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For a moment Minella couldn’t speak. Her hand went to her throat and a fluttering of hope, too fragile to grasp, made her swallow hard. ‘Oh, Benita,’ she whispered, ‘do you really think it might be possible?’ The expressive shoulders lifted again. ‘I no know. Maybe.’ Then she held out her arms once more and this time Minella ran to her, welcoming the feel of that wonderful, motherly embrace with eagerness, having never known much maternal affection. ‘There, there, my child,’ Benita crooned, ‘it will be all right.’

It
was
only a remote chance, and perhaps it was unwise to even consider it when her hopes could be finally dashed at any hour, but she had always been an optimist and while there was no definite news she could still believe in miracles.

Nothing was real. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d been here, for at least two days were lost in the mists of fever, but during that time Greg had seemed very close. She hadn’t fully accepted that she would never see him again. Perhaps the shock was too recent for her to absorb it, because even the tears she had shed through the night had been partly to assuage the hopelessness of her own plight. She had no thought beyond the present, and realised she didn’t know what day of the week it was. What harm could there be in clinging to a dream for a little while longer?

A dusting of flour coated Benita’s warm brown skin, but the comforting smell of baking was almost lost beneath the heavy perfume she applied liberally and allowed to remain indefinitely. Minella extricated herself from the embrace and it was obvious she was not going to be content to sit and wait for anything. Benita’s attempt at delaying her had had just the opposite effect. Her determination to leave was stronger than ever.

‘Oh, Benita, now I’ve
got
to find my way to town,’ she explained. ‘Don’t you see, I’ve got to make different enquiries from the ones Sam made. I must see the right people. Greg might be on one of the other islands. Perhaps he’s alive and feeling as desolate as I am because they’ve told him / was drowned.’ She gave her an impetuous hug. ‘Oh, it’s even more important I get away from here now.’

Benita sighed. ‘All right, all right. But I am not happy.’ She swung round as if she washed her hands of the whole affair, but plumped herself in the doorway, successfully hindering an immediate escape. ‘First you rest. It is siesta ... much too hot for you to walk even a little way. Later I will bring you milk and some food, then I tell how you get to my house.’

Two hours later Minella felt like Dick Whittington setting off on his travels with all his possessions tied in a scarf, except that the scarf Benita had given her was tied round her head to keep off the sun, and the food in the bundle was for Vasco and his grandfather. Benita had come with her as far as the end of the driveway and pointed out a white house in the distance which she assured her was nearer than it looked. She also had strict instructions to tell Vasco to bring her back by nightfall, but though she hadn’t argued she had no intention of returning to Sam’s house. He’d been kind, but only because he had no alternative, and she would write and thank him when she finally reached home.

The road was narrow and lined with bushes, most of them the ubiquitous blue hydrangeas which coloured the landscape like patches of material left over from the spread of clear blue sky. To her left there was an orange grove with high stone walls to protect the crop from Atlantic gales, and there was shade until the walls gave way to open meadow. Five minutes’ more walking and she guessed she would reach the Hernandez house, but already she felt as exhausted as if she had spent hours struggling across a desert and was parched with the heat. Before attempting to cross the meadow she sank down in the shade and gazed at the view.

Benita had told her the name of the island was Fayal, and that from her father’s house you could see another island called Pico. She had been walking downhill, and now she was clear of the orange grove she saw a narrow channel of water separating the two islands, and on the far side was a mountain which dominated everything. It looked like a volcano, but it’s beauty shimmered in the heat haze with dreamlike tranquillity which made it appear incapable of anger, as did the sea when it widened out into a vast expanse of ocean. The colour of sea and sky was indivisible, the horizon no more than a smudge, and as Minella stared at the water for the first time since the night of the storm she could hardly believe how terrifying it had been. And now that she was alone her brave hopes for Greg faded. The odds against survival after the yacht broke up were stacked high, and any good news would surely have filtered through to Sam.

