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‘Bread and fishes,’ he smiled, holding up the bag.

‘Well, if we’re feeding the five thousand I suppose there’s safety in numbers.’

‘What is that?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘Just a joke,’ said Minella, and climbed aboard.

Vasco lit the lamps and took the food up to the galley, emptying the bag with a flourish while Minella watched.

‘I’ll do the cooking if you like,’ she volunteered timidly. ‘My sister-in-law did it on the
Delphine Rose
, but I’m quite capable.’

‘I will do it. You find the plates.’ Vasco produced a pan from a cupboard, and soon the smell of mackerel frying was so strong they had to open the hatch. Minella was ravenous, and the sight of the fish with flat bread cakes and goat’s milk butter looked as good as a banquet.

‘I thought you did not like Sam Stafford,’ said Vasco, filling two tall glasses with wine.

‘I don’t.’

‘But you were waiting for him just now. I nearly did not stop.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ she asked.

He put two plates of mackerel on the narrow table, sat beside her and lifted his glass in a toast, to which she responded absentmindedly.

‘Vasco, what do you mean?’ she persisted.

He ignored the question and started eating, and after a second Minella did the same. The fish was delicious, the wine equally so, and she had consumed a fair amount of each before Vasco went back to the subject.

‘You were sitting outside his studio,’ he said.

Minella choked and put down her fork. ‘Sam’s studio?’ she spluttered. ‘What does he do there?’

‘He sells the pictures that he paints, of course. You did not know he is an artist?’ He looked at her strangely and when she shook her head he went on: ‘In Horta he is famous. All the tourists buy his paintings because they are pictures of Fayal.’

So the explanation to the secret hut was as simple as that. She laughed. It hadn’t crossed her mind that Sam might produce works of art himself. There wasn’t a sign of any at the cottage.

‘So he must keep some of his paintings down by the lake, then,’ she said, half to herself.

Vasco’s eyes narrowed and he paused. ‘You know about those?’

‘Not really, except that I went down to the hut and looked through the window, and Sam was very cross.’ Vasco poured more wine in her glass. She giggled and gave a little hiccough. ‘Isn’t it silly, I really thought they were old masters he’d stolen and stashed away. It was such a perfect hiding place. Serves me right for having such a vivid imagination!’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘That is
very
funny.’ He finished eating and pushed aside his plate, then leaned closer to her. ‘In a way you are right, though. There are pictures in that hut he does not wish anyone to see.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes widened and she cupped her chin with her hands, gazing at him in fascination. At last she was beginning to learn something about Sam. ‘Tell me,’ she begged.

‘In a little while,’ he promised. ‘First we must drink some
aguardente.
Finish your wine.’

She obediently drained her glass and popped the last piece of bread in her mouth. It had been a fabulous meal, but she was glad she hadn’t any more fish to eat, because the plate was becoming hazy and she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on finding bones. In fact she began to wonder whether the sea was getting rough, because nothing in the cabin seemed quite steady. She gave another little hiccough.

‘I—don’t think I want any more to drink,’ she said, when Vasco brought another bottle over.

‘Ah, but no meal is over until you have had a little
aguardente.
If you do not try it I shall be offended.’ He poured some in her glass, then his own.

She took a sip of the fiery liquid and wrinkled her nose. It burned her throat. ‘It’s very strong,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

‘Brandy. We distil it from our grapes at home.’

‘Oh! Isn’t that illegal?’ She tried to be severe, but couldn’t compose her features, and another giggle escaped. ‘You really are quite wicked, Vasco.’

‘Why? Everyone makes brandy if they grow grapes and medlars, so why am I wicked?’

‘You’re trying to get me drunk, but I’m not going to have any more.’ She put the glass away from her, but he covered her hand with his own and guided it back.

‘It will do you good. Already you have colour in your cheeks.’ He leaned over and dropped a kiss on the bright spots of colour, and she jerked her head aside. ‘You know I will never harm you.’

‘Then don’t you think it’s time you were going? I’m sure your friend who kindly said I could sleep on the boat wouldn’t approve of
you
staying late.’

