Tessa

Tessa

He had only gone a few steps when he heard what he had hoped to hear: She jumped up and followed him. He turned with a raised eyebrow.

Her face was flushed red. In her hand she held the tube with sun lotion. "I apologise," she said. "Really. I was rude, and you were friendly, and... sorry."

He flashed her a smile. "I assume you have had bad experiences with strangers?" Then, as if it was an afterthought, he offered her his hand. "I'm Carlos. I live in a hut a mile or two down the beach, and I didn't mean to offend you."

Behind her, he could see the boy and the girl getting closer to the water. There were shells there and stones, and sometimes, one could see fish. The children clearly hadn't been at the seaside before; they were too curious, and their mother, for the moment, didn't keep an eye on them. Possibly, she assumed her children were too afraid of the water to get close. She stood with her back to them; he could see both children clearly. Naturally, he watched their every step. So did Raoul's son, Pepe, and Carlos was glad this was the case. He didn't need an accident, not now. Besides, he liked children that small. Compared with teenagers, they were easy to handle.

"I'm Tessa," she said just then and took his hand. "No offence taken. It's only... The young men here are very... talkative, and all day I had the feeling they were approaching me. I thought you... I... sorry. Again."

The corner of his mouth twitched – she sounded thoroughly earnest, not at all flirtatious or mocking like every other woman he so far had tried to lure into his bed would have sounded. "Apology accepted," he said warmly, then nodded towards the water. She followed his gaze, and her eyes widened in shock when she saw her daughter standing in the waves up to her knees. "Rose!" she exclaimed and wanted to run towards the little girl.

He held her back with a small gesture. "Wait," he said calmly. "Nothing will happen to her. See, the boy over there is having an eye on both your children. His name is Pepe, and this is how it works here – everyone makes sure the little ones are safe. If she tries to get further into the water, he'll go after her."

She took a step, then halted. Rose was so clearly having fun in the water, obviously observing the little fish that scurried around her toes. "I didn't expect her to go into the ocean," Tessa murmured. "She's brave, always has been."

It was hard for her not to go to her child, he could see that, but she didn't go to get the child. Clearly calculating that she as well as Pepe could be with Rose in an instant if necessary, she relaxed.

He couldn't help but watch her, seeing her thoughts in the way she tipped her head and in the way she set her mouth. He assumed her eyes were narrowed – the dark glasses covered her eyes as well as the expression on her face. He had to admire her for her cool reaction. She might be melancholic, she might look sad, but apparently, there was a logical thinking brain hidden in her head.

He liked strong-headed women. Always had, always would. They were interesting, challenging. Nothing was as boring as a woman who couldn't think on her own.

Perfect, he thought.

Splashing, her girl came back to the shore and she sighed with relief. With a big smile in her face, she run towards her mother only to get distracted by a shell lying half covered in the sand.

"You should apply some lotion," he reminded her. "And you should teach them how to swim."

She snorted, obviously amused that a stranger told her what to do and how to treat her children. On the other hand, she didn't seem to mind his advice. "Of course I will put some lotion on them – I forgot to get some at home and bought mine at the airport. It is out of date anyway. Rose, Hugo, please come here for a moment. But swimming? Aren't they too small?"

Now he was amused at her fast way of talking and the amount of information she packed in a few sentences. Shaking his head, he answered her last question. "Not at all too young. Your daughter will learn how to swim quickly, and your boy will at least be able to stay above the surface long enough for someone to come to his rescue. How long will you stay here?"

For the first time, she nearly smiled. Suddenly, it didn't matter that she was too tall and too thin and so very blond. "Three weeks," she answered. "It's the first holiday we are taking together. They were so curious about flying, but I didn't want to get on a plane before Hugo was three. The flight was tiresome; after all, the children didn't like it too much."

"They will have plenty of time to forget about it," Carlos said.

