Page 32 of The Cruise Club

When the first light of the new day touched the horizon, a silvery glow shone over the sea as the Diamond Star cruised towards Malta.

Hints of pink in a rhubarb sky cast a dawn glow on the historic limestone bastions of Valletta and the Three Cities, perched on opposite peninsulas.

Passengers who’d risen early to stand on deck took in the view and gazed at Maltese fishing boats, luzzus, bobbing on the water, their vibrant colours eye-catching as the ship berthed on the harbourside.

In the distance, the soft chime of church bells echoed as the city awoke and Maltese folk began their day.

Beginning her own day, Carmen hurriedly dressed. The previous evening, an argument had ensued with Betty when Carmen told her mother that she wouldn’t be available in the early mornings and had arranged for Betty to have breakfast in her room.

‘So, you want to confine me to my cabin?’ Betty raised her eyebrows and stared at Carmen with disgust. ‘I can spend time alone at home. This isn’t why I’ve come on a cruise,’ she snapped.

‘Mum, it’s only for a short while,’ Carmen pleaded. ‘I have an opportunity, and I mustn’t turn it down, and you are perfectly capable of dressing yourself.’

‘For heaven’s sake, why are you wasting your time with all that writing nonsense? This is supposed to be a holiday.’

Carmen was tempted to explain yet again why she’d come on the cruise, and that her reasons hadn’t included her mother, but Betty stiffened with indignation and, turning away, became deaf to any persuasion.

Now, as Carmen packed her laptop into a bag, she assured herself that Betty would be fine.

Fernando would arrive with Betty’s breakfast at eight o’clock, and Carmen would return in time to help prepare for the day ahead.

Glancing at her watch, Carmen realised she only had ten minutes to spare.

With a last look at her reflection in a full-length mirror, she patted her hair into place and then hastened out of the room.

Ruskin stood on his balcony and watched the sun rise over the harbour, casting long shadows across the historic walls of Valletta.

He noted the many luzzus, with their sturdy pointed bows designed to handle rough seas.

Ruskin remembered the eye symbol carved into each boat, an ancient tradition rooted in Phoenician and Egyptian culture that was said to protect the boat and its crew from harm.

Arriving in Malta at dawn, he thought, felt like stepping back in time to discover a mysterious city that carries whispers of its past within its ancient walls.

Ruskin had visited the island before but still looked forward to wandering around the vibrant capital that buzzed with life and blended the old with the new.

But first, he had work to do.

Ruskin turned and stepped into the living room. His breakfast order had recently arrived, and coffee, pastries, and fruit were laid out on a table in the middle of the room.

‘A starved mind weaves no tales,’ he said as he poured coffee. ‘Feed the body and the muse will flow.’ Ruskin tore into a croissant, and as he took a bite, he heard a tentative knock on the door. Glancing at his watch, he smiled. Perfect. She was on time.

Carmen’s heart pounded as she stood outside Ruskin’s suite. Clearing her throat with a nervous cough, she raised her hand and knocked.

‘Come in,’ Ruskin said as he opened the door. He held a pastry in his hand and brushed crumbs from his lips as Carmen meekly followed. ‘Sit and eat,’ he said, waving towards the table.

Carmen did as she was told. Placing her bag down, she reached for a coffee and then began to butter a warm, doughy roll.

Ruskin peeled a banana, and Carmen watched as he moved around the room, taking bites.

Barefoot, wearing shorts and a polo shirt, he didn’t speak.

She wondered if she should open the conversation by thanking him and assuring him that she was grateful for his time, but Ruskin was deep in thought and almost oblivious to her presence.

Carmen realised that she was hungry and felt grateful that Ruskin had laid on food.

As she ate, she couldn’t help but marvel at the suite.

It was on another level and far superior to accommodation in the decks below.

The spacious living area was lavishly furnished, opening to an expansive sunny balcony and doors led to other rooms.

‘Creativity flows better when the writer is well fed,’ Ruskin announced a short while later. ‘Now, let’s begin.’ He pointed to a desk and nodded when Carmen sat down and took her notebook from her bag. ‘I read your book last night,’ he said, ‘it shows promise.’

Carmen jerked her head back. She was shocked that Ruskin had been online and downloaded The Rainbow Sleuth .

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ he said, ‘I have to assess your ability.’

‘I’m impressed that you read so quickly,’ Carmen said.

Ruskin took the opposite seat. ‘Speed reading is a skill and retains the important details.’ He folded his fingers together and stared at Carmen.

‘As a debut, your novel is good, but your writing will be much better now. Think of the block you are experiencing as a locked door, and I will give you the tools to open it.’

As Carmen listened to Ruskin explain that she should get the words down, any words, and that the good stuff would come in revisions, she was mesmerised by his blue eyes and rugged handsomeness. Under the table, she squeezed her fingers into her palms, willing herself to focus.

‘Let your ideas breathe then you can worry about shaping them later,’ Ruskin said, ‘you have a unique voice, so let it speak.’ He leaned in, his eyes sharp. ‘Now a challenge, I want you to write for fifteen minutes. Anything, it doesn’t have to make sense.’

Ruskin stood and walked away.

Carmen was hesitant as she picked up her pen, but not wanting to annoy Ruskin, she began to write. To her surprise, after a faltering start, she thought about her reasons for writing, and words soon filled the page. When he held up his hand and told her to stop, she felt a sense of accomplishment.

‘Was that so hard?’ he asked.

‘No, but it’s mostly nonsense.’

‘Unimportant,’ Ruskin was dismissive, ‘you’ve unlocked the flow, and this is how we will start each session. This is known as the morning pages, an exercise in journaling – a technique created by Julia Cameron in her book, The Artist’s Way .’

