Summer At Villa Rosa Collection. Kate Hardy

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       CHAPTER ONE

      Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,

      Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not...

      William Shakespeare

      ‘MIRANDA...’

      Andie Marlowe lifted her coat from the rack, took a breath and fixed her face into a neutral smile before turning to face Cleve Finch, the CEO of Goldfinch Air Services.

      It had been nearly a year since his wife had been killed when the little six-seater she was flying was taken down by a bird strike but his grief was still unbearable to watch. He’d lost weight, his cheekbones were sharp enough to slice cheese and right now the pallor beneath his runner’s tan gave him a jaundiced look.

      ‘Cleve?’

      ‘You’re off this afternoon?’

      ‘I stood in for Kevin last weekend.’

      ‘I wasn’t questioning...’ He shook his head. ‘I just wondered if you could spare me a couple of hours.’

      She did her best to ignore the totally inappropriate way her heart lifted at the suggestion he needed her. He was her boss. He simply wanted her to take on a last-minute job.

      ‘No problem. The ironing can wait.’

      ‘Ironing? It’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be getting yourself ready for a hot date?’ He almost managed a smile.

      She almost managed one back. ‘Men don’t date any more, they just want hook-ups.’

      ‘Men are idiots,’ he said.

      ‘You’ll get no argument from me.’ She’d tried Internet dating in the vain hope that it would take her mind off the only man with whom she’d ever wanted to get naked. It didn’t so she’d stopped. ‘My evening involves nothing more exciting than a darts match in the village pub but if anyone on the visiting team is under fifty I might get lucky.’ She glanced up at the white board on which the flight schedule had been written but couldn’t see any obvious gaps. ‘Has someone called in sick?’

      ‘No.’ He lifted a hand, curled his fingers back into his palm. ‘Imogen called.’

      ‘My sister?’ The sudden heart-pounding obliterated the uncomfortable sensation of being out of control of her limbs whenever she was around Cleve, taking her back to another time when her twin had been the sole focus of her concern. But Immi was fine now, happy, about to be married... ‘Has something happened to Mum and Dad?’

      ‘No!’ He reached towards her and, for a moment, his hand hung in the air between them. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. She called to let me know that the new aircraft...’ He stopped as if the words were stuck in his throat.

      Every instinct was to take his hand, hold it, give him her warmth, comfort, whatever he needed. Before the message reached her brain and she could do anything so stupid he was dragging his fingers through thick dark brown hair that had once been streaked by the sun but was now shot through with silver.

      Cleve’s grief in the year since his wife’s death had been painful to witness. And he wasn’t the only one. The Mayfly, the six-seater aircraft she’d been flying when she died, had been built by Marlowe Aviation, the company started by Andie’s family right at the beginning of aviation. Both companies had wobbled in the aftermath.

      The Air Accident Inquiry had absolved everyone from guilt; it was clear from all the evidence that the aircraft had been brought down by a bird strike. The shocking revelation that Rachel had been in the early stages of pregnancy—something Cleve had kept to himself until the inquest—and the coroner’s suggestion that, since she was such an experienced pilot, nausea or fainting might have contributed to the accident, had made it a double tragedy.

      When the enquiry was over Andie’s mother, fearful that her father would follow their grandfather into an early grave, had insisted he take a complete break and, leaving Marlowe Aviation in the capable hands of Immi and her fiancé, her parents were crossing India by bus like a couple of old hippies.

      Cleve, on the other hand, had not taken a day off since the funeral, insisting that his responsibility was to his staff and Goldfinch, the company he’d built from nothing.

      Andie suspected that deep down he was afraid that if he walked away, didn’t get straight back in the cockpit, he never would. And, once the insurance claim had been settled, Cleve, in the most selfless, most supportive of acts, had ordered a replacement for the wrecked aircraft from Marlowe Aviation. The exact same model in which his wife had died.

      Now her sister had called to tell him that it was ready to be collected.

      ‘I can pick it up,’ she said, quickly. ‘I’ll take the train, stay overnight and fly back tomorrow.’

      ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘There are procedures. Engineering checks to sign off.’

      ‘I can handle all that.’

      Andie had a degree in aircraft engineering and would have been in the design office right now if a good-looking flier, negotiating the purchase of one of her father’s aircraft, hadn’t promised her a job if she got her CPL. If he hadn’t sealed his promise with a kiss that’d had her flying without the need for wings.

      Cleve had been wearing a newly minted wedding ring by the time she’d completed her degree and arrived at his office clutching her CPL, but he’d given her a congratulatory hug and kept his promise. His wife, no doubt able to spot her crush from ten thousand feet and used to fending off silly girls, had smiled sympathetically, confident that with her in his bed he was oblivious to such distractions.

      ‘I just need you to fly me up there, Miranda,’ he said. ‘If it’s not convenient just say and I’ll take the train myself.’

      ‘I just thought...’ Obviously СКАЧАТЬ