by L M Bee
Chapter 13
Not having much of an appetite that morning, and definitely not in the mood for breakfast, Sophia decided to walk down to the beach for some fresh air. As she stepped onto the sand her phone pinged with a text from Bernard.
Bruno hopes to have an answer for us tomorrow.
But before she could reply, her phone rang with a call from Mary’s new number.
“Hi, where are you? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“On the beach, needed a breath of fresh air.”
“Okay, I’m coming to join you.”
By the time Mary appeared, Sophia was sitting on top of the large rock feeling tired and irritable from a bad night’s sleep.
“This is the rock I met Oliver Harrison on!” singsonged Mary cheerfully.
Sophia bit her lip and said nothing, sick to death of his sodding name.
“You all right? You seem a bit low,” prompted Mary.
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not, I can tell. What’s bugging you?”
Sophia coughed to clear her throat, before answering calmly.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I can't stop thinking about your new man. Please don't get cross with me, but there’s something not quite right about him – except I’m not sure exactly what …”
“So why say anything then?” carped Mary, revving up for a row. “Just to ruin it for me?”
“No, of course not, you know me better than that. I wish I could be more specific, really I do, but I can’t. My gut instinct tells me there’s something about him that's too good to be true.”
Exploding with rage, Mary stood up and roared at Sophia.
“Too good to be true? You fucking bitch, you just can’t bear to see me happy can you?” Climbing furiously down off the rock, she stormed back to the hotel.
Cursing herself for lighting the touch-paper, Sophia remained where she was on the rock a while longer. Eventually, she wandered back to the hotel, intending to find Mary and apologise, but she was nowhere to be seen. She tried Mary’s new number, but the answerphone message in rapid French only made her feel more tetchy.
Mary went straight up to her room to call Oliver for sympathy.
“You sound upset, beautiful, what’s wrong?”
“Sophia and I just had a row.”
“What about?”
“You.”
“Oh don’t worry, she’s probably jealous, that’s all. I tell you what, I’ll pick you up in about half an hour and we’ll do something really nice to cheer you up.”
Noticing the incoming call, Mary chuntered and chose not to answer; Sophia could bloody well stew in her own juice for the day.
Oliver arrived, shortly afterwards, in a good mood, intent on lifting Mary’s spirits.
“Come on, forget about your tiff, it’ll blow over. She’s just jealous that you’re happy. Let’s go and have some fun at the Music Festival in Aix. Music, drinking, dancing in the streets – and me! What more could you want?” he teased, putting his arm round to give her a big hug and a kiss.
“How can I refuse?” giggled Mary.
The happy couple threw themselves into the festivities, having a fantastic time, drinking and dancing amongst thousands of music lovers. Aix looked amazing, with extra lighting festooned along the cobbled streets for when it got dark later. The massive street party would run non-stop all day and night, brimming with energy.
As the sun went down, all the street lights came on and a long procession snaked through the streets carrying the flame from Catalonia, known as Le Feu de la Saint-Jean – fire and light being equally important to this historic celebration, attended by people from far and wide.
Still feeling guilty about the argument, Mary decided to take Oliver’s advice and throw herself into the party spirit to take her mind off it. A few hours later, merrily drunk, she had to lean on Oliver as she tripped along the cobbles, giggling and making him laugh. Both taking it in turns to swig from a bottle of champagne he was swinging by the neck, they wandered along the crowded streets. Every building played a different genre of music, the atmosphere buzzing with festival spirit.
After hours of dancing in the streets, mingling in the midst of the crowd, Oliver looked a tad weary.
“I need to sit down for a moment,” he declared.
“Me too,” groaned Mary, “my feet are killing me from dancing on cobbles.”
Making their way across to a large monument in the centre of a town square, they settled on one of the bottom steps. Taking another swig from the bottle, he lifted his arm off Mary’s shoulder and cupped both hands to his mouth pretending he was speaking through a megaphone.
“Mary Pembroke,” he announced.
“That’s me,” she giggled.
“Mary Harrison?” he ventured, not so loudly.
Despite being fairly tipsy, she stopped and stared at him, not sure how to react.
He dropped his hands down again, and confessed earnestly, “I don’t want you to go home next Sunday.”
“Me neither,” admitted Mary, snuggling into him.
“I’ve never been more certain of my feelings, even though we haven’t known each other very long, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“That’s such a lovely thing to say,” beamed Mary, her face lit up with joy.
“I want to make you the happiest woman in the world.”
“You do already,” she murmured, kissing him under his chin and wriggling to press her body even closer.
“I want us to spend every single day together – and grow old together.”
“Me too,” she murmured, blissfully happy.
“My darling Mary, if I were to ask you to marry me, would you say yes?”
Mary thought for a moment before replying.
“Yes – and no!” she giggled.
“What do you mean, yes and no! That’s not a real answer.”
“It wasn’t a real proposal, so it’s not a real answer!” she teased with a cheeky pout. He looked offended by her reply; clearly not the answer he’d been hoping to hear. Mary turned to face him, giddy with drink and clasped his face between both hands, touching the tip of her nose to the tip of his and making big owl eyes. “I’m just trying to be grown-up and sensible about things, my darling,” she continued, “I’m sure you can understand, my children need to give their seal of approval before we can make plans to get married.”
