“I don’t need details, Len.”
My heart has started to beat faster. Isaac. The dark haired man from the delegate dinner. The man I danced with before breakfast in the storm.
I look at Ben. He’s looking back; not at my bikini, or the amount of skin I have on show, at me.
Maybe he can read minds.
Lennox chuckles. “I’ll leave out the details. But we may have guests. Not William though. I’ve made excuses for that.”
“Good. I’d have to leave the island if he was visiting.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He is.” Ben’s voice is low but it carries. He strides over to us, his phone away, his glasses still on. “If he comes out here, there’s no way you’d want him with her alone.”
“As much as I seriously dislike how you’re talking about me as if I’m an object, I agree. Either that, or I’ll be sunbathing in a turtle neck and jeans.” I mean every word. Or I’d head over to a different island for a few days.
“He can’t do it anyway. He’s gone to China and then Russia for a few weeks on a tour.” Lennox closes his eyes. “You’re safe Blair.”
From William at least.
* * *
When I was a child, I’d swim in the loch. The cold water didn’t bother me; I’d wear a wetsuit and keep moving, enjoying the space to move even if Lennox scared me with tales of monsters and eels. As I grew older, the coldness bothered me more and my parents started to frown on me being out there, worrying about a series of events that could happen. But I hadn’t forgotten the feel of the water, the battle with the waves and the twist and turns of the tide. I felt free in the water.
I feel free in the sea.
It’s too early for Lennox to be up, especially as he visited Genevieve last night, possibly for more than just a friendly chat, so the place is quiet again. The staff have already done their morning jobs, staying out of the way and even Nina is elsewhere.
Beyond the pool is the beach, soft white sand that’s the stuff of fantasies. Dressed in a white sarong and black two piece, there’s no one to give a shit about my hair not being washed or my face being free from any make-up.
The tide is on its way out, leaving damp sand and the tracks of the waves. My feet sink into it and I lose the sarong before I walk into the water, the immediate chill of it waking me up.
There’s something illicit about being here at this time, no one around, no one to tell me to be careful or keep out a watchful eye in case a wave comes out of nowhere and sweeps me under the tide or a merman kidnaps me and takes me hostage in his underwater cave.
I dive in quickly as soon as the water becomes deep enough, taking big, fast strokes into the depths. I’m aware of my limits. I’ve already swam here and know how the tides change and where the depth of the ocean bed drops suddenly. I can rely on myself right now and it’s a freedom I’m not accustomed too.
My mind is emptied of everything except how I’m moving and the water around me, the sound of the gulls and the boat I can see in the distance. I don’t think about politics or the castle or home, just where I am. Kicking and diving, swimming as deep as my breath will allow and opening my eyes to the shoals of fish and the coral beneath me, clear in the water. Later, I’ll come back out with my snorkel and mask, see the fish and the sea creatures. Enjoy the silence.
Peace.
I have no idea how long I’m out there, treading water, swimming. It’s the growl of my stomach and the sudden craving for coffee that reminds me I’m not a mermaid and I do need to eat, so I crawl back towards the beach, feeling the warmth of the water grow as I swim into shallower tides.
Ben is standing on the sand, wearing shorts and no T-shirt and he looks like some Greek God that’s been sent from the pages of a mythology book.
I try not to stare because I know he’s looking at me and I don’t know why. He’s my security. My minder, most of the time. The man who’s meant to keep me safe, even though I can do that myself.
I emerge from the water, heavy droplets a deluge from my body. Arms lifted, I wring out the sea from my hair and head over to where I’ve left a towel, but I’m not sure I want it.
Ben’s eyes aren’t leaving me. His arms are folded, his stance alert, but I’m not sure why.
“If you’re pissed that I just went sea swimming you need to take that up though formal channels.” I stand there, four feet away from him, my hands on my hips.
“You’re assuming I’m pissed at you.” His face is unreadable, just as it used to be when I’d catch sight of him helping his dad and he’d see me, giving nothing away, not until we were on our own and were friends who talked or, when were older and we were friends who kissed.
“I suppose you could be digesting breakfast.”
He looks at the sand and I know he’s trying to hide a smirk.
