Chapter Twenty-one
Dervla was enjoying her evening. Shane was looking good, she thought. Success clearly agreed with him. And why wouldn’t it? After years spent at the rockface, suffering setbacks and rejections, he deserved to reap some reward for all his hard work. Few people in the restaurant were crass enough actually to approach him, but Dervla noticed how the eyes of most of the women diners kept sliding in his direction, and little Isabella Bolger was clearly smitten. She’d laughed immoderately at his jokes all evening, and her body language had been pretty flagrant too. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe, thought Dervla, it was a ploy to keep Finn on his toes, because there was something–some kind of a connection between the two young people–that positively shimmered.
There seemed to be something shimmering between Adair and Río too, and as Dervla sat back in her chair sipping coffee, she realised that what was going on was a none-too-subtle gavotte. Río was flirting with Adair to make Shane jealous, and Shane was flirting with Izzy to make Río jealous, and Izzy was flirting with Shane to make Finn jealous, and Finn was flirting with Miriam to make Izzy jealous, and oh! how glad Dervla felt not to have to be involved in any of this silly-bugger game-playing!
Then suddenly the evening was winding up, and there seemed to be some confusion as to Shane’s whereabouts because the manager was keen to give him back his platinum card, and Finn–wearing a pair of blue-and-white-checked kitchen porter trousers–was standing laughing with Miriam, and Adair was distributing the last of the champagne.
Dervla stood up from the table, twinkled her fingers unobtrusively at Río and mouthed, ‘Talk to you soon.’ Then she slipped out of the restaurant and walked to her car.
On the street, all was silent but for the wet silk sound of the wavelets in the harbour as they slapped against the keels of the fishing boats, and the drip drip drip of rain from gables. Once Dervla reached her car, she lowered the driver’s side window and sat motionless behind the wheel, listening for a minute or two before switching on the ignition and the windscreen wipers, and turning the car in the direction of Galway city, and home.
There were two new additions to the flotilla of ‘For Sale’ signs up on the main street of the village. A lot of the houses that had come onto the market in recent times were second homes being sold by wealthy Dublin 4 types, desperate to get rid of their holiday cottages. Dervla’s vocabulary had expanded as she’d searched for ever more flowery language to describe the properties in an effort to attract buyers. Views had become ‘staggeringly beautiful’, ‘bijou’ ousted ‘cosy’, gardens were ‘luxuriant’ and ‘verdurous’.
Agencies were letting staff go, or asking them to take salary cuts. Breaking even was an achievement. It was not a good time to be in the property business.
Dervla suddenly felt weary. The game didn’t excite her any more. The cut and thrust had become tedious, the competition too intense. Instead of going home to navigate myhome and daft.ie, how she would have loved to curl up with hot chocolate and a good book. The last time she had escaped from real life with a novel had been on holiday three years ago in Mauritius. She couldn’t afford a holiday now.
And the rain was coming down in torrents.
Izzy and Shane had been clinging to each other, using Shane’s leather jacket as a makeshift umbrella, but a passing motorist skimming through a puddle had sent water sluicing over them, and there was no point in trying to stay dry any longer. Shane dropped his jacket, and the pair of them stood there in fits of laughter, rivulets of rain cascading down their faces, hair plastered to their skulls.
Once they’d managed to stop laughing, Izzy gave him a rueful look. ‘Your jacket is ruined!’
‘No worries. It was a gift from the designer.’
‘One of many perks?’ said Izzy, teasingly.
‘Not really. You’d be surprised how sniffy their PR people get when you tell them that you don’t like their gear.’ Shane adopted a bogus accent. ‘“You mean you are telling us zat you vill not vear ze T-shirt with ze nipple holes? Zen Sven will have to scratch you from his list.’”
They’d reached the boreen that led to the gates of the Villa Felicity.
‘This is your turn-off?’ asked Shane.
‘Yes. Yikes. It’s a quagmire. Don’t you even think about walking me to the gate in those shoes, Shane. I bet they were a present from a designer too.’
Shane looked dubious. ‘I can’t not walk you to the gate.’
‘Well, I am going to put my foot down.’ Izzy did just that, stomping a foot into the mud. ‘Look! This is no place for Italian leather footwear.’
‘Well, OK…If you’re sure, sweetheart?’
