her. Bella was grateful. She felt strangely shaky.
He seemed to guess. ‘Look, you’d better sit down. You could probably do with a drink, too.’
She shook her head, half laughing. ‘I lost my champagne a long time ago.’
‘I didn’t. You can have mine.’
He steered her through the shadowed paths between tall banana plants and bushy sweet-leaved citrus trees. He must have eyes like a cat, thought Bella, torn between gratitude and annoyance with herself.
He clearly knew where he was going, even if he didn’t live here. He steered her round a semi-circular stone wall, saying briefly, ‘Fountain at three o’clock,’ before locating a deeply cushioned wickerwork sofa.
‘There you go.’
Bella sank bonelessly into the cushions. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been dealing with creepy-crawlies and tropical storms and stuff for nearly a year.’
‘I’m impressed,’ he said nicely.
Bella shook her head. ‘No, you’re not. Why should you be? It’s just – I mean, I don’t normally go all wimbly like this.’
‘Maybe you don’t often destroy your host’s landscape gardening like this?’
‘You’re laughing at me again.’
‘Yes. Do you mind?’
Bella shook her head. Then realised he probably couldn’t see it and said, ‘No, not really. Anyway, I guess you’re entitled. After I kicked you.’
‘That’s very fair of you.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘How are you feeling now?’
Bella thought about it. ‘A bit odd, to be honest.’
‘I’ll get you that champagne.’
He made his way sure-footedly through the dark maze that was the courtyard. She listened but did not hear so much as a pot scrape or a branch snap in his wake. When he returned, she accepted the glass of wine gratefully, but sighed.
‘I wish I could do that.’
He was amused. ‘Do what?
‘Navigate my way round these plants without sounding like a herd of buffalo. I’m afraid I’m one of the world’s bumpers.’
‘Bumpers?’ he said blankly.
‘That’s what my father used to call me. “Let’s hope Bella doesn’t want to be an actress,” he used to say. “She’d always be bumping into the furniture and breaking the crockery.”’
‘Did you want to be an actress, then?’ He sounded intrigued.
Bella drank some more champagne. It was good. The bubbles seemed to act on her like water on a drooping daisy. She straightened, feeling chirpier by the minute
‘Good God, no. I hate being on show. Curdles my insides. But I wish I wasn’t so clumsy.’
‘Would it help you with the creepy crawlies and the tropical storms?’
She took another mouthful of champagne, then another and another. Yes, bubbles were definitely energising. ‘There you go, laughing at me again.’
‘Do you mind?’
‘No. I think I quite like it.’
‘Thank you,’ he said gravely.
He sat down on the sofa beside her. Bella shivered.
‘Are you cold?’
‘No.’ She looked up at the sky. The clouds were still scudding across the moon but she felt as warm as toast. ‘You know, three … no, four … nights ago, I walked down a beach at night and there were so many stars you couldn’t have put a hand between them. And here there isn’t one.’
‘So why are you here, not there?’
‘Ah. That’s a long story.’
He settled back among the cushions. ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere.’
She sank back too, clutching the champagne flute against her. ‘Nothing’s ever as good or as bad as you expect, is it?’
‘That’s a bit sweeping. Sometimes it takes a while to find out how good or bad something has been.’
He had a wonderful voice, she thought, deep and dark and thoughtful. Merlin would have a voice like that. Shame he didn’t know what he was talking about.
‘You’re wrong. You know at once when a thing is wrong. I did. I just didn’t—’
‘Didn’t?’ he prompted.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Bella, annoyed. In the darkness, it didn’t seem so bad to say it aloud. ‘I didn’t want to admit it, all right? I went out to the island convinced I was going to get close to nature, save the planet and find my place in the universe.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘Nope. Nowhere near.’
‘Tough,’ was all he said.
But she had the feeling that he understood.
‘Waste of time, feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘You are so right. But was this island of yours all bad?’
She thought about it. ‘I suppose not,’ she admitted. ‘I learned a few things.’
‘Like what?’
‘One …’ She ticked them off on her fingers. Or, at least, she started to tick them off on her fingers, but that made her glass tilt alarmingly, nearly spilling champagne. So she stopped. ‘See what I mean?’ she said, side-tracked. ‘Clumsy.’ Champagne had slopped on