird, but now you are dry and rested and ready to fly away. My thoughts will go with you.’

'I'll never forget you,’ she told him.

‘Nor I you. You must promise to come back one day.’

There were actually tears in his eyes as he hugged her tightly, but Vasco was impatient to be going again and he revved the motorbike sharply, hoping to draw her away from the door.

‘She will come to see me,’ he said.

Henrique looked from the girl to the boy and back again. ‘I think not,’ he said sagely. ‘Minella has grown up in these days here. She has experienced much. But you are still very young, Vasco Hernandez.’

They had gone about a mile before Vasco made any comment. The doctor had insulted him, and he sulked in silence until indignation got the better of him.

‘
You
do not think me too young, do you?’ he called over his shoulder.

‘Of course not,’ Minella said, to pacify him. She felt his rigid back relax a little, the arms flex, the head lift. He had needed reassurance, and she smiled at the ease with which she could do it. If only Sam had need of her. Now it was
her
back that tensed. Sam was an arrogant, insular being who made his own laws and manipulated people to fit them. Forget him. Forget him!
Forget him!

The cottage looked a tranquil haven, as beautiful as a calendar picture, and as empty. There was no sign of anyone around, and when Vasco tried the door it was locked.

‘Benita will be with my grandfather,’ he said. ‘She does not live here when Sam is in Horta.’ He studied the windows, pulling himself up on a ledge to look inside, then jumping down again. He grinned. ‘It is as I hoped. We are here alone, and I know I can find a way in.’

Minella’s heart gave an enormous lurch as she realised the new predicament she had unwittingly brought upon herself. No wonder Vasco had shown such surprised pleasure when she suggested coming to the cottage, such eagerness to waste no time getting here. She had led him to think she was keen to find somewhere where they would be comfortable and undisturbed, and what better place than this?

‘Oh, no,’ she gasped, ‘I don’t want you to do that.’ How could she have been such a fool? She had enough troubles to sort out without inviting more.

‘It is all right, Minella Sparrow. There is a low window at the back that we can climb through. We will harm nothing.’

He took her hand, intending to lead her through the thicket of vines that covered one side of the cottage, but she dragged her hand away and stood firm. Memories of being alone with him on the powerboat came crowding back and she tried to reassure herself that he hadn’t harmed her then, and he had had the same opportunity. But that day she had followed him innocently because she had nowhere else to go and he had been hesitant. This time he had the confidence of what he took to be her encouragement.

‘Vasco, I don’t want to go into the cottage. I thought Benita would be here. I ... wanted to see her as well as Dr Porva. Don’t you understand?’

He scowled, standing in front of her while perplexity narrowed his eyes and pursed his mouth. He obviously didn’t understand at all and didn’t like the idea of being thwarted, but then he tried a smile.

‘You must not be afraid of me, Minella,’ he said, in his most seductive voice. ‘I will do nothing that you do not want.’

‘Then please don’t break in,’ she said hurriedly.

A flock of birds invaded the quiet garden, flying up from the trees by the lake and squabbling raucously. Flashes of green distinguished them as canaries, but the song they sang was anything but sweet. The jangling noise jarred her nerves and increased her uneasiness.

Vasco continued to smile, but there was a contemplative look behind it. ‘Then we will make love in the garden. Perhaps it will be even better. And this time Sam will not come to disturb us.’

He was not rough or frightening, but his arms encircled her and she knew it was safer to stay perfectly still than to try and get away. If she showed her nervousness too much he would get angry, and there was nowhere for her to run. Vasco would catch her as easily as a hawk after its prey. He tried to kiss her, but she put her hands firmly against his chest, warding him off, and she could feel his heart beating faster than her own.

‘Vasco, do you know where the key is to the hut? We could go down there.’

‘The hut? Is it better than here? More romantic?’

She paused, then decided to tell some of the truth. ‘I must see the portrait of Annette. I must know why you fell in love with it.’

A big grin spread across his face, and his boyish good humour returned.

‘Minella, you are funny! I am telling you that I love you, and you are jealous of a painting. It mean nothing now I have you.’ He grasped her by the waist and swung her in the air. ‘I am telling you you are more beautiful.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said, playing along. She even kissed his cheek. ‘But I don’t want you to love me like that, Vasco. I’ve got to go back to England tomorrow and we shan’t see each other again. I don’t want you to be hurt.’

He put his hand to his heart in mock despair. ‘I shall be heartbroken. But I live for each day. We are here now and it is wonderful. If you want to go in the hut I will find the key.’ He ran over to the patio and returned almost at once with a key on a loop of string dangling from his index finger. ‘See, it is no secret. It hangs beside the door on a hook.’