‘Sure I’m sure. I’m nearly home–look, you can see the lights of the house from here. And you’ve really got to get yourself back to your flat so you can get out of those wet clothes. Why don’t you make yourself some hot chocolate? That’s what I’m going to do.’
‘Good idea.’ Shane took a step backward.
Bummer. He wasn’t going to kiss her. For the past ten minutes, Izzy had been speculating how she might react if he did try to kiss her. After the way Finn had behaved this evening, virtually ignoring her at the dinner table and then skulking off with that waitress, she had felt that it might just have served him right if she’d stolen a kiss from his father instead. An additional plus, it would be something to wind Lucy up with. She’d even composed a text in her head: ‘Scored Seth from Faraway ©’ But now it didn’t look like it was going to happen.
‘Thanks a lot for walking me home, Shane,’ she said, stalling for time. ‘But I feel guilty that you got so pissed upon. Might I see you around the village tomorrow?’
‘I’ll make it my business to run into you. You owe me a pint.’
‘Done deal. Well, thanks for a lovely evening.’
‘You’re welcome, ma’am.’
‘Good night, then.’
‘Good night.’ Shane took a step towards her and gave her a brief hug. Then he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before turning and heading back in the direction of Lissamore. The sodden hems of his jeans made a swishing noise as he trod through puddles, and she could hear him whistling.
Yay! He had kissed her! She could send that text after all! Izzy blew an extravagant kiss of her own at his retreating back before returning her attention to the boreen. She frowned as she wondered how best to negotiate it; then decided that–hell–if she didn’t want to ruin her own shoes, she’d just have to go barefoot. She took off her trainers, rolled up her jeans and ploughed on, relishing the squelch of the mud between her toes, before realising that, shit, she had no keycard to the gate because her father had let Río Kinsella have it. Still, she had her house keys and she could access the garden via the beach. She wouldn’t go via the short cut, though. She’d disturbed a badger once, in the orchard, and it had given her the fright of her life. She’d go the long way round.
The path that led down to the shore was like an obstacle course–steep and slippery–and once there, she had a stretch of shingle to cross. ‘Ow, ow, ow!’ mewed Izzy, as she crossed on tiptoes like a cartoon cat on hot coals, sharp pebbles and flints digging into the soles of her feet. She remembered the agony she’d gone through in Tao when she’d trodden on glass, and she prayed that she’d make the journey between here and the gate without inflicting further damage upon herself.
As she drew near the tangle of brambles that had grown up and over the sea wall of the Villa Felicity, she thought she saw a shadow move. Was it her imagination, or a trick of the light? She paused momentarily, aware of her heart fluttering like a bird behind the cage of her ribs, and then she took a step sideways, inching closer to the wall, hoping that whoever–or whatever–was down there hadn’t spotted her. It could be a sheep, she knew, or a goat. But she’d seen too many horror films in her life to think that a girl on her own approaching a nondescript shadowy thing on a dark, rainy night was a good idea.
She was off the shingle now, treading over a bed of seaweed that had been washed up by the tide as far as the base of the wall. Suddenly she was up to her ankles in it, slipping, losing her balance. She dropped her shoes, reaching out blindly for something to steady herself, and whatever it was she grabbed made her squeal as pain knifed through her. Son of a bitch! She had plunged a hand through brambles and was clinging on to barbed wire. With a yelp, Izzy let go, sliding on the seaweed and landing on her back, and as the shadowy thing by the gate moved again she ordered herself not to faint…And then she realised that she might actually have fainted because a kind of gap happened, like a DVD jumping forward, and the next thing she knew someone was crouching over her and a voice was saying: ‘Izzy! What’s happened? Are you all right?’
It was Finn.
‘No!’ she wailed. ‘I’m not all right!’
‘It’s OK, it’s OK. Stay calm. I can help you. I’m an emergency first responder.’
Izzy started to laugh and cry simultaneously. ‘So am I.’
‘Well, you obviously can’t help yourself. Is it your foot?’
‘No. My hand. But now you mention it, I think I might have banjaxed my foot too.’
‘Let me help you sit up.’ Finn levered her into a sitting position, and she felt seaweed tumble from her hair onto her shoulders. ‘Can you move it?’ he asked.
Izzy tentatively wiggled her toes. ‘Yeah.’
‘Let me have a look at your hand.’ Finn reached for it, and angled it one way, then another. ‘OK. I can’t see too much in this light, but we’ll have to clean you up. Let’s get you into the house.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk very far. Hang on–I’d better grab my shoes.’
