Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 2, Page 3

  ‘So you were going to study economics?’ she guessed.

  ‘International law,’ he said. ‘In Zagreb—but I planned to spend the holidays at home in the boatyard.’

  Clearly he’d loved the family business, had wanted to be part of it. He’d fitted in. Had been happy.

  So what had gone wrong?

  There was another long pause.

  ‘And then the war happened.’

  Five tiny words. Spoken so quietly that she could almost hear his heart breaking in the silence that followed. And all she could do was hold him. ‘I’m here, amore mio,’ she said softly.

  ‘It wasn’t just our village. It was all over the country. The fighting, the bombs, the bullets. Such a mess. Such a waste. Dad and I had gone to Split for a couple of days on business. Everything was fine at home when we left. And we came back to…’ His breath shuddered and his jaw tightened.

  She stroked his face, willing the tension to ease. Wanting him to speak. Let out the pain that was eating him away from the inside.

  ‘Everything was gone,’ he said finally, his voice flat. ‘The boatyard was in ruins. My brother had been killed, my mother, the people who worked for us. All dead. And others, too, in the village. Smashed glass everywhere from the bullets. Holes ripped in buildings by bombs. And…’ He swallowed. ‘It’s something I hope to God I never have to live through again. I know I should be working for Doctors Without Borders. Helping people, the way I wish my own people had been helped when we needed it most. But, God help me, I just couldn’t do it.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I’m such a selfish bastard. I couldn’t bear to go back into a war zone. There are too many memories.’

  ‘There’s no “should” about it, and you’re not selfish,’ she told him fiercely. ‘Some people want to do it—they have their own reasons for doing it. Just as you have a very good reason for not doing it. And you do help people, Dragan. You help them here. Where they need you just as much.’

  ‘I still feel guilty.’

  She kissed him gently. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Not the war. But my father…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘What happened?’

  He dragged in a breath. ‘The shock was too much. He collapsed. I know now it was probably a stroke, but back then my first aid was pretty basic. I could do mouth to mouth and I knew what to do if someone was drowning, but I really didn’t know what to do with a heart attack or a stroke. The phones lines were out so I couldn’t call an ambulance.’ Back then, mobile phones hadn’t been widespread, Melinda knew—that wouldn’t have been an option. ‘I managed to find someone with a car that could still be driven, borrowed it and took him to hospital.’

  She knew from the bleakness in Dragan’s eyes that his father hadn’t made it.

  ‘He died in the queue for the emergency department. And I vowed then that I’d get the medical skills. It was too late for my family, but I could stop other people losing what I’d lost.’

  ‘Dragan, if it was a stroke, you probably couldn’t have done anything for him anyway.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘I could’ve done more than I did.’

  It wasn’t true, but she knew that this was an argument she wasn’t going to win. And she didn’t want to hurt him even more by pushing the issue and forcing him to confront it. Instead, she asked softly, ‘So you went back to university, switched your course from law to medicine?’

  ‘My father’s last words to me—he told me to go to England. Where I would be safe. Where I could carry on and know my family would be proud of me, whatever I chose to do.’

  ‘They’re proud of you,’ she said softly. ‘I believe people still look out for you when they’ve passed on. Like my nonna—my father’s mother. She supported me when I said I wanted to be a vet.’ The only one of Melinda’s family who’d accepted her choice of career. The only one who’d admitted that Melinda just wasn’t princess material and was far happier—not to mention better at—treating sick animals than she was schmoozing with foreign dignitaries and trying to remember the finer points of etiquette. ‘She died before I graduated, but I knew she was there on the day, applauding as I stepped onto the stage and accepted my degree from the chancellor of the university. And you—look at you. The village doctor. Everyone looks up to you because you’re a good man and you’re really good at your job. Your family are proud of you, Dragan.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘They are.’ She hugged him. ‘So then you came here?’

  ‘Eventually. I needed to sort out the business first.’ He sighed. ‘The insurance didn’t cover acts of war. And there was nothing left of the boatyard. But I wasn’t going to let my family name be blackened, for people to say that Lovak Marine was bankrupt and defaulted on its debts.’

  She could understand that. Honour was important to Dragan. And duty.

  The thought pricked her conscience: she hadn’t exactly been a dutiful daughter, had she? Melinda Fortesque, MRCVS, had chosen the much lighter responsibilities of a village vet rather than helping to shoulder the burden of running the kingdom of Contarini. Some people would see that as absconding, avoiding what she’d been born to do. ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I sold the land. Used the proceeds to settle the mortgage and the outstanding debts.’

  ‘And then you bought a ticket to England?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t have enough money after I’d paid the creditors, and our debtors were never going to be able to pay me what they owed. The debts had to be written off.’

  Though he’d refused to let his family’s debts be written off. It wasn’t fair, Melinda thought. ‘So how did you get here?’

  ‘I bartered my way onto a ship—I would crew for them in exchange for my passage to England. And this country has been good to me, Melinda. The authorities let me stay. I had nothing—no proof of who I was, no proof that I had any qualifications in my homeland. I spent a year working as a waiter by day and studying for exams at night, until I had the qualifications I needed to study medicine.’

