Читать книгу Cinderella: Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny - Marion Lennox - Страница 11

THIS was really, really foolish. She was allowing an unknown Spaniard to pay her debts and sweep her off in his fabulous yacht to the other side of the world. She was so appalled at herself she couldn’t stop grinning.

Watching Cathy’s face had been a highlight. ‘I can’t let you do it,’ she’d said in horror. ‘I know I joked about it but I never dreamed you’d take me seriously. You know nothing about him. This is awful.’

And Jenny had nodded solemn agreement.

‘It is awful. If I turn up in some Arabic harem on the other side of the world it’s all your fault,’ she told her friend. ‘You pointed him out to me.’

‘No. Jenny, I never would have…No!’

She’d chuckled and relented. ‘Okay, I won’t make you come and rescue me. I know this is a risk, my love, but honestly, he seems nice. I don’t think there’s a harem but even if there is…I’m a big girl and I take responsibility for my own decision. I know it’s playing with fire, but honestly, Cathy, you were right. I’m out of here any way I can.’

And what a way! Sailing out of the harbour on board the Marquita with Ramón at the helm was like something out of a fairy tale.

Fairy tales didn’t include scrubbing decks, though, she conceded ruefully. There was enough of reality to keep her grounded—or as grounded as one could be at sea. Six days later, Jenny was on her knees swishing a scrubbing brush like a true deckhand. They’d been visited by a flock of terns at dawn—possibly the last they’d see until they neared land again. She certainly hoped so. The deck was a mess.

But making her feel a whole lot better about scrubbing was the fact that Ramón was on his knees scrubbing as well. That didn’t fit the fairy tale either. Knight on white charger scrubbing bird droppings? She glanced over and found he was watching her. He caught her grin and he grinned back.

‘Not exactly the romantic ideal of sailing into the sunset,’ he said, and it was so much what she’d been thinking that she laughed. She sat back on her heels, put her face up to the sun and soaked it in. The Marquita was on autopilot, safe enough in weather like this. There was a light breeze—enough to make Marquita slip gracefully through the water like a skier on a downhill run. On land it would be hot, but out here on the ocean it was just plain fabulous. Jenny was wearing shorts and T-shirt and nothing else. Her feet were bare, her hair was scrunched up in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes, her nose was white with sunscreen—and she was perfectly, gloriously happy.

‘You’re supposed to complain,’ Ramón said, watching her. ‘Any deckie I’ve ever employed would be complaining by now.’

‘What on earth would I be complaining about?’

‘Scrubbing, maybe?’

‘I’d scrub from here to China if I could stay on this boat,’ she said happily and then saw his expression and hastily changed her mind. ‘No. I didn’t mean that. You keep right on thinking I’m working hard for my money. But, honestly, you have the best job in the world, Ramón Cavellero, and I have the second best.’

‘I do, don’t I?’ he said, but his smile faded, and something about him said he had shadows too. Did she want to ask?

Maybe not.

She’d known Ramón for over a week now, and she’d learned a lot in that time. She’d learned he was a wonderful sailor, intuitive, clever and careful. He took no unnecessary risks, yet on the second night out there’d been a storm. A nervous sailor might have reefed in everything and sat it out. Ramón, however, had looked at the charts, altered his course and let the jib stay at full stretch. The Marquita had flown across the water with a speed Jenny found unbelievable, and when the dawn came and the storm abated they were maybe three hundred miles further towards New Zealand than they’d otherwise have been.

She’d taken a turn at the wheel that night but she knew Ramón hadn’t slept. She’d been conscious of his shadowy presence below, aware of what the boat was doing, aware of how she was handling her. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but she was new crew and to sleep in such a storm while she had such responsibility might have been dangerous.

His competence pleased her, as did the fact that he hadn’t told her he was checking on her. Lots of things about him pleased her, she admitted—but Ramón kept himself to himself. Any thoughts she may have had of being an addition to his harem were quickly squashed. Once they were at sea, he was reserved to the point of being aloof.

‘How long have you skippered this boat?’ she asked suddenly, getting back to scrubbing, not looking up. She was learning that he responded better that way, talking easily as they worked together. Once work stopped he retreated again into silence.

