Dark Pirate. Angela Devine
announced in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Come by here and look. You see over there to starboard? That’s Pisky Bay, just around the headland.’
The land began to come closer and closer and soon Rose could see a half-moon of sandy beach framed at each end by jagged cliffs. Emerald-green water rushed past her, then suddenly they were in the bay itself with the details of the land growing larger and sharper with every passing minute. Rose could not suppress a little cry of excitement as she saw a dusty road winding between hawthorn hedges, cows grazing placidly in a green field and three or four widely scattered cottages barely visible among the trees that surrounded them.
‘Oh, I can hardly wait!’ she exclaimed. ‘Somehow I feel exactly as if I’m coming home!’
‘Well, it won’t be long now,’ said Greg. ‘I’ll just take down the sails, drop anchor and I’ll have you ashore in no time.’
He was as good as his word. A moment later the huge red mainsail came flapping down and was lashed securely around the boom, to be followed at once by the other two smaller sails. Then Greg hurried up to the bow of the yacht and there was a loud, grinding rattle as he let out the anchor chain. Then he came back along the narrow, polished deck of the yacht with the lithe tread of a hunting cat. Pausing with one hand on the entrance to the hatchway, he glanced back at Rose, his eyes narrowing in a way that made her heart beat faster.
‘Are you planning to offer me a cup of tea when we get ashore?’ he asked.
That was more than Rose had bargained for. Her whole body tensed in a useless impulse to retreat. ‘I very much doubt it, I’m afraid. I have no idea of what I’m going to find once I get inside the cottage. And I haven’t any tea.’
‘In that case, I think I’ll bring my own,’ announced Greg, calmly disposing of her objections. ‘And a few basic supplies to see you through the night.’
Before she could protest, he swung himself down into the cabin and reappeared a couple of minutes later with a knobbly looking old khaki rucksack slung over one shoulder. ‘Now, let’s get you into the dinghy and we’ll go ashore,’ he said.
It was rather unnerving to scramble down into a heaving dinghy in a straight skirt, but with Greg’s as-sistance Rose managed it somehow. Instructing her to sit down in the stern, he fitted the rowlocks into their holes and shipped the oars. Then he untied the painter and, crouching low, took his place in the centre seat facing her. With a deft movement he unshipped the oars and began to row. His powerful arms sent the tiny craft skimming effortlessly across the water, but as they neared the band of white foam where the waves were breaking on the beach, a fresh difficulty presented itself to Rose.
‘How do we get ashore?’ she asked, glancing uneasily down at her best navy leather shoes. ‘Do we just jump into the waves and walk?’
‘I do,’ agreed Greg with an unholy glint in his eyes. ‘You jump into my arms and let me carry you. And no arguments, my dear.’
Rose opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. Obviously it was the only sensible thing to do. All the same, she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit, or, if she was, she didn’t intend to admit it even to herself. There was a sudden, exhilarating surge and they found themselves carried forward on the crest of a wave to ground on the soft sand amid a seething rush of foam. Greg jumped out, wearing his knee-high rubber fisherman’s boots, reached into the bow of the dinghy for a small anchor which he dug into the sand, then turned to Rose with a look of sly anticipation on his face.
‘Come on, then,’ he ordered as he held out his arms to her. ‘What are you waiting for?’ With as much dignity as she could muster, Rose crept gingerly towards him, then suddenly felt herself swept off her feet and into his arms. In spite of her resolution to remain calm, her body stiffened at his touch and she looked up at him with a flash of alarm. There was still amusement and warmth in his eyes, but there was also something else, a look of hungry, primitive desire that made her blood pause and then throb hotly and violently through her veins. For a moment their eyes met in wordless understanding and she could feel the tumultuous thudding of his heart be-neath the thin fabric of his shirt, then he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and began to stride fiercely towards the beach.
A moment later Rose was on her feet on the white sand, although she felt oddly unsteady on her legs. Glancing back, she saw that Greg had returned to the water’s edge and was hauling the dinghy up on the sand, out of the reach of waves. She could see the lines of strain in his body as he half carried, half dragged it across the sand, and could not suppress a twinge of admiration at his strength. Then she gritted her teeth in annoyance. She must stop behaving like some ridiculous teenager! It was absurd, undignified. Deliberately turning her back on Greg, she swung round to face the emerald-green landscape that rose in front of her, so much more vividly green than anything she had ever seen in Australia. She was still gazing at it, drinking in its unfamiliar beauty, when Greg appeared beside her and put one arm casually around her shoulders.
‘That’s your aunt Em’s cottage up there on the right,’ he said, pointing to a gabled roof barely visible above a hawthorn hedge about two hundred yards away. ‘Your new home, Rose.’
A shiver went through her as much at the pressure of his fingers on her shoulder as at the words he had spoken. Her new home, yes. But would she find happiness here?
FIVE minutes later Rose stood outside the front gate of the cottage and took a long breath of pure delight.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she demanded.
Greg’s eyebrows rose sceptically as he took a long, hard look at the gabled roof, which was encrusted with yellow lichen and had several of its slate tiles missing, at the peeling pink paint on the walls, at a broken pane of glass in one of the front windows, at the weathered grey wooden outhouses that leaned drunkenly away from the sea breezes.
‘I don’t know,’ he said in a troubled voice. ‘It looks as if it needs a fair bit of work done on it to me.’
‘Oh, men!’ retorted Rose scathingly, and pushed open the gate, which promptly broke loose from one of its hinges and dangled askew.
Greg gave an explosive chuckle which he hastily turned into a cough when she glared at him. Rose tossed her head defiantly. All right, maybe the cottage did need a bit of work, but she wasn’t afraid of getting busy with a scrubbing brush and some paint. And nothing could spoil the perfection of the garden even if it did look wild and unkempt. On the sunny side of the garden a variety of shrub roses rioted in colourful profusion, filling the air with their sweet perfume, while in a shady nook between the house and the hawthorn hedge a sea of vivid blue hydrangeas tossed in the breeze. A candy-pink clematis had run riot over the outhouses and was now trying vigorously to climb the drainpipe at the side of the house, while purple buddleia bushes near the front gate provided a haven for swarms of butterflies. Every other available nook and cranny was filled with summer annuals, poppies and columbines and striped petunias. What did it matter if the lawn was now knee-high and rank with weeds, or if the paving on the path was chipped and overgrown with dandelions? These things could all be fixed by someone with plenty of energy and a good set of gardening tools. Yet even Rose’s optimistic spirit sank a little when she saw how the guttering was sagging over the front porch and the steps were broken and leaning to one side. Wouldn’t repairs like that be expensive?
‘Look, the cottage is named after you,’ joked Greg, pointing to the sign over the door. ‘Rose Cottage, 1742.’
‘Actually, it’s the other way round,’ Rose corrected him. ‘I’m named after the cottage. But don’t let’s hang about. I can’t wait to see inside.’
Unfortunately, when she inserted her key into the front door, she found that it would not budge. She looked helplessly at Greg.
‘The wood is probably swollen from the rain,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Or else your aunt Em didn’t use