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She sat on the bed and waited, and presently he came in. There was a large chest of drawers at one end of the room and he went to it and pulled open one of the drawers. She could see his things were neatly folded and he drew out a pair of white jeans and a blue shirt, tossing them over to her.

‘Put those on,’ he said.

She caught them, almost overbalancing, and it was her turn to protest.

‘I can’t wear these—they’re yours. Isn’t there something of Benita’s I could use?’

‘I don’t go into Benita’s room, and judging by the sight of you in one of her nightgowns I doubt whether any of her other clothes would be an improvement. You’ll have to make do.’ He shut the drawer and ducked his head under the doorway as he left. ‘When you’re ready, go out on the patio. We’ll eat out there, it’s cooler.’

Minella held the pants and shirt with reluctance. They had been washed many times and creases which regularly appeared when the material was moulded to his body had become immune to the iron. She didn’t want to put them on. There was something too personal about the touch of them against her skin, and it took a little while to overcome the automatic rejection. But she had to wear something or she wouldn’t be getting any dinner, so she had no choice.

Sam had narrow hips. The jeans were not too bad a fit round her waist and when the legs had been rolled up half a dozen times they were fairly presentable. The shirt was a different matter. It fell off her shoulders much as the nightie had done, and she found the only way she could keep it on was to knot it firmly across the front. Then she picked up the brush and drew it through her hair, wishing it could have been shampooed. Sam’s impression of her wasn’t going to improve much when he saw this urchin, but it couldn’t be helped. It would have been nice if she’d been able to make an entrance on to the patio looking a picture of sophistication even in borrowed gear, then his expression might have registered something other than mere tolerance. But you had to be tall to look good in just any old thing, and Minella hadn’t a hope.

When he saw her he smiled. The steaming bowls of soup in either hand were set down on the table while he studied her, whether with amusement or approval she couldn’t tell. It made her uncomfortable, and she slipped quickly into the chair he indicated.

The soup was delicious, and she guessed it was made with fresh vegetables, but she would have enjoyed it more if she hadn’t been aware of Sam’s continued scrutiny. She savoured each spoonful, afraid to look up because she knew if she did she would meet his eyes. It was unnerving and showed a lack of manners that aggravated her so much she put down her spoon and met his gaze full on. Damn the man, he was enjoying her discomfort!

‘I haven’t taken a vow of silence,’ she said. ‘Have you? You haven’t spoken a word since we sat down.'

'This isn’t a smart restaurant requiring smart conversation.’ He pushed aside his dish. ‘I’m sorry, Sparrow, I’m not used to entertaining.’

A lamp on the table attracted moths and she watched them flutter helplessly against the glass. Why should she feel equally helpless in the presence of this enigmatic stranger? He was treating her well and she wasn’t afraid of him, yet she had the feeling he would rebuff any real overture of friendship. Was it possible that he was the one who was embarrassed at having a girl here in his house all night.

‘Is it me you don’t like, or people in general?’ she asked. ‘You’ve really shut yourself away from civilisation, haven’t you?’

‘It’s the way I like it,’ he said. ‘And how could I possibly dislike a little thing like you.’ His hand covered hers in a brief gesture of reassurance, but she drew it away immediately. ‘Except when you throw things at me.’ Her cheeks coloured and she looked down at her hands, fingering the place where his hand touched as if trying to erase the warm sensation caused by the contact. She didn’t know whether she liked him or not, but physically she would never be indifferent to him, and she saw danger where before there had seemed to be none. There was an undercurrent between them which couldn’t be explained, and which she certainly couldn’t deny. Perhaps she was just being oversensitive, letting her imagination run away with her, but it served as a warning.

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘I’ve got to find out whether my brother and sister-in-law have been in touch with anyone. I must let them know I’m safe. We were all taking part in a yacht race, but I was swept overboard in the storm.’

‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve been making enquiries for you.'

'Oh!’ Her eyes were anxious. ‘Please tell me what you found out.’

‘Very little, I’m afraid. The authorities in Bermuda lost radio contact with most of the yachts owing to weather conditions, but they’re gradually being accounted for. I’ve asked for any new information to be phoned through to me.’