“You’re right,” he agreed tetchily, peeling her hands off his face like the tentacles of an octopus. “I do realise the sense in what you’re saying. When my house in London’s finished, let’s spend the Christmas holidays there so the children and I can get to know each other really well. It’ll be fabulous spending Christmas all together.”
“Sounds perfect – I’m sure they’ll adore you,” she grinned, and melted against his body.
“So here’s my plan, Mary Pembroke-Harrison,” he said, pulling her back up so he could look at her face. “Let’s all have a lovely Christmas at my new house in London, spend lots of time together and fingers crossed the children will approve of me – then if you still love me, I can’t think of anything more romantic than proposing to you on Christmas Day!”
“How romantic!” cooed Mary, falling forward to give him a massive hug and a kiss. “That’s the most special Christmas present I could ever wish for!”
“So, I take it you approve of our plan then, our little pact to get engaged, a secret between the two of us until Christmas Day?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she kissed him enthusiastically, “I love our secret pact.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Oliver with relief, rummaging in his pocket and bringing out the champagne cork that he’d saved earlier. Peeling off the foil, he crumpled it into a ball and flicked across the square, fiddling with the gold wire and twisting it round and round in his fingers until he’d created a makeshift ring. Reaching out for her left hand, she hiccoughed and then giggled, as he slid the ring onto h
er fourth finger.
“With this ring I thee wed,” he said, trying to sound like a vicar.
Mary started laughing out loud, high on life and champagne.
“No, seriously,” he said, planting a kiss on her lips and then the ring. “Since you won’t allow me to propose to you until after the children have given us their blessing, which I completely understand, I want you to accept this ring as a sign of our commitment until we’re properly engaged.”
Mary gazed approvingly at the gold wire wrapped round her finger, and thought she’d never been more ecstatic. Oliver gently stroked her cheek, looking at her adoringly, as though he had never been happier either.
“Mary Harrison-to-be, I can’t wait for Christmas Day when I can give you a proper engagement ring.” He twiddled the gold wire on her finger, sealing it with another kiss.
Happy beyond words, Mary held up her left hand up to admire the makeshift ring again, her face glowing with delight as she reached up to kiss him softly. “I can’t wait either, you make me so very, very happy, my husband-to-be.”
Chapter 14
Feeling disappointed that the holiday wasn’t panning out as she’d expected it to, and annoyed that Mary was spending so much time with Oliver Harrison, Sophia decided to ask reception if anyone had seen Mary lately – only to be told she’d been picked up by a male friend in a taxi this morning, probably going to the Music Festival in Aix like the rest of the world.
Now Sophia was really pissed off, seething that this was her first full day off since arriving in France and Mary had chosen to sod off and leave her on her own again. With nothing to do all day, Sophia reluctantly idled it away sunbathing by the pool, wallowing in her filthy mood.
Bored out of her mind with nobody to talk to, she showered and changed early evening in the hope that Mary might have reappeared, still eager to apologise to her. No sign. Fed up with her own company, she mooched sulkily through the gardens and ended up on the beach, still blaming herself for starting the argument. All my fault, she thought, me and my big mouth – if only I hadn’t said what I thought.
This definitely wasn’t how she’d envisaged her first day off, alone with nothing to do, whilst Mary was off galavanting with some dashing charmer. Her mood was at rock bottom, everything little thing annoying her now, even the sand getting in her shoes. She crossly bent down to take them off, and carried them in one hand whilst wandering aimlessly through the shallows, daring herself to go deeper and deeper until she had to hitch up her skirt to stop the hem getting wet.
It had been a gloriously sunny day, and there was still a surprising amount of warmth in the evening sun. Slowly her crotchety mood started to dissolve, as she sullenly pottered back and forth along the beach mulling things over in her mind, until she found herself standing in front of the same big rock again. The one Mary had been sitting on when she met Oliver Harrison.
She chuntered to herself as she clambered up onto the rock, incensed that yet again her thoughts were focusing on him. How was it possible to spend so much time thinking about someone she didn’t like, and worse, hadn’t even met yet?
Staring out to sea she started to question herself, but the thing was, she had always been able to trust her own instinct. Always. She was totally secure in the knowledge that it had never let her down, not once; therefore it was highly unlikely that it had let her down this time either, which meant that she was probably right, he was too good to be true.
But what the hell could she do about it? Sophia could only think of two options.
First, if her gut instinct was correct, she would have to prove to Mary that Oliver Harrison was too good to be true. Easier said than done.
Second, if her gut instinct was wrong, she would have to eat her words and a massive piece of humble pie. Plus, there was always the risk that Mary would be so cross she might never forgive her, potentially damaging their friendship.
Dammit, thought Sophia, why the hell has it come to this? Neither option easy or without its own pitfalls. Her kind offer of a holiday had well and truly backfired. When she’d asked Mary to join her it was to get away from the arguments at home and have a good time, get a suntan and go home feeling healthier, happier and stronger. Not fuck off with some bloke with a smarmy grin forgetting everyone else existed. This was all his fault; she placed the blame firmly on Oliver Fucking Harrison.