‘Ten years,’ he said.

‘Wow. You must have been at kindergarten when you were first employed.’

‘I got lucky,’ he said brusquely, and she thought, don’t go there. She’d asked a couple of things about the owner, and she’d learned quickly that was the way to stop a conversation dead.

‘So how many crews would you have employed in that time?’ she asked. And then she frowned down at what she was scrubbing. How on earth had the birds managed to soil under the rim of the forward hatch? She tried to imagine, and couldn’t.

‘How long’s a piece of string?’ Ramón said. ‘I get new people at every port.’

‘But you have me for a year.’

‘That’s right, I have,’ he said and she glanced up and caught a flash of something that might be satisfaction. She smiled and went back to scrubbing, unaccountably pleased.

‘That sounds like you liked my lunch time paella.’

‘I loved your lunch time paella. Where did you learn to cook something so magnificently Spanish?’

‘I’m part Spanish,’ she said and he stopped scrubbing and stared.

‘Spanish?’

‘Well, truthfully, I’m all Australian,’ she said, ‘but my father was Spanish. He moved to Australia when he met my mother. My mother’s mother was Spanish as well. Papà came as an adventuring young man. He contacted my grandmother as a family friend and the rest is history.

‘So,’ Ramón said slowly, sounding dazed. ‘Habla usted español? Can you speak Spanish?’

‘Sí,’ she said, and tried not to sound smug.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘There’s no end to my talents,’ she agreed and grinned, and then peered under the hatch. ‘Speaking of talent…How did these birds do this? They must have lain on their sides and aimed.’

‘It’s a competition between them and me,’ Ramón said darkly. ‘They don’t like my boat looking beautiful. All I can do is sail so far out to sea they can’t reach me. But…you have a Spanish background? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You never asked,’ she said, and then she hesitated. ‘There’s lots you didn’t ask, and your offer seemed so amazing I saw no reason to mess it with detail. I could have told you I play a mean game of netball, I can climb trees, I have my bronze surf lifesaving certificate and I can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf. You didn’t ask and how could I tell you? You might have thought I was skiting.’

‘Skiting?’

‘Making myself out to be Miss Wonderful.’

‘I seem to have employed Miss Wonderful regardless,’ he said. And then…‘Jenny?’

‘Mmm?’

‘No, I mean, what sort of Spanish parents call their daughter Jenny?’

‘It’s Gianetta.’

‘Gianetta.’ He said it with slow, lilting pleasure, and he said it the way it was supposed to sound. The way her parents had said it. She blinked and then she thought no. Actually, the way Ramón said it wasn’t the way her parents had said it. He had the pronunciation right but it was much, much better. He rolled it, he almost growled it, and it sounded so sexy her toes started to curl.

‘I would have found out when you signed your contract,’ Ramón was saying while she attempted a bit of toe uncurling. Then he smiled. ‘Speaking of which, maybe it’s time you did sign up. I don’t want to let anyone who can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf get away.’

‘It’s a dying art,’ she said, relieved to be on safer ground. In fact she’d been astounded that he hadn’t yet got round to making her sign any agreement.

The day before they’d sailed he’d handed Charlie a cheque. ‘How do you know you can trust me to fill my part of the bargain?’ she’d asked him, stunned by what he was doing, and Ramón had looked down at her for a long moment, his face impassive, and he’d given a small decisive nod.

‘I can,’ he’d said, and that was that.

‘Playing a gum leaf’s a dying art?’ he asked now, cautiously.

‘It’s something I need to teach my grandchildren,’ she told him. And then she heard what she’d said. Grandchildren. The void, always threatening, was suddenly right under her. She hauled herself back with an effort.

‘What is it?’ Ramón said and he was looking at her with concern. The void disappeared. There went her toes again, curling, curling. Did he have any idea of what those eyes did to her? They helped, though. She was back again now, safe. She could move on. If she could focus on something other than those eyes.

‘So I’m assuming you’re Spanish, too?’ she managed.

‘No!’

‘You’re not Spanish?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘You sound Spanish.’ Then she hesitated. Here was another reason she hadn’t told him about her heritage—she wasn’t sure. There was something else in his accent besides Spain. France? It was a sexy mix that she couldn’t quite place.

