Honeymoon with the Boss

by Jessica Hart

  ‘Let’s just think about being here,’ whispered Tom in her ear. ‘Let’s just think about now.’

  And so Imogen closed her mind to the future and did just that.

  The days that followed stayed forever golden in Imogen’s memory. At one level, things went on much as they had done before. In the mornings they explored the reef, while afternoons were spent on the beach, swimming, reading or just lying in the shade and talking.

  Often Imogen was content just to sit and gaze at the sea, marvelling at the intensity of the light, of the blueness and the greenness and the pristine whiteness of the beach. She would inhale slowly, savouring the wonderfully clean, invigorating smell of sea and sunlight, feeling the heat in her nose, watching the way the breeze made the palms sway and sent their tattered shadows dancing over skin and sand.

  She had never seen things so clearly before, had never been intoxicated by smell and touch and taste the way she was now. It was as if all her senses were supercharged with Tom at her side.

  The laptop lay unopened now, as Tom succumbed to the dream-like atmosphere of the island. He liked to get up early in the morning, when Imogen was still asleep, and walk down to the jetty, when the light was pearly and the lagoon was quiet and still.

  Imogen preferred the early evening. She loved washing off the tingling, salty feeling of too much sea and too much sun, and changing into something loose and comfortable. Tom would have made a cool drink by then, and they sat on the veranda together, watching the sun set. A hush fell over the island then, and in silence they watched the sky flush pink, deepening with astonishing speed to a blaze of orange and scarlet, while the sea shimmered and they both remembered standing on the sandbar, promising to love each other for ever in the same glowing light.

  Once it had faded, the tropical night dropped with a speed Imogen could never get used to. It was the signal for the cicadas to start whirring and they would sit on, waiting for the bats to come swooping past the veranda and spotting the little geckos that darted up the walls.

  Imogen wished they could stay on Coconut Island for ever. She loved the colours, the smell of the dried coconut husks on the beach, the hot wind that soughed through the trees and ruffled the surface of the lagoon.

  Most of all, she loved being with Tom. She loved the long sweet nights, the mornings when he returned from his walk to wake her with drifting hands, the afternoons in the shade. She loved every moment when he touched her, every second that she could reach out for him and find him there.

  But beneath the pleasure she took in every moment lurked the knowledge that it couldn’t last. Imogen tried desperately to forget that this time would pass but, just when she least needed a reminder, some stern, sensible part of her brain would put up its hand and point out that the days were passing and that before too long she would have to go back to the greyness of London in March. Back to the squash of commuters on the Tube, coats steaming with rain, back to dripping umbrellas and Monday mornings. Back to being Tom’s PA.

  There would be no more nights together, no more lazy afternoons.

  No more loving.

  Imogen would push the thought away, but the days passed in relentless succession and suddenly it was their last evening on Coconut Island.

  Leaning on the veranda railing next to Tom, she watched the sun setting in a blaze of crimson behind the reef.

  I’m not ready, she wanted to cry. I can’t face this yet.

  But she would have to find a way to face it, and to reassure Tom that she hadn’t forgotten what they had agreed.

  She turned her glass between her fingers. ‘Funny to think this is the last time we’ll do this,’ she said.

  It was the last time they would watch the sun set together. The last time they would sit in the dark and watch the bats swoop and dive. The last time they would listen to the insects ratcheting up their whirring, creaking, rasping chorus.

  The last time they would make love in that big bed.

  She had known this time would come, Imogen reminded herself, squaring her shoulders. It wasn’t as if it was a surprise. She had known all along that it would come to this.

  ‘This time tomorrow we’ll be back in London.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom heavily.

  He ought to be glad. He would be going back to the office, back to where everything was straightforward and he knew where he was. He would be in control of his life again, not like here.

  It was different here. The sun and the sea and the quietness had worn down his defences, and he had forgotten the lessons he had learnt so carefully-to guard his feelings, to keep control. He had let himself relax and lose himself in Imogen. It had felt so right at the time but now Tom was beginning to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake.

  At the time, it had seemed a sensible idea. Why spend another two weeks feeling frustrated when they could come to an agreement as two consenting adults? It was all going to be so easy. They had a definite time limit. There would be no awkward discussions about when or how to say goodbye. The two weeks would end, and it would be over. Simple as that.

  But he hadn’t counted on how quickly he would get used to Imogen, to her laughter and her warmth and the wild, unexpected passion that had ensnared them both.

  He hadn’t counted on the way his body would crave hers like this. He had always been so controlled, and yet now he had this constant urge to touch her, to slide his hands over her and taste the sun and the salt on her skin, to feel her smile against his throat.

  He wouldn’t be able to do that any more.

  Tom tried to tell himself that it would be fine, that he would have work to distract him, but whenever he tried to imagine sleeping without Imogen’s softness curved into him, or waking early in the morning and not being able to turn to her, he felt something twist uncomfortably deep inside him and a bleakness crept into his chest.

  ‘Perhaps it will all feel different when we get home,’ he said, hoping that it was true.