However, despite being in a filthy mood, she was still able to think rationally and above all wanted to protect her friend. Mary had been struggling through a really tough time, trying to carry on without Henry; the last five years had been utter shit for her. Now the kids were playing up, rattled their mum had found a new man, and all of them were more than capable of hurtling off the rails. On top of all this, Mary was doing her best to cope with the brutal grip of depression taking hold of her when she was at a very difficult time in her life. She was incredibly vulnerable right now, and needed protecting.
Sophia couldn’t bear to see her suffer, convinced that Oliver Harrison was up to something devious that would end up hurting Mary even more – protecting Mary was of the utmost importance.
Determinedly engaging her brain efficiently, it didn’t take long to make up her mind. The first option, yup, definitely the first one. Trust her gut instinct and do some digging into Oliver Harrison. Find out more about him, and prove to Mary he’s too good to be true.
Leaping decisively off the rock onto the sand, Sophia made her way across the beach, planning to climb up and over the rocks to the little beach restaurant – exactly as Oliver and Mary had done when they first met.
Sophia could see the timber shack in the distance with its wisps of smoke escaping from the chimney, tables scattered outside and the same portly man in attendance. He ushered her to a table and came back with a menu and basket of warm bread. Having ordered a simple main course and a bottle of water, Sophia sat back to admire the view as the sun slowly descended into the sea.
She pictured Mary sitting there with Oliver Harrison, being fed chocolate mousse and cheesy compliments, which put her right off the idea any pudding.
“Thank you, that was delicious,” she said to the owner as she paid. Pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, he replied in fluent English with a strong Provençal accent.
“Thank you, Mademoiselle, I’ll pass your compliments to my wife. May I ask, how did you hear about our little restaurant?”
“From a friend,” replied Sophia, suddenly having a cunning little thought. “You probably know him, he lives nearby, Oliver Harrison.”
“Oliver Harrison?” he repeated, mulling it over and scratching the back of his neck. “Oliver Harrison. No, I don’t think I know …”
“He owns the big house nearby,” interrupted Sophia, over-eager to glean as many snippets of information as possible.
“No, definitely no house nearby belonging to a Mr Harrison,” he said firmly, removing her empty coffee cup and turning to carry it back to the kitchen.
“But,” persisted Sophia, managing to catch his attention by waving her hand towards the back of the restaurant, “just over there, along the footpath.” She was desperate not to let this flimsy chance slip through her fingers.
Begrudgingly he turned his florid face towards her, probably eager for Sophia to vacate the table. He sounded bored with her questions and huffed laboriously,
“Yes, there’s a little footpath behind my restaurant but it leads to just one house. Very old and beautiful, owned by a friend of mine. He’s not here this summer, his wife’s too sick to travel so they’re staying at home in Paris.”
“Are you sure?” queried Sophia, her voice quavering.
Patience snapping, he peered over his glasses with disdain and enunciated every single syllable slowly and clearly, as though addressing a complete idiot. “I am sure. The owner of that house lent me the money to buy this restaurant forty years ago, we have been good friends ever since, of course I am sure!”
Chapter 15
Completely flummoxed by
his reply, Sophia remained quietly in her seat while he waddled back to the kitchen shaking his head in disbelief.
But why would Mary lie about walking along that footpath and going to Oliver’s house for a swim? Mary wasn’t a liar.
Wracking her brains, not knowing what to do now, suddenly she had a lightbulb moment. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of it before? A no brainer – walk along the footpath and take a look at the house for herself.
Looking round to check the owner was still in the kitchen, Sophia leapt up from her chair, made a dash for the door and quickly snuck round the back of the restaurant before anyone saw her. There were a few crates of empty bottles beside the dustbins, otherwise nothing else apart from some dusty undergrowth and a large gap where the footpath started.
Palms sweating, not feeling so brave all of a sudden and anxiously having second thoughts, Sophia wondered if she really should be doing this. Suddenly plagued with doubt – maybe she should just go back to the hotel and say nothing, or go back and tell Mary what the restaurateur had said, about his friend owning the house, and leave it at that. She tried Mary's new number again, infuriated to get the French recording again and left a message.
“Mary, I’m SO sorry. Please call when you get this.”
The path was narrow and sandy, overgrown with bushes and long grass that tickled her legs. Within minutes the view opened out to reveal a spectacularly beautiful period mansion facing out to sea, honey-coloured stone walls bordering three terraced gardens, with a pool lined in the palest shade of jade. Absolutely stunning. Still wanting to speak to Mary, she tried the number again. Why the hell wasn’t Mary answering today?
Determined to discover whether Oliver Harrison was too good to be true or not, Sophia decided to be brave and get closer to the house, her courage bolstered by the unwavering determination to protect Mary and see her done right. Admittedly Sophia had no idea what she was going to do once she got there; her impulsive behaviour meant she had no advance plan, she’d just have to wing it, crossing her fingers that anything she could dig up might be useful for Bernard to share with his police friend.