  He’d worked his way up from nothing. Worked longer and harder than anyone else she knew. And her heart ached with pride in him. ‘You’re amazing,’ she said softly, stroking his face. ‘I don’t know anyone else who would have had the strength to do all that.’

  He shrugged it off. ‘It wasn’t that big a deal.’

  Yes, it was. ‘Some people, in your shoes, would be hard and bitter and never give anybody an inch. But you…you understand people. You care. Your family would be so proud of you. I’m proud of you.’

  His dark eyes glittered, and he said nothing.

  The strong, silent type. That was her Dragan. But now he’d opened up to her, she didn’t want him to close in on himself again. ‘So when you qualified, you came here?’ she asked.

  ‘I worked in London for a while. But I missed the sea. And then some friends brought me to Cornwall for the weekend. I fell in love with the area.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  ‘And I’m very, very glad I decided to stay. That I met you.’ He rested his forehead against hers. ‘I am sorry, piccola. I didn’t mean it to get this heavy. It’s not something I talk about.’

  She could tell that. And how much it had stirred up his emotions. It was rare that his English slid from being perfectly accentless to having a strong Croatian accent. ‘But I hope talking to me helped,’ she said softly.

  He brushed his mouth against hers. ‘So, zlato. You looked up Croatian phrases on the Internet, then?’

  ‘How else was I going to learn?’

  ‘You could have asked me.’

  ‘And you would have told me?’

  He smiled. ‘Let me teach you something now. Volim te.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘The same as ti amo.’ He paused. ‘And I do. I love you, Melinda.’

  It felt as if the room were full of butterflies, the sunlight dancing on their wings. Dragan loved her. And he loved her for who she was: Melinda Fortesque
, country vet.

  Then the butterflies went straight into her stomach. She really ought to tell him the rest of it. He’d told her everything, and she was holding out on him. But now really wasn’t the time or the place. And if she told him…would he stop loving her? Would he back away, feeling that she’d look down on him—even though she didn’t?

  ‘There was something else I wanted to say. But it’s too late for sunrise.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  ‘I’ve never said this to anyone else. Ever.’

  ‘Now you’re worrying me.’ She kept her tone light, but fear flickered through her anyway. Had he found out about her family?

  No, of course not. How could he possibly know?

  But he looked so serious, so intense, that it scared her.

  ‘I wondered…’ And he tailed off.

  No, no, no. She had to keep this light. Tease him out of seriousness. ‘Dragan Lovak, your English is perfect—if I didn’t know you came from Croatia, I’d think you were English. Please, don’t tell me you’re turning completely English on me and developing a stiff upper lip.’ She fiddled with his short dark hair. ‘And then this is going to go floppy and fall in your eyes. And you’re going to start saying “um” a lot.’

  To her relief, he smiled. And the haunted look in his eyes lessened. ‘Hardly. And I’m never going to be posh anyway.’

  Oh, Dio.

  ‘Nothing wrong with that. I like you just how you are.’ Now was definitely not the moment to tell him. Because if he was even the slightest bit worried about his background…the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was slumming it.

  She’d have to work out the right way to tell him. But there was something else important he needed to know, something far more important than who she was: how she really felt about him. ‘Actually, “like” is probably the wrong word.’ She traced his lower lip with the pad of her forefinger. ‘Volim te, zlato. Ti amo, amore mio,’ she added in her own language.

  ‘Melinda…’ He paused. ‘No. It sounds wrong.’

  ‘Try me.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Move in with me.’

  ‘Move in with you?’ Now, that she hadn’t been expecting.

  His eyes were very dark. ‘I told you it sounded wrong. Wrong time, wrong place.’ He grimaced. ‘I wanted to ask you somewhere romantic. “Come live with me and be my love”,’ that sort of thing.’

  ‘You want me to live with you.’

  ‘Not just live with me. I thought maybe we could go and talk to Reverend Kenner.’.

  She blinked as what he’d just said sank in. ‘You’re asking me to marry you?’

  ‘If we’d done this my way,’ he pointed out, ‘it’d be somewhere romantic. Not on my bed-of-nails sofa.’

  ‘If we’d done this your way, it’d be at the crack of dawn and I wouldn’t have had enough coffee to be awake enough to answer you.’

  ‘So that’s a no, then.’

  ‘You really want to marry me?’ A man who loved her for herself. A man she loved all the way back.

  ‘Why are you so surprised? Melinda, you’re like sunlight. You make everything around you seem better. And you make me a better man.’

  How, when he was already a better man than she could ever wish for? ‘I…Dragan, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Take me home?’ She stared at him, not following his logic. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve upset you.’

  ‘Upset me?’ She shook her head. ‘How could asking me to marry you upset me? I said yes!’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I didn’t?’ She stared at him. ‘But I…’ Then the penny dropped and she smiled. ‘Ask me again. Properly.’

  He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then dropped to one knee in front of her. ‘Take the sunrise as read. We’re on a cliff overlooking the sea and it’s a bright new day ahead.’ He smiled. ‘Melinda Fortesque, I love you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, please.’