Her eyelids were heavy and drowsiness made her too limp to move, but she had to reach the house across the meadow. She looked up as a flock of small birds flew over and settled in a nearby tree. To her amazement she saw they were green canaries, and the birdsong that filled the air was so sweet it seemed meant to lift her spirits. She got to her feet with renewed determination not to let anything beat her.

The single-storeyed house where Benita’s family lived was much the same size as Sam’s, similarly whitewashed and roofed with terracotta-coloured tiles. A gate stood open and a deeply rutted track made by ox-carts led up to an open-fronted bam where maize was drying. There was no one around. The side wall of the house was completely covered with vines and it seemed as if crops grew right to the door, freshly turned ground showing that every square inch was precious. Minella wandered round to the other side where two pigs were penned and chickens squawked at the sight of a stranger, but still no one came and she wondered if only the old man with the troublesome heart was at home, until a young man appeared who looked very much like Vasco.

‘Hello,’ said Minella. ‘I’m trying to find Vasco. Is he here? Benita sent me.’

He opened his mouth in surprise, then spoke in rapid Portuguese. She laughed and shook her head to show she didn’t understand, and when she held out the bundle of food he didn’t know whether to take it until he recognised the wrapping.

‘Vasco,’ Minella repeated, seeing it was useless to say anything else.

‘Ah said the young man, and went off indoors.

She was left standing in the sun, not knowing whether to follow him, and there was a nervous ache in her legs. After his reception at Sam’s the other night perhaps Vasco had changed his mind about wanting to see her. She couldn't blame him if he had, but who else was there? She couldn’t go any further without transport, that was certain.

Waves of desolation threatened to break over her as she stood there, but were averted when Vasco appeared from quite a different quarter. He had been in the barn, and on seeing her he gave a yell of delight. He sprang over a low fence and placed himself in front of her, hands on hips, triumph lighting him with exhilaration.

‘You have come!’

He was poised like a dancer, a beaming smile of welcome aimed at her with dynamic effect. She was dazzled.

‘Y-es,’ she said hesitantly. It wasn’t often she was lost for words, but while he looked at her with such flattering fascination she was speechless.

‘I have won a bet,’ he said. ‘Benita told me I behaved so badly you would never want to see me again, but here you are. I have won!’

He struck his chest with his fist victoriously, and Minella felt instantly deflated. Her coming had done wonders for his ego, which was more important than being pleased to see her for her own sake.

‘You’re quite incorrigible,’ she said, with English primness that baffled him. The word was new, but the meaning clear. She hadn’t come because she found him irresistible, so there must be some other reason. He tried to look suitably chastised, but the light of excitement continued to bum.

‘I am sorry. Let me get you a drink and we will sit in the shade and talk.’

‘I’d like a glass of water, please,’ said Minella.

‘Water? Pah, what is that? I will bring you something much better.’

He took her to the bam where it was cooler, and the smell of drying maize was so agreeable she gave a sniff of pleasure, but she was wary of the enclosed space.

‘Vasco, please will you take me to Horta. I’m so muddled I don’t know where to start sorting things out, but Benita says that’s the best place.’

‘For you, my beautiful one, I will do anything,’ he said. ‘First a drink, and then I will get my motorbike.'

'Oh, no! I’ve never been on a motorbike.’

‘And I have no car, so it is the only way I can take you to Horta. Why did you not ask Sam?’

That was something Minella preferred not to talk about, so she hurriedly agreed to risk riding pillion as long as he promised not to go too fast.

‘I will drive very slowly,’ he said. ‘That way we will be very close for a long time.’

He gave an audacious smile that spoke volumes and slipped away before she could say any more. Whatever was the matter with the men here? She was beginning to think there was nothing to choose between Sam and Vasco, but on consideration she decided Vasco’s open flirting was preferable to Sam’s insidious attempts at seduction, and she was lucky she had come out of the final humiliation easily. Ever since it happened she had been trying not to think about the force he had used when he kissed her. If he’d been intent on raping her there wouldn’t have been much she could do to stop him. That strength could have overpowered her in seconds. She shuddered. There was no question of why she was leaving. It most certainly wouldn’t have been safe to stay.

Vasco returned with a jug of wine and two thick tumblers, one of which he filled and handed to her.

