Page 2 of September’s Tide (Island Tales #2)

Chapter One

David leaned against the window and peered out into the Solent as the catamaran bounced over the waves.

He was bone-tired. The seven-and-a-half hour flight to Heathrow would have fatigued anyone, but it was only as the plane was about to land that he’d realized how much traveling there was still to do.

He’d landed at six thirty in the morning and queued at the carousel to grab his luggage, the largest suitcase he possessed.

David had emerged from the baggage hall, yawning his head off, to be greeted cheerfully by a taxi driver with the obligatory card bearing his name.

How anyone could be so goddamn chirpy at that hour of the morning was beyond David.

Another journey of some fifty minutes where he grunted staccato replies to his driver’s well-meant but inane comments as he was whisked across London to Waterloo railway station.

Okay, so London was nowhere near as crowded as New York, but he’d been amazed by the hordes of people at the station.

It was nine o’clock and it seemed to David as though everyone in London had decided to pass through there.

It hadn’t taken him long to find the train heading to Portsmouth Harbour, and he even had time to grab a coffee from a Starbucks stand on the concourse.

He gulped it eagerly while he scanned the departures board for his train.

Thank God it was on time. He lugged the heavy case along the platform, searching for a less populated train car.

His suitcase safely stowed, David had collapsed into the nearest seat and all but inhaled the rest of his coffee.

He grabbed his backpack and clasped it tightly to him, guarding its precious cargo within—his laptop.

David still couldn’t believe he was actually going along with this madness. He kept replaying the conversation with Juliet, not sure it hadn’t been some ghastly dream.

“Why there?” he demanded with a wild-eyed stare. “Couldn’t you have found anywhere a little closer? Say, in the same fucking country ?”

Juliet huffed. “I wanted you to go somewhere you’d never been before. I wanted you to step out of your comfort zone and see if it got your creative juices flowing again.”

He grumbled something about liking his comfort zone, thank you very much, but it was clear Juliet wasn’t about to listen to him. Besides, it seemed as if she’d considered everything. He gaped when he saw the reservation date.

“You booked this three months ago.”

Juliet merely shrugged. “Okay, so I put off sharing that with you. Bite me.” A sly look stole over her face. “I knew if I told you about it then, you’d make excuses, you’d have me cancelling it, shit like that. Well, it’s too late to cancel—so get packing.”

That gleeful expression was more than David could stand. He all but pushed her out of the apartment before turning his mind to the thorny problem of what to pack.

The train had pulled into the station and Juliet’s instructions stated that he was to walk to the far end of the platform, where the ‘FastCat’ would take him across the Solent to the island.

The catamaran was about half full and David had shoved the case into the central storage area, then grabbed a seat by the window.

Not that he could see a whole lot. Spray came up and hit the windows, which weren’t exactly clean to begin with.

The sunlight on the water was blinding, too.

Nevertheless, David was able to catch sight of a land mass up ahead that had to be the island.

But the Cat certainly lived up to its name.

A mere eighteen minutes later, the catamaran was pulling up alongside the dock, and David had finally arrived at his destination—five hours after landing at the airport.

He lumbered down the gangway, dragging the suitcase behind him, its little wheels squealing in complaint, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

Around him milled families with small children, obviously off to spend some holiday time on the island, businessmen, couples, people of all ages, and all heading into the main building.

David watched the man who’d been seated across the aisle from him on the Cat, as he tried to push through the crowds, clearly anxious to get somewhere in a hurry—and then David caught his breath to see him walk up to a young man dressed in white pants and a white T-shirt, who was standing by the Booking office, a red rose clutched in his hand.

The two men didn’t embrace, but simply looked at each other, the younger man’s face alight with joy.

He held out the rose to David’s fellow traveller who took it, his face wreathed in a wide smile, and then the two walked off together, hand in hand, all haste forgotten, objective achieved.

Nice to see that it does work out sometimes . David found himself silently wishing the pair good luck. He was so engrossed in watching their exit that he almost bumped into a tall, slim woman with blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail.