  He whooped, stood up, then picked her up and spun her round. And then kissed her, hot and sweet and slow. Telling her with his body as well as his mouth that he loved her. ‘I did this all the wrong way round. I should’ve bought you a ring.’ He dropped a kiss on the ring finger of her left hand.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We can choose one together.’ She blinked back the tears. ‘Dragan. You really want to marry me?’

  He nodded. ‘Though I really should have asked your father for his permission first.’

  Her father. Oh, lord. How could she tell Dragan that he’d have to ask the king of Contarini for his permission?

  And would he even want to ask her father once she told him who she was? That thing he’d said about being a better man…Would knowing the truth about her background make him want to walk away?

  This was getting messier and messier. She didn’t want to lose the man she loved. She couldn’t keep lying to him, but how could she tell him the truth? ‘No need,’ she said quickly.

  He frowned slightly, and she flinched inwardly. How tactless could she get? He’d just told her that he’d lost his family—and it would sound to him as if she was dismissing hers. Which she wasn’t…But her family came with complications. Major complications. ‘It’s the twenty-first century and I’m a modern woman,’ she said softly. ‘I can make my own decisions. And I choose to accept your proposal.’ She stroked his face. ‘I would be honoured to be your wife, Dragan.’

  ‘Then we’ll talk to Reverend Kenner,’ he said. ‘Unless you’d prefer something less traditional?’

  ‘No. I’d like nothing more than to marry you at St Mark’s.’ The beautiful little parish church with its lych-gate—so different from her own parish church and all that heavy, overpowering gilding. Tourists loved her family church in Contarini, whereas Melinda had always found it oppressive. She much preferred small, quiet, simple English country churches like the one here in Penhally. ‘With all the spring blossom around. Like confetti falling on us—but we can’t have confetti.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because foil isn’t biodegradable and it can choke birds, and the paper sort contains dyes and bleach.’

  He smiled. ‘Trust you to know that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m a vet. Of course I know that sort of thing.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Dried flower petals are fine. Or the stuff that contains seeds for the birds.’

  ‘Whatever you want, carissima. So when do you want to get married? Summer?’

  ‘Spring,’ she said, stroking his face. ‘This spring. Because I can’t wait to be your wife.’ She reached up to kiss him. ‘I love you, Dragan. I really, really love you. I hope you know that.’

  ‘I do. And I love you, too.’ He held her close. ‘But I do need to buy you a proper ring. I was going to suggest going shopping this weekend, but I’m doing Saturday morning surgery.’

  ‘Me, too—but I’m not on call in the afternoon. Are you?’

  ‘No. OK, we’ll go and choose a ring together then. And move your stuff across from the flat to here. If you want to, that is,’ he added diffidently.

  ‘Of course I want to.’

  He smiled. ‘I never knew life could be so perfect.’

  ‘Me, too.’ There was a definite stormcloud ahead, in the shape of her family—but then again, they’d had to accept that she had the right to choose her job. They’d have to accept that she had the right to choose her own life partner, too. That she’d chosen the man she loved—and that he loved her right back.

  As long as Dragan knew she loved him, that who she was really didn’t matter, everything was going to be just fine.

  She’d find the right words to explain.

  Soon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DRAGAN’S estate car wasn’t parked outside the little terraced cottage. It didn’t necessarily mean the doctor was out, Nick thought. It might be t
hat he hadn’t been able to find a parking space on Harbour Road. Although it wasn’t yet peak season, the tourists had already started to trickle into the village.

  Nick rapped on the door and waited.

  No reply.

  So obviously Dragan was either still out on house calls or he’d gone somewhere—probably with Melinda, if the village gossip was correct. The Croatian doctor was always so close-mouthed—in over two years of working together at the practice, Nick still really didn’t know him that well. Dragan wasn’t one to sit in the staffroom and chat over coffee and Cornish fairings with the rest of the team. He was brilliant at his job, and the staff at the practice adored him because he was always even-tempered and polite and remembered everyone’s birthdays, but as to what made the man tick…It was anybody’s guess.

  Nick shrugged, resigned. Never mind. He could catch Dragan tomorrow morning before surgery.

  And then the front door of the cottage next door opened.

  ‘Well, hel-lo,’ a voice drawled.

  Nick looked across at the woman leaning against the door. Her jeans did nothing to disguise her curves—or just how long her legs were. Her green eyes held the most sexy comehither look he’d ever seen. And her long blonde hair was slightly tousled, as if she’d just got out of bed—despite the fact that it was late afternoon.

  His body tightened at the thought.

  ‘I’m Natasha Wakefield,’ she said.

  ‘Nick Tremayne.’ He smiled at her. ‘Are you new to the village?’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I’ll see how it goes. It was time for a change of scene.’

  A woman with complications, then. So maybe he’d better squash the impulse to ask her out to dinner. Complications were the last thing he needed. In his eyes nowadays it was fun or nothing. So he brought the subject back to what he really wanted to know. ‘Do you know if Dragan is in?’