Summer on a Sunny Island

SUMMER ON A SUNNY ISLAND

Sue Moorcroft

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Copyright © Sue Moorcroft 2020

Cover design by www.headdesign.co.uk 2020 © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover illustration by Carrie May © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Sue Moorcroft asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008321826

Ebook Edition © April 2020 ISBN: 9780008321833

Version: 2020-03-23

Dedication

For The Romantic Novelists’ Association

in its Diamond Anniversary year

I’ve been a member of this amazing organisation for two of its six decades, during which it has given me:

a ‘can do’ attitude,

massive support,

industry knowledge,

career opportunities,

and an army of fantastic friends.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Rosa twirled her wine glass, trying to choose her words over the chatter and clatter of Gino’s pavement café and the rumble of traffic along the seafront road. Here in the busy area of Sliema, new buildings outnumbered the old and the promenade was filled with people selling harbour cruises to tourists. Rosa preferred Ta’ Xbiex, where she was staying, about a mile along the coast, with its traditional stone villas. Sliema’s air was punctuated by the sound of car horns but in Ta’ Xbiex you could sometimes catch the mellow sound of church bells rising into the blue sky above the boats bobbing on the sparkling sea.

The Maltese sun was setting in a blaze of lilac and pink. In the sea creek, a row of red and blue ferries bobbed at their moorings. Over the buzzing traffic Rosa could see their lights coming on. Beyond them, the skyline of the capital city, Valletta, on the other side of Marsamxett Harbour, was becoming a silhouette of ramparts and domes and spires.

Across the table, Zach Bentley watched her. His short dark hair was silky, eyes brown, skin golden. When he’d been working shirtless in the garden near the apartment she was sharing with her mum, Rosa had seen a tattoo of upswept wings across his shoulders. Now she could see ink above his wrist, too – a Maltese cross from which dangled a birdcage, its door swinging open.

She spoke in a rush. ‘I’m afraid I’m not exactly dating. Mum thinks I need a “summer romance” to get over my last relationship. And with her being there when you asked if I was doing anything this evening and her having been to school with your dad Steve here in Malta …’ She shrugged, silently cursing her warm and welcoming mother, Dory Hammond. ‘She trotted out “How nice! Now Rosa won’t be bored while I Skype Andy,” as if I can’t amuse myself while she chats to her boyfriend.’ It had been hard for Rosa to do anything but accept Zach’s invitation. Now, instead of brooding about Marcus, back in England, she was having to get to know this man.

Zach sipped his beer and she thought she saw amusement flicker in his eyes. ‘I understand.’ The slightest hint of Cornwall in his voice contrasted with her own short Yorkshire vowels. Then his grin flashed and he leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘To be truthful … my sister Marci and her little girl Paige are staying with me at the family apartment. As Marci’s pretty new here and you’ve just arrived, what I was actually intending to suggest was that you and Marci go out while I babysat Paige.’

‘Oh!’ Rosa almost choked on her next sip of wine, mortified heat flooding her face. ‘And Mum shoved me at you instead!’

‘Don’t think I minded,’ he assured her, eyes still dancing. ‘But not-dating me is probably a good choice.’ He seemed to have no trouble both enjoying the joke and gently turning it against himself.

Reluctantly, she gave a small laugh though she said wrathfully, ‘My flipping mother!’

He sobered. ‘Marci seems to think she has to hang around the apartment once Paige has gone to bed. She swims or explores with Paige during the day but I think it would be great for her to have an evening out now and then.’ He paused. Then, ‘I don’t think Marci would mind me telling you – she’s off work with stress. Her new boss expects a level of commitment to short-notice overtime that doesn’t work for a single parent with child care to consider.’

The nearby cars had formed themselves into a traffic jam and Rosa lifted her voice over a hooting of horns. ‘Hopefully Marci and I will get on when we meet. Mum told me she was here when I spotted Paige with you in the garden and asked who she was. Mum always knows everything about everyone.’ Dory, who’d been in Malta since the beginning of May, had also been able to inform Rosa that Zach and Marci had a younger sister called Electra, presently travelling elsewhere.

Zach seemed to realise Rosa might not be any keener on Zach fixing up a girls’ night for her than she had been on her mum wangling her a date, and returned to treating their not-date as a joke. ‘I could drive you straight home, if you want, but it might make your mum think I pounced on you or was too boring to bear. And I’ve kind of got my mind on spaghetti rizzi.’

Glad to fall in with his mild teasing, she took up the menu. ‘Let’s eat. Mum doesn’t need more excuses to get involved.’

A lithe, blonde waitress halted at their table, pen poised over her notepad. ‘You are ready to order?’

The menu was printed in English as well as Maltese. Rosa saw rizzi were sea urchins. Deciding she’d have plenty of opportunity to taste unfamiliar food with her mum, she said, ‘Penne chicken and another glass of white wine, please.’