‘This will revive you,’ he said. ‘It is good. I am told the Tsar of Russia once used to drink our wine.’

She sipped it, and found he wasn’t exaggerating. It was the best wine she had ever tasted. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Where do you get it?’

‘See, the vines.’ He gave an expansive wave to indicate the wall where vines grew thickly, almost covering the window. ‘We make it.’

She drank a little more and it was so refreshing she quickly emptied the tumbler. There couldn’t be much harm in home-brewed wine. For the first time since leaving Sam’s she began to relax and a warm feeling of complacency stole over her. All she’d needed to put things right was to get away from his environment.

‘My name’s Minella,’ she told Vasco. ‘I don’t think anyone told you.’

‘Minella.’ He tested the name thoughtfully, then smiled. ‘Yes, I like it.’

‘Now can we go to Horta? There’s such a lot I’ve got to do.’

Vasco leaned back on one elbow and surveyed her with obvious appreciation. He wore a dark blue shirt with the collar turned up to keep the sun off his neck and it was opened nearly to the waist. His smooth brown chest glistened. With confidence inspired by the wine Minella found herself returning his look of appraisal, but realised the danger as soon as he moved a fraction closer. Friendship was quite definitely all she required of him, and she sat up very straight with her back to the drying maize, making it clear she didn’t fancy him the way he hoped.

‘Why are you in such a hurry?’ he asked. ‘Always the English are in a hurry.’

She laughed. ‘That’s what Benita said. You just copied from her.’ She paused, letting him catch the rebuke, but a flicker of the eyes warned her he wouldn’t take kindly to teasing, and as she was dependent on him for the moment she had to make amends. ‘Who taught you to speak such good English?’

Mollified, he said: ‘Sam. He taught me.’

His answer surprised her, because she had expected him to say Benita. In order to learn so well he would have had to spend a lot of time in Sam’s company.

‘But I thought you and Sam didn’t like each other,’ she said.

‘Not now. There was ... how you say ... a misunderstand.’ He stood up and brushed dried maize husks from his jeans.

Minella was intrigued. Everything about Sam was secretive, and even though she hoped not to see him again her curiosity hadn’t abated.

Tell me about it,’ she urged.

‘It would take too long,’ said Vasco, ‘and you are in a hurry.’ He gave a smug grin and picked up the two tumblers. ‘Come, my motorbike is at the front.’

She followed him round the side of the house, as annoyed as he had been at the hint of teasing and frustrated at still not being able to find out anything about Sam. It was not that she was interested in the man, but it was like reading a mystery novel with the last pages missing.

At the front of the house the young man Minella had seen first was working in a vegetable patch as beautiful as a flower garden. Vasco called him and they shouted across in Portuguese to each other.

‘That is my brother Enrico. He works here with our grandfather.’

‘And do you do farming too?’ she asked.

‘No. I go out with the whaleboats,’ he said. ‘Now, I get something from the house and then we will go to Horta.’ It was a journey Minella would never forget. As instructed she clasped her arms round Vasco’s waist and clung on fearfully as he sped along the narrow roads. Bracken and hortensia hedge brushed against her legs, and a skirmish with an ox-cart brought down a shower of barley in her hair. And the noise of the ancient machine, of which Vasco was so proud, actually drowned the screech of the ox-cart axles. Women in a field stopped tying sacks of grain and shaded their eyes to see if the noise came from the sky or the road, and an old man brandished a pitchfork when Vasco swerved out to avoid him.

‘I must stop at Santa Silva,’ He called over his shoulder, and dropped his speed to drive down through a village which Minella guessed was the one where she had been brought ashore. The cottages seemed one on top of the other, white walls dazzling in the sunlight, but hardly anyone was around. At the bottom of the hill Vasco stopped, called out a greeting to a woman in black who carried a basket on her head, and jumped off the bike so quickly Minella overbalanced. He laughed and steadied her.

‘I have to go round the bay to see whether the boat will go out tonight. You can walk down to the sea, or visit Dr Porva if he is there. I shall not be long.’