Suddenly she wanted them all to leave. Jumping up, she began to clear the table, gesticulating to Yannis that he could give a hand. Jack had disappeared, even though he was meant to be on duty. Was he with Alice, who had also disappeared, leaving her brother to play with one of the ginger cats, scouring the patio for leftovers? Too late, she realised she should have kept her eye on him.
‘Let me take this,’ she said, reaching over for Melissa’s plate and then Winston’s. As she did so, his hand went up to help. Their skin touched and she almost fell over with the heat that surged through her.
At the same time, she felt a pair of arms around her waist. ‘So, you are still here?’
Greco’s body was behind her, claiming possession and attracting curious looks from around the table. Rosie blushed. She’d already warned him that they mustn’t be intimate in front of the guests. It didn’t look professional.
But Greco had seen her hand brush Winston’s. She was pretty sure of that from the way his eyes were shooting daggers. Rosie’s mind went back to the Skype conversation with Gemma earlier when Greco had overheard too much for comfort.
‘You are on your honeymoon, yes?’
Rosie froze as Greco addressed Winston directly across the table.
Winston gave a curt nod.
Don’t mention that he is famous, prayed Rosie, trying to remember exactly what she had told Gemma when Greco had been on the other side of the door. That had been confidential.
‘Rosie here, she tell me …’
No. No.
‘She tell me that some people, they would like to go on a fishing trip.’
Phew! Rosie almost audibly exhaled with relief.
Greco was leaning against the patio wall now, his arm firmly around her shoulder in case there should be any remaining doubt about their relationship. Embarrassed, she pretended to pick one of the purple flowers growing in between the bricks. ‘We do not have long left,’ continued Greco meaningfully, looking round at them all.
There was a nod from all but the French couple, who were staying another week.
Greco leaped up and clapped his hands high in the air, as though he was a performer rather than a fisherman. He had, Rosie was forced to admit, real presence with that aristocratic-looking hooked nose and olive skin. He was also wearing a crisp new white cotton shirt that suited him. ‘Then we go on Saturday night, yes? We fish by the light of the moon.’ He winked at Rosie. ‘Very romantic, I think.’
Melissa was swaying slightly. ‘What about my children?’ she was saying. ‘Can they go too?’
Greco was nodding, probably totting up the extra euros in his head, thought Rosie. ‘Why not?’
Winston’s face almost made her laugh. He was muttering something as he went past. It sounded like ‘Great’.
‘I want them to come,’ Melissa was saying, tugging at his shirt.
So! They were beginning to have marital disagreements already! Rosie felt another quiet thrill of satisfaction.
‘You like him.’ Greco jerked his head towards Winston as the couple made their way across the cobbled stones towards Rosie’s old room. His upper lip curled in a slight snarl. ‘If I am not mistaken, you are still in love with him.’
Rosie looked around sharply to see if anyone was listening. Only the French couple – who had started pawing each other again. Everyone else had gone, including Yannis. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I knew him a long time ago. That was all.’
Greco gave her a searching look. ‘Do not play games with me, Rosie. I heard you on the phone, remember? That man Winston, he is Jack’s father.’
She gasped at his indiscretion. ‘You mustn’t say that out loud. Do you hear me?’
‘I am surprised the idiot has not recognised you.’ He ran his right index finger slowly against her cheek. ‘I would not have forgotten someone as lovely as you.’
Flushing, she turned to one side. ‘I was different then. My hair … everything about me.’
‘Hah!’ Greco was snorting like a proud stallion. ‘It is because he has had so many women since, I think. He looks like that type of man.’
Takes one to know one, she almost said.
‘He is like Jack too, is he not? Your son, he has your eyes. But his forehead and his frown, it belongs to his father.’
So he’d noticed that too.
‘Do not worry.’ Greco made to gather her into his arms. ‘I will not say anything. But I need your word on something, Rosie. You have to tell me if you still have feelings for this man.’
Niftily, she stepped backwards. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve told you, I was no more than a teenager then.’
As she spoke, something caught her eye, down on the beach. It was a light – a motorbike light. But it wasn’t moving. Next to it, was a couple kissing. A young couple. Jack and Alice? It was impossible to tell from here. Impossible, but not out of the question.
‘So he means nothing to you now?’ repeated Greco, coming even closer. Very deliberately, he placed a finger under her chin so she was forced to face him once more.
It was hard to lie when you were looking at someone.
But not impossible.
‘Nothing at all,’ she murmured. ‘I promise.’
