Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,18
Mid-Atlantic paradise?”
“Has cumulus clouds, of course. They could be the precursors of more severe weather if their moisture content increases.”
“We’ll keep an eye out for storms, but for now I think we’re safe.”
From the weather, at least.
Frank guided the boat out of the marina and small harbor and into the open sea, pointing due north to his island. He engaged the autopilot system and slid open the windows on the bridge so they could catch the ocean breeze.
“So, Julia, tell me what you have been up to the past years. You must have spent a lot of time in school to get your graduate degree. Where did you go? Did you work at the same time?”
“Did I ever. Worked and worked.” Julia sat in one of the swivel chairs and Frank sat across from her. Under his gentle questioning, she found herself telling him about her long years of nursing school in Boston, her first job in the E.R. that was both heartbreaking and exhilarating. “I went to graduate school because I wanted to know more. I got tired of wanting to know things that I didn’t know and not knowing how to learn them.”
“It sounds as if you must’ve learned plenty.” Frank looked at the control panel again to make sure that they were still on the right course.
Julia wasn’t sure that they were on the right path at all but it was kind of late to turn back now. But she decided to just go with the flow and see what happened.
“I hope you’re hungry. I picked up something at the café for lunch. With working at the villa, Benedito and I didn’t have time to cook anything today.”
“Do you know how to cook?” If Julia’s memory was correct, Frank knew how to open a bottle of wine and make sandwiches. Not that there was anything wrong with wine or sandwiches. She had pretty much lived on a diet of sandwiches while she was in school. And working in the E.R. meant that the cafeteria was closed at night, so she often lived on a diet of vending machine offerings. Of course Portuguese sandwiches were a lot nicer than the white bread and turkey slices of dubious origin that lurked in the hospital cafeteria.
“I made myself learn how to cook. Benedito’s wife Leonor taught me several of her dishes. Although they don’t taste the same but I often wonder if she left ingredients out on purpose. She is a rather jealous cook, you know.” Frank stood up. “Are you thirsty? I have several soft drinks down in the galley if you’re interested.”
Julia realized her mouth was quite dry from all the talking. She had not talked that long with anybody for weeks, if not months. Her father never expected her to talk much, and her mother talked enough for all three of them. “Sure, I’d love a drink—a cola if you have one, with plenty of ice.”
Frank jumped to his feet. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Julia got up to stretch her legs and looked out one of the windows. She spotted a blue smudge on the far horizon rising out of the sea. It had to be Belas Aguas. Her mouth got even drier at the sight of the place where she and Frank had been so happy.
And there he was at her elbow, passing her a cold drink. His own drink was equally full but without the ice cubes. “I knew you were going to be on the boat,” he said. “I laid in more ice than the local fishing fleet needs.”
She elbowed him in the ribs with her free arm. “Warm soda is a sign of barbarism. What’s the point in having warm drinks? If you want something warm, you should make yourself a pot of tea or coffee.”
Frank winced. “Please tell me you don’t refrigerate your red wine.” He looked around the bridge. “I may have to get myself a tissue since you’ll make me cry.”
Julia gave him a sweet smile. “Why, Frank, there’s nothing better on a hot summer day than a glass of cold red wine. With ice cubes.”
He groaned. “Now that is a sign of true barbarism. Do you know how hard we have to work to make an excellent red wine? Years and years. First we have to grow the grapes, then we have to harvest them. After that, we pull our hair out during fermentation, and then we pour it into the casks, hoping that it turns out to