“It’s beautiful. My word, you’re talented.”
He swallowed and put a hand on the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing. “Well, yes, thank you.” He pocketed the squirrel and avoided my gaze.
“Where did you learn?”
“At school. A boarding school.” His voice sounded distant and detached.
“It doesn’t seem like you were happy there.” I must have said something wrong because he pressed his lips together, every trace of the shy boy gone.
“We’ve nearly arrived,” he said, pointing at the land.
Fine. I didn’t press him. His past wasn’t a secret I wanted him to reveal to me unless he volunteered the information. So I waited.
We hadn’t nearly arrived.
It took theSS Florentiatwo hours to enter the port, and then another good hour passed before the attendants told us we could disembark.
“Do you want to follow the guide?” Rennie asked as we walked along the gangplank.
“Er, of course. It would be lovely.” I faked a smile.
“Perfect.”
A string of horse-pulled wagons waited for us on the platform. I climbed into one, followed by a brooding Rennie, and we drove towards the city. My mouth dropped open at the sight of the River Tagus. It must be ten times the width of the Thames because the opposite shore wasn’t visible. Cathedrals and colourful houses with red, green, and yellow walls streamed past us, casting their shadows on the cobbled street. Then Belém Tower swept into view, tall and majestic with its white and yellow stone bricks, and I forgot about my rendezvous. Even Rennie was watching the city, his scowl gone for once as he leant closer to the window.
“Is it the first time you’ve seen Lisbon?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He grinned, a smile that made me smile. “I haven’t travelled much. I’ve been to Paris once, for work, but aside from that, I’ve never left British soil.” There was something boyish and sad in the way he said it. My chest clenched a little for him.
“I’m glad looking after me is bringing you some joy,” I said. “At least this job gives you something new.”
And just like that, the scowl was back, but he didn’t say anything. He withdrew to a corner of the seat, brooding. Oh, well. I wouldn’t let his dark mood ruin mine. I was about to see Sandro again.
The road became steep. I grabbed hold of a rail as the wagon jolted. The caravan of wagons was crawling up a hill. Ugh. Their swinging and rocking were similar to those of the sea, and I sat back on my seat. My knees touched Rennie’s when the wagon lurched again. Immediate heat spilt into my cheeks as my body reminded me of his gentle fingers on my naked back. He shifted on his seat and inched away from me. After a few turns and more jolts, the wagon slowed. When we stepped out of it, the hot, dry air enveloped my body. Instead, Rennie seemed at ease in his suit.
The guide, dressed in a blue uniform with the symbol of the two stars on his chest, gestured towards the castle looming over us. Tall, thick walls, towers, and turrets partially obscured the sun.
“Gather around, passengers from theSS Florentia,” the man said.
Feet shuffled and excited mutters spread.
The guide smiled. “St Jorge Castle was built during the Moorish occupation of Portugal...”
Distracted by Mr Marston, I didn’t hear the rest of the story. He was standing on the other side of the group, half-hidden behind a broad man. His hair caught the sunlight as he turned towards me. He touched the tip of his hat and bowed his head. I returned the greeting with a quick nod. Then he pointed a finger at the castle, wiggling his eyebrows before nodding again. So Sandro was there. My mouth grew dry. I forced my face to remain deadpan while my pulse sped up. My legs trembled when we started to walk along the stone bridge that led to the entrance. Rennie’s shoulder touched mine, and I jolted.
“Are you all right?” he asked, peering at me.
“Spectacular, thank you.”
He shot me a narrowed gaze.
I breathed harder when we climbed a stone staircase and finally stopped in a yard next to the statue of a lion. Rusty cannons were pointing towards the sea, and Rennie strode towards one—the least interesting feature of the castle, in my opinion. Who would look at a rusted metal piece when there was a magnificent stone lion? Anyway, he forgot about me. Good. Although the way he watched the cannon, muttering under his breath, made me wonder if he’d stare at a woman he liked in the same fashion. On second thought, who cared? Not me.
“Part of the castle is in ruins, due to an earthquake that struck the city in the eighteenth century,” the guide said.
But even damaged, the castle radiated power and strength. The view was stunning. The blue of the ocean mixed with the different colours of the city and—“Monia,” a velvety male voice whispered close to me.
I turned towards the voice. It was Mr Marston. “Edward, I mean, Mr Marston.”
