‘Do you want me to stand up and show you my backside?’ Then he groaned aloud as he realised what he’d said. ‘Did I just offer to show you my arse? Good grief!’
‘I’ve seen it before,’ she quipped.
‘So you have. Does the fact that we knew each other years ago bother you?’
Two spots of colour appeared on her cheeks. ‘A little,’ she admitted.
‘Me, too. Venice was lovely, wasn’t it? I mean, the city, not the… although that was lovely, too. Oh, shit!’
Giselle was giggling, and Rocco started to laugh. ‘I’m not usually this inarticulate,’ he said. ‘I’m normally quite eloquent. Or at least not as embarrassing.’
‘I loved it,’ she said, her eyes brimming with laughter. ‘Venice, that is, as well as the…’ Her laughter faded as she stared into his eyes.
Hers were navy, as fathomless as the ocean.
‘Are you ready to order, sir, madam?’
The moment was gone with the appearance of a waiter, and Rocco hurriedly looked at the menu and picked the first thing he saw.
Giselle seemed equally as flustered, and further conversation was stilted and awkward, only settling when the food arrived and the conversation turned to less personal matters.
‘Didn’t you tell me that Flora MacDonald is buried on Skye?’ Rocco asked. They’d been discussing Skye’s rich history and the role the island played in the war against the English in the eighteenth century.
‘She is. I’ve been to her grave.’
‘I’d like to see it.’
‘We could go there on Monday, if you like.’ Giselle looked pleased. ‘Most people want to see the big stuff: the mountains, the waterfalls, the castles, the jaw-dropping scenery, but the smaller stuff, the less well known, is equally important.’
Rocco was looking forward to it already.
They lingered over dessert and coffee, Giselle declaring herself to be stuffed, then Rocco paid the bill and they headed home.
Dusk was falling as he brought the car to a halt outside her bothy.
Her rucksack was in the boot, so he got out and opened it. Picking the bag up, he handed it to her, and when his fingers touched hers, the contact sent a shock up his arm.
He thought she must have felt it too, because she inhaled sharply and her lips parted.
There was a moment where their hands were touching, the rucksack between them, when he thought he was going to kiss her, when he thought he was going to lose himself in the depths of her eyes. But then she stepped back and he released his hold on the bag, and found himself saying off-handedly, ‘See you on Monday,’ as he closed the boot.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could wait a whole day to see her again.
Chapter 15
Muirporth Quay, a couple of miles north of Duncoorie, was home to a handful of boats, one of them belonging to Mack, the guy who ran the whale-watching tours. Rocco was rather looking forward to this, although he would have been looking forward to it even more if Giselle had been accompanying him.
Squeezing past several people, he chose a spot to the right of the bow and settled down to enjoy the trip. The sea was calm initially, but as the boat chugged further away from the shelter of the quay, the waves grew. It was blustery out on the open water, the wind tugging at the fabric of his recently purchased Gore-Tex jacket and flecking the waves with white, as seagulls swooped overhead, wheeling through the sky on the unseen air currents with raucous cries. The smell of diesel from the engines was mixed with brine and the peculiar seaside smell reminiscent of his childhood. Feeling like a kid, Rocco revelled in the slap of the boat through the waves and the exhilaration of being on the open water.
Mack kept up a running commentary for the passengers, pointing out things of interest, and to Rocco’s amusement one of them was Coorie Castle. Seeing it from this perspective made him realise anew how impressive it was, and he felt an entirely misplaced sense of pride as an elderly couple sitting next to him exclaimed over it.
‘It’s very picturesque,’ the woman said. ‘I’d love to see inside. Is it open to the public?’
‘I don’t think so,’ her husband replied.
Rocco couldn’t resist. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. The castle has a craft centre where you can watch artists at work, and there’s a gift shop and a lovely cafe.’
The woman smiled broadly. ‘Did you hear that, Frank? They’ve got a craft centre! We’ll have to call in on the way back.’