‘I come from Cepheus,’ he said, and all was explained.

Cepheus. She knew it. A tiny principality on the Mediterranean, fiercely independent and fiercely proud.

‘My father told me about Cepheus,’ she said, awed that here was an echo from her childhood. ‘Papà was born not so far away from the border and he went there as a boy. He said it’s the most beautiful country in the world—but he also said it belonged to Spain.’

‘If he’s Spanish then he would say that,’ Ramón growled. ‘If he was French he’d say the same thing. They’ve been fighting over my country for generations, like eagles over a small bird. What they’ve come to realize, however, is that the small bird has claws and knows how to protect itself. For now they’ve dropped us—they’ve let us be. We are Cepheus. Nothing more.’

‘But you speak Spanish?’

‘The French and the Spanish have both taken part of our language and made it theirs,’ he said, and she couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.

‘What’s funny?’ He was suddenly practically glowering.

‘Your patriotism,’ she said, refusing to be deflected. ‘Like Australians saying the English speak Australian with a plum in their mouths.’

‘It’s not the same,’ he said but then he was smiling again. She smiled back—and wham.

What was it with this man?

She knew exactly what it was. Quite simply he was the most gorgeous guy she’d ever met. Tall, dark and fabulous, a voice like a god, rugged, clever…and smiling. She took a deep breath and went back to really focused scrubbing. It was imperative that she scrub.

She was alone on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a man she was so attracted to her toes were practically ringlets. And she was crew. Nothing more. She was cook and deckhand. Remember it!

‘So why the debt?’ he asked gently, and she forgot about being cook and deckhand. He was asking as if he cared.

Should she tell him to mind his own business? Should she back away?

Why? He’d been extraordinarily kind and if he wanted to ask…He didn’t feel like her boss, and at this moment she didn’t feel like a deckie.

Maybe he even had the right to know.

‘I lost my baby,’ she said flatly, trying to make it sound as if it was history. Only of course she couldn’t. Two years on, it still pierced something inside her to say it. ‘Matty was born with a congenital heart condition. He had a series of operations, each riskier than the last. Finally, there was only one procedure left to try—a procedure so new it cost the earth. It was his last chance and I had to take it, but of course I’d run out of what money I had. I was working for Charlie for four hours a day over the lunch time rush—Matty was in hospital and I hated leaving him but I had to pay the rent, so when things hit rock bottom Charlie knew. So Charlie loaned me what I needed on the basis that I keep working on for him.’

She scrubbed fiercely at a piece of deck that had already been scrubbed. Ramón didn’t say anything. She scrubbed a bit more. Thought about not saying more and then decided—why not say it all?

‘You need to understand…I’d been cooking on the docks since I was seventeen and people knew my food. Charlie’s café was struggling and he needed my help to keep it afloat. But the operation didn’t work. Matty died when he was two years, three months and five days old. I buried him and I went back to Charlie’s café and I’ve been there ever since.’

‘I am so sorry.’ Ramón was sitting back on his heels and watching her. She didn’t look up—she couldn’t. She kept right on scrubbing.

The boat rocked gently on the swell. The sun shone down on the back of her neck and she was acutely aware of his gaze. So aware of his silence.

‘Charlie demanded that you leave your baby, for those hours in the last days of his life?’ he said at last, and she swallowed at that, fighting back regret that could never fade.

‘It was our deal.’ She hesitated. ‘You’ve seen the worst of Charlie. Time was when he was a decent human being. Before the drink took over. When he offered me a way out—I only saw the money. I guess I just trusted. And after I borrowed the money there was no way out.’

‘So where,’ he asked, in his soft, lilting accent that seemed to have warmth and sincerity built into it, ‘was Matty’s father?’

‘On the other side of the world, as far as I know,’ she said, and she blinked back self-pity and found herself smiling. ‘My Kieran. Or, rather, no one’s Kieran.’

‘You’re smiling?’ He sounded incredulous, as well he might.