“Sorry,” he murmured under his breath, and attempted to edge around her, but she blocked his path.

“Would you be David Hannon?” Her soft, lilting voice made his name sound almost musical.

David started. “Yes. And you are…?”

The woman gave him a warm smile. “Vanessa Dickson. I own the Lighthouse.”

Despite his jet lag, David remembered his manners. He grasped her outstretched hand and shook it firmly. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s been a very long journey.”

Her expression grew sympathetic. “I can imagine.” She glanced down at his case. “Is this all your luggage?” He nodded. “Well, we should be able to fit it into the boot. Might have to put the roof back up, though.” She led the way through the hall and down a ramp to the parking lot.

David struggled to follow the conversation.

Fit it into the boot ? He had to smile as Vanessa stopped next to a little beige-gold Nissan, a convertible.

Damn, that thing was small but undeniably cute.

Vanessa opened the trunk and peered inside.

David glanced into it and his eyes widened.

The glass roof of the car was folded into it, the whole thing resting on a black canvas that was suspended across the available space.

There was room below it, but definitely not enough for his case.

“As I thought,” Vanessa mused. “When the roof is down, there isn’t a whole lot of space in the boot.”

“Oh, now I get it.” Comprehension dawned. David grinned. “The boot is the trunk,” he declared triumphantly.

Vanessa gave him a puzzled look and then her brow cleared.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot you Americans call it a trunk.” She smiled.

David waved a hand. “Yeah, well I’m sure there are gonna be a whole lot more words I’ll need to learn.” He gave her what he hoped was an easy, laid-back smile. “Will the case fit on the back seats?”

Vanessa snickered. “I don’t think so. Whoever designed this car may have intended it to be for four people, but only if you could fold the back seat passengers up very small.” She closed the trunk and walked to the side of the car.

He followed her gaze and peered inside. David snorted. “I see what you mean.”

Vanessa pressed a button on the key fob, and the trunk whirred into action, opening itself with a whine.

David watched, fascinated, as the roof unfolded itself elegantly, sliding into position and locking into place.

He heaved the suitcase into the trunk and closed it.

He took one look at the position of the front passenger seat and reached below it, fumbling for the release to move the seat further back.

There was no way he’d get his long legs into there.

The car clearly wasn’t built for guys who were six feet tall.

Once that was done, David got in and sat with his knees bent. Vanessa gave him a sideways glance. “Your agent made no mention of your height when she asked me to arrange a hire car for you for your stay.” She clicked her tongue. “This might require a rethink.”

David gave another start. “This is for me?” Vanessa nodded, and he smiled.

Okay, so it would be a snug fit, but he liked the little car.

“No, leave it. This will be fine.” Vanessa arched her eyebrows and David chuckled.

“Yeah, so I’m a masochist. Seriously, don’t change it.

I like the idea of driving this little baby over the island. ”

“Well, if you’re sure.” She sounded doubtful.

David was sure. He was already anticipating driving along country roads, the wind stirring his hair, the sound of birdsong loud as he sped through tiny hamlets and along the coast roads.

Then he grinned to himself. He had no idea if the island was anything like the idyllic picture he’d just painted, but he sure hoped so.

He might have complained long and hard to Juliet about her decision to send him to the island, but now he was here, he intended seeing what it had to offer.

As the car turned out of the parking area, David was stunned to see they were at the end of a long wooden pier. They drove along it at ten miles per hour, the town looming larger as they neared the end. Two church spires rose majestically above the rooftops.

“Do you like the Beatles?” Vanessa asked as they passed through the barrier and onto the main road. Puzzled by the question, David replied in the affirmative. Vanessa smiled. “This is Ryde, so if you think about it, you had a ticket to Ryde.”

David thought for a moment and then guffawed. “Damn, that’s funny. Maybe the Beatles wrote the song during a visit to the Island,” he offered as a joke.

Vanessa’s smile widened. “Oh, don’t laugh, there’s a story around here that says they did just that.” David stared incredulously, and she nodded. “Seriously.”