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CHAPTER ONE
ROSA GRAY TIED her dinghy up on the jetty and looked out across the water behind her, back towards the mainland. It would be so easy to just hop back in the boat and set sail again for mainland Spain. And, actually, it was entirely possible that no one would even miss her. Especially her sister, Anna.
Except that her mother had sounded panicked when she called. Sancia Garcia never panicked. Not when she decided to leave her husband when Rosa was sixteen, not when Rosa’s grandfather died three years ago and left Sancia in sole charge of the luxury island resort of La Isla Marina. Not even when Rosa was eight and had tried a flying dive off the highest point of the island coastline, and almost brained herself on the rocks below.
No, Rosa’s mama was the epitome of laid-back grace. Of letting things work themselves out in time, and trusting the universe to provide.
Until, it seemed, she was faced with the wedding of a New York socialite, and the realisation that the luxury island resort was no longer quite so luxurious.
Rosa stared up the wide, open path that led to the main villa at the centre of the island. Dotted on either side were a few of the low, white bungalows that made up the island’s accommodation, all shining bright in the fading afternoon sun.
It still looked pretty good to her. But then, maybe she had a slightly skewed view of luxury, after a month spent deep in a South American jungle for a job. Or, more likely, St Anna had already fixed whatever she believed was wrong with La Isla Marina.
Anna always believed she could fix anything, if she just made enough lists, worked hard enough, or nagged often enough. But she hadn’t been able to fix their family, had she? Rosa was almost hoping she’d given up trying by now. If she’d learned anything from her mother it was that, at a certain point, the only thing to do was to cut and run. No point flogging a dead horse and all that.
Or, in Rosa’s case, no point dreaming that her family would ever be the sort of Christmas-advert perfect family where everyone was equally respected and listened to. So why hang around and wait for the impossible?
Which didn’t explain why she was on the damn island in the first place. The only thing Rosa could put that down to was that thin thread, the one that started deep down inside her, connecting her to her mother, her sister, even her father. The one she’d never been able to sever, no matter how far or how fast she ran.
Maybe Anna felt the same. Why else would Rosa’s big sister be here fixing everything for the mother who’d run off and left her in charge when she was only eighteen? Unless it was just to prove she could.
Either way, Rosa was about to find out.
Shouldering her rucksack, Rosa set off for the central villa at a steady pace. No point putting it off now she was here: it was time for the grand family reunion.
La Isla Marina was less than a mile across, so it didn’t take her very long to reach
the villa that housed the family and staff accommodation, as well as the administrative offices for the island. On the way, Rosa searched for changes that had taken place since she was last there, for her grandfather’s funeral, three years ago. Surely there must be some? But she was hard pressed to find them.
Pausing on the path, Rosa drank in the view of the central villa, surrounded by lush greenery and bright flowers. The large white building, with its graceful arches and turrets, and tiled courtyards within, looked more like a Moorish palace than a Spanish villa, but to Rosa it had always felt like home in a way that nowhere else in the world did. Its twin turrets, housing two bedrooms—one for her and one for Anna—had seemed like the most magical places ever, when she was small. In some ways they still did.
How strange to be back again, without her grandparents there to welcome her home. Three years since her abuelo had died, and another year before that without her grandmother, and Rosa knew that she’d never grow used to it. It was almost as if the soul had left the island when theirs had.
Another reason she hadn’t made it back for so long.
Her fingers itched for her camera, packed safely in her bag, to capture this perfect moment—the villa almost glowing in the sunshine, the azure sky behind it—before any people intruded on the picture and the calm was broken.
She wondered what sort of a welcome would be waiting for her. Sancia would be pleased to see her, as always. Rosa was her baby girl, and for ever would be. She might not be the academic success her sister was, or be the useful, sensible sort of daughter that parents wanted, but Rosa knew her mother would always adore her all the same. And, unlike her father, respect her life choices, which meant a lot.
Of course, it was probably easier for Sancia to let Rosa be Rosa from afar, wasn’t it? When she only saw her for holidays and high days, even before she left to explore the world, as soon as she turned eighteen? That was what Anna would say, anyway. Anna who had taken over to deal with Rosa’s ‘difficult teenage years,’ as their father referred to them.
She needed to stop channelling Anna’s thoughts, or she was going to drive herself mad. Except Sancia wasn’t the only family member waiting on the island. She might have called Rosa for help, but Rosa knew she wasn’t Sancia’s first call. That had gone to Anna, the useful, sensible daughter. As always.
And St Anna wouldn’t have made their mother wait two weeks, as Rosa had. Whatever their differences—and there were plenty—Anna would have dropped everything to help Sancia. In her defence, Rosa had been stuck in the middle of a South American rainforest at the time, and contractually bound to stay there until she had the full story and photos she needed for the magazine hiring her. But that didn’t mean that Anna wouldn’t have something to say about that delay. Or, knowing her sister, many somethings.
And nothing at all to say about Rosa’s career successes. Anna probably didn’t even know that Rosa was booked up months in advance, when she wanted to be, by publications looking for her particular style of photo journalism. Rosa was making quite a name for herself in her industry, not that it would mean anything to Anna and their father. Anything that happened outside the dreaming spires of Oxford’s academic elite simply didn’t matter to either of them.
