Wasn’t it?
Numbly, she absorbed the intimate way he had his arm around the woman and their low, urgent conversation. As they approached, he glanced up at her, his eyes hardening.
Rosie stopped breathing.
Had he recognised her? Yes. No. Why should he? Sixteen years was a very long time. Then again, maybe she was mistaken. Lots of people looked like others, didn’t they?
If it wasn’t Charlie, this man did look very like the celebrity in the newspaper. Her head went into a spin as she desperately tried to recall the words from the headline. A honeymoon in the Maldives. Not Greece.
‘May I help you?’ asked Rosie, gathering herself and holding out her hand in a cool greeting. ‘I’m Mrs Harrison. I run the Villa Rosa.’
The man’s brows knitted. He did not look pleased. ‘Jack’s mother?’
She nodded, heart pounding.
‘My name’s Winston King.’ He spoke in a quiet voice, although Rosie couldn’t help noticing that the plump blonde guest on the lounger was listening intently. ‘We need to talk.’
TRUE HONEYMOON STORY
‘We went camping for our honeymoon but a storm blew the tent away. Best orgasm of my life.’
Lally, now divorced
Chapter Thirteen
EMMA
Winston? Winston King?
Emma hadn’t intended to listen in to the conversation between her new friend’s husband and this small, blonde woman with elfin features who had come running up the path from the taxi below.
Despite being curious she had forced herself to lie still, nose in her book, touching her ring every now and then to check it was still there.
But it had been impossible not to hear Melissa’s good-looking husband.
‘My name’s Winston King,’ he’d said. ‘We need to talk.’
Of course! She hadn’t recognised him from the school gates; she’d recognised him from the telly! How stupid had she been – although to be fair, he looked different in the flesh. Skinnier (they said telly made you look chunkier). And he wore sunglasses all the time here, which could make a person look quite different.
To think that she’d been within touching distance of the very celebrity who appeared on her telly every morning, encouraging her to do buttock squeezes while dishing out breakfast to the kids. No flabby butts! Just great butts! It was her mantra – and Mum’s too.
Emma was so excited that it was all she could do not to jump up and tell this god how amazing he was and how she’d been trying, really hard, to follow his routine and to eat less. But it was so difficult, what with the kids leaving so much on their plates (such a waste to leave it) and not having enough time to do his ‘Five A Day’ exercises.
Mum had bought her Winston’s Get Fit for Summer DVD in an effort to inspire her for the wedding, but there hadn’t been time to use it. Instead, it had sat next to the telly, with a picture of Winston grinning at her encouragingly.
And now, here he was, standing only a few feet away from her! It was all she could do not to whip out her mobile and text Mum or Bernie from work.
But it wouldn’t be right. People like him needed his privacy. Oh my God! So that’s why Melissa had asked her not to tell anyone they were here. And maybe that’s why her new friend hadn’t divulged her surname when introducing herself. She’d been worried that Emma would do exactly what she’d just thought of doing – ringing everyone at home.
Well, of course she wouldn’t. They might only be casual acquaintances, but she had more loyalty than that. Besides, she felt honoured to have been taken into Melissa’s confidence. Emma glowed. It was almost like being ‘one of them’, although it couldn’t be easy being famous and trying to live a normal life.
Quickly, she sneaked another look over her paperback at Winston. He was listening to the woman who, from what she was saying, was the villa’s owner. Mrs Harrison. She didn’t look old enough to be Jack’s mum. Perhaps she was one of those lucky people who didn’t look her age.
Regretfully Emma thought of the tired eye bags which had sprung up soon after Gawain’s birth. Winston and Mrs Harrison were moving away now. Melissa was with them too and their voices were rising. Oh dear. Emma hated arguments.
‘’Snot fair.’ The sulky-looking teenage girl was stomping around the pool, pouting and kicking her feet in the water every now and then as though to make her point. ‘We weren’t that late. And it wasn’t our fault the bike broke down.’