‘Thank you. But how did you know anything about me when I couldn’t even tell you my name?’

He gathered the soup bowls together and stood up.

‘It wasn’t too difficult,’ he said. ‘I’m interested in ocean racing and the Westerly Cup always attracts a lot of entries. I’ve been following it, so I knew some of the yachts would be in the vicinity if the gale blew them off course. Then you very sensibly had a lifebelt from the boat round you, which spoke for itself’

He went back to the kitchen and she felt as if she had been put in her place. He obviously thought she was a bit of an idiot.

The main meal consisted of smoked sausage and pork cooked with peas and tomatoes, which he told her was a favourite Azorean dish. She was getting tired again and much as she had fancied solid food she found herself unable to cope with so much. Afraid of offending him, she ate what she could, but had to give up after a few mouthfuls.

‘You don’t have to eat it, Sparrow,’ he said kindly. ‘It’s probably all wrong for an invalid anyway.’

‘It tastes so good and I hate to leave it. Normally I’d scoff the lot.’

He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Benita will take what’s left tomorrow for that no-good nephew of hers.’

‘Do you mean Vasco?’ she asked in surprise.

‘I do mean Vasco. How come you know him?’ Sam was scowling now, peering at her from beneath lowered brows.

‘He carried me from Dr Porva’s house to the taxi. Benita told me who he was.’

‘Hmmm,’ he growled. ‘Just see he doesn’t get as close to you again.’

‘He’s not likely to when I’m leaving first thing in the morning,’ said Minella.

She objected to him giving her orders, and closed her eyes, hoping that was the end of the matter because she hadn’t strength to argue with him. Seeing her fatigue, he came round and opened the sun-bed.

‘Lie down,’ he commanded.

That did it. ‘Don’t speak to me as if I’m a pet dog!’ she shouted. ‘I know I’m a nuisance, but I didn’t ask to come here!’

Sam paused a moment, taken aback by her retaliation. Then he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I ought to have forbidden you to leave that bed. If Henrique knew you were up and dressed he’d slay me, but I feel as if I’m up against a wild thing. Whatever I say you let fly at me. Are you as wilful as this at home?’

Minella didn’t answer. He was massaging her shoulders and the gentle pressure of his thumbs at the nape of her neck sent exquisite waves of pleasure through her body, making her incapable of uttering any sound except a slow, gasping breath. She arched her back and stretched her neck luxuriously, then shrugged him away, because such sensuality was too potent by far and the language of his hands frightened her.

‘I’m on edge,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem to cope with someone like you right now. I’m sorry.’

She went over to the sun-bed and found it was a relief to lie down again. She had never been ill in her life and was cross with herself for being so weak, but willpower was not enough to overcome it. Sam stood over her, his expression too complicated to read.

‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said. ‘I ought to have more patience. It’s what comes of always living alone.’

He turned and left her, disappearing into the house, and the careless apology hung there where it had been delivered. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t like him, but he intrigued her, and she was dying to know why he lived here as he did. He was a sort of exile, though whether by choice or force of circumstances she had yet to discover. He was certainly not the man to welcome an invasion of his privacy, so she didn’t know how she was going to manage it, and as she was not going to be with him for much longer she probably never would. How maddening!

The moon was coming up and the lake shone like darkened glass now, the cliffs on the far side looming gaunt and forbidding against the night sky, but the garden hummed with nocturnal insects and a fragrance of flowers filled the air. It was an idyllic place. Yet Minella was conscious of some great disturbance below the surface, something that had existed in the past. Sam Stafford and his island were strangely similar.

He was taking up too many of her thoughts. Her main worry was about Greg and Annette. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the haunting beauty of her surroundings, because by now they would have given her up for lost.

