‘Cristina Shephard.’
But there was only silence. She cursed silently. She must have just missed it.
‘Ms Shephard?’
Turning, her mind still on the mystery caller, she saw that it was one of the crew.
‘We’re just about to dock now. If you could stay seated until I return?’
Nodding, she managed a quick, tight smile.
Should she call back? No, she wouldn’t—not now. It would only distract her, and she needed to concentrate. Besides, if it was important they’d ring back, wouldn’t they?
Stepping onto a short wooden jetty, she felt a flicker of anticipation ripple over her skin. She could taste the salt in the air, and as a slight breeze lifted her hair she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
Another limousine was waiting for her—only it was not the sort that could be rented out by the hour. Judging by the coat of arms on the door, it was the family’s own private car. Settling back against the soft leather seating, she felt almost giddy with excitement. It was like being Cinderella.
Or maybe not Cinderella, she thought a moment later. There would be no fairy godmother or glass slipper to help her achieve her happy-ever-after. It was up to her to make this work.
Which was fine. She had the talent and the determination, so what could possibly stand in her way?
Turning her head, she gazed eagerly out of the window. For such a small island, there was quite a mix of landscapes. Inland, green hills covered with grass blended into dust-brown olive groves, like paint on a palette, while along the coastline clumps of pine trees ended in vertiginous drops down to the water. As the road twisted upwards she could see that the cobalt blue sea splashed foam up onto both shining dark rocks and sand the colour of clotted cream.
There was a tiny church on one of the smaller hills, and some rustic-looking cottages—and then suddenly, as the car slid round a corner, she saw it.
Her mouth dropped open.
It really was a fortress.
Gazing up at the castellated stone walls, she felt her heartbeat accelerate.
It was huge. The Osorios’ beautiful home in Segovia seemed modest in comparison, but even the fortress was dwarfed by the six-sided tower that rose up from the centre of the building.
Feeling almost hollow with shock and envy, she was vaguely aware of the limousine stopping, and then she was stepping out of the air-conditioned cool into heat and sunlight. A middle-aged woman wearing a cream linen dress greeted her with a smile.
‘Ms Shephard? Welcome to Fortaleza de Moya. My name is Pilar, and I’m in charge of housekeeping. I’ll be taking care of you during your stay.’
Reining in her nerves, Cristina smiled. ‘Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you.’
She glanced across at her shabby luggage, but before she had a chance to move Pilar stepped towards her.
‘Javier will take your bags to your room. I’m sure you want to freshen up after your long journey, but Señor Osorio was hoping you’d have a coffee with him first.’
Cristina held her gaze. It was difficult not to be intimidated by the opulence and glamour of the Osorios’ world and their cool, crystalline confidence. Particularly when she dressed so casually.
But remembering Luis’s cool dissection of her CV, she felt a rush of defiance. Now, more than anything, she wanted to get started. To prove that she could hold her own with these people.
Lifting her chin, she smiled. ‘What a lovely idea. I could do with a coffee.’
She followed the other woman through a series of gorgeous, glamorous rooms out onto a stone balcony overlooking the sea. Coffee and some petit-fours were arranged on a marble-topped table, and after Pilar had left she picked up a small crescent-shaped biscuit and nibbled it—more for something to do than because she was hungry.
There was a slight breeze and, leaning forward against the balustrade, she drew up her mass of hair, enjoying the sensation of cool air on the warm skin of her neck.
Hearing footsteps behind her, she let her hair fall. Reminding herself to call him by his first name, she turned, smiling warmly.
‘It’s a beautiful view, Agusto. You must be so happy to see it—’ she began.
But her words dried to dust in her mouth. For it wasn’t Agusto standing there. It was his son, Luis, and he was looking anything but happy.