Zach gave his order then turned back to Rosa as the waitress whisked away. ‘Does your mum often arrange your dates?’

Rosa managed a smile. ‘Only when she’s encouraging me to forget my ex.’

Over Zach’s shoulder a cheer went up from a group watching football on a TV suspended from the canopy. The clientele at the close-packed tables was divided between those glued to the screens and others socialising all the louder over them.

Zach’s gaze softened and he let his joking drop. ‘In my experience you find your own pace with these things.’

Though he got points for both apparently understanding what she hadn’t said and refraining from swivelling in his seat to see whether a goal had been scored, Rosa searched for another subject. ‘If your dad was an army kid like Mum, how did your family get to own Ta’ Xbiex Terrace House?’ Her wine arrived. She thanked the waitress and took the first sip while it was still cold. Though she’d arrived on the island only two days ago, she’d already discovered cold drinks didn’t stay cold on hot June evenings.

He settled into his chair, the breeze disarranging his hair, which had begun the evening combed diagonally back. ‘My grandfather was here with the army, like yours. Grandad Harry met and married grandmother Rebekah, who’s Maltese. Nanna and my great-aunt Giusi inherited the property from their parents. When they were children the road was called Ta’ Xbiex Terrace rather than Ir-Rampa – “The Ramp”.’ His pronunciation of ‘Ta’ Xbiex’ was subtly different to Rosa’s ‘Tash Beesh’ – his ‘sh’ holding something of a soft ‘j’ that made Rosa aware of her own limitations with Maltese pronunciation. Lucky for her that English was an official language of the island.

‘“Terrace” is a good description,’ she put in. ‘I love the way it’s like an upper deck to the more ordinary road below.’

Zach nodded. ‘The house was too big to rent easily so Nanna and Aunt Giusi decided to convert it into four apartments, owning two each. After the structural work was complete they offered me the job of fitting them out.’

An image of the bathroom where she’d stood naked a few hours ago flashed through Rosa’s mind. It was odd to think Zach had tiled the turquoise and white walls. ‘Mum was delighted to find our apartment through your dad Steve on the Barracks Brats Facebook group. It’s lovely. You’ve done a great job.’

He looked almost surprised at the compliment. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy your summer there.’

She shrugged. ‘It feels odd at the moment because I’ve only lived in three homes – two with Mum and one with my ex, Marcus, all in our home town of Liggers Moor. Have you lived here long?’ Their waitress approached, threading her way through the tables to set their meals before them. Rosa shook out her napkin.

He picked up his fork and loaded it with spaghetti. ‘I was brought up in the UK too but I love Malta. I suppose I’ll have to go back eventually but I haven’t finished Aunt Giusi’s lower apartment yet. She hasn’t chosen a kitchen or bathroom because she’s tempted to sell her house in Lija and move in herself. Also, I do some of my own work and help out at a cousin’s place.’

‘Is your dad coming over for the Service Kids’ Malta reunion next week?’ Rosa had begun to enjoy herself. Her penne chicken was delicious and Zach was proving easy company.

He shook his head. ‘He’s just begun a new job and Mum has severe rheumatoid arthritis, which makes travel tricky. He’s asked Marci to go to the reunion for him.’ He paused, eyebrows lifting. ‘How would you feel about Marci going along with you and Dory?’

Rosa nodded, thinking a group situation would make it easier to get to know Marci and decide whether they might like one another. ‘Of course, if she’d like to. Aren’t you going?’

‘I think Dad and Marci have it sorted out.’ Zach laid down his knife and fork. ‘Dory tells me she hasn’t been back to Malta since she was a child.’

The next table was full of noisy tourists. Rosa had to lean in to be heard. ‘Till this summer,’ she agreed. ‘Dad wasn’t around much after I was born so money’s been an issue. She’s thrilled to be here until October. I was able to take unpaid leave from my job to be her assistant for the summer and Mum sorted out the residency permits.’

Zach’s eyes had darkened as lights came on and the last of the short dusk faded into dark night. ‘She seems to be doing OK as a cookbook writer. What’s your job normally?’

‘Events and sponsorship.’ Rosa made her reply brief, not particularly wanting to go into the whole sorry story of how she and Marcus splitting up had impacted on her career. ‘Were you in construction in the UK?’

He paused while they gave orders to the blonde waitress for iced coffee for Rosa and espresso for Zach before he answered. ‘My last job was in data and report writing for a multi-academy trust.’ He grinned at what she knew must be a blank expression. ‘You don’t have to pretend to know what that is. I collected data from the different schools in the trust, consolidating and presenting it to the trustees, managers, staff, students, parents and OFSTED.’

‘Not much like fitting out apartments,’ she observed.