‘Got them?’
‘Yeah.’
Finn hunkered down lower. ‘I’ll give you a fireman’s lift as far as the gate. Just grab on to me and lean forward, over my shoulder. Can you manage? Good–that’s it.’
Finn stood up, shouldering Izzy, his left hand grasping her right forearm, his right arm hooked around her thigh. She heard the shingle crunch under his feet as he made his way along the foreshore, and then he was carefully lowering her over the five-bar gate. Once her good foot made purchase on the lowest bar, she waited for Finn to climb over.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
‘We’re not there yet. Now, sling your left arm around my neck.
Don’t worry, I’ll bear most of your weight if you think you can hobble the rest of the way.’
‘I’ll manage.’
Between them, they crossed the leafy floor of the orchard, then emerged from under the trees onto the lawn. Except the lawn was so overgrown that their progress wasn’t as easy as it might have been, and as Izzy limped towards the house, she was fearful that they’d both end up sprawled in the long grass.
‘Which way?’ asked Finn.
‘Left onto the path–we’ll go in by the utility room,’ said Izzy.
Once there, she leaned against the doorjamb, unhooked her keyring, and handed it to Finn. The alarm started to bleat as he turned the key in the lock and the door swung open.
‘Three five nine zero hash,’ said Izzy, watching Finn key the number into the pad by the door. ‘I’d do it, but I don’t want to get blood everywhere. Light switch is on the left, first-aid kit’s on the wall over there.’
‘OK. But first let’s get you sitting down. Is the kitchen that way?’
‘Yes.’
Finn steered Izzy across the floor and pulled open a door. Beyond the utility room glimmered the hi-tech sanctuary of the kitchen, all burnished pewter and polished concrete. Staggering across to the stainless-steel table, still leaning heavily on Finn, she collapsed onto one of the dining chairs.
Finn hunkered down next to her. ‘Show me your hand.’
She obliged. Taking her hand between both his own, he examined her palm from a couple of different angles. ‘Hm. It’s not as bad as all that. I thought by the shriek you let out that you might have severed an artery, but there are just a couple of small puncture wounds. Was it barbed wire?’
She nodded.
‘I take it you’ve had a tetanus shot?’
‘Yes.’
‘One less thing to worry about. You’ll be glad to know I won’t have to call an ambulance.’
‘Bummer. I rather like the idea of whizzing along roads with a siren blaring and ER-type interns saying stuff like, “Bring on the CPR.’”
‘You’re hardly a candidate for CPR,’ Finn said. ‘And you wouldn’t like it once you were dumped in A&E. You can see the local doctor tomorrow if necessary, but in the meantime, let’s try and take care of this in the comfort of your own home. Where can I find paper towels?’
‘Over there.’
He crossed to the kitchen counter and tore off a length of kitchen towel. Then he swung a stool out from under the counter, carried it over to Izzy and laid her leg across the seat.
‘You’ll need to keep your foot raised,’ he told her, as he swathed her hands in paper. ‘Where’ll I find proper towels?’
‘There’s an airing cupboard next to the washing machine in the utility room.’
‘Don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Izzy sat there obediently, watching raindrops chasing each other down the window until Finn returned, pushing a housekeeping trolley. On board the trolley was a basin of water, a roll of bandages, a box of dressings and another of antiseptic wipes, a pack of disposable surgical gloves, a pile of towels and a picture of a kitten.
‘Why the kitten?’ asked Izzy.
‘It’s to distract you while I poke around. You can gaze upon it.’
‘Thanks. Where did you find it?’
‘It’s the Kitten Soft one, off a calendar.’
‘Shouldn’t I be having a cup of hot, sweet tea while I gaze upon the kitten?’
‘Patience. You can have a cup in a minute. Let’s see to your wounds first.’
Finn snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, and Izzy looked at him admiringly. ‘You’ve done this before,’ she said.
Dipping a hand towel in water, he set about cleaning Izzy’s hands and forearm. ‘The cuts aren’t deep, so that’s good. Hang on, there’s a nasty thorn…’ Reaching for a tweezers, he nipped, pulled, and dropped the offending thorn onto a cotton wool pad. Then he helped himself to an antiseptic wipe. ‘This’ll sting a little. Be brave.’
‘Ow,’ said Izzy automatically. She watched Finn’s fingers as he deftly cleaned and dressed and bandaged her wounds. When he finished, he sat back and assessed her.
