Louisa picked up a parcel roughly wrapped in pink tissue. ‘This looks interesting…’ she said. ‘It says it’s from Freya, Tom, and Shreeya.’
‘Hey, that’s private!’ said Beth, pulling the package from her hands. She pushed it under the pillow, her cheeks beginning to burn.
Louisa laughed. ‘OK, OK, Chill, Beth. I won’t ask.’
‘Don’t,’ said Beth. She’d already opened the pink parcel at her bachelorette party. Inside was a gift that was almost too rude to share with Jack, let alone show her sister. The gift tag had made remarks about rabbits and getting all tingly with the boss.
Risque gifts aside, Freya was getting on well, thought Beth with a smile. She’d been promoted now Beth was working full-time as Big Outdoors’ development manager. Almost immediately, she and Jack had decided to come clean about their relationship. While the situation had proved awkward at times, most of the team had accepted it far more readily than she’d thought they might. Maybe that had something to do with the way Jack had mellowed slightly since they’d announced their engagement. Maybe people were just being generous.
Louisa checked her mobile. ‘Beth, I hate to rush you, but I think Dad will be here in a minute and I’ve got to go and meet Honor.’
‘OK,’ she said, suddenly feeling very much like their roles had been reversed. ‘Off you go then,’ she added as her sister lingered. Then Louisa gave her a peck on the cheek and said: ‘You’ll knock him dead.’
She found herself alone again and decided to take one last look in the mirror. Her dress was a halter neck affair, cream and floaty, that clung to her breasts and hips like a second skin. Underneath she wore no bra and what she would have described as a scrap of silk. You really couldn’t call them knickers. Jack certainly wouldn’t call them knickers when he saw them. She giggled out loud; now she knew she was nervous.
As for shoes, she didn’t bother putting any on because she didn’t need them where she was going. All she’d needed next to her toes was a coat of Louisa’s pale pink nail varnish and a slathering of Camilla’s ultra-expensive foot lotion made by the little man in Dulwich. It was a shame Camilla wasn’t here to see the results, but she was currently in the throes of producing the heir to Olivier’s Mediterranean empire. Funny how things turned out, wasn’t it?
Here she was, getting married. That was three weddings in one year. First her dad and Honor who had given in to family pressure and gone for the full works in a medieval hall. Beth had made a speech and toasted the health of the happy couple and the success of their new business venture, Mealz and Wheelz. As she’d raised her glass to them, she knew she wouldn’t have to worry. Apart from the cheesy name, it was all going very well. Her father was looking and acting like a new man and as for the business… with her and Jack as joint investors and advisers, the prospects for the cycling gastro-café were looking bright. Even Marcus had sent a good luck card for the opening. According to village gossip, he was dating a glamorous redhead who ran an off-road driving school.
A few months after Steve and Honor had tied the knot, she and Jack had flown out to Corsica for the wedding of Camilla and Olivier. Now she’d resigned her job, was in love and settled, Voyages’s former leading spa correspondent had mellowed surprisingly. At the wedding, a quaint affair in a hill-top church followed by a huge feast on the grounds of one of Olivier’s villas, Camilla had actually sought her out and offered her congratulations on her engagement to Jack. Later, as Camilla had steadfastly refused all offers of Krug, Beth was one of the privileged few guests to know why.
As for the third wedding of the year, it was smallest, the quietest, and…
‘Are you ready?’ asked her father, popping his head around the open French doors.
She picked up her bouquet and nodded. ‘I think so.’ Then she stepped out of the room and onto the beach.
‘You look beautiful love,’ said Steve, taking her arm. At least that’s what she thought he’d said, for he hardly seemed able to get the words out. She glanced at him, mouthed a thank you, and took his arm.
Between her toes, the creamy-white sand felt warm and almost unbearably soft. A few yards ahead, the sea glittered in the fierce tropical sunlight. The sand changed to wood, sun-bleached and polished smooth by thousands of feet. Through the tiny gaps in the slats, the sea swirled like a turquoise milk shake and above, a tiny cloud slid across the sun. Jack was standing at the end of the jetty, looking, she thought, pretty nervous himself, and her heart did an impressive double somersault.
‘Feeling OK?’ said her dad.
‘Just fine.’
‘Then I’ll stand aside,’ he said and unhooked his arm from hers. He took his place by Honor, who smiled encouragingly. Louisa, standing by, looked about as awe-struck as Beth had ever seen her. Just then, the sun came out from behind the cloud, the breeze stirred the flower in her hair, and she blinked again. What if this whole idyllic scene suddenly evaporated before her?
But he was still there, holding out his hand, his eyes full of tenderness and desire.
‘What were you waiting for?’ he murmured, as his fingers fastened firmly around her hand and he brushed his lips against hers.
‘For this,’ she whispered. ‘Only this.’
Acknowledgments
Firstly, I have to give a massive thanks to the ‘travel guru,’ Julie Haggar, for her insight into the travel industry and also to Sarah Quee for advice on adventure holidays in Corsica. To Charlotte Houldcroft for reading the manuscript tirelessly, introducing me to The Killers, and helping me shop in the name of research. To Rosy Thornton and Broo Doherty for their endless encouragement, and to Catherine Cobain at Headline for waving her magical editorial wand.
Finally, to John for always understanding and often bringing me biscuits.
About the Author
Phillipa Ashley studied English Language and Literature at Oxford University before working as a freelance copywriter and journalist. She lives in an English village with her husband and daughter. Visit www.phillipa-ashley.com.
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