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‘You may have changed your plumage, but I shall still call you Sparrow,’ he said, drawing her towards him. ‘I’m sorry I offended you. I was teasing you cruelly because I didn’t want to give you this until you’d emerged from your chrysalis.’

The pendant gleamed as he let it fall against her smooth throat and he fastened it. When his fingers played against the sensitive hollow at the nape of her neck Minella experienced an ecstasy so intense it seemed there could be no greater rapture, and she was afraid to look up in case he should see her agitation.

‘I don’t want it,’ she protested, trying to move away. Being so close to him disturbed her even more, and that treacherous physical attraction she had thought was permanently quenched became a renewed danger.

‘It was meant for you, Sparrow. Please accept it.’

She hesitated. He sounded genuinely anxious and she couldn’t detect any condescending undercurrent. She let her fingers slide over the pendant now nestling between the frills of her blouse and knew she would treasure it all her life.

Standing on tiptoe, she brushed his cheek with the lightest kiss.

‘Thank you, Sam.'

A surge of happiness swept through her. She and Sam had called a truce and it was a relief to know she wouldn’t have to be continually on the defensive when they met Greg in less than-an hour. Greg would get on well with Sam. In many ways they were alike, stubborn and strong-willed, and annoyingly chauvinistic at times, but both had great charm when they chose to use it. Recognising these like traits, she was surprised she didn’t like Sam better. Maybe she would from now on. She couldn’t wait for them to all be together.

But as it turned out she had to wait quite a lot longer. When she and Sam arrived at the white airport building it was to be told that a dispute at Sao Miguel involving traffic controllers had delayed the midday flight for at least five hours. Minella hid her disappointment well, but Sam was not deceived, and he gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze before taking her back to Horta.

‘It’s no good sitting around wasting time,’ he said, ‘so I suggest we make the most of the day and take a spin in the
Samanne.
How about it?’

‘Surely you’ve got more important things to do,’ said Minella, tentatively. Much as she would love a trip on the powerboat she hadn’t forgotten the scene on board last night and guessed the remnants of the mackerel supper would be still around to cause friction. But he was insistent, and in spite of her opposition she found herself in the cockpit with him a little while later as they cruised out of the harbour. The strange thing was the saloon showed no sign at all of recent use. Sam had taken care of it the same as he did everything else, and she didn’t question him.

When she looked back at Horta it seemed to rise out of the ocean and hug the hillsides like an elegant adornment. Picturesque houses lined the seafront, merging with the walls of the old fortress of Santa Cruz, and splashes of colour blazed from parks and gardens. It was easy to see why it had been a favourite port of call in the days of sailing ships.

‘Are all the islands as beautiful as Fayal?’ she asked, as he opened up the throttle and headed out to sea before turning westwards.

‘In their different ways,’ he said. ‘Each one has its own characteristics.’

‘And there are nine of them.’

‘That’s right. But did you know that for a few weeks there were ten? I’m taking you to see where the tenth one appeared before sinking back into the sea.’

Keeping the coastline to starboard, the
Samanne
lifted her bows clear of the water and sped towards the north of the island, white foam fanning out in their wake. It was exhilarating to feel the wind tearing through her hair and spray like fine rain on her face, cool and wholesome. Both of them had hurriedly changed into shorts and T-shirts, and she hadn’t had time to feel nervous about going out in a boat for the first time since she had been rescued.

Sam knew endless stories about Fayal and entertained her with them as they travelled, shouting to make himself heard above the roar of the engine. He told her about Jos van Hurtere whose wife, Brites, had been a lady-in-waiting at the Portuguese court. Her husband had heard the island had mountains of solid silver, but she had only nightmares of sailing to an island abounding in wild beasts, so when she set foot on Fayal and found it a paradise of flowers she was so overjoyed she had a church built as a thanksgiving. And their son-in-law became one of Fayal’s most famous inhabitants. He was Martin of Bohemia, who created the Nuremberg globe. In 1597 Fayal was sacked by Sir Walter Raleigh during the Spanish occupation, and Captain Cook once stayed in Horta to check his instruments. Minella was fascinated. Sam’s love of the island was infectious and she found herself scanning the coastline eagerly, as if a caravel from the Orient might be sheltering there. The pictures he painted in words were more vivid than his brush-strokes on canvas.