‘You’re soaked to the skin,’ he remarked.
‘So are you. Why are you wearing different trousers?’
‘Miriam lent them to me, after she spilled the fingerbowl over my jeans.’
‘Water, water everywhere,’ said Izzy. ‘What were you doing, sitting by the gate in the rain?’
‘I wanted a word. We have unfinished business.’
‘Unfinished business?’
‘To do with a Japanese kanji.’ He brushed her arm with his thumb.
Nooooooo! Izzy didn’t want to talk about that right now. And then she remembered what an expert she’d been at changing the subject earlier in the day, so she did it again. ‘How come you got here before me?’ she asked.
‘I took a short cut across the fields. Do you want that hot sweet tea, now?’
‘To hell with tea. I’d prefer a brandy’
‘You’re going to have to get out of those wet clothes first.’
‘So are you.’
They looked at each other levelly. Something in the air between them crackled and fizzed: a metaphorical gauntlet hung there like Macbeth’s dagger. Challenge, thought Izzy. Adrenalin. Danger. Words from her dive manual that made her tingle. And she remembered the blurb on the cover. ‘Experience intense adventure. Take it to the edge…’
‘I saw robes in the airing cupboard,’ said Finn.
‘Robes seem like a good idea.’
‘OK. I’ll get them.’
Finn disappeared back into the utility room. He was gone for several moments, during which time Izzy watched more raindrops run down the window and did some thinking. She was going to have to come clean about that day on Koh Tao, or she was going to have to make up more big fat fibs, and she knew that her current state of mind was not conducive to making up big fat fibs. She was too buzzy, too distracted.
When Finn came back, he was wearing a towelling robe, and carrying another. ‘I took the liberty of dumping my clothes in the dryer,’ he told her. ‘That’s the second pair of trousers I’ve had to discard today. I feel like some loser out of Jackass. Now, Little Miss Bolger, how can I help you undress without embarrassing you?’
‘I don’t embarrass easily,’ said Izzy.
‘Divers don’t, generally’
Izzy’s bandaged hand meant that she was having problems with her fly.
‘Can I help you with that?’ asked Finn.
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Not remotely.’ Finn unzipped her jeans for her, and she shucked them down over her hips. He took hold of the hems and pulled.
‘Pretty knicks,’ he observed.
‘I can manage them myself, thanks,’ she said, with mock hauteur. ‘Will you get the brandy?’
‘Sure. Where’ll I find it?’
‘There’s a bar. Second door on the left in the atrium.’
‘The what?’
‘The hall’
‘Why didn’t you just call it a hall, then?’
‘Because my mother decided it was more upmarket to call it an atrium.’
Finn quirked an eyebrow, smiled and left the room, whereupon Izzy peeled off the rest of her clothes, dumped them in a pile on the floor and shrugged herself into her robe. Then she reached for her phone and–holding it carefully between finger and thumb–speed-dialled her dad.
‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry!’ said Adair when he picked up. ‘I’d lost all track of time. I’m leaving now.’
Her dad was having to raise his voice to be heard. In the background, Izzy could make out the distinctive rasp of bow against strings, and the drone of uillean pipes.
‘What’s that noise?’
‘It’s a load of musicians, tuning up. There’s going to be a session.’
‘A trad session?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hey, Dad, you mustn’t miss that! You’ve always said it was your dream to catch one of those gigs.’
The impromptu traditional music sessions that took place in O’Toole’s were the stuff of legend. Adair had often bemoaned the fact that, while they’d been coming to Lissamore for nearly a decade, their visits had never once managed to coincide with one.
‘Stay on, Dad, why don’t you?’
I can’t, Izzy. I can’t bear the idea of you sitting there drinking hot chocolate all by yourself
‘I’m not by myself. Finn Byrne’s here.’ Izzy started peeling little strands of seaweed away from her décolleté.
‘Oh. Um, what’s he doing there?’
Izzy decided a white lie was called for. ‘I left my jacket behind in O’Toole’s. He very kindly brought it round, so I asked him in for a drink.’
‘Oh. And everything’s…all right?’
‘Yes, Daddy. Everything’s fine.’ There was no way Izzy was going to tell her father that she’d injured herself again. He’d have her hoisted immediately onto a private helicopter and transported to the Blackrock Clinic.
