Each summer, from my garden in France, I watch a sailing regatta called Les Voiles de Saint-Tropez. There is something so romantic about the sight of all those sailboats sweeping across the ocean.

But given a choice, I would always be aboard a boat rather than watching it from the shore, because I love the views. There is such a sense of perspective when you see the land from the water, and there is so much beauty to behold.

Here are some glimpses of the scenery in my novels, as seen from the water.

Burning Embers

My debut novel begins with the heroine, Coral, returning home to Kenya after many years away. She stands on the deck of the ship and watches with great emotion as the land of her birth draws closer.

The sky was slowly clearing on the horizon. The black cloak of night began to lift, lazily giving way to a monochromatic dawn of decreasing hues, from indigo to steel blue. The first rays of the African sun broke through in the distance, a sallow slip of color outlining the eastern horizon…

Variant tones of pink were gently spreading into the sky, struggling to seep through the symphony of blues. A few moments later the sun burst forth, dazzling in this multicolored canopy, and the dark outline of the landscape gradually loomed on the horizon, transforming first into the dark green, gray, and russet skirt of the jungle before revealing the bush, rising in layers toward the backcountry. Soon after, the port of Kilindini became visible, comfortably tucked away at the end of the estuary in the midst of vigorous vegetation. Coral could see it peeping out from behind serried ranks of coconut palms and wispy casuarinas trees, while its old lighthouse winked with steadfast tranquility in the half light. To complete the picture, the coastline of thin rolling sand dunes appeared, creating here and there immaculate white beaches…

The Echoes of Love

Opportunities to take in the view while travelling over the water abound in The Echoes of Love, because it is set in the city of waterways, Venice, Italy. Here, my heroine Venetia absorbs all the lights of the city at night.

The waters were still alive with the laughter of masqueraders in gondolas, gliding to and fro, the ripples from their oars making dancing swirls of light as they went by. Still, Paolo was able to skilfully negotiate his launch through the narrow channel. As he came out into the Grand Canal he accelerated suddenly, bringing the beautiful craft to life. Lifting its nose out of the water, it surged forward with a roar.

The moonlight glistened down on the lagoon that surrounded the city, so bright and clear in the velvety blue night, and music came floating over the sea from every corner. The heart of Venice was still throbbing with merriment. The revelry promised to go on until dawn, which was still some time away. 

There is magic in the air tonight, Venetia told herself as she watched the rows of stately marble palazzi pass by before her eyes, their almost Moorish façades bathed in floods of silver light.

Masquerade

The second novel of my Andalucían Nights trilogy, Masquerade tells the story of biographer Luz de Rueda. Luz has grown up in Andalucía, but she never takes for granted the scenery. She often uses her family’s motorboat to get to their summer house on the cliffs overlooking Cádiz, but here she is enjoying a more relaxing journey aboard a sailing dinghy:

On the way back, the boat hugged the coast until they reached the secluded beach in the cove of Puesta de Sol. Afloat in twilit waters, sliding across the setting sun, they watched an orange sunset flow like molten gold behind the cliffs, while along the bay the lights of Cádiz twinkled on. Dazzling colours filled the sky. Lonely white clouds turned into flaming swords, deep orange and red marking the west; the peak of the many rocky hills rose like church steeples, shooting forth tongues of flame from the reflecting sundown. In the distance the sinking orb gilded the houses of Cádiz with a special fleeting glory, their windows winking and flashing in the fading sun. Small vessels and steamers were moored alongside the quays; work was over for the day, everything still and tranquil. Soul stirring, the scene was all poetry and romance, depth and mystery.

Aphrodite’s Tears

Oriel is an archaeologist, and for her latest assignment that means diving in the Ionian Sea to examine a shipwreck discovered there. Sailing may be part of her job, but that doesn’t at all detract from the pleasures of the ocean vistas – not only of the land, but of the sea itself, and its inhabitants.

The sun was climbing into the heavens, its golden rays shining directly upon the water, beams diffusing themselves over the vista with a dense, coppery hue. The light grew brighter now, glowing on the ancient villages that clung to wooded slopes that clambered their way up into the jagged mountain peaks. It was like a flamboyant painting, with the sparkling Ionian, the olive-groves, a burning sun and a sky of illimitable blue.

Soon the coast became barer and more arid. The last of the islands, which lined the corridor between Helios and Delos like ancestral totems, was now vanishing into the distance. They had left behind all evidence of human habitation and now there was nothing but sea to look upon. They were going swiftly now, the water rushing along the sides of the boat.

Oriel’s breath caught in her throat as, suddenly, Damian loomed large beside her. Before she could protest he had put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her to his side. ‘Deite! Look!’ he said, pointing ahead at the water. Two dolphins danced through the wavelets at the bow. They were quite close and she watched, fascinated, as they leapt out of the water in curves of inimitable grace. Dolphins dancing over an azure sea! It was a childhood dream come true.

Concerto

In my new novel, Concerto, music therapist Catriona is hired to work with a client at his home on the shores of Lake Como, Italy. Catriona is English by birth, but has lived in France since she was eleven. Lake Como, for her, is a different world – and a strikingly beautiful one. Here she is on the ferry bound for the Monteverdi estate:

Catriona stood at the front of the ferry as it moved slowly through the water on its way to Torno… Under bright sunlit skies the view of Lake Como was wondrous to behold. A deep sense of serenity overcame her as she stared in rapture at the expanse of blue that lay before her. The lake was the finest of mirrors, never reflecting exactly what was above but converting it to an image so beautifully smudged and broken. Although Catriona had been tired she found the slow and leisurely ferry ride over the lake exhilarating and almost heart-stopping in its beauty – a lyrical gouache of colour stabbed at intervals by the solemnity of the stately cypress, a tree very much native to Italy. On both sides of the boat the magnificent rocky shores were studded with the gardens of Italian belle-époque villas, crowded with a wealth of rare trees, exotic flowers and broad lawns, with narrow pink or mellow yellow stone staircases that went down to the edge of the lake. As the ferry glided past, her vivid and romantic imagination conjured up bygone scenes of gentlemen in striped blazers, flannels and straw boaters, accompanied on deck by ladies in long dresses, side-buttoned kidskin boots and holding parasols.

Towering over all, and filling half the round of the horizon, reared the mighty Alpine chain with its base wrapped in a robe of imperial purple, flinging its countless crests towards the blue heaven like the defiant arms of the mythic Titans. In the warming rays of the afternoon sun, fragrant blooms were launching their scent on the balmy air while the boat rocked to the liquid ripple of the lake in the infinite silence.

These are but glimpses of the breathtaking settings in my books. And once my heroines come ashore… well, in these places how can they help but feel the romance?