Free The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher Page A

Hamilton. He lived on the island, had lived here for twenty-five years. No, he was not a writer. To begin with he had run a yacht charter business and then had a job as agent for a firm in London which ran package holidays, but now he was a gentleman of leisure.
    Olivia, despite herself, became interested.
     
    "Don't you get bored?"
     
    "Why should I get bored?"
     
    "With nothing to do."
     
    "I have a thousand things to do."
     
    "Name two."
     
    His eyes gleamed with amusement. "That's almost insulting."
     
    And, indeed, he looked so fit and active that it probably was. Olivia smiled. "I didn't mean it literally."
     
    His own smile wanned his face, like a light, and caused his eyes to crinkle up at the corners. Olivia felt as though her heart, very stealthily, was stirring and turning over.
     
    "I have a boat," he told her, "and a house and a garden. Shelves of books, two goats, and three dozen bantams. At the last count. Bantams are notoriously prolific."
     
    "Do you look after the bantams, or does your wife do that?"
     
    "My wife lives in Weybridge. We're divorced."
     
    "So you're alone."
     
    "Not entirely. I have a daughter. She's at day school in England, so she lives with her mother during the term and then comes out here for the holidays."
     
    "How old?"
     
    "Thirteen. She's called Antonia."
     
    "She must love being here for holidays."
     
    "Yes. We have a good time. What are you called?"
     
    "Olivia Keeling."
     
    "Where are you staying?"
     
    "At Los Pinos."
     
    "Are you alone?"
     
    "No, with friends. That's why I'm here. One of our party was given the invitation and we all tagged along."
     
    "I saw you come on board."
     
    She said, "I hate boats," and he began to laugh.
     
    The next morning he turned up at the hotel in search of her. He found her alone, by the pool. It was early and her friends were presumably still in their bedrooms, but Olivia had already swum, and had ordered her breakfast to be served on the poolside terrace.
     
    "Good morning."
     
    She looked up, into the sun, and saw him standing there in a dazzle of light.
     
    "Hello."
     
    Her hair was wet and sleek from her swim and she was wrapped in a white towelling robe.
     
    "May I join you?"
     
    "If you want." She put out a foot and pushed a chair in his direction. "Have you had breakfast?"
     
    "Yes." He sat down. "A couple of hours ago."
     
    "Some coffee?"
     
    "No, not even coffee."
     
    "What can I do for you then?"
     
    "I came to see if you'd like to spend the day with me."
     
    "Does that invitation include my friends?"
     
    "No. Just you."
     
    He was looking straight at her, his eyes steady and quite unblinking. She felt as though she had been thrown a challenge, and for some reason this disconcerted her. Not for years had Olivia been disconcerted. To cover this unfamiliar nervousness and give herself something to do, she took up an orange from the basket of fruit on the table and began to try to peel it.
    She said, "What am I going to say to the others?"
     
    "Just tell them you're going to spend the day with me."
     
    The peel of the orange was tough and hurt her thumbnail. "What are we going to do?"
     
    "I thought we'd take my boat out . . . take a picnic. . . . Here." He sounded impatient, leaned forward and took the orange away from her. "You'll never peel it that way." He reached into his back pocket, produced a knife and began to score the orange into four sections.
     
    Watching his hands, she said, "I hate boats."
     
    "I know. You told me yesterday." He returned the knife to his pocket, deftly peeled the fruit, and handed it back to Olivia. "Now," he said, as she silently took it, "what are you going to say? Yes or No?"
     
    Olivia leaned back in her chair and smiled. She broke the orange into segments and began to eat them, one by one. In silence, Cosmo watched her. Now the heat of the morning was intensifying, and, with the delicious taste of fresh citrus on her tongue, she felt warm and content as a cat