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ said Imogen brightly. ‘It’s been lovely, but we both know it’s not real. Real will be going into work on Monday morning, and dealing with everything that’s happened while we’ve been away. We’ll be too busy to remember anything but the fact that I’m your PA and you’re my boss.’

  She seemed very confident, thought Tom, but why wouldn’t she be? They had made a deal that this would be a time out of time. He could hardly blame her if that was how she was treating it. It had been his idea, after all.

  The sunset was as spectacular as ever, but Tom didn’t even see it. He was confused and uneasy at the way everything was slipping out of control. How had it happened? When had he started to feel like this?

  It had been easy when he was with Julia. He had known exactly where he was and what he wanted. But with Imogen…The truth was that Tom had never felt the way he did now. Intellectually, he could see that she was the last kind of woman he should fall in love with, but somewhere along the line she had become essential to him in a way he couldn’t define. All he knew was that after living with her, laughing with her, loving with her, the thought of life without her made him feel inutterably bleak.

  If this was love, Tom didn’t like it.

  This wasn’t the joyous feeling Imogen had described. It was the gut-wrenching sensation of standing on the edge of an abyss.

  And what if it wasn’t love? Tom didn’t trust this new feeling. It was too uncomfortable, too unfamiliar. He certainly didn’t trust it enough to say anything to Imogen. Less than a month ago, he had been sure that he wanted to marry Julia. Why would Imogen believe that he had changed his mind so completely? Tom wasn’t even sure that he believed it himself.

  Hadn’t they been clear right from the start that this was just a temporary thing? They were making the most of things, no more than that. What they had found together wasn’t important. It wasn’t something that could last.

  No, he couldn’t say anything, he had decided. If he blurted out that he was in love with her, he would embarrass
her, and if it turned out that he didn’t once they got home, he would hurt her, and Tom couldn’t bear the thought of that.

  And, of course, if he did say something, Imogen might say no. She might reject him, and Tom wasn’t sure that he could handle that either. Not again.

  The truth, he acknowledged to himself, was that he didn’t dare say anything. He couldn’t risk everything he was on feelings that he wasn’t sure about. And so he had been imperceptibly distancing himself over the last two or three days. Better to wait until they were home, he convinced himself, and he could tell whether these strange new feelings were real or just part of this fantasy place.

  Imogen had picked up on his subtle withdrawal and had drawn her own conclusions. Tom was already thinking about going home, about working together again, she decided. Was he trying to find the words to remind her that what they had was only ever intended to be temporary? She would have to make things easy for him. He would be dreading a conversation where feelings might be mentioned.

  She wasn’t looking forward to it herself, but it had to be done. They couldn’t just leave and not acknowledge what the last three weeks had been like, but she would have to make it clear that she understood completely that tomorrow it would be over.

  Tom still had the fallout from his engagement to Julia to face on his return. He would be preoccupied with that and with work. If she told him how desperately she had fallen in love with him it would just make him acutely uncomfortable. He didn’t need that to deal with as well.

  No, the best thing she could do for him was to get back to normal as soon as possible; the best thing she could do for herself was to stop fooling herself there could ever be any future in it and make a new life for herself.

  The best thing for both of them would be to pretend that these last three weeks had never happened.

  Imogen set her glass on the railing, put on a big smile and turned to face Tom properly.

  ‘It’s been so wonderful,’ she told him. ‘I’ll never forget this time we’ve spent together, Tom. It’s going to be hard getting used to travelling in less than the lap of luxury, but whenever I get to a beach or see a palm tree, I’ll think of you.’

  Whenever she closed her eyes or felt the sun on her face or lay in the dark, she would think of him.

  She would think of him with every breath, miss him with every beat of her heart.

  Tom eyed her broodingly over the top of his glass. ‘You still want to go travelling then?’

  ‘Of course.’ Imogen kept her smile bright. ‘Even more so now, in fact. Being here has given me a real taste for travel.’

  She turned back to look out at the lagoon. There was a crimson line along the horizon where the sun had finally disappeared, and the darkness was closing in. The bats would be out any minute now.

  ‘I may not find anywhere as perfect as this, but there will be other beautiful places,’ she said.

  Places without Tom.

  A silence fell. The shrilling of the insects was very loud as it stretched and stretched, until neither could stand it any longer. Inevitably, they both spoke at the same time.

  ‘Imogen-’

  ‘Do you-’

  Both stopped awkwardly.

  ‘You first,’ said Imogen.

  ‘I just wanted to say…well, it’s going to be hard to talk about this when we get back,’ said Tom ‘It’s probably better if we don’t, if we just pretend this time never happened, but I want you to know that I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.’

  ‘You don’t need to thank me,’ said Imogen. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ she said and, as their gazes locked and held, Tom reached out and drew her towards him.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ he confessed.

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ she whispered, her arms sliding round his neck. ‘It’s hard to believe that this time tomorrow this will all be over.’

  Tom bent his head to find her mouth. ‘It’s not over yet.’

  Imogen swallowed hard as the plane descended through the grey clouds above Heathrow. This was it. The end of blue skies, the end of bright light, the end of the dream.