Carmen scribbled down the name of the author. ‘A book I should read?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely, it’s a guide to living a more creative life.’

For the next three hours, Carmen was hooked as Ruskin explained how to structure her novel and build a framework from which to work.

His calm yet commanding voice made the complexities of plotting feel surprisingly easy, explaining that time invested now would save countless hours of frustration later.

Carmen’s nerves were replaced with excitement as her story began to take on a new shape.

When Ruskin finally stood and showed her out of the suite, Carmen knew she was beginning to find the tools she needed. More than that, she was starting to believe in herself.

‘Remember,’ he said, his hand resting on the doorframe, ‘an author’s greatest asset is persistence. Keep going, and the magic will happen, even on difficult days.’ As he closed the door, he called out, ‘Same time tomorrow!’

Carmen moved through the ship, clutching her bag.

As she made her way to her cabin, she realised that not only did she have a new plan for her novel, but the fear of the blank page returning was replaced now by determination.

Ruskin was the inspiration she’d hoped for.

Butterflies were dancing in her stomach, and she felt almost lightheaded.

But as she skipped down the stairs, Carmen thought of how she’d felt when Ruskin leaned over her shoulder to study her screen, his warm breath a whisper on her skin, as though an electric current had surged through her body, igniting every nerve.

His cologne was intoxicating, the rich leathery scent sparking a craving she couldn’t explain.

When his hand stretched out to study her notes, she almost reached out to grab it, caught up in a longing so intense she’d had to look away.

‘What on earth is happening to me?’ Carmen murmured as she opened the door to her room.

She hesitated in the doorway, gripping the handle as a familiar ache stirred. It had been years since she had allowed herself to feel this way about a man.

And yet, here she was. Feeling something again.

The feelings for Ruskin that were bouncing around her body felt like a game of ping-pong, each jolt reminding her now, that even in her fifties, romance might not be dead.

A knock on the wall made Carmen flinch. It was followed by Betty’s screeching voice.

‘CARMEN! Are you there?’

Carmen closed her eyes, ignoring Betty’s call. She must shake off her stupid crush. A man like Ruskin would never look her way. He was generous enough to be a mentor but anything more was too absurd to imagine. She shook her head to clear the foolish thoughts cluttering her mind.

There was only one priority to focus on. It was time to write.

Ruskin sat on his balcony and browsed the day’s excursions in the Diamond Star Daily News .

He toyed with a visit to St John’s Cathedral with its opulent baroque interior and considered a taxi ride to Mdina, known as the silent city, which was surrounded by mysterious medieval walls housing dark and narrow streets.

He also felt like a leisurely swim and considered visiting the clear waters of St George’s Bay, but a tour of Valletta might be more promising.

Unable to make up his mind, Ruskin found that his thoughts kept straying to Carmen.

It had been an easy decision to mentor the writer – after all, it was good to give something back.

In the early days of his writing career, no one had helped Ruskin.

With Venetia immersed in her make-believe world and uninterested in anything he did, support had been thin on the ground.

While working full time in banking, he’d stolen hours whenever he could to write a story that had been building in his mind for many years.

It was damn hard work, but with his gritty determination, he created Detective Inspector Blake.

The fictional detective had been his passport to quitting the rat race of high finance where the hours were endless, the suits were sharp, and the smiles fake.

No longer a cog in the relentless banking machine, as a successful author he had the freedom in his writing world to steer his own career.

Ruskin knew nothing about Carmen, but his intuition told him she was unhappy.

With a demanding parent, her escape was through the page, and it was to her credit that her debut novel was a success.

It was well written with many clever plot twists.

He’d mentored writers in the past, and it gave him great satisfaction to see them benefit from his advice.

A few hours each day on the remainder of this cruise came at no cost to himself, and the writing reward for Carmen could be fruitful.

But there was something else troubling Ruskin.

Details he’d overlooked were suddenly clear.

Having previously dismissed Carmen as dowdy, her transformation had shaken him when she walked into the piano bar.

After his messy divorce, Ruskin had vowed to give himself time and not get romantically involved.

But there was something in the way Carmen tilted her head when she considered his questions and the warmth of the smile that lit up her face.

Her heavy-rimmed glasses had a hint of allure, drawing his attention to her beautiful hazel eyes.

Leaning in to study her screen, he’d caught the scent of her skin and the softness of her hair and longed to reach out and caress her.

Carmen was, in truth, quite captivating.

The way she tilted her head, her laugh, and how she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while she worked, unaware of her attractiveness, which made her even more appealing.

Ruskin felt a stab of guilt for his shallowness and the superficial lens through which he’d viewed her before.

His determination to be impartial to romance was crumbling, but more worrying was that he knew she would never feel the same about someone who’d failed to see her worth all along.

How could he have been so blind? Since his divorce, Ruskin had created an armour, a shield against the vulnerability of love. But now, something about Carmen was melting it and his defences had begun to unravel.

With a heavy sigh, Ruskin carefully folded the Diamond Star Daily News , and resolved that the only way to find something to occupy his restless spirit was to get dressed and leave the ship.

Stepping into his suite, he saw Fernando, a cabin steward, clearing away the breakfast debris.

‘I knocked…’ Fernando began.

‘It’s all right, I was outside on the balcony,’ Ruskin said.

Fernando smiled as he carried a laden tray and moved towards the door. ‘A day full of sunshine awaits, enjoy!’

Grateful for the warmth in Fernando’s words, Ruskin smiled back. ‘Indeed,’ he agreed, ‘it’s time to write a new page.’