Again this half-smile. It was appealing, he had to admit. With a content nod, she mused, "It is so very beautiful here that it doesn't even bother me that I don't understand a single word anyone apart from you is saying. I wish I could..." She halted in mid-sentence, turning towards the little girl who came running towards her across the sand. Had the child waited for another moment, she might have said something else, but as it was, he was fine with the information he had got so far.

Getting introduced to Rose and Hugo by their mother, he was pleased by the curious look they gave him. They seemed neither shy nor were they annoying like so many other children he had known. "I'm Carlos," he told them and sincerely shook their hands. Taking the tube out of Tessa's hand, he squeezed a bit of the sun lotion into his palm, dipped his index finger into the warm substance and added one drop to the boy's nose. Hugo giggled when he rubbed the lotion into his skin and didn't seem to mind that the lotion was applied to the rest of his face. Neck, shoulders and arms – in a few moments, the child's soft skin was protected. No sunburn would harm the children or their mother – he knew from personal experience how good the lotion was. After all, he had made it.

Meanwhile, Tessa had put some lotion on her daughter. With nothing but shorts on, they stormed back to the water, squeaking and laughing and oblivious to the fact that their mum seemed to feel slightly uneasy in the company of the stranger.

He could see it, though, or maybe sense it. Uneasy and at a loss what to say, what to do now. On top of that, she was nervous; to occupy her hands, she dug them deep into the sand, and he smiled.

"Why didn't your husband come along?" he asked and as expected, she flinched and blushed. Her hands stayed hidden in the sand.

"I'm..."

"I know you are married," he interrupted before she could tell him a lie. "You don't wear a ring, but your finger shows clearly that you usually do. Why did you take it off?"

Casually, she looked at her hands, held them both close to her eyes as if she hadn't seen them before. She had beautiful hands, strong with long, slender fingers. Her wrists were small, her nails short and clean apart from some sand grains. No calluses, no bruises, no dirt. The hands of a woman who didn't work hard physically. Only the frown and the tired look around her eyes indicated that she needed her holiday as much as he needed his.

Around the ring finger of her left hand ran a pale shadow. She traced it with one delicate nail. "My husband is at home. He couldn't take time off work, so to speak. Truth is, he didn't want to come. And frankly, I wanted to be on my own. I thought I'd leave home and my life there behind for a while, and that includes my marriage." Shrugging her shoulders, she continued to herself, and clearly not for him to hear, "Don't know why I'm telling you this."

"You need to put some lotion on your skin as well," he said and held out the tube.

**************************

That day, as well as the next, he went back to his hut with an extra spring in his step. His mood was usually happy as he enjoyed his life here on the island and deeply loved to work in his vineyard. But the breaks he took once a year from his daily routine meant a lot to him, and that he had found Tessa, although he had been looking for someone else, was as unexpected as it was wonderful.

She was a beautiful woman and didn't know it. Her husband, as nice and friendly and loving as he might be, clearly didn't tell her often enough that she looked stunning even after an exhausting day. The sad look in her eyes spoke volumes; she was not only unhappy with her life, but most certainly with her husband as well. Bad for her, at the moment. Good for him.

Walking along the beach, he imagined her face again, heart-shaped, with full lips and a cheeky little nose. Her eyes, always covered by sun glasses. Pale, like most English women, and then her straight, blond hair. He wondered if it would feel as fine as it looked.

A delicate neck, long arms and legs, a wasp waist. And there was grace in her movement – as much as she resembled everything he didn't look for in a woman, he very much loved the way she moved.

He halted for a moment and looked across the ocean, the last two days a pleasant memory in his mind. Yesterday, they had talked, just for an hour or two that first evening, and today, he had returned, bumping into them shortly before Tessa and her children had gone for dinner. For her, it must have seemed like a coincidence. For him, it was like hunting a shy prey, and he enjoyed it tremendously.

Still – something bothered him.

The waves rolled towards the beach, a boat sailed back home to the harbour, and yes, there it was: she looked familiar, for some reason. She reminded him of his past, although he was sure he had never met her before. Strangely enough, this didn't bother him, although under normal circumstances, he didn't like to be reminded of the years he hadn't lived on the island. The years he had been someone else, with a different name and a different life.

