The Devil and the Deep

Stella blushed. ‘Certainly,’ she murmured as she held her hand out for the book and proffered pen. ‘Is there any message in particular you’d like me to write?’

‘Just to me, Andrea.’ The stewardess smiled.

Stella wrote a brief message to Andrea, then signed her name with a flourish before handing the book and pen back.

‘Thank you so much,’ Andrea said. ‘I shall cherish it.’

‘Thank you,’ Stella replied. ‘It’s always nice to meet people who like what you do.’

Andrea nodded. ‘I better go and serve dinner or my little band of travellers won’t be happy.’

Stella and Rick watched her walk away. He turned to her. ‘Wow. You’re seriously famous, aren’t you?’

Stella chuckled. ‘Does that threaten your masculinity?’ It had certainly threatened Dale’s.

‘Hell, no.’ He grinned. ‘I’m a little turned on, actually.’

Stella shook her head. ‘If you’re thinking threesome, forget it.’

Rick laughed. ‘Well, I am now.’

CHAPTER THREE

STELLA had been seven and Rick ten when they’d first laid eyes on the Dolphin anchored at St Kitts. They’d both stood on the bow of the Persephone with their mouths open, staring at the wooden beauty. Teak, oak, cypress and the original brass fittings had given her an old-world charm hinting at an era when craftsmanship was everything and things were made to last.

Stella still remembered Rick’s awed whisper. ‘One day she’s going to be mine.’

And as they stood on the wharf looking down at her now, the brass gleaming beneath a high Aussie sun, the wooden deck warm and inviting, she looked as grand and majestic as ever.

Lucinda sighed in her head.

‘God, Rick,’ Stella breathed, that same stirring in her blood she always felt with a stiff sea breeze ruffling her hair. ‘She’s even more beautiful than I remembered.’

Rick looked down at her, her hair streaming behind her, her pink lips parted in awe. She’d changed into a vest top and cut-off denim shorts and she was so tiny the urge to tuck her under his arm took him by surprise.

‘Yes, she is,’ he murmured, looking back at his purchase.

Stella looked up at him. The sea breeze whipped his long pirate locks across his face. His strong jaw was dark with stubble. ‘She must have cost you a fortune.’

He shrugged. ‘Some things are beyond money. And she’s worth every cent.’

She nodded, looking back at the superbly crafted boat. ‘Why now?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I listened to your father talk about The Mermaid all my life. About how one day he was going to find Inigo’s final resting place. And then he died without ever having seen it.’

Rick felt a swell of emotion in his chest and stopped. He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently into his side. ‘I always thought Nathan was invincible...’

Stella snaked an arm around his waist, her heart twisting as his words ran out. She’d always thought so too. Always thought her father would be like Captain Ahab, The Mermaid his white whale. They both stood on the dock watching the gentle bob of the Dolphin for a few moments.

‘I’ve dreamt about owning this boat since I was ten years old,’ Rick murmured, finding his voice again. ‘I didn’t want to wait any longer.’

Stella nodded, feeling a deep and abiding affinity with Rick that couldn’t have been stronger had they been bound by blood.

That wouldn’t have been possible had they been lovers.

‘Besides,’ he grinned, giving her a quick squeeze before letting her go, ‘the company owns it.’

Stella laughed. ‘Oh, really, creative accounting, huh?’

‘Something like that,’ he laughed.

‘So she’s actually half mine?’ she teased.

Rick threw his backpack on deck and jumped on board. He held out his hand. ‘Mi casa es su casa,’ he murmured.

Stella’s breath hitched as she took his hand. He spoke Spanish impeccably and with that bronzed colouring and those impossibly blue eyes he was every inch the Spaniard. He might have an English father and have gone to English schools but for his formative years he was raised by his Romany grandmother and she’d made sure her Riccardo had been immersed in the lingo.

As she stepped aboard she checked out the small motorised dinghy hanging from a frame attached to the stern above the water line. Then her gaze fell to the starboard hull where the bold gold lettering outlined in fine black detail proclaimed a change of name. She almost tripped and stumbled into him.

‘Whoa there,’ he said, holding her hips to steady her. They curved out from her waist and he had to remind himself that the flesh beneath his palms was Stella’s. ‘You’ve turned into a real landlubber, haven’t you?’ he teased.

She stared at him for a moment. ‘You changed her name?’ she asked breathlessly.

He shrugged as he smiled down at her flummoxed face. ‘I promised you.’

Stella thumped his arm and ignored his theatrical recoil. ‘I was seven years old,’ she yelled.

She stormed to the edge and looked over at the six yellow letters, her eyes filling with tears.

Stella.

‘You don’t like it?’

She blinked her tears away and marched back to him and thumped his chest this time. ‘I love it, you idiot! It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.’ Then she threw herself into his arms.

Not even her father had named a boat after her.