He glanced away from the chattering population of the pavement café and across the seafront road to where a large tourist boat was backing up to the quay, its passengers jostling to disembark. ‘When I first left home I used to work weekends for a small building company, so I picked up some skills. I’m doing some freelance report writing for income to live on.’ The iced coffee and espresso arrived and Zach dropped sugar into his cup.

Rosa sipped her drink, cold and creamy, glancing around at the people milling from café to café, Maltese and English mingling with other languages, palm trees rising up over nearby cars. ‘This must have been a cool place for our parents to be brought up.’

Zach shifted and his knee brushed hers briefly beneath the table. ‘I’d have loved it. It’s as if I’ve only just become fully conscious of my double connection to Malta, with my Maltese grandmother and my grandfather being stationed here with the British Army. I used to sigh when we came on family holidays, visiting relatives or trudging around old barracks when I would have liked to have been snorkelling.’ His smile flashed but it sounded as if his words came from the heart.

‘Is your grandfather coming out to stay with you?’ Rosa went on. ‘Grandpa won’t. Grandma died three years ago and he doesn’t want to come without her.’ She felt a pang as she pictured her beloved grandparents, Lance and Bette McCoy. The loss of Bette was now reflected in the distant expression she often saw in Lance’s eyes.

‘Afraid not.’ Zach’s shoulders moved as if he sighed. Around them people laughed and chattered, answered phone calls and called to waiters but Zach stared pensively towards the sea as if her questions had triggered a change in his mood.

Then he snapped back into focus and changed the subject. ‘Paceville’s the place to go if you want to get your party on. As well as the shopping area at The Point in Tigné, there’s plenty in and around Sliema. The ferry to Valletta goes from over there, where Sliema Creek becomes Marsamxett Harbour.’ He nodded in the direction of the boats. ‘The buildings in Valletta are amazing and so’s the view of Grand Harbour on the other side of the city. And don’t miss Mdina …’

Rosa blinked as Zach went on about Malta’s attractions. It was as if he’d flipped a switch that turned him into a tour guide. ‘Thanks,’ she answered, at last. ‘I’m helping Mum, starting tomorrow. She’s here to write a new book so I guess sightseeing will have to fit around that.’

He acted as if her words were a prompt. ‘I’ll ask for the bill.’

When it arrived Rosa put down enough euros to pay her half.

A corner of Zach’s mouth quirked. ‘Ah. The etiquette of not-really-dating.’ But his smile was no longer natural. He pulled out his keys and Rosa took it that he was ready to take her home.

In the car, as he reversed into the stream of headlights with the air of one who knew the other vehicles would stop, she wondered, for the mental exercise, how the evening would have ended if they had been on a date.

That sudden change of mood would have been a proper bummer.

Chapter Two

Zach drove Rosa back to Ta’ Xbiex along the seafront road. Two lanes of cars teemed in each direction. On their right, lights flared and music blared from bars. To the left, lights between the palm trees reflected in squiggles on the black surface of Sliema Creek. The Maltese harbours and creeks swarmed with boats: motor yachts, sailing yachts and catamarans, rowing boats, inflatable boats, ferries, cruise liners, party boats, harbour cruisers and water taxis. They, and the sea in all its seasons, were as much a part of the scenery as the golden stone of which the island was built.

When he reached The Ramp he parked outside Ta’ Xbiex Terrace House. Everything in its three storeys was stone: walls, balconies and elegantly ornate balustrades. At street level stood the garages and basement. The lower apartment and terrace – presently rented to Dory and Rosa – were on the floor above and reached via a flight of graceful stone steps. The garden next to the terrace, where spiky agaves and shady palms grew behind elegant black railings, the upper apartment and the roof terrace were all reserved for the use of the Bentley family.

Rosa climbed from the car and Zach walked her up to her front door, not because he thought she needed protecting but because he felt he’d been boorish enough when, at the end of the meal, his thoughts had slithered off into the grey lands of unhappiness he knew so well. Her gaze had become wary and she’d said little on the journey home.

He hadn’t wanted to explain that neither his dad nor grandfather would be visiting him in Malta. Zach and his dad had barely spoken for the last couple of years and Grandad Harry’s dementia would transform the sunlit island he’d once loved to a frighteningly unfamiliar place. Nanna looked after Grandad so she wouldn’t come either.

Now, Rosa turned with a polite smile. ‘Thanks for driving me home.’ She put her hand on the door.

‘My pleasure,’ he returned equally courteously. ‘See you around, no doubt.’ He thought about adding, ‘Hope it was OK for a fake date,’ but decided the moment for jokes had passed.

When she’d gone inside he turned not towards the next flight of stairs leading up to the family apartment but the one back down to the street. Once on the pavement he pulled up a cab app on his phone and booked a car to carry him to the bars of Paceville.