Oh, well. La Isla Marina might not be huge, in island terms, but it had plenty of hidden corners and secret places—and Rosa had discovered all of them over the years. From secret coves for skinny-dipping to secluded bars and ‘relaxation zones’ dotted between the bungalows, Rosa could always disappear when she needed to. And if the worst came to the worst, she could pick up one of the island’s boats and head across to the mainland and Cala del Mar for some truly excellent tapas and views.
And she didn’t have to stay long. She never did. Her modus operandi was get in, get what she needed, and move on again. Always had been. It served her well in her work, and she had a feeling it would serve her just as well on La Isla Marina this week. She loved her mother dearly, but it was generally better for everyone if they didn’t spend more than a couple of weeks in each other’s company. They were just too alike—in the same way that she and Anna were just too different—to get along all the time.
It was all about identifying objectives. On assignments, she knew which shots she needed to tell the story that was playing out before her. Here, it was about reassuring her mother, making sure that everything was stable on the island again, then moving on guilt free.
Chances were, Anna would already have done all the hard work for her, and Rosa could be on her way again inside the week. There was a situation in Russia that she’d been keen to get closer to...
A pang of guilt twanged through her as she thought about her sister. How bad had things on the island really had to get for Sancia to call her? And how mad would Anna be that Rosa had left her to deal with it?
The thing was, it wouldn’t have mattered if Rosa had taken the first flight out. Anna, based over in Oxford, would still have beaten her there by sheer virtue of time zones and air miles. Which meant that Anna would have already taken charge, and taken over the island.
Anna had always made it very clear that she expected to do everything herself, her way, and to feel martyred about it afterwards. So really, what point had there been in rushing?
Besides, it wasn’t as if Sancia had dragged Anna away from anything important. Probably. Last time they’d spoken, Anna had been busy living up to their father’s academic ideals, and giving up any semblance of fun or a social life to mother him excessively in Sancia’s absence—despite the fact Professor Ernest Gray was an intelligent, grown man who could clearly take care of himself.
Rosa couldn’t really imagine that that situation might have changed in the last three years.
Three years. Had it really been three years since she last spoke to Anna? Three years since their grandfather died? Three years since she’d yelled back a whole host of home truths at her sister, then left the country? Three years since she’d been back in England, or to La Isla Marina? Three years since...well. She wasn’t thinking about that. About him.
She’d made a point of not thinking about Jude Alexander for a grand total of thirty-six months. She wasn’t breaking that streak now.
It was just that it was all tied up together in her head. That awful argument with Anna, everything that happened with Jude, why she had to get out of the country...and now, knowing she was about to see Anna again had brought it all back.
Well, tough. She was going to rock up to the villa, deal with her sister, hug her mother, accept the inevitable offer of a glass of wine, check that everything was fine now, and make plans for leaving again.
Easy.
Hopefully.
With a sigh, Rosa shifted her bag higher on her shoulder and carried on walking. She’d already lingered on the side of the path longer than necessary. The last thing she wanted was one of the guests reporting some suspicious character with a bag loitering in the greenery.
She frowned. Actually, she hadn’t seen any guests. At all.
It was late May; the island should be teeming with holidaymakers, enjoying all the luxuries the resort had to offer. So where was everyone?
Unless things were worse than she thought...
Rosa quickened her step and, in a brief few minutes, found herself standing in the cool, tiled reception area of the central villa. White arches soared overhead, leading to small, secluded balconies with wrought-iron bars and plenty of brightly coloured cushions on their chairs. Just beyond the main area, through wide open doors, was the central courtyard, with reflecting pool and more lush potted greenery, and plenty of places to sit and take in the view. In high season, it was used as the main restaurant area for breakfasts, and even now it should be buzzing with early evening cocktail seekers.
It was empty. As was the reception desk.
Refusing to ring a bell in her own home, Rosa dropped her bags by the desk, bypassed the wi
nding staircase to the upper levels, and the hidden doorway that led to the private, family quarters. Instead, she moved through the courtyard, and out the other side of the villa onto the sheltered patio that overlooked the beaches and the wide expanse of turquoise sea on the more exposed side of the island.
There, at last, she found signs of life, and her family. If not exactly the ones she’d been expecting.
She froze, her chest tightening, as if she were preparing to run—or hide. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her?
‘Dad?’ Rosa pulled her sunglasses off to be absolutely sure of what she was seeing. Nope, she hadn’t imagined it. There, looking incongruous in a white shirt and stone-coloured jacket over chinos, and a panama-style hat, sat Professor Ernest Gray himself, a thousand miles and more away from where Rosa had expected him to be, locked up in the ivory towers at Oxford.
Of course, he was playing Scrabble with a dark-haired guy who had his back to her, so he was still finding some way to demonstrate his mental prowess. As usual. Rosa pitied his opponent.
Except now she’d drawn his attention, she’d given him a new target. It could only be a matter of time now before he turned his sharp mind and sharper words onto her—her choice of career, her lack of education, her inability to stay in one place, her unreliability... How could he possibly get through all her faults in one short visit?
‘Rosa.’ Her father inclined his head towards her, without smiling. ‘Your mother told us you’d be joining us. Eventually.’
And that was about all the family love and welcome she could expect from him, Rosa supposed. What was he even doing here? As far as she knew, he’d had as little contact with Sancia as possible, after she left, and they’d been separated ten years or more now. In all that time he’d certainly never visited the island that she’d escaped to. Why would he? Following Sancia to La Isla Marina would have been tantamount to admitting that he’d made a mistake, given her reasons to leave him. And if Rosa understood one thing about her father it was that Professor Ernest Gray would never admit that he was wrong.
