Page 10 of Someone in the Water
‘Pascal said that you’re a natural on the water. Windsurfer, water-skier, sailor.’
My breath catches at the thought of my father boasting about me. ‘Well, I have my parents to thank for that. But yeah, I love the sea.’
‘Me too,’ Salvo says. ‘But I’m more of a fisherman these days.’
‘I didn’t think Sartène was on the coast?’ I suddenly worry that I’m making a fool of myself, that my geography is off, but Salvo nods.
‘Yes, that’s right. But I live in Porto Vecchio now, which is on the south-east coast of the island. My mother and aunt opened a café together decades ago. It’s been through a few changes since then and it’s been a hotel for the last few years. I run it with my son.’
‘That sounds cool.’
He chuckles, and it’s a nice sound. ‘Cool, yes. I suppose it is,’ he says. ‘You should come out. We have a full water sports programme.’
‘Maybe.’ It takes a lot of effort to sound non-committal. A hotel with water sports on the Mediterranean Sea is my idea of heaven, but it is also expensive. And money is not something we’ve ever had too much of in our family. Fixing windsurf sails and rewiring homes are not exactly money-spinners.
‘What about this summer?’
‘Oh thanks, but I’m planning on working,’ I explain. ‘My exams finish in May, and then I’m going to find a job. Mum wants me to go to university in September, but I’m not sure. I think I’d prefer to go travelling for a while. Maybe I’ll come to Corsica then.’
‘It sounds like you’ve inherited your father’s wanderlust.’
I consider that. I’m so used to being compared to my mum, even though I have my dad’s dark colouring, that Salvo’s words sound strange. But it makes sense that I’d inherit some of my dad’s traits too. Salvo describes him as an explorer, a dreamer, which is so different from the quiet, serious man I remember. Maybe I didn’t really know him at all. I push away from the balustrade and turn towards Salvo. ‘It looks that way, I guess.’
‘Well, maybe you could start in Corsica instead. Do you have any water sports qualifications?’
‘I teach water-skiing in the summer holidays. I have my level-two instructor award.’ I first water-skied behind my dad’s boat when I was four, and I fell in love with the sport instantly. From that point on, if the water was flat and we had enough spare cash for fuel, we went out.
‘And a powerboat licence?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, would you like to come and work for me? At Hotel Paoli? Our season starts in May, but the water sports don’t get busy until June. You could come out after your exams, earn some money and get a taste of travelling at the same time.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’ I shift my eyeline back out to sea. Why am I hesitating? This man is offering me a dream job, a chance to be on the water every day without having to pull on a wetsuit or shiver in summer rain. Is this about not wanting to abandon Mum? Or am I scared of leaving the only place I’ve ever known?
‘Talk to your mum,’ Salvo says. ‘It would be an honour to help Pascal’s daughter out, and to get to know you a little more, but I don’t want to drag you away from Debra if she’s not comfortable with it.’ He slips his hand inside his suit jacket and pulls out a tan leather wallet. I worry for a second that he’s going to give me money – sympathy cash – but he hands me a business card. ‘But I think you’ll love it, and if I’ve learned one thing in my sixty years, Francesca, it’s that we should seize opportunities when they present themselves. Because we don’t know what’s around the corner.’
Frankie
25th May
The woman behind the desk tips her head to one side and smiles. ‘I’m guessing you’re the new water-ski instructor.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Frankie Torre.’
‘That’s a very Corsica name,’ she observes. She looks like a model – tall and willowy with long limbs and sweeping blonde hair – but there’s something uncertain about her expression, like she’s not sure she fits in.
‘My dad’s Corsican. Was Corsican,’ I correct.
She gives her head a tiny shake. ‘Sorry, yes, I knew that. Salvo told me that they were childhood friends. And now you’ve come to discover your roots.’ She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Then she takes a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I’m Anna, Salvo’s daughter-in-law. I would take you down to the waterfront myself, but I’m sure Raphael will want to do the honours, if you don’t mind waiting a minute.’
I nod and drop my backpack. It’s filled to capacity (and beyond) and it lands on the terracotta tiles with a thud. ‘So you’re English?’ I don’t know why I say it as a question when the answer is so obvious.
‘Yes.’ Anna looks sad for a moment, but then smiles again, like smiling is her default expression. Maybe that’s what working on a hotel reception does to you. ‘I did the opposite of your dad, moved to Corsica seven years ago and never left. The plan was to find myself, but I found Raphael and well, you can’t fight love, can you?’
‘I guess not,’ I say. Although I’ve never had a serious boyfriend so I’m not really the best person to ask. But at least it explains who Raphael is. ‘And you run the hotel together? With Salvo?’
‘Kind of, yes. This place has been in Raphael’s family for a couple of generations, but it has grown over the years. Salvo has taken more of a back seat since we turned it into a hotel and Raphael runs the show these days. Well, we run it together. We’re a team.’