  They had had one last bittersweet night of loving, but that morning they had dressed in silence. Tom had put on his suit again for the journey back. Imogen was wearing the jeans and top that she had travelled out in. After all this time in little more than a sarong, the clothes felt heavy and constricting and her sandals were awkward to walk in.

  When Ali had appeared with the dinghy to take them back to the resort, Tom had helped her into the boat for the first stage of that long, inexorable journey. It would be the last time he touched her.

  Imogen felt like a snail being torn from its shell, wrenched away from the island, away from the warm blue ocean, dragged across the skies when, with every fibre of her being, she longed to be back under the coconut palms, sitting next to Tom and watching the breeze ruffle the still surface of the lagoon.

  Tom was sitting beside her on the plane, but there the similarity ended. They had spoken little on the long flight. His face was set in grim lines, just as it had been on the journey out, and, sensing his withdrawal, Imogen lifted her chin and withdrew in her turn.

  He needn’t be afraid that she was going to cling, she told herself. She had no intention of embarrassing him by telling him how much she loved him. That hadn’t been part of the deal at all. Tom Maddison wasn’t the only one who kept his promises.

  Down, down into the cloud cover sank the plane and Imogen’s heart sank with it. Staring out of the window, she felt a pang as the last of the bright blue sky linking them to the Indian Ocean disappeared and the light dulled and it was just London in March, grey and overcast.

  Then it was all happening too fast. They were first off the plane, their baggage appeared quickly and they were heading through Customs before Imogen had a chance to think about how she was going to say goodbye to Tom, before she could find a way to pretend that her heart wasn’t breaking.

  She tried to stall, wishing frantically that time would somehow slow down, but Tom was already striding onwards, eager, it seemed, to get back to real life. He paused at the exit, his hard gaze sweeping over the crowd in the Arrivals Hall until he identified his driver.

  ‘There’s Larry.’ He headed towards him. ‘He should have the car waiting just outside. Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Actually,’ said Imogen, hanging back, ‘I think I’ll get the Tube.’

  Tom frowned. ‘It’ll be much quicker in a car at this time of day.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ She forced a smile. ‘I think I need to start getting back to normal,’ she tried to explain. ‘I’ve had three weeks of lovely luxury, but that’s not my life. The next time I’m at an airport, I’ll have a backpack and the cheapest ticket I can get.’

  Her bag was slipping from her shoulder and she hoisted it back, keeping her smile firmly in place. ‘I may as well get used to it now.’

  Panic gripped Tom by the throat. He had spent the flight planning how to say goodbye. He couldn’t do it on the plane, with flight attendants hovering the whole time. There were too many other people at the baggage carousel. The back of the car would be their only chance for any privacy, he had decided, but now Imogen wanted to say goodbye there and then in the middle of the busy terminal and the careful words he had prepared were promptly wiped from his memory.

  ‘Whatever you like,’ he said stiffly instead.

  That reference to travelling had obviously been designed to remind him that she had plans that didn’t include him. Perhaps it was just as well they would say goodbye here. God only knew what would have come tumbling out if they had been alone in the back of the car with him trying to keep his hands off her.

  ‘So…’ Imogen lifted her arms a little helplessly and dropped them back to her sides ‘…I guess this is it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom. There was a sharp ache in the back of his throat. ‘I guess it is.’
/>
  ‘See you on Monday, then?’

  He nodded. ‘Have a good weekend.’

  ‘You too. Well…bye, boss.’ From somewhere Imogen produced a brilliant smile, then she turned and walked away towards the signs for the Underground.

  ‘Goodbye, Imogen.’

  Tom stood in the busy concourse with the crowds surging around him and watched her go, and felt bleaker than he ever had in his life. He wanted to run after her, to stop her going through the ticket barrier, to drag her onto the next plane to the Maldives.

  But he couldn’t do that. Imogen had her own life, her own plans, and she had made it very clear that they didn’t include him. She was off to see the world. That was what she wanted, what she needed to do. She was young, beautiful, outgoing. Why would she stay with a man like him-older, driven, a self-confessed workaholic?

  He was no fun, Tom knew. He had always been too busy striving for success to be distracted by fun. Imogen deserved someone who would cherish her gaiety and ability to live in the moment. She deserved better than him.

  He was better off on his own, anyway, Tom decided, making a determined effort to shake off the sickeningly empty feeling. He couldn’t manage this relationship business. He had tried commitment with Julia, and look what had happened! Failure and humiliation.

  He wasn’t risking rejection again. He might miss Imogen a bit when she went, but he would get just as used to the new PA eventually, and she wouldn’t distract him the way Imogen did now. It wasn’t as if he and Imogen could ever have had anything in common, Tom reminded himself. They were too different. It could never have lasted.

  No, Tom thought as he turned to find his driver, it was all for the best.

  Imogen tugged at her jacket as she watched the lift doors close. Her suit felt heavy and uncomfortable, and her feet were cramped in the unfamiliar shoes.

  It had been a long weekend. She had smiled and smiled when she’d got into the flat, but Amanda hadn’t been fooled for a minute.