So that’s what had happened! Emma had been aware of some kind of problem when she’d come out for breakfast earlier on. Melissa had been sitting quietly, toying with a bowl of fresh fruit. Her son was at the table too, but not the daughter. Then Winston had arrived and they’d hardly spoken to each other, and they both ignored Jack, who was serving. When they stood up to go, Melissa had given her the briefest of smiles.
‘You know you weren’t even meant to be on a bike,’ the younger brother was saying now. ‘It’s against the rules. Mum always said so. Dad too. Ouch, don’t splash me like that.’
‘I’ll do what I like.’ The girl scowled. ‘’Sides, Dad isn’t here, is he? Only that stupid bloke that Mum’s married.’
The boy began kicking a pebble about on the ground. ‘Winston’s OK.’
‘You just think that cos he plays football with you.’ The girl was sitting on the edge of the pool, splashing the water angrily. ‘Dirty suck-up.’
‘No, I’m not!’
‘Yes, you are!’
Uh-oh. They were having a real water fight now! Emma gasped as she got splashed in the face. Her book was soaked through too. Leaping off the lounger, she grabbed her towel to cover up (maybe a bikini had been a bit too ambitious) and moved to the other side of the pool.
It wasn’t their fault, poor kids, she told herself. It wasn’t easy when your parents split up. She knew that. In fact, Alice wasn’t much younger than she had been when her dad had left. ‘You’ve ruined my life,’ she’d screamed at the time. She still believed it.
Winston and Melissa were walking back to the pool now, holding hands. The owner was nowhere to be seen. Had they sorted it out? She hoped so.
‘What was all that noise about?’ Winston was saying to the kids, looking from one to the other with a displeased look on his face.
‘Nothing.’ The boy glanced at his sister who, in turn, was sending him daggers. ‘We were just mucking around.’
Winston was looking at her now. Emma wondered again how on earth she hadn’t recognised him before. But you didn’t expect to bump into someone like that on holiday, did you? When someone was on television, you sort of assumed they had a different kind of life from yours.
‘I hope these two haven’t been bothering you?’
The girl winced. Emma’s heart went out to her. He shouldn’t talk like that, not when he wasn’t her father. If she’d been that girl, she’d have been upset too. ‘No, not at all.’ As she spoke, she slipped the wet paperback under her towel. ‘In fact, it’s really nice to hear children having a bit of fun.’
She felt herself colouring up. ‘I really miss my own kids. ’Course, they’re a lot younger, but watching your two – I mean your wife’s two – well, it shows me what it’s going to be like when my Gawain and Willow are older.’
There was a low mutter from Winston’s direction. It sounded something like ‘Good luck’. That wasn’t very fair. Melissa, she noticed, was shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. ‘How’s your husband doing?’
Instantly, Emma felt guilty. She should be worried about Tom, rather than someone else’s private life. ‘He’s stopped being sick, thanks,’ she said, suddenly aware that her towel had slipped and that her tummy was poking through. Quickly, she sat up straight and rearranged herself. ‘Thanks very much for the medicine. It worked a treat.’
She didn’t add that she’d slipped it into Tom’s water without him knowing.
Melissa looked pleased. ‘I got it from this alternative health shop just outside town. So is your husband
going to be well enough to join us?’
Emma thought of Tom, whom she’d left sitting up in bed, next to the fan which the boy at reception had found for them.
‘Actually, he’s finding it a bit too hot.’
Melissa’s eyebrows lifted.
‘Yes, I know,’ continued Emma hastily, feeling rather silly. ‘Greece is … well, it’s a hot place, but I don’t think Tom realised quite how warm, if you see what I mean. But now he’s come out in this funny little pink heat rash, so he’s playing safe and staying inside.’
Melissa’s eyes were wide with sympathy. ‘Poor thing. I’ve got something for heat rash too, if you like.’
The girl rolled her eyes. ‘Mum’s got something for everything. She’s a walking medicine kit.’
Winston visibly stiffened. ‘There’s no need to be rude to your mother.’