At a small sound behind him he turned.

And there was Rosa, hesitating on the stairs.

They gazed at each other. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘I thought you’d be in your apartment.’ He watched her hover.

She took a few more steps. ‘It’s early. I thought I’d go and sample the nightlife you told me about.’

‘In Paceville?’ He hesitated. ‘That’s where I’m going. I’m waiting for a cab.’

‘Oh.’ She laughed uncertainly. ‘Could we share? I don’t expect you to hang out with me or anything. I fancy getting my bearings.’

‘OK. Of course … Look, you’ll get a cab home again, won’t you? Malta’s a pretty safe place but—’

She jumped more decisively down the last two steps. ‘Thanks. I’ll do that.’ They waited in silence except for the sound of traffic on the road below The Ramp.

Zach thought about the woman beside him: delicately made with freckles on her high cheekbones and light brown eyes that sparkled in sunlight. He’d seen her from the roof terrace yesterday afternoon and stopped to watch her tangly, toffee-coloured bob bounce around her head with every quick movement as she chattered to Dory. When she’d laughed, her eyes had crinkled to slits.

He’d watched her finely drawn mouth and experienced strong sexual attraction.

Being sexually attracted to someone was great. It became fantastic if the person you were attracted to was attracted to you too. Though judging by the way she’d been at pains to tell him their evening together was not a date, this time that wasn’t the case.

That was OK. One thing he knew about sexual attraction was that though it heightened your senses and prickled your skin you didn’t have to act on it. It was like gazing at an expensive painting he liked in the art gallery in Sliema: Boats at anchor in Spinola Bay, early morning. He’d never own it but that didn’t stop him enjoying the sight of it. Beautiful things were good to look at – though a painting might not provoke the same tingling eddy of arousal that Rosa did.

His thoughts were given a new direction when headlights cut through the night and a black saloon halted at the kerb. He opened the nearest door for Rosa then went to the other side to climb in beside her. ‘Paceville?’ the driver said and grinned as if to say, ‘Clubbing, huh? With her? Wow.’ Zach sat back as the car cruised around the bend and smoothly down the slope, leaving the rarefied neighbourhood of The Ramp for the seafront road, then striking inland to cut past Sliema and most of St Julian’s Bay. The road swarmed with headlights and taillights, the journey stop-start. Rosa gazed out of the window, her expression one of serene interest.

The ironic thing about this evening, Zach thought, swaying with the movement of the cab as the driver raced a red light, was that he would have loved to date Rosa but they were living in too close proximity for anything casual and he wasn’t available for more. He was wary of relationships. Twice he’d been unceremoniously dumped and once he’d been accused of callously breaking a heart. He’d hated that.

It would be better if Rosa and Marci became friends. Anxiety had his sister in its slimy grey grip and he hated to see her so listless that even responding to Paige was an effort.

As if picking up his thoughts Rosa said, ‘So you really don’t mind babysitting your niece?’

‘Any time,’ Zach responded. ‘Paige is a big favourite with me. Maybe it’s not cool to be entertained by a four-year-old but I love her.’

It occurred to him that he and Rosa were now not-dating for the second time in one evening. It made him want to laugh out loud, which at least lightened his mood.

Not convinced Rosa would see the joke if he shared it, he turned his mind towards the booming clubs and neon-lit bars that tumbled over each other down Triq Santa Rita – or St Rita Street. Formed of a giant flight of stairs and open twenty-four/seven, Triq Santa Rita came alive at night.

For many female tourists it was Holiday Hook-Upsville and he was happy to be part of that. Sex stopped him thinking about everything that had gone wrong in the past couple of years. Everything he’d done wrong.

But now he had Rosa along. He hesitated, then said, ‘Paceville can be a walk on the wild side. Maybe you should take my phone number?’

He got the impression that she smothered a sigh, but they did exchange numbers. When the driver pulled over in Paceville Pjazza she jumped out of the cab and meticulously split the fare with a quick, ‘Thanks!’ and took off through the crowds of holidaymakers as if to emphasise that she didn’t expect to tag along with him.

After watching her head for Triq San G·org·, which was, at least, less crazy than Triq Santa Rita, Zach threaded his way through the crowds and past the incongruously situated Arkadia supermarket. In moments he was plunging into the heated air beneath a jumble of neon signage advertising bars and clubs, the uneven steps familiar beneath his feet. Halfway down was a bar called Spirit, its name in blue neon over big glass doors set in a matte black frontage. Shisha bars stood either side and a ‘gentlemen’s club’ above. Zach liked Spirit because its clientele was made up of thirty-somethings and alcohol prices weren’t as inflated as in some of the Paceville bars. Once he’d been inside to buy a couple of pints of Cisk – one for each hand – he claimed an elbow-height table outside to lean on.