Sailing to Capri Read Online Free PDF Page B

feeling he was anxious to leave but knew he had no choice.
    I led the way to the boot room at the rear of the house, where I found a pair of wellies that fit him, and gave him Bob’s old green quilted Barbour jacket. I put on the same outfit, tucked my pants into my wellies and dragged a black woolen ski cap all the way down to my eyebrows. I handed Montana a flat checked cap.
    We were quite a sight. “You look like the English country gent,” I said.
    “And you look like a refugee from Siberia.” Despite myself, I grinned.
    The falling snow was hard, tipped with ice, driven sidewaysat us by the wind. Telling Montana to follow me I stepped bravely into the blizzard. Mr. Stanley had salted the front steps but the snow was already drifting into the portico, and I slipped.
    Montana grabbed my arm. “Take it easy,” he said, holding me firmly under the elbow.
    I liked him close to me, protecting me; it made me feel small, feminine again. It had been a long time since a man had held me and I had to remind myself that this one was only making sure I didn’t break my neck.
    Montana swept the Mini’s windshield clean. The snow came halfway up its tires, and he looked doubtfully at me. “Why don’t you let me drive it?” he said.
    “I’ll be fine. Besides, I have to lead the way; the garages are around the back of the house in the old stable block.”
    I waited while he cleaned off his windshield and heard his car start up. Another hour in this cold and neither of these cars would have started. It seemed like some kind of miracle they did now.
    I put my foot on the gas. The tires whirred but nothing happened. I put my foot down harder and the car jolted forward. It was like driving through a sand dune. I saw Montana’s low lights behind me and signaled right, taking the corner carefully. Even so, my back end swung out. I took my foot off the gas and righted the car quickly. I didn’t want to end up in the shrubbery. Down the side of the house, then a right into the big cobbled courtyard, pristine under its snowy cover. I pressed the garage-door opener, breathing a sigh of relief as the doorswung up. I’d been afraid they wouldn’t work in the icy conditions.
    The garage somehow still smelled like the stables it used to be, though now it held Bob’s collection of cars, including a 1929 Bugatti, a 1964 E-Type Jaguar, an early sixties Corvette, a fifties turquoise blue Chevy convertible with fins, and a ’64 Ford Mustang convertible, plus a new Mercedes and the latest beautiful bright red Ferrari. Bob loved cars. It was ironic that he’d had to die in one.
    I drove the Mini in then signaled to Montana to bring in the Jag. He parked next to me. As he got out I handed him a soft broom.
    “Better brush off the snow if you don’t want your beautiful convertible spoiled.” I watched as he wielded the broom, first on his Jag, then on my Mini.
    “Didn’t think you’d be a red car girl,” he said over his shoulder, still busy sweeping snow.
    “I don’t think I am really. Bob bought it for me, said it was time I brightened up my life a bit.”
    Montana turned to look at me. “And was he right?”
    “Bob was always right.”
    Montana propped the broom back up against the wall and we walked outside. The electronic doors closed behind us and we were alone in the dark. The big black sycamores laden with snow groaned in the wind and the cobbled courtyard was a cold white rectangle, untouched even by bird tracks.
    The snow had temporarily stopped and we stood silently, breathing in the clean icy air. I glanced sideways at Montana.Steam blew from his nostrils the way it does with horses after a long ride, and snowflakes settled on his dark head.
    “This reminds me of my childhood on my dad’s ranch in Texas,” he said quietly. “Snowy nights like this I’d go out to the bunkhouse and sit with the cowboys around their stove, listening to them talk horse talk and cattle. Afterward, I’d walk back to the ranch house