Presently he cut the speed and turned towards land. They cruised quietly round a headland and dropped anchor in dark waters beneath forbidding cliffs, and the scenery was some of the most desolate she had ever seen. It was a cross between a lunar landscape and slagheaps surrounding ancient collieries. The sand on the deserted beach was black, particles of it reaching them like a miniature dust-storm, and no plants grew.

‘This is Capelinhos,’ said Sam. ‘You see that tower way over to the right? That was once the lighthouse, and now it’s so far inland it can’t be used.’

‘How did it happen?’ asked Minella, gazing in awe. ‘Was it the eruption you told me about?’

‘That was the one. When the island disappeared again what was left of it became an extension of Fayal.’ She shuddered. ‘It feels eerie, as if the sun has gone.’ And as she spoke a mist started rolling in from the north, giving the place an even more mysterious atmosphere.

‘I walk out this way sometimes,’ he told her, ‘when I’m feeling jaded and at odds with the world. It’s a primeval sort of place that helps me put my insignificant troubles in the right perspective. I suppose I’m a fatalist at heart.’

He looked into the distance with eyes trained to see more than surface detail, and pain she couldn’t begin to comprehend communicated itself to her through the timbre of his voice. She wanted to ask him questions, but they would be too personal and she didn’t have the courage. With the mist it became cooler and goose pimples covered her arms. She shivered, and Sam laughed, throwing back his head to let the deep-throated sound roll out and dispel the spirits of Capelinhos. Then he weighed anchor and started the engine.

‘Okay, Sparrow, let’s head back to the sun.’

They swept round in an arc and his hands steering the course back to Horta were supremely capable. It had been a strange sojourn, yet in that short time he had revealed, a great deal about himself. Compassion stirred in her because this giant of a man, who had seemed invincible, had allowed her to glimpse the vulnerable core that sought reassurance and needed to identify with fundamental things. She had once wondered if he was lonely. Now she
knew
that he was.

He dropped anchor again quite close to the town, along a stretch of coast which he called Laginha. Minella could hardly believe only a short distance separated the two places, for here was a sun-drenched vista of rock formation with a road running above it edged with tamarisks.

‘This is lovely,’ she breathed. ‘I feel as if I’ve escaped from something I didn’t understand.’

‘There’s an unpredictable feel about Capelinhos,’ he agreed. ‘Yet it’s a great tourist attraction.’ He took hold of her hand and smiled. ‘Let’s forget about it and enjoy the sun. I wish I hadn’t taken you there.’

They went up to the bows where they could sunbathe on the warm deck and Minella lay on her stomach with her hands cupping her chin. She stared dreamily at the dazzling ocean, her thoughts of the hours she had spent in the water, and wondered how far she had drifted on the current which had brought her to these shores. Her rescue seemed more miraculous than ever when the smallness of the islands was taken into account.

She turned to speak of it to Sam, but he had stripped off his shirt and was lying on his back with his hands above his head, his eyes closed against the sun, and she was arrested by his strength even in repose. For the first time she could study him undetected. His tanned skin gleamed and dark hair curled from his throat to the top of his shorts. Powerful limbs were as brown as the shiny deck, muscular and without an ounce of surplus fat, but from his right knee to his shin was a scar not quite six inches long. She was immediately curious, remembering there were times when she had noticed a slight limp, but hadn’t dared question it. The scar, she felt sure, must be in some way connected with his life here, with the fatalistic attitude he had admitted to, and the mysteries still surrounding him. Her fingers hovered over it a moment with an urge to touch the deep mark, instinct telling her that it had affected him more seriously than the physical sign showed, but she resisted and lifted her eyes.

A fly settled on his nose and he flicked it away with a whiplash movement of his hand, then relaxed again with apparent contentment, his eyes still closed. Minella watched him, absorbing every line of his face, and a melting feeling made her half afraid to draw breath. In a few short days he had become the hub of her existence, and somehow even Greg had assumed a minor role. The delay over his arrival hadn’t been nearly as disappointing as it would have been a little while ago because it meant she and Sam could be alone longer. But why ever had she welcomed it?

Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, drumming out a rhythm which couldn’t be ignored. Every time she looked at him it happened, and she had to face the fact that dislike and hate were only words she used to disguise emotions she refused to recognise. This man, who had carried her to safety, now held her entirely. She wanted to be with him, to be excited by his magnetism and the fight she had to put up to resist it. She had to be teased, caressed, wanted. Yes, that last implication was the crucial one. No use wrapping up the idea in any fancy words. She wanted Sam Stafford, even though she knew only heartbreak lay in that direction. She pushed the thought aside and stopped looking at him.

Gradually she became calmer and the crude revelation was relegated to the back of her mind, though it continued to throb like a pain. Considering all that Sam had done for her, a temporary lack of common sense was only to be expected, but he must never know. His laughter would echo as far as the cliffs and shake the delicate pink tamarisk flowers. But she couldn’t stop herself expressing her gratitude. She leaned forward and let her mouth brush over his like thistledown.

‘Thank you, Sam,’ she murmured.

He opened his eyes lazily and gave a quizzical smile, giving himself time to fathom the reason for such an unexpected token. Then he raised himself on one elbow and returned the kiss with one equally soft against her cheek before putting an arm around her and drawing her down beside him on the deck. She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, the close contact bringing a fervent warmth to her body, and her hand fell limply on his chest. On that perfect afternoon there was nothing more she wanted to make her happiness complete, except perhaps to tell him, and that would have ruined everything.

When five o’clock came they were back again at the airport, waiting for the flight from Sao Miguel, and this time there was no hold-up. Minella walked beside Sam feeling eyes upon them, conscious of his attraction which made women turn for a second glance, his confidence, his air of authority making anyone he spoke to show respect. She wanted to tuck her hand possessively through the crook of his arm, but laughed at herself when she remembered that that was exactly what Consuelo had done last night. Nothing had really changed. Sam was Sam, and when he obviously had the pick of women on Fayal it was no good hoping for more than a temporary paternal-type affection from him, if indeed she had any wish for more.

The plane touched down and soon passengers were crossing the tarmac in twos and threes. Minella scanned them eagerly for the first glimpse of Greg, filled now with excitement at their imminent reunion. Then she saw his fair head, his broad smile and ambling gait, and ran forward to meet him, forgetting Sam. And to her great joy she saw that he was not alone. Annette was with him.

As soon as she could reach him she was clasped in Greg’s arms, babbling incoherently in her excitement, and then it was Annette’s turn. She had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life, and they fussed over her as if she had been gone for months. Linking her arms through theirs, she led them through the lounge to where she had left Sam.

‘I can’t wait for you to meet the man who saved my life. Well, he didn’t actually do the rescuing, but he looked after me when I was ill and contacted you as soon as he could. . ..'She went on talking, looking for Sam, who wasn’t in the same place.

‘We’ve got a lot to thank him for,’ said Greg. ‘Lucky for you there was an Englishman around. Trust our Minella to get into a scrape and come up smelling of lavender!’ He cuffed her ear playfully.

‘A bit of a mixed metaphor,’ laughed Annette, ‘but I guess it’s true.’ She gave Minella a sideways glance. This man, did he provide you with the new clothes?’

‘He lent me the money because I’d nothing to wear. Greg, please can you square up with him later?’

‘So I’m to be the loser,’ Greg teased.

‘You’ll get your money back even if it takes all my next pay cheque.’

‘And the pendant?’ Annette queried. ‘Did he buy that for you?’

Minella fingered the fine gold chain and her face coloured. ‘It was a present,’ she said, surprised that her sister-in-law had missed nothing. She sounded almost cross.

Sam was at the entrance, standing with his back to them so as not to intrude on the family reunion, but at the sound of their voices he turned with a lazy smile.

‘Sam, this is my brother Greg,’ Minella cried. ‘Greg, meet Sam Stafford.’