‘No,’ said Vasco, ‘he would not approve at all. So we will wash the plates.’

Minella breathed a sigh of relief as he took the plates to the stainless steel sink and soaked then in some water. She would have helped him, but her legs were so wobbly she felt quite weak and she stayed where she was on the turquoise upholstered berth, wishing everything wasn’t so hazy.

‘You promised to tell me about the paintings in the hut,’ she said.

Vasco smiled. ‘You are impatient. I think it is because you are attracted to Sam, just like all the women.’

‘I am
not}'

‘Yet when I say his name you come alive. I wish you would look at me that way.’ A discontented shadow crossed his face. ‘It is not any use, you know. He only plays with women. It amuses him. Me, I love them all, but they do not look at me the way they do him. It is not fair.’

He was right. She had first-hand experience of his diversions, but it wouldn’t do for Vasco to know. She laughed. ‘I’m sure you have dozens of girl-friends.’

‘I have. The girls chase me,’ he boasted, ‘but they are not like Sam’s girls. His are always ... special. I cannot explain.’

‘Classy,’ she suggested.

‘What is that?’

‘Well....’ She paused thoughtfully. Then: ‘Like models, perhaps.’

‘
Si!
Like girls in magazines.’

She took another sip of brandy after all, feeling oddly depressed. ‘So that counts me out.’

She turned away, but Vasco had seen her expression and the shadow darkened.

‘I knew you liked him better than me,’ he said, slipping back to the bunk with feline grace which disconcerted her even before his next words. ‘But he cannot have you. I will make you like me best and then you will not want to look at Sam again.’

‘You’re jealous,’ she accused, pressing herself further into the corner.

‘Yes, I am jealous. And I hate Sam Stafford.’

He wasn’t smiling any more, and the Latin eyes burned into her. The cabin was not very big and the change of mood hung heavily in the claustrophobic atmosphere. There was no air and it was very hot.

‘Is that why you stole one of his paintings?’

It was a cruel question, like hitting below the belt, but it had the right effect. He straightened up angrily and his eyes hooded with resentment.

‘What do you know about that?’ he asked. He became guarded, and Minella knew it had been wrong to mention it.

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘It’s none of my business, is it?’

She lifted her head and saw a scarf of moonlight draped across the dark water, and the lights of Horta on the other side of the harbour looked a long way away.

‘How was I to know she was the girl he was going to marry?’ he demanded, incomprehensibly. ‘She was so beautiful. I saw the picture many times, and when he put it in the hut with the others I thought he would not mind if I borrowed it. I wanted to look at it every night. I dreamed about her, but I thought she was ... what you say just now ... a model. Ah, if I could meet a girl like that!’

He sighed, his thoughts transparent, and Minella was embarrassed. He had a vivid imagination and he rubbed perspiring hands on his thighs, his shoulders tense. A prickling fear made her edgy and she wished she had listened to the inner voice that had warned her to be cautious. She had been too trusting. Vasco Hernandez was as much a stranger as Sam, and she had already run from one awkward situation.

‘I really think you ought to be going now, Vasco,’ she said lightly.

He snapped back to the present, his wiry body twisting towards her. She had moved along, hoping to alter the pattern so that he was not between her and the hatch, but when he made no further advance and a boyish grin spread suddenly from his mouth to his eyes, she knew instinctively that there was no need to be afraid.

He drew her to her feet. ‘You are not... classy, but you are beautiful. If I had you I would not need pictures. Thank you for not laughing at me.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because I fall in love with a painting.’ He paused, looking down at her, and black lashes almost hid the dark eyes, though not the diffidence that lurked behind them. He was not really the practised Romeo he would have liked her to believe. ‘You see, I talk too much and say wicked things, but I do not have the courage to follow them up. Englishmen, I think, say very little, but they
do
have the courage, and that is why Sam has beautiful women.’

‘Oh, Vasco,’ she laughed, ‘what a thing to say!’

‘But it is true. I do not want to leave you, but it is better. It will make you happy, so I say goodnight.’

He gave a rueful smile, and after only a slight hesitation Minella threw her arms round his neck as she might have done if he had been her brother.