‘Yes, that’s stupid. And yes, I was really stupid.’ Enough with the scrubbing—any more and she’d start taking off wood. She tossed her brush into the bucket and stood up, leaning against the rail and letting the sun comfort her. How to explain Kieran? ‘My father had just died, and I was bleak and miserable. Kieran came into port and he was just…alive. I met him on the wharf one night, we went dancing and I fell in love. Only even then I knew I wasn’t in love with Kieran. Not with the person. I was in love with what he represented. Happiness. Laughter. Life. At the end of a wonderful week he sailed away and two weeks later I discovered our precautions hadn’t worked. I emailed him to tell him. He sent me a dozen roses and a cheque for a termination. The next time I emailed, to tell him I was keeping our baby, there was no reply. There’s been no reply since.’

‘Do you mind?’ he said gently.

‘I mind that Kieran didn’t have a chance to meet his son,’ she said. ‘It was his loss. Matty was wonderful.’ She pulled herself together and managed to smile again. ‘But I’d imagine all mothers say that about their babies. Any minute now I’ll be tugging photographs out of my purse.’

‘It would be my privilege to see them.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Why would I not?’

Her smile faded. She searched his face and saw only truth.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, disconcerted. She was struggling to understand this man. She’d accepted this job suspecting he was another similar to Kieran, sailing the world to escape responsibility, only the more she saw of him the more she realized there were depths she couldn’t fathom.

She had armour now to protect herself against the likes of Kieran. She knew she did—that was why she’d taken the job. But this man’s gentle sympathy and practical help were something new. She tried to imagine Kieran scrubbing a deck when he didn’t have to, and she couldn’t.

‘So where’s your family?’ she asked, too abruptly, and she watched his face close. Which was what she was coming to expect. He’d done this before to her, simply shutting himself off from her questions. She thought it was a method he’d learned from years of employing casual labour, setting boundaries and staying firmly behind them.

Maybe that was reasonable, she conceded. Just because she’d stepped outside her personal boundaries, it didn’t mean he must.

‘Sorry. I’ll put the buckets away,’ she said, but he didn’t move and neither did she.

‘I don’t like talking of my family.’

‘That’s okay. That’s your right.’

‘You didn’t have to tell me about your son.’

‘Yes, but I like talking about Matty,’ she said. She thought about it. It wasn’t absolutely true. Or was it?

She only talked about Matty to Cathy, to Susie, to those few people who’d known him. But still…

‘Talking about him keeps him real,’ she said, trying to figure it out as she spoke. ‘Keeping silent locks him in my heart and I’m scared he’ll shrivel. I want to be able to have him out there, to share him.’ She shrugged. ‘It makes no sense but there it is. Your family…you keep them where you need to have them. I’m sorry I intruded.’

‘I don’t believe you could ever intrude,’ he said, so softly she could hardly hear him. ‘But my story’s not so peaceful. My father died when I was seven. He and my grandfather…well, let’s just say they didn’t get on. My grandfather was what might fairly be described as a wealthy thug. He mistreated my grandmother appallingly, and finally my father thought to put things right by instigating legal proceedings. Only when it looked like my father and grandmother might win, my grandfather’s thugs bashed him—so badly he died.’

‘Oh, Ramón,’ she whispered, appalled.

‘It’s old history,’ he said in a voice that told her it wasn’t. It still had the power to hurt. ‘Nothing could ever be proved, so we had to move on as best we could. But my grandmother never got over it. She died when I was ten, and then my mother and my sister were killed in a car accident when I was little more than a teenager. So that’s my family. Or, rather, that was my family. I have an aunt I love, but that’s all.’

‘So you don’t have a home,’ she said softly.

‘The sea makes a wonderful mistress.’

‘She’s not exactly cuddly,’ Jenny retorted before she thought it through, and then she heard what she’d said and she could have kicked herself. But it seemed her tongue was determined to keep her in trouble. ‘I mean…Well, the sea. A mistress? Wouldn’t you rather have a real one?’

His lips twitched. ‘You’re asking why don’t I have a woman?’

‘I didn’t mean that at all,’ she said, astounded at herself. ‘If you don’t choose to…’

But she stopped herself there. She was getting into deeper water at every word and she was floundering.

