“All aboard, then,” said Grey.
Rafa jumped down and turned to help the ladies. Clementine noticed the way he looked at them as they took his hand and stepped onto the deck. His smile was as seductive, his eyes as intense, as when he looked at her. She awaited her turn, then gave him her hand. She felt the warmth of his skin and the way his touch made her tingle all over. She laughed, embarrassed, as if the tingle showed through her clothing.
“Your brother told me that you don’t like boats,” he said.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she replied coolly, not wanting him to know that he was the only reason she was going anywhere near a boat. “What’s there not to like?”
He shrugged. “Seasickness?”
“I find if I keep my eyes on the horizon, I tend to be all right.” She took her place on the bench at the back, next to Pat. Veronica sat as near to the cabin as possible. Clementine hoped that Rafa would come and sit beside her, but he jumped back onto the quay to help untie the ropes. She watched him crouch down and pull them free, appreciating the vigorous energy of his movements. He looked accustomed to physical labor, and Clementine imagined his working with his father on the pampa. Grey started the engine, and Rafa pushed the boat away from the side, then leapt back in.
“You girls look comfortable,” he commented cheerfully as the boat chugged slowly out of the harbor.
“Haven’t been called a girl for a very long time,” said Pat with a chuckle. “Hurrah, off we go! Isn’t this jolly!”
“He’s very naughty,” said Veronica.
“Sue McCain would like him,” added Pat, watching him join Grey at the helm. “Her Argentine was a terrifically good lover.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Veronica agreed. “The difference between Latin men and Englishmen is the way they feel about women. Latin men love women. Englishmen prefer to be with other men, which is why we have so many men-only clubs in this country.”
“Is that true?” Clementine cut in, suddenly interested.
“My husband prefers sport to women. That’s not to say he doesn’t like women, but if he had the choice, he’d be on the golf course with his chums,” said Pat.
“Rafa’s a terrible flirt,” said Clementine, longing to talk about him if she couldn’t talk to him.
“They’re all like that,” said Veronica.
“Oh, yes. Sue McCain told me that chatting up women is an Argentine national sport.”
Clementine felt her spirits sink. “Do you think Rafa is like that?”
“No, I don’t,” said Veronica, sensitive to the blush that had just expanded onto Clementine’s cheeks. “I think he’s very kind. Why otherwise would he bother with silly old bags like us?”
“That’s true,” Pat agreed. “He takes trouble with everybody. I think he’s just one of those rather unusual men who likes people.”
“Really? Do you think so?” Clementine cheered up again.
“You can see it in his eyes: he empathizes. He’s an old soul; wouldn’t you agree, Veronica?”
“Most certainly.”
Once the boat sailed out into open sea it picked up speed. Grey left Rafa at the helm and disappeared inside, returning with blankets. “It can get pretty cold,” he said, handing them to the women. “Right, do you want to see how fast this lady can go?” Pat whooped with joy while Veronica cowered against the cabin, holding her headscarf in place.
“Oh, yes, this is the way to go,” Pat shouted over the roar of the engine. “I love the wind in my face. Reminds me of the time I crossed the Atlantic in my little Angel. Gosh, that was a rocky ride, I can tell you. No fooling around in those seas.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Clementine laughed with her.
“Tell her about the time you nearly got eaten by a shark,” Veronica asked, and Pat needed no further encouragement.
At last they turned inland, motoring slowly into Smuggler’s Cove. It was dark there in shadow, and quiet out of the wind. The sun had sunk low, turning the sky a pale, flamingo pink.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” sighed Veronica, emerging from her sheltered corner.
“You can just imagine the smugglers bringing their loot here to hide in those caves,” said Rafa, edging around to join them.
“Enough of loot, young man, you’re going to catch a crab,” said Pat.
“What do we do after we’ve caught it?”
“Put it back,” said Clementine knowledgeably. “Unless it’s big and tasty, in which case, we’ll eat it for supper.”
“Run away, crabs! Run away!” he pretended to shout into the water.