'Are you okay?' Pascha asked, surefootedly hurrying to her side.
'Yes, yes. No harm done.' Feeling like the biggest fool in the world, she accepted his help, allowing his large, warm fingers to wrap around her own and pull her back to her feet.
'Thank you,' she muttered, knowing her cheeks had turned an even deeper shade of red that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
She snatched her hand away from his, as if the action could eradicate the effects of his touch. It felt as if he'd magically heated her skin, his clasp sending tiny darts of energy zinging through her veins, making her heart pump harder.
Pascha was still staring at her intently.
'Are you sure you're all right?' he asked after too long a pause.
'Honestly, I'm fine.' To prove it, she started walking again. It was with relief that she spotted the roof of the main cabin of the lodge poking through the foliage.
'Are you sure you haven't hurt yourself?'
'I said I'm fine.'
Before he had a chance to quiz her further, the theme to a cartoon she'd adored in childhood rang out. To her utter amazement, she realised it was his phone ringing.
Pascha had the theme to Top Cat as his ringtone?
He pressed it to his ear. 'Da?' His eyes immediately switched to her face. 'Yes, she is right with me. One moment.' He handed the phone to her, mouthing, 'Your brother,' as he did so.
Her blood turned to ice.
'James?' The coldness quickly subsided when she learned the reason for her brother's call. He couldn't work the washing machine. Their mother had always done it for him, even after he'd left the family home. Since she'd died he'd used a laundry service-after failing to cajole Emily into doing it for him.
By the time she ended the call, irritation suffused her. She'd explicitly told him only to call in a genuine emergency-one call too many and for all she knew Pascha might decide not to bother passing on any messages. It was pure luck that she'd been with him at that moment.
Still, she consoled herself, at least she wouldn't have to badger Valeria for use of the lodge phone for another day. James had assured her their father's condition was the same, so that was one less thing to worry about.
Pascha had listened to Emily's side of the conversation with increasing incredulity. 'Your brother called about a washing machine?'
Judging by the way she inhaled deeply and swallowed, it was obvious Emily was carefully choosing her words. 'James isn't the most domestic of people.'
'Doing the laundry does not require a PhD.'
'In my brother's eyes, it does. Anyway, how would you know? I bet you've never used a washing machine in your life.'
'I make a point of learning how to use all the domestic appliances in my homes,' Pascha told her coldly. He understood why she made so many assumptions about him but it needled all the same. He hadn't been born rich-quite the opposite. Everything he had he'd worked damned hard for. Just being here, being alive, had been the hardest battle of all.
'Why would you do that?' For once there was no sarcasm or anything like it in her tone, just genuine curiosity. 'Surely you have a fleet of staff in all your homes?'
'I like to take care of myself,' he said tightly. 'Aliana Island is different-I come here to get away from the world and switch off.'
The lodge was only a few yards ahead of them now. Emily slowed down to adjust her rucksack. 'I can see why you would do that,' she admitted. 'I think Aliana Island might be the most beautiful spot on the planet.'
'I think that too.'
She gave him something that looked like the beginning of a genuine smile, her eyes crinkling a touch at the corners. It sent the most peculiar sensation fluttering in his chest. Before he had a chance to analyse it, he spotted Valeria waving at him in the distance.
'Excuse me,' he said, 'But work calls.'
As he walked, that same strange fluttering sensation stayed with him.
CHAPTER FIVE
EMILY HAD A quick shower, then steeled herself before setting off to the main lodge. But, when she stepped in the dining hall, the table was set for one.
A curious emptiness settled in her stomach when a young girl-she was certain the girl was Valeria and Luis's daughter-brought a bowl of bisque and some warm rolls through to her and gave a garbled apology about something important Pascha needed to attend to.
She ate mechanically then retired back to her hut, distantly aware the island's staff was now out in force. Though they weren't bustling in the sense that people bustled in large cities, the speed with which they were working had increased dramatically.
Back at her lodge, Emily dragged her sewing machine out and placed it on the table then got her tubes of fabric and her A5 pad of designs. What she really needed but had forgotten to bring was a mannequin on which to pin the dress she wanted to make. She wondered if Valeria's daughter-she must learn her name-would model for her.
Finally she had enough time on her hands to turn her own designs into something. Her own creations. Her own visions. No Hugo demanding she focus solely on his.
Disregarding the lack of mannequin and model, Emily laid the fabric on the long table and began to make her marks. How long ago had she designed this dress? Over a year, at the very least, before the bottom of her world had dropped away from her and she'd been left floundering, clinging on to anything that would give her a purpose.
The past year had been a constant whirl of hospital trips and visits to the family home. She'd been desperate to care for and spend as much time with her mother before the inevitable happened. All of this on top of holding down a demanding job and looking after her own home. When the inevitable had happened, life had continued at the same pace, this time a whirl of funeral arrangements, form filling and taking care of her increasingly fragile father. There had been no time to switch off. There had been no time for herself.
She placed the fabric chalk under her nose and inhaled, squeezing her eyes tight as memories of sitting in her mother's craft study assailed her. Her mother would have loved the opportunity to be a seamstress but it had never been an option for her. She'd married at eighteen and had had her first child at nineteen, devoting herself to being a good wife and mother.
And she had been. Even if Emily had been given a city of women to choose a mother from, Catherine Richardson would be the one she'd have chosen. Always supportive, always loving. When Emily had won her place at fashion college, she doubted there had been a prouder mother alive.
She wished her mother was here with her to see this beautiful island. But of course, if that awful, awful disease hadn't claimed her mother, Emily would never have seen Aliana Island either.
Catherine Richardson's death had unhinged the entire family and, no matter what Emily did or how hard she tried, she couldn't fix it back together.
She couldn't fix this dress either. She'd finished her markings but without a model or a mannequin she would be sewing blind.
How could she not have thought to bring a mannequin with her when she'd remembered everything else?
Sighing, she gathered all her stuff back together and put it neatly away before wandering out onto the veranda.
As she leaned over the wall, she couldn't help but peek up to her left, where Pascha's hut jutted out. Nothing. If he was in there, he was out of sight.
She forced her attention onto the calm blue lagoon before her and breathed in the salty air which, mingled with the mass of sweet frangipani growing everywhere, created the most magical scent. If she could bottle it, she would make a fortune. She wanted to be out there in it.
She'd been shown a huge wooden hut that held a host of items for outdoor entertainment. She'd been told she could use whatever she liked when the mood took her. It was kept unlocked. She skipped down from her cabin and let herself in. Tennis and badminton rackets, sets of boules and kites all lay neatly shelved amongst kayaks and surfboards. So orderly was it all that she found what she was looking for with no effort at all: a row of snorkels and flippers.
Kitted out, she headed for the lagoon, delighting to feel the warmth of the fine white sand between her toes and the beam of the sun heating her skin, a breeze tempering it enough to make it bearable. In the distance, a boat sailed away from the island, going quickly enough soon to be a speck on the horizon.