‘Would you rate yourself as cuddly?’ he asked, a slight smile still playing round his mouth, and she felt herself colouring from the toes up. She’d walked straight into that one.

He thoroughly disconcerted her. It was as if there was some sort of connection between them, like an electric current that buzzed back and forth, no matter how she tried to subdue it.

She had to subdue it. Ramón was her boss. She had to maintain a working relationship with him for a year.

‘No. No!’ She shook her head so hard the tie came loose and her curls went flying every which way. ‘Of course I’m not cuddly. I got myself in one horrible mess with Kieran, and I’m not going down that path again, thank you very much.’

‘So maybe the sea is to be your partner in life, too?’

‘I don’t want a partner,’ she said with asperity. ‘I don’t need one, thank you very much. You’re very welcome to your sea, Mr Cavellero, but I’ll stick to cooking, sailing and occasional scrubbing. What more could a woman want? It sounds like relationships, for both of us, are a thing of the past.’ And then she paused. She stared out over Ramón’s shoulder. ‘Oh!’ She put her hand up to shade her eyes. ‘Oh, Ramón, look!’

Ramón wheeled to see what she was seeing, and he echoed her gasp.

They’d been too intent on each other to notice their surroundings—the sea was clear to the horizon so there was no threat, but suddenly there was a great black mound, floating closer and closer to the Marquita. On the far side of the mound was another, much smaller.

The smaller mound was gliding through the water, surfacing and diving, surfacing and diving. The big mound lay still, like a massive log, threequarters submerged.

‘Oh,’ Jenny gasped, trying to take in what she was seeing. ‘It’s a whale and its calf. But why…’

Why was the larger whale so still?

They were both staring out to starboard now. Ramón narrowed his eyes, then swore and made his way swiftly aft. He retrieved a pair of field glasses, focused and swore again.

‘She’s wrapped in a net.’ He flicked off the autopilot. ‘Jenny, we’re coming about.’

The boat was already swinging. Jenny dropped her buckets and moved like lightning, reefing in the main with desperate haste so the boom wouldn’t slam across with the wind shift.

Even her father wouldn’t have trusted her to move so fast, she thought, as she winched in the stays with a speed even she hadn’t known was possible. Ramón expected the best of her and she gave it.

But Ramón wasn’t focused on her. All his attention was on the whale. With the sails in place she could look again at what was in front of her. And what she saw…She drew in her breath in distress.

The massive whale—maybe fifty feet long or more—was almost completely wrapped in a damaged shark net. Jenny had seen these nets. They were set up across popular beaches to keep swimmers safe, but occasionally whales swam in too close to shore and became entangled, or swam into a net that had already been dislodged.

The net was enfolding her almost completely, with a rope as thick as Jenny’s wrist tying her from head to tail, forcing her to bend. As the Marquita glided past, Jenny saw her massive pectoral fins were fastened uselessly to her sides. She was rolling helplessly in the swell.

Dead?

No. Just as she thought it, the creature gave a massive shudder. She was totally helpless, and by her side her calf swam free, but helpless as well in the shadow of her mother’s entrapment.

‘Dios,’ she whispered. It was the age-old plea she’d learned from her mother, and she heard the echo of it from Ramón’s lips.

‘It’s a humpback,’ she said in distress. ‘The net’s wrapped so tight it’s killing her. What can we do?’

But Ramón was already moving. ‘We get the sails down and start the motor,’ he said. ‘The sails won’t give us room to manoeuvre. Gianetta, I need your help. Fast.’

He had it. The sails were being reefed in almost before he finished speaking, as the motor hummed seamlessly into life.

He pushed it into low gear so the sound was a low hum. The last thing either of them wanted was to panic the whale. As it was, the calf was moving nervously away from them, so the mother was between it and the boat.

‘If she panics there’s nothing we can do,’ Jenny said grimly. ‘Can we get near enough to cut?’

They couldn’t. Ramón edged the Marquita close, the big whale rolled a little, the swell separated them and Jenny knew they could never simply reach out and cut.

‘Can we call someone?’ she said helplessly. ‘There’s whale rescue organisations. Maybe they could come out.’

‘We’re too far from land,’ Ramón said. ‘It’s us or no one.’