‘I’m not. And it’s none of your business anyway.’
‘Alice,’ murmured Melissa weakly.
Oh dear. This was getting awkward. Clutching her towel, Emma tried to get off her lounger as elegantly as possible without revealing any more. ‘I think I’d better go and check on him,’ she said quickly. ‘Have a good afternoon. By the way, are you two doing the morning yoga?’
Winston looked awkward. ‘I’m helping them out, actually. I, er, do a bit myself, and the instructor has let them down.’
He was really staring at her, as though wondering if she’d guessed who he was. Should she come clean and say that she wouldn’t tell anyone? Maybe not.
‘That’s great.’ Emma began to shuffle off. ‘See you then. If not before. Bye!’
Walking back down to the cottage, Emma passed a woman selling shell necklaces from a basket with a baby sling round her neck.
‘You want?’
Emma shook her head, hungrily taking in the baby. She reminded her of Willow at that age, deliciously plump and small. Almost edible! ‘I’ve got two children at home,’ she said, feeling an urgent need to tell this woman that she was a mother too.
But from the look on her face, she didn’t understand. ‘You want necklace?’ she repeated, and somehow Emma found herself buying one, even though she didn’t particularly want it, just because of the baby. Still, maybe Mum would like it.
When she got back, Emma noticed that the cottage next door had its front door open. That was a first. Glancing up, she saw a young woman sitting on the balcony with her face up to the sun. French, someone had said. Rather chic in those black shades. Emma gave her a little wave but the woman didn’t respond, which made her feel a bit silly.
Some people liked to keep themselves to themselves, she supposed. Like Tom. To be honest, she’d felt pretty hurt this morning when her new husband had said he felt a bit better but didn’t want to go out into the heat. You go, he had told her, so she had, but it wasn’t the same. Honeymoons were meant to be for two people. Not one. Still, it wasn’t his fault he was ill.
‘Are you OK?’ she said softly, putting her head round the door.
Tom was sitting against the pillow, eyes closed, headphones on and nodding as if in time to the silent tune. So he was well enough to listen to music! Emma felt a wave of irritation as she dropped a kiss on top of his head. He jumped.
‘You startled me.’
‘Sorry. There’s no need to snap.’
‘I’m not snapping.’
What had got into him? Maybe the heat was affecting him more than she’d realised. ‘How’s the rash?’
‘Still there.’ He was scratching.
‘So you don’t want to come outside then?’
‘And make it worse?’
‘No, but it doesn’t seem much fun if you’re going to stay here all day.’
‘I can’t help that, can I?’
It was as though someone had given her a different husband. She’d never known Tom to be like this before. ‘Do you think you’ll feel well enough to come up to the villa for dinner tonight?’
Languidly, Tom made to put his headphones on again. ‘I don’t know. I’ll see.’
‘Fine.’ Emma heard the words snap out of her mouth. ‘Then I might go for a walk on my own. OK?’
Crossly, she strode out of the cottage and down to the beach. This was weird! Usually she had so much to do that there wasn’t time to think. There was always someone who wanted her.
But now, with her husband like this and the children far away, she just had herself. How often had she yearned for a bit of peace and quiet? But now she had it, she didn’t know what to do with it. She felt useless.
As she gazed out at the sea, it seemed impossible that Willow and Gawain were so far away; that they weren’t just round the corner at nursery or Mum’s house. Seeing the baby just now had got her all upset again.
Unable to stop herself, she rang Mum’s number. ‘Just me. Is everything OK?’
‘You on the phone again? If you keep calling, love, you won’t give the kids a chance to settle. I told you before. They’re fine. Gawain slept right through the night.’
Really? But he didn’t do that for her. Instead of being pleased, Emma felt slightly resentful that her mum had succeeded in doing something she hadn’t been able to.
‘All I had to do was let him grizzle for a bit. Doesn’t do to pander to their every need.’
‘Can I talk to them?’