When Greg’s friend had asked for her to be included in the crew of the yacht she had been thrilled and excited, knowing it to be a big tribute to her sailing skill, but Greg had tried to forbid it. Although Minella was expert with small craft, she had not had enough experience to take part in a long-distance race, particularly one as gruelling as the Westerly Cup, and he had argued that she was not ready for it. But Minella had a way of getting what she wanted. It was a chance she had been longing for, and nothing was going to stop her. After all, if Annette was considered good enough to crew, it would have been quite unfair to take one and not the other, because there was no denying that Minella was better at handling boats than her sister-in-law. But Annette had had holiday experience on board the ten-ton yacht, and was a tall, strong girl, whereas Minella’s diminutive size was another disadvantage. Greg stuck out until the last minute, but then someone had dropped out, and he had given way to his sister.

When the storm struck it had been all hands on deck, the men wrestling with the sails. Hammered by heavy seas and stinging rain driving against her face, Minella had worked as hard as the rest, and nobody had thought it necessary to keep an eye on her. The west wind which was supposed to blow across the Atlantic had changed to a violent easterly gale, gathering force every second, and as they drove into the face of it she almost wished she had listened to her brother. She was terrified, yet exhilarated at the same time. In the pitch black night, with the fury of the gale and the sea roaring in everyone’s ears, her screams must have gone unheard, and it had probably been quite a while before they missed her.

Poor Greg! She couldn’t bear to think how he must be feeling.

There was a step outside in the garden. Stealthy feet rustled the grass, hardly audible, but Minella was in a highly sensitive state and the sound reached her more as an intuition than a certainty.

She stayed motionless, not knowing whether to shout for Sam, or remain undetected until the prowler went away. Her heartbeats quickened. Why would anyone want to creep up on this remote cottage? The footsteps came nearer and she held her breath, goose pimples coming up on her arms. Whoever it was didn’t want to be seen, and neither did Minella. She was glad the sunbed was at the side of the patio and not in full view of anyone approaching. A figure appeared, dimly at first, moving slowly into the open. Then he was silhouetted against the sky as he surveyed the patio and accustomed his eyes to the light. He saw Minella, and came forward.

‘I was hoping you would be here,’ he said, in a sort of stage whisper. .

If he had sprung at her gangster fashion it couldn’t have surprised her more than hearing herself addressed by someone who knew her. He didn’t come full into the light immediately, and it took several seconds for her to recognise the intruder. When she did, she laughed.

‘Vasco! Why are you creeping about as if you’re afraid of being seen? Sam’s indoors. Shall I call him?’

‘No, no, no.’ Vasco crouched down beside her sunbed, keeping his head low and his voice even lower. ‘He doesn’t like me coming here, but Benita sent me with a message. I give it to you instead and you can tell him.’

‘But why?’ Minella was puzzled. He was such a nice boy, and surely the nephew of his housekeeper would be welcome in Sam Stafford’s house. It was taking the solitude business a bit far if he excluded everyone. She had never come across a genuine hermit before, but Sam was beginning to fit the description. '
I'm
pleased you’ve come, and I’m sure Sam won’t really mind.’

Vasco put a finger to his lips. ‘He is a strange man with things to hide. I think he is afraid of people asking questions. I wish Benita had brought you to our house, but there is no room. We have my grandfather sick.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I hope it isn’t serious.’

‘He is an old man with a heart that goes boom-boom.’ He put his hand to his chest dramatically, but then a grin spread across his face and though the pitch of his voice remained the same, the timbre changed. ‘And I am a young man whose heart goes boom-boom when I look at you. I would care for you very well at our house,
o senhora.
I do not like you being alone with . .. him.’ A jerk of his head in the direction of the door indicated that he meant Sam.

The black wavy hair on a level with her nose smelled strongly of perfume, and his handsome features were etched in bold lines and shaded by the lamplight. Black eyes glittered. She would be about as safe with Vasco as she had been clinging to her lifebelt all night.

‘Tell me, why doesn’t he like questions?’ Minella asked, partly to change the subject, and partly because her curiosity was aroused and she wanted to hear everything he knew about Sam Stafford. The man was becoming more intriguing by the hour. She, too, spoke in a whisper, as if it was a conspiracy.

‘There is not time now. I will tell you things tomorrow, or the next day, when he is not here.’ He let his eyes dwell on her, and their message was clear.