No one, Jenny thought as they tried one more pass. It was hopeless. For them to cut the net the whale had to be right beside the boat. With the lurching of the swell there was no way they could steer the boat alongside and keep her there.

How else to help? To get into the water and swim, then cling and cut was far, far too risky. Jenny was a good swimmer but…

‘It’s open water, the job’s too big, there’s no way I could count on getting back into the boat,’ Ramón said, and she knew he was thinking the same.

‘You would do it if you could?’ she asked, incredulous.

‘If I knew it’d be effective. But do you think she’s going to stay still while I cut? If she rolled, if I was pushed under and caught…’

As if on cue, the whale rolled again. Her massive pectoral fins were fastened hard against her, so a sideways roll was all she could do. She blew—a spray of water misted over Jenny’s face, but Jenny’s face was wet anyway.

‘We can’t leave her like this,’ she whispered. ‘We have to try.’

‘We do,’ Ramón said. ‘Jenny, are you prepared to take a risk?’

There was no question. ‘Of course.’

‘Okay,’ he said, reaching under the seat near the wheel and hauling out life jackets. ‘Here’s the plan. We put these on. We unfasten the life raft in case worst comes to worst and we let the authorities know what’s happening. We radio in our position, we tell them what we intend to do and if they don’t hear back from us then they’ll know we’re sitting in a life raft in the middle of the Pacific. We’re wearing positional locators anyway. We should be fine.’

‘What…what are we intending to do?’ Jenny asked faintly.

‘Pull the boat up beside the whale,’ he said. ‘If you’re brave enough.’

She stared at him, almost speechless. How could he get so close? And, even if he did, if the whale rolled…‘You’d risk the boat?’ she gasped.

‘Yes.’ Unequivocal.

‘Could we be sure of rescue?’

‘I’ll set it up so we would be,’ he said. ‘I’m not risking our lives here. Only our boat and the cost of marine rescue.’

‘Marine rescue…It’d cost a fortune.’

‘Jenny, we’re wasting time. Yes or no?’

She looked out at the whale. Left alone, she’d die, dreadfully, agonisingly and, without her, her calf would slowly starve to death as well.

Ramón was asking her to risk all. She looked at him and he met her gaze, levelly and calmly.

‘Gianetta, she’s helpless,’ he said. ‘I believe at some subliminal level she’ll understand we’re trying to help and she won’t roll towards us. But you know I can’t guarantee that. There’s a small chance we may end up sitting in a lifeboat for the next few hours waiting to be winched to safety. But I won’t do it unless I have your agreement. It’s not my risk, Gianetta. It’s our risk.’

Our risk.

She thought about what he was asking—what he was doing. He’d have to explain to his owner that he’d lost his boat to save a whale. He’d lose his job at the very least. Maybe he’d be up for massive costs, for the boat and for rescue.

She looked at him and she saw it meant nothing.

He was free, she thought, with a sudden stab of something that could almost be jealousy. There was the whale to be saved. He’d do what needed to be done without thinking of the future.

Life…That was all that mattered, she thought suddenly, and with it came an unexpected lifting of the dreariness of the last couple of years. She’d fought long and hard for Matty. She’d lost but she’d had him and she’d loved him and she’d worried about the cost later.

She looked out at the whale and she knew there was only one answer to give.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Just give me a couple of minutes to stick a ration pack in the life raft. If I’m going to float around for a day or so waiting for rescue flights then I want at least two bottles of champagne and some really good cheeses while I’m waiting.’

Jenny didn’t have a clue what Ramón intended, but when she saw she was awed. With his safeguards in place, he stood on the highest point of the boat with a small anchor—one he presumably used in shallow waters when lowering the massive main anchor would potentially damage the sea bed.

This anchor was light enough for a man to hold. Or, rather, for Ramón to hold, Jenny corrected herself. It still looked heavy. But Ramón stood with the anchor attached by a long line and he held it as if it was no weight at all, while Jenny nosed the boat as close to the whale as she dared. Ramón swung the anchor round and round, in wider and wider circles, and then he heaved with every ounce of strength he had.

