The Russian's Ultimatum(10)

'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.