‘Well, as long as you’re—Hey! It’s—Wow!’ Her dad’s voice on the phone sounded like a big kid’s who’s just opened his best Christmas present ever. ‘Wow! I can’t believe it, Izzy! Guess who’s just come in? Donal Lunny and that gorgeous fiddle player–what’s her name? Zoe you-know-who.’
‘Zoe Conway? Well, hell, Dad, you’ve landed yourself in the middle of trad royalty there. Don’t even think about coming back here any time soon.’
‘Are you sure, Izzy-Bizz?’
‘Sure I’m sure. Have fun. Just text me when you’re heading home, will you?’
‘Why?’
Izzy thought fast. ‘I’ll worry otherwise,’ she said.
‘Darling, I’m a grown man—’
‘And I’m a grown woman, and I always pay you the courtesy of texting you when I think you might be worried about me. Promise me you’ll do it?’
‘Promise.’
‘Good Daddy’
Izzy put the phone down, calculating how long Adair was likely to be an absent father. The session would go on until past midnight, and then there’d doubtless be one for the road, and, of course, the fifteen-minute walk home because he’d left the car behind this evening in anticipation of having a few jars. There was plenty of time.
Finn came back into the kitchen. ‘I was going to bring the brandy in here,’ he said. ‘But I thought we’d be more comfortable in the sitting room. Or do you call it the “salon”?’
‘Sitting room will do,’ said Izzy, levering herself off her chair.
‘Are you sure you can walk by yourself?’ asked Finn.
Izzy was just about to say, ‘Yes, I’m sure’, and then she remembered how nice it had felt to have Finn’s arm around her waist earlier, so she changed it to, ‘Oh–actually, I’m not so sure.’
‘Maybe you should put on an elasticated bandage?’ Finn suggested.
‘No!’ said Izzy emphatically. Those bandages were hideous to behold, like orthopaedic socks. ‘I don’t need one. They make my feet feel claustrophobic’
‘OK.’ Crossing the floor, Finn helped Izzy to her feet, then manoeuvred her across the gleaming atrium and into the vast sitting room. He had lit the fire, and set a bottle of Remy Martin VSOP and two brandy balloons on the hearth. As Izzy dropped into one of the deep leather armchairs and pulled up the collar of her oversized robe, Finn looked at her and laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You look like something out of an advertisement for one of those posh spas,’ he said, handing her a glass.
‘With seaweed in my hair?’ she said, plucking a strand of the feathery green stuff from her damp curls. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘You had seaweed in your hair the night we dived with the whale shark.’
Finn sat opposite her, and they looked at each other for a long moment.
Izzy said nothing. He had put two and two together. He wasn’t a fool. ‘That wasn’t seaweed,’ she said finally. ‘That was my hair.’
‘So you’re the girl who rescued my mask in Tao.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you pretend it was your mate?’
‘Um. She fancied you, and wanted to big herself up?’
‘You’re lying, Izzy.’
‘How do you know?’
‘You’re a diver. Because you speak with your eyes, it’s dead easy to tell when you’re lying.’
Izzy looked down at the rug.
‘What was the real reason you wanted to remain incognito on Tao?’ Finn asked.
‘The real reason,’ said Izzy, feeling very stupid, ‘was because my hair extensions were falling out.’
She waited for him to hoot, but he didn’t even smirk. ‘That was it? That was the only reason?’
‘No. The other reason is that you thought I was a lesbian.’
Now he did laugh. ‘What on earth would have made me think you were a lesbian?’
Izzy didn’t want to compound her embarrassment by reminding him that she’d been wearing a cap with I Like 2 Dyke on it. So instead she said: ‘Babette is jealous of me. She is the Perez Hilton of Lissamore. She’s been spreading lies all over the village about my sexual orientation.’
Finn sighed. ‘She’ll have fun holding court on the sea wall tomorrow, spreading the latest gossip, so.’
‘What might that be?’
‘That Shane Byrne, star of the cult television series Faraway, was seen flirting outrageously in O’Toole’s seafood eaterie with a beautiful Business Studies student before escorting her to her beach-front home.’
‘How do you know he escorted me home?’ said Izzy indignantly. ‘Were you spying on us?’
‘No. I heard you talking on the road above.’
‘He–he just wanted to make sure I got my jacket.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah. I’d left it behind on my chair—’
‘That old trick!’
‘–and your dad was chivalrous enough to return it to me and make sure that I got home all right.’