The whale was maybe fifteen feet from the boat. The anchor flew over the far side of her and slid down. As it slid, Ramón was already striding aft, a far more secure place to manoeuvre, and he was starting to tug the rope back in.

‘Cut the motor,’ he snapped. She did, and finally she realized what he was doing.

The anchor had fallen on the far side of the whale. As Ramón tugged, the anchor was being hauled up the whale’s far side. Its hooks caught the ropes of the net and held, and suddenly Ramón was reeling in the anchor with whale attached. Or, rather, the Marquita was being reeled in against the whale, and the massive creature was simply submitting.

Jenny was by Ramón’s side in an instant, pulling with him. Boat and whale moved closer. Closer still.

‘Okay, hold her as close as you can,’ Ramón said curtly as the whale’s vast body came finally within an arm’s length. ‘If she pulls, you let go. No heroics, Gianetta, just do it. But keep tension on the rope so I’ll know as soon as I have it free.’

Ramón had a lifeline clipped on. He was leaning over the side, with a massive gutting knife in his hand. Reaching so far Jenny was sure he’d fall.

The whale could roll this way, she thought wildly, and if she did he could be crushed. He was supporting himself on the whale itself, his legs still on the boat, but leaning so far over he was holding onto the netting. Slicing. Slicing. As if the danger was nothing.

She tugged on. If the whale pulled away, she’d have to release her. They’d lose the anchor. They had this one chance. Please…

But the whale didn’t move, except for the steady rise and fall of the swell, where Jenny had to let out, reel in, let out, reel in, to try and keep Ramón’s base steady against her.

He was slicing and slicing and slicing, swearing and slicing some more, until suddenly the tension on Jenny’s rope was no longer there. The anchor lifted free, the net around the whale’s midriff dislodged. Jenny, still pulling, was suddenly reeling in a mass of netting and an anchor.

And Ramón was back in the boat, pulling with her.

One of the whale’s fins was free. The whale moved it a little, stretching, and she floated away. Not far. Twenty feet, no more.

The whale stilled again. One fin was not enough. She was still trapped.

On the far side of her, her calf nudged closer.

‘Again,’ Ramón said grimly as Jenny gunned the motor back into action and nosed close. He was already on top of the cabin, swinging the anchor rope once more. ‘If she’ll let us.’

‘You’ll hit the calf,’ she said, almost to herself, and then bit her tongue. Of all the stupid objections. She knew what his answer must be.

‘It’s risk the calf having a headache, or both of them dying. No choice.’

But he didn’t need to risk. As the arcs of the swinging anchor grew longer, the calf moved away again.

As if it knew.

And, once again, Ramón caught the net.

It took an hour, maybe longer, the times to catch the net getting longer as the amount of net left to cut off grew smaller. But they worked on, reeling her in, slicing, reeling her in, slicing, until the netting was a massive pile of rubbish on the deck.

Ramón was saving her, Jenny thought dazedly as she worked on. Every time he leaned out he was risking his life. She watched him work—and she fell in love.

She was magnificent. Ramón was working feverishly, slashing at the net while holding on to the rails and stretching as far as he could, but every moment he did he was aware of Jenny.

Gianetta.

She had total control of the anchor rope, somehow holding the massive whale against the side of the boat. But they both knew that to hold the boat in a fixed hold would almost certainly mean capsizing. What Jenny had to do was to work with the swells, holding the rope fast, then loosening it as the whale rose and the boat swayed, or the whale sank and the boat rose. Ramón had no room for anything but holding on to the boat and slashing but, thanks to Jenny, he had an almost stable platform to work with.

Tied together, boat and whale represented tonnage he didn’t want to think about, especially as he was risking slipping between the two.

He wouldn’t slip. Jenny was playing her part, reading the sea, watching the swell, focused on the whale in case she suddenly decided to roll or pull away…

She didn’t. Ramón could slash at will at the rope entrapment, knowing Jenny was keeping him safe.

He slipped once and he heard her gasp. He felt her hand grip his ankle.

He righted himself—it was okay—but the memory of her touch stayed.

Gianetta was watching out for him.

Gianetta. Where had she come from, this magical Gianetta?