Her face... Who did she remind him of? Obviously someone not unpleasant, as thinking of her didn't disturb him. Not a fellow Death Eater, not a colleague. Not a victim, either.

He laughed quietly. No, definitely not a victim. She was strong; she would fight. Thinking of her made him wish he could have stayed for another hour in her company.

After a few moments, he gave up his attempts to place her face. It was unimportant. His past was long dead, and most of the people he had known were dead as well. No use to allow the past overwhelming him. The few times it happened – whenever he dreamed nasty dreams – was too often already. Luckily, there was something else that occupied his thoughts.

Slowly, the sun set. A cool breeze kissed his heated skin and hurried his steps. It was time to get home, into his hut, to a quiet evening and his book he hadn't finished yet.

Maybe, in a few days, he could persuade her to go for a swim with him. She seemed to long for the water, but hadn't gone in yet. Maybe she can't swim? he mused, then scolded himself for his impatience. First, she needed to become more comfortable in his presence before he would as much as try to touch her hand, much less to ask her to share an ocean with him.

Carlos shook his head in disbelief. Usually, he went for easier prey. She, Tessa, was everything but easy. She was different, and he liked it.

Of course he would take the sex if he could get it, but the main reason he had chosen her for his game was the intelligence he had seen in her and the melancholy she radiated. A combination he was unable to resist. Of course he would try to lure her into his bed, but his main target was to make her relax and – if possible – happier than she was now. He wanted to talk to her; he wanted to know her. He wanted to listen to her secrets and her dreams, her fears and her nightmares. This was so much more intimate than sex, and he had found out many years ago that every now and then, he needed a real challenge if he wanted to be happy.

One woman a year. Some landed in his arms, some didn't, but each was wonderful company for as long as it lasted. Tessa, now, Tessa offered more: the challenge he craved.

He hoped Tessa would loosen up. Her children had already taken a liking to him, especially because he had persuaded Rose to come into the water with him today, where he had held his hand under her belly and had taught her how to move her arms and legs. She had been clearly too excited about the swimming lesson to think about the fact that the man who held her wasn't her father. And Carlos had managed not to think about her mother too often whilst making sure the little girl didn't drown.

********************

His hut was cool and quiet when he came home, and he stripped off his clothes and went for a swim. In the ocean, he could leave his thoughts behind as well his dark past. When he was at the beach, he needed the sensation of water around him as much as he needed to breathe.

Afterwards, after he had dried himself and his close-cropped, black hair with a few rubs, he went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Barefoot, he chopped the garlic and the onions, cleaned the scampi and fried the rice. Cooking was a simple pleasure, and he liked the combination of the different fragrances that wafted through the small house.

Tessa would like it here, he was certain of it. She didn't seem too comfortable at the hotel, although it was not fully booked and few tourists were left at this time of the year. "She prefers her solitude," he told the quiet kitchen, and so he planned to invite her and her children for a day. Here, they could enjoy the privacy of his beach. He would leave them alone if she wished, he would go fishing so she wouldn't feel intimidated.

Sitting on the veranda and watching the sunset once more, eating fried rice with scampi, he wondered if she enjoyed sex or if she was one of the few women he had known who considered physical pleasure a waste of time. The signals he got from her were so very mixed. One moment she was melancholic, the next bold, then angry a heartbeat later. Sometimes, she seemed even unsure of herself, when she lowered her head and tried to hide behind her hair although it was not long enough to do so. Too often, she kept her hands busy with little stones, the sand, or a shell.

Maybe her hands were missing something. It could be something as simple as a piece of jewellery or a cooking spoon, a book even. Or it could be something deeper, something complicated.

Watching the waves washing up on the shore, he half hoped she missed being touched, missed the feeling of skin against her palm. Only half hoped so: it would mean she was a truly lonely woman.

Whatever it was, she needed his attention, no matter if she already knew it or not.