Anna looks up at Tolly. “Where do you want me?” she asks.
He smiles but Anna has the feeling it’s an internal joke. He indicates the seating behind the helm. A selection of croissants, fruit and pastries are laid out on the small hardwood dining table and cups of some unknown liquid are slotted into the accompanying built-in drink holder.
“If you haven’t already eaten, I thought we’d have breakfast.” Tolly nods towards the table. Anna takes a seat, but he doesn’t join her. He jumps off the boat again, moving around the dock, untying the lines. Anna sits back to watch him. He moves with easy practice and confidence. It’s quite sexy, the image of a man who knows how to do things. But maybe not unexpected. She is aware of his general background, if not specifics. She can guess there was more than one holiday sailing around the Med or the Caribbean in his teenage years.
At a shout from Tolly, the helmsman engages the engine. Tolly steps onto the platform and they move slowly away from the dock. He disappears below deck briefly and reappears, waving his hands in the air to dry the last of their dampness. Finally, he slides into a seat perpendicular to her.
“Beer?” he offers. “Champagne?”
“Ye gods, no.” She turns to look at him, but he shrugs. Remembering her manners, she adds, “But don’t let me stop you.”
He laughs. It is a gorgeous, rich sound of genuine mirth. “Indeed, I would not dare.”
Anna picks up one of the cups in the holder and sniffs it. She takes a tentative sip, but the boat clears the marina and the slight swell of the water in the bay, empties half the contents of the cup into her mouth, around her mouth and up her nostrils. She swallows quickly to avoid spluttering, relieved to taste nothing other than the sweet flavour of freshly squeezed oranges.
She hastily replaces the cup in its holder and looks up to find Tolly holding out a napkin with a broad smile. “It can be tricky,” he says. “Getting used to the motion of the boat.”
“Caught me by surprise.” Anna picks up a croissant and breaks it into smaller pieces, starting with the ends as she leans back. The canopy overhead is closed, giving some much-needed shade from the sun, even though it is still morning time. A pleasant breeze, caused more by the motion of the boat than the weather, lifts the loose strands of hair on the nape of her neck. The sea is a brilliant turquoise, its surface rippling. The sun shines down from a cloudless sky. It is an idyllic moment, far from the hustle of her normal day with its windowless treatment rooms and operating theatres. Anna is determined to enjoy every moment of it. She pops a fragment of croissant in her mouth and her eyes open wide. These are almost as good as those you get in France, the insides soft and doughy and tasting of butter, as far from the greasy, desiccated offerings of her hotel breakfast as wine from vinegar.
“Is this your boat?” she asks Tolly, who is halfway through a slice of watermelon.
He swallows before he answers. “It belongs to a friend.” He pauses. “I haven’t really settled in here yet or started to acquire things.”
“What about the house?” she asks.
“Rented.”
“How come you haven’t put down any roots?” She takes another bite of buttery goodness but keeps her eyes on his face as he answers.
“Lots of reasons. When I first came here, I wasn’t sure it was going to last. I took every piece of work my agent recommended. So I was working a lot and didn’t have the time to look for a long-term home. And I didn’t want to commit if it was all going to …” he raises his hand in the air “… evaporate.” His eyes turn dull and he drops his hands. “And then my relationship ended badly and the last thing I felt like doing was finding a home when I had no one to make it perfect for.”
For one moment, Anna feels sympathy for him. She wants to reach across and take his hand. Then she remembers that Tolly ditched Eleanor and she stays right where she is. Who is she to interfere with karma?
Her tone is far more robust as she asks her next question. “But now you’re made, right?”
He shrugs. “Big expectations. Big shoes to fill. Also, any competent actor should be able to find something to bring to a role, but a director can make or break your career. Take Darcy, for instance. He’s been variously played as charming, cold, repressed and clueless. Not always successfully.”
“And how would you sum up your Mr Darcy?”
“Sardonic, probably. But the point is, it’s the director who decides what the characterisation is going to be. The actor has to do his job in delivering it. A good director and you’ll be up for an Oscar. Same script, same cast, poor director, and you might never work again.”
She can’t quite keep the sarcasm from her voice as she says, “Hard life. Being a film star.”
He doesn’t miss it. He focuses fully on her, then dips his head. “I deserved that. Compared to what you do, compared towhat many others do, day in, day out. It’s easy to get caught up in your own microcosm and forget the rest of the world.”
Anna is the daughter of a baron, raised in a stately home with a five-hundred-acre park attached. She was educated in the finest schools and at a top university. She realises the irony of her critiquing his good fortune. Uncomfortable with the thought, she changes the subject.
“How is your mother getting on with married life?”
His smile is full of warmth. “Very much enjoying it. My new stepfather seems to be both attentive and adventurous.”
Anna blinks. “She used that word?” Describing your new lover as adventurous to your son is spicier than Anna would ascribe to thegrandedameshe had imagined as Tolly’s mother.
Tolly looks chagrined. “That was me extrapolating. I only meant they seem to be visiting a lot of places and doing a lot of things out of the ordinary.”
“Such as?”
“They learned to row a gondola. Not something I would have ever expected my mother to do.” He sees Anna has stopped eating. “Do you want to move forward?” he asks.