Finn gave her a sceptical look. ‘That doesn’t explain why you spent the entire evening flirting with him.’
‘Who else was there to flirt with?’
‘I suppose I am not worthy?’
‘You! You couldn’t keep your eyes off that Miriam one—’
‘I’ve known Miriam all my life! She’s like a sister to me!’
‘–and then you went skulking off into the storeroom with her at the first opportunity’
‘What do you mean, the first opportunity? My jeans were soaking!’
‘After she’d accidentally poured water all over them.’
‘It was an accident!’
There was a pause. Izzy reached for her brandy glass, then made a face, and put it down. ‘Ick,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten that I don’t really like brandy’
‘There’s Baileys.’
Izzy was just about to say that yes, she’d love a Baileys, when she remembered the old television ads for the liquor that featured loved-up couples just about to do it. So instead she said, ‘Thank you. But maybe I should steer clear of alcohol.’
‘Hot sweet tea, then?’
‘No, thanks. I don’t like tea much, either.’
‘What would you like?’
Izzy thought about it, tracing the kanji on the inside of her elbow with a forefinger. Water…
‘I’d really, really love a bath; I feel a chill coming on.’
Finn took a taste of his brandy, made an appreciative face, then moseyed over to the window. ‘D’you know what would be much better for you than a bath?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘A Jacuzzi. I’ve just spotted the hot tub on your deck.’
Izzy clapped her hands. ‘Oh! A Jacuzzi in the pouring rain! I can’t think of anything more blissful.’
‘Then let’s go for it,’ said Finn.
‘Do you need me to show you how to operate it?’
‘No, ma’am, I do not. I spent a summer working in Coolnamara Castle Hotel, where Jacuzzis are as much a part of the furniture as emperor-sized beds.’
Finn moved to the doors that opened onto the deck, then paused. ‘What time is your dad due home?’ he asked.
‘Not for a while. There’s a session starting in O’Toole’s.’
‘A session? No shit! Who’s playing?’
‘Um.’ Izzy thought fast. If she told Finn that Donal Lunny and Zoe Conway were playing, he’d be back down the pub in–well, in jig time. ‘A baroque quartet,’ she improvised.
‘A baroque quartet? In O’Toole’s?’
‘Yes. They’re trying to raise money to study at the Conservatoire in Paris.’
‘I wish them luck with their fund-raising. I’d say your dad’ll be the only one in the audience.’
Finn dropped his bathrobe, stepped naked into the rain, and made for the Jacuzzi. Izzy watched as he raised the lid and reset the motor. Oh! He was fitter than Beckham and Nadal and Ronaldo rolled into one.
Rising from the armchair, Izzy moved to the window. Finn straightened up, and turned to face her. He pointed an index finger first at her, then at himself, and then he made the ‘OK’ signal with forefinger and thumb. Izzy smiled. He was communicating in scuba language.
‘Shall we?’ he signed, raising an interrogative eyebrow.
Izzy demurred. ‘You go ahead, I’ll follow,’ she told him with both hands–a little shyly.
He climbed the steps to the hot tub, then lowered himself into the water, and drew a big smile across his face. Izzy stepped through the door, and stood there, hesitating.
Finn said something, but the thrumming of the rain against wood meant that she couldn’t hear him. She indicated that she might have a problem.
‘Is something wrong?’ he queried with an eloquent hand.
She nodded, holding out a clenched fist to warn of potential danger.
He pointed a finger at his chest. ‘Me?’
Nodding again, Izzy raised her hand to her forehead, fingers together in the shape of a dorsal fin. ‘You could be a shark,’ she was telling him
He laughed, then placed his hands on either side of his head, and wiggled his index fingers to tell her that, really, he was a pussycat.
Izzy stalled some more, then gave an exaggerated shiver, and hugged herself. The signal she was sending indicated that she was cold, or frightened, or nervous, or all three.
‘Take it easy,’ he told her with a movement of his right hand. Then he put both palms prayerfully together, bowed his head, and gave her a beseeching look from under his eyebrows.
She looked at him, deliberating, then laughed out loud as she watched him place his fingertips against his mouth, stretch out a bronzed arm, and blow. The invitation proved irresistible. He was a master scuba instructor, after all–a dive god. And you never flouted the authority of a dive god. His wish was her command. Izzy caught the kiss. Then she untied the sash of her robe and let it fall.