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Gemma’s eyes opened wide at his remark.
Jason grinned. “From my point of view, that is!”
***
“There!” Gemma peered through the binoculars. “I see land.” She pointed out the hazy line on the horizon. Jason leant on the rail, squinting in the bright glare of the sun.
“Let’s go to the bridge. Find out if there is anywhere we can anchor for a while,” he suggested.
McKenzie checked the charts on the computer screen. “We should be able to make it to here by late afternoon. The light would be sufficient for an hour or so for swimming.” He indicated a group of islands to the north of Sardinia.
“Excellent.” Jason rubbed his hands together.
Gemma sketched from the sundeck as they cruised up the western coast of Sardinia. She found landscapes difficult, especially the light reflecting off the water in contrast to the firm features of the interior of the island. She made a series of pictures, each with different techniques and pencil types. She had brought her watercolours and brushes, hoping to turn her sketches into colourful images of their holiday.
Sublime entered the waters between Corsica and Sardinia—their destination, an archipelago of small islands. Ted readied one of the motor launches, since the yacht couldn’t anchor too close to the shoreline. Gemma changed into a swimming costume and Jason into wetsuit bottoms. His chest remained bare, slowly turning bronze in the ultraviolet rays.
Gradually, the yacht edged around a headland, and there before them lay an idyllic bay with golden sands and sky-blue water. Gemma adored the peaceful scene, the absence of tourists, and no houses overlooking the secluded bay. Jason, armed with snorkel and flippers, climbed on board the small motorboat, assisting Gemma. Ted pushed the boat away from the side of Sublime. Waving to McKenzie, he started the motor.
The motor launch sped nearer to the shore. The boat bounced up and down as it hit the retreating waves. Gemma held on to Jason’s arm with a feeling of exhilaration. Not in her wildest dreams would she have imaged she would be swimming off an isolated beach in glorious sunshine with her exceedingly handsome husband, his blond hair sparkling in the bright light.
Reaching about fifty metres from the beach, Ted cut the engine and let the boat drift.
Jason lowered himself into the water. The sun glistened off the gentle waves lapping about his neck. A nervous Gemma, accustomed to the security of the pool with easy to reach sides and a shallow end, followed her husband overboard. The heat of the day made the warm water feel cool. Gemma didn’t mind; the midday sun had baked her on the sundeck.
“Oooo!” She flapped as first her calves then her thighs entered the water. She let go of the side and plunged down next to Jason.
“Come on,” he insisted, “no games, just swim.”
“Cold!”
“You’ll get used to it.” He swam away from the launch, his arms arched in the sweep of a muscular front crawl.
She couldn’t bring herself to let go of the side of the boat.
Ted leant over the side. “Do you want a life vest? That way, if you get tired, I can come to get you, and you won’t sink.”
“Please, Ted.”
She slipped on the buoyancy aid and, filled with renewed confidence, moved away from the wooden launch.
Gemma discovered her fitness levels were better than she had thought. Somehow, she made it to the beach. The gentle tide helped, and she drifted onto the sands until her feet touched the security of the seabed. The grains shifted around her feet, tickling them, sucking her down. Swimming to where the gentle tide broke over the beach, she lay on the wet sand and allowed the water to wash over her.
From out of the sea, Jason emerged. He had been snorkelling and, kicking off the flippers, he joined her on the warming sand.
The afternoon drew to an end. They said nothing to each other, no secret signal was required to show intent. Jason leant over Gemma and kissed her with salty lips. For a brief while, they engaged in passionate and prolonged foreplay with tongues knotting and teeth nibbling on lips, necks, and shoulders.
A whistle blew out across the water. A signal from Ted. The tides were shifting. Time to return to the yacht. Ted brought the launch in as close as the propeller shaft would allow, and they swam out to meet him once he had cut the engine.
As soon as they returned to the yacht and the launch was retrieved, Sublime was back on course for Monaco, the exotic location of the wealthy and privileged. Gemma bounced with excitement.
They ate outside on the sundeck. A delicious evening meal, thought Gemma. French cuisine, and her taste buds preferred it to Spanish. A chasseur of chicken with salad and green beans—a recognisable dish.
They rested for a while, watching the sun disappear completely over the horizon. Jason rose from the viewpoint on the sundeck. He stared
into the darkness, frowning. She recalled he had his troubled acquisition to fret over.
“I’m going to my study.” He stared down at Gemma on her sun bed. “You will join me. Remember, you’re not to distract me.”