‘Best not, love. They’re both glued to this DVD. Bernie brought it over with some of her home-made flapjacks.’
That didn’t sound good. Either the DVD or the sugary flapjacks.
‘Tom any better?’ Mum cut in.
Emma decided not to go into too much detail. It would only give Mum a chance to have another go at him. ‘Getting there, thanks.’ Swiftly, she glanced around to check no one was listening. ‘By the way. You know Winston King, the bloke who does the morning exercises on telly?’
‘’Course I do. Why?’
It was so tempting to say he was here! Emma paused, her pulse quickening in her throat. ‘I just wondered. Has he got married?’
‘Funny you should say that! Bernie was jabbering on about it. Then it was in my paper. Turns out he’s got hitched to one of the mums from school. He’s going to live right near us, he is. Well, at the posh end anyway. Gone to the Maldives, according to the paper.’ Her mother, who was always a sucker for celebrities, hardly paused for breath. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I … I just wondered.’
‘Well, you must have had a reason.’
The Maldives? Now it was beginning to make sense! They’d just have said that to get some privacy. But she, Emma Walker, was one of the few people who knew the truth. It gave her a superior glow inside. ‘Look, Mum, I’ve got to go.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘Tom’s calling for me. I’ll ring tomorrow.’ Turning off the phone, she strode back along the beach past the cottage where the French woman had been sunbathing.
Except that her neighbour wasn’t doing that now. She was leaning nonchalantly against the balcony. Right next to her was the man.
Both totally naked.
As if oblivious to her presence, the bloke was spinning the woman round so her back was facing him. Then she got down on all fours as if about to do one of Winston’s exercises. The man remained standing. Emma tried to look away but she couldn’t. Oh my God! Surely they couldn’t really be doing that, right here, in full view of everyone else?
Giving a little gasp, she hurried on, although she couldn’t stop herself from looking back. The two bodies had merged as one now; it was like an acrobatic show for adults only. Emma’s eyes widened. How on earth did the bloke manage that, while still standing up? Was that really what everyone else did when they made love?
A vision of Tom on top of her, quietly pumping away with a little gasp at the end, came into her head. Which was more normal? That display on the balcony or the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it in their own bed?
Sex wasn’t the kind of thing she talked about to friends, although she suspected Bernie might have a few views.
‘You�
��ll never guess,’ she began excitedly as she went back into the room. But Tom was asleep again, headphones on the sheet next to him, humming merrily away into the silence.
Emma sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling empty inside. This was their honeymoon! It should be Tom and her making wild, passionate love. Not some French couple next door.
‘Are you all right, Tom?’ she said, gently.
Nothing. Just a loud snore.
Emma stood up and looked down on her new husband. Tom had never, as her mother had declared on more than one occasion, been much of a looker. But from this angle, with his mouth open and the snores and that red rash, he seemed particularly unattractive.
Of course, looks weren’t everything. But there was a great deal to be said for giving someone attention. At home, most of that was lavished on the children.
But now they weren’t here.
And apart from the kids, Emma was beginning to wonder what else she and Tom had in common. Maybe losing her ring had been a horrible omen …
MISSING MUM
Sixty per cent of brides on honeymoon ring their mothers at least once. Ten per cent of grooms do the same.
Survey from a bridal magazine
Chapter Fourteen
WINSTON
‘I think she’s recognised us,’ said Winston, worriedly massaging oil into his new wife’s shoulders. The action felt reassuringly intimate; at least, it would have done, if Alice wasn’t shooting him filthy looks as though he had no right to touch her mother like that.
‘Who?’ asked Melissa, leaning back into his chest, eyes shut; unaware of her daughter’s hostile expression.
‘Emma. The plump woman.’
‘Winston!’ She opened her eyes in shock. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’
‘Yeah, Winston. You shouldn’t.’ Alice scowled. ‘Some people can’t help being podgy. It’s their DNA. Everyone’s different. Of all people, you ought to understand that.’
After the Honeymoon Page 13