It was working. Jenny was scarcely breathing. Please, please…

But somehow her prayers were being answered. Piece by piece the net was being cut away. Ramón was winning. They were both winning.

The last section to be removed was the netting and the ropes trapping and tying the massive tail, but catching this section was the hardest. Ramón threw and threw, but each time the anchor slipped uselessly behind the whale and into the sea.

To have come so far and not save her…Jenny felt sick.

But Ramón would not give up. His arm must be dropping off, she thought, but just as she reached the point where despair took over, the whale rolled. She stretched and lifted her tail as far as she could within the confines of the net, and in doing so she made a channel to trap the anchor line as Ramón threw. And her massive body edged closer to the boat.

Ramón threw again, and this time the anchor held.

Once more Jenny reeled her in and once more Ramón sliced. Again. Again. One last slash—and the last piece of rope came loose into his hands.

Ramón staggered back onto the deck and Jenny was hauling the anchor in one last time. He helped her reel it in, then they stood together in the mass of tangled netting on the deck, silent, awed, stunned, as the whale finally floated free. Totally free. The net was gone.

But there were still questions. Were they too late? Had she been trapped too long?

Ramón’s arm came round Jenny’s waist and held, but Jenny was hardly aware of it. Or maybe she was, but it was all part of this moment. She was breathing a plea and she knew the plea was echoing in Ramón’s heart as well as her own.

Please…

The whale was wallowing in the swell, rolling up and down, up and down. Her massive pectoral fins were free now. They moved stiffly outward, upward, over and over, while Jenny and Ramón held their breath and prayed.

The big tail swung lazily back and forth; she seemed to be stretching, feeling her freedom. Making sure the ropes were no longer there.

‘She can’t have been caught all that long,’ Jenny whispered, breathless with wonder. ‘Look at her tail. That rope was tied so tightly but there’s hardly a cut.’

‘She might have only just swum into it,’ Ramón said and Jenny was aware that her awe was echoed in his voice. His arm had tightened around her and it seemed entirely natural. This was a prayer shared. ‘If it was loosened from the shore by a storm it might have only hit her a day or so ago. The calf looks healthy enough.’

The calf was back at its mother’s side now, nudging against her flank. Then it dived, straight down into the deep, and Jenny managed a faltering smile.

‘He’ll be feeding. She must still have milk. Oh, Ramón…’

‘Gianetta,’ Ramón murmured back, and she knew he was feeling exactly what she was feeling. Awe, hope, wonder. They might, they just might, have been incredibly, wondrously lucky.

And then the big whale moved. Her body seemed to ripple. Everything flexed at once, her tail, her fins…She rolled away, almost onto her back, as if to say to her calf: No feeding, not yet, I need to figure if I’m okay.

And figure she did. She swam forward in front of the boat, speeding up, speeding up. Faster, faster she swam, with her calf speeding after her.

And then, just as they thought they’d lost sight of her, she came sweeping back, a vast majestic mass of glossy black muscle and strength and bulk. Then, not a hundred yards from the boat, she rolled again, only higher, so her body was half out of the water, stretching, arching back, her pectoral fins outstretched, then falling backward with a massive splash that reached them on the boat and soaked them to the skin.

Neither of them noticed. Neither of them cared.

The whale was sinking now, deep, so deep that only a mass of still water on the surface showed her presence. Then she burst up one more time, arched back once more—and she dived once more and they saw her print on the water above as she adjusted course and headed for the horizon, her calf tearing after her.

Two wild creatures returned to the deep.

Tears were sliding uselessly down Jenny’s face. She couldn’t stop them, any more than she could stop smiling. And she looked up at Ramón and saw his smile echo hers.

‘We did it,’ she breathed. ‘Ramón, we did it.’

‘We did,’ he said, and he tugged her hard against him, then swung her round so he was looking into her tear-stained face. ‘We did it, Gianetta, we saved our whale. And you were magnificent. Gianetta, you may be a Spanish-Australian woman in name but I believe you have your nationality wrong. A woman like you…I believe you’re worthy of being a woman of Cepheus.’

And then, before she knew what he intended, before she could guess anything at all, he lifted her into his arms and he kissed her.