‘You’ve been so kind to me,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Thank you for everything.’

And she kissed him warmly, with real gratitude. Neither of them had heard a sound outside. When the hatch opened they sprang apart and turned simultaneously. In the split second before recognition dawned Vasco received a blow to the chin that sent him reeling backwards, and Minella screamed. The intruder was Sam. He dominated the scene immediately, his tall figure seeming to fill the saloon, and the power of his anger was a tempest bursting in.

‘I warned you never to touch Minella!’ he raged. ‘What right have you got to push your way in here?’ Minella demanded.

As she spoke the full impact of his temper shifted in her direction. Unable to meet the fury in his steely blue eyes, her own flicked upwards and she saw something she had missed before. Above the hatch was the name of the boat in black and gold letters,
M.V. Samanne
, and the significance struck her as forcibly as the blow to Vasco’s chin.

‘I have
every
right,’ Sam was saying, ‘as the boat is mine, and I’m damned if I’ll let it be used for illicit lovemaking! Get off, Vasco, and don’t ever trick your way on board again!’

Vasco was nursing his chin, too stunned to be coherent.

‘Stop shouting at him!’ cried Minella. ‘He did it for me because I hadn’t anywhere to sleep....’

‘So the pair of you were going to sleep here. Cosy! Pity for your sake my friend with the keys has a suspicious mind and checked with me that Vasco had my permission to use them. Get going, Vasco, before I
really
lose my temper.’

‘He was just going anyway!’ she yelled.

‘Get!’ roared Sam. He caught Vasco’s collar and propelled him towards the hatch, shoving him out on to the deck. ‘For two pins I’d make you take this little tramp with you, but for my sins I’ve been made responsible for her!’

Minella struck him with all the strength she could muster, catching his cheek with the flat of her hand, and success lay in the equal unexpectedness of her retaliation. His head jerked sideways, but failed to avoid the attack.

‘My God, Sam Stafford, how I hate you!’ she said, her voice coldly quiet now and filled with enmity.

Minella awoke the next morning in a luxurious bed with brass rails at the head and foot, a duvet in fine white cotton with almond-blossom patterns loosely over her. The heavy coral curtains which had been drawn the night before were now pulled back to reveal a balcony edged with white wrought iron, and golden sunlight intensified the golden shine on floorboards covered only with two Indian dhurries. It was a beautiful room. A rich mahogany chest of drawers was the only piece of furniture, but there was also an antique wash-stand with a jug and basin. Steam was coming from the jug and she realised it was full of hot water for her to wash. There wasn’t a sound anywhere.

Sam had brought her to the room last night. It was on the first floor of the house where he had his studio, but she had been too tired to care where it was as long as there was a bed where she could sleep. She pushed aside the duvet and stretched, catlike, refreshed by the long, undisturbed hours of rest, and wondered who had come in with the water. There was no clock for her to know what time it was, but the sun was not very high, so she permitted herself a few more minutes with her head on the fragrant white pillow.

The events of last night were hazy. She remembered how angry she had been when Sam struck Vasco. She had thought Vasco would put up a fight, but the sound of his motorbike had rapidly faded as he escaped round the harbour arm, and she was left with Sam, infuriated by his interference. So he owned the boat, but that didn’t excuse him for the way he behaved. She had gone to the hatch, determined to flounce away and leave him, but something strange had happened when she got out in the air. Her head went woolly and she seemed to be spinning in dizzy circles.

‘I might have known he’d get you drunk first,’ she heard Sam say, as he caught her before she toppled into the water. ‘He wouldn’t have the guts otherwise!’

It didn’t seem worth defending Vasco any more, even if she’d been capable, and she put up no resistance when Sam carried her to his car and dumped her unceremoniously in the seat where he had handed the elegant brunette earlier. Half asleep, Minella had staggered up a flight of steps behind the studio, his fingers gripping her wrist as if she was likely to run away, and when he opened the bedroom door she was too muddled to question his intentions. All she could remember was standing unsteadily on one of the dhurries and looking about her in fascination.