HISTORY OF HONEYMOONS CONTINUED
The actual word ‘honeymoon’ gets its origins in sixteenth-century English literature, and it did not start out as an encouraging phrase. The author Richard Huloet referred to the period after a marriage as a ‘hony mone’ to represent the waning of the feeling of true love as the moon shifts from one phase to the next.
Chapter Nineteen
EMMA
Emma woke with a taste in her mouth that reminded her of her teenage days – a time when there had been nothing to stop her going to a club and dancing until two in the morning. Drinking far too much, she remembered guiltily, recalling the double Bacardis she used to treat herself to, so long as she kept the rest of her wages for Mum.
It was what everyone did. Besides, letting her hair down once a week had helped blank out what was going on at home.
Poor Mum had floundered, unable to cope after Dad had left. She’d hardly known what day of the week it was, let alone how many glasses of cheap wine she’d got through every night. It was all Dad’s fault. Emma would never forgive him. Never. And she certainly wasn’t returning any of the calls he’d made.
In fact, if it hadn’t been for Tom with his sweet, mild manners, Emma would have thought all men were total bastards.
Of course, as soon as she’d got pregnant with Gawain, she’d stopped drinking immediately. Nowadays, she and Tom would share half a bottle of wine on Saturday night, but no more.
Yet last night, just because the children weren’t here – and also because it had seemed rude to say no – she’d had more than her usual glass. Far more.
Emma sat up in the soft, wide bed, which was far more comfortable than their own at home, and tried to remember exactly what had happened.
They’d all had dinner on the patio together, she recalled. It had been really nice. Lots of laughter and jokes, although she had to keep pinching herself every time Winston said something. Imagine her, Emma, having dinner with the Fitness King of TV!
He’d made some lovely comments when she’d got out the pictures of the children on the phone, as though he was genuinely interested.
Someone else had been interested in her too … It was beginning to come back now. If she wasn’t a married woman, she might have thought that the new cook Yannis was pretty keen. Guiltily, even though she didn’t have anything to be guilty about, Emma glanced down at Tom.
Honestly. All he’d done on their honeymoon was sleep! ‘So your new husband, he is not with you?’ Yannis had said after dinner last night, his thick dark brows raised with apparent curiosity.
Emma had tried to make light of it. ‘He’s been ill. Food poisoning and then travel sickness. Nothing catching,’ she added hastily.
Melissa’s eyes had widened across the table. ‘I thought he
was better now.’
‘He is, sort of, but now it’s sun-sickness, so he didn’t fancy getting out of bed for dinner.’
Emma didn’t think it was wise to elaborate on her husband’s exact words, which had been something along the lines of not wanting to eat ‘any of that Greek oily stuff’.
In fact, the stuffed tomatoes had been delicious. But she couldn’t help feeling a little cross, rather than sympathetic, with Tom. Just because they were married now, didn’t mean he could stop making an effort.
Yannis certainly had! All those compliments about her ‘beautiful’ hair and how she looked ‘far too young’ to have two children!
After the French couple (who’d virtually been having foot sex all evening under the table) had announced they were going for a moonlit ‘promenade’ along the beach, Emma had decided to make a move too.
‘We’ll walk back with her, won’t we, Winston?’ Melissa had chirped.
But then Yannis had stepped in. ‘I am going that way myself. I will be honoured to make sure that you reach your cottage safely.’
Emma had flushed deeply, hoping no one else had noticed. Luckily Rosie had been deep in conversation with her Greek boyfriend (she’d agreed earlier with Melissa that they were an unlikely combination) and didn’t even say goodbye when she’d left in Yannis’s company.
What exactly had she done? wondered Emma now, sitting up in bed and hugging her knees as she tried to piece together that walk down the hill and along the beach to her cottage.
She’d been flattered by his attention, there was no denying that. Yannis was tall and dark like his cousin Greco, but a bit stockier, which she liked (even though she wasn’t so sure about the mermaid tattoo on his right arm). He was a good talker, too. He’d trained at one of the hotels in Athens, he’d told her, but had missed his childhood home. So when Greco had told him about the job vacancy at the Villa Rosa, he had jumped at it.
‘I am so glad I did,’ he had said in a low voice when they reached the cottage. ‘I have met many wonderful people as a result.’
Including her. Of course, he hadn’t actually said that, but she’d been dimly aware, despite her alcoholic stupor, that the insinuation was there.
She had a vague memory, then, of him stepping towards her when they reached her veranda. But again, that might have been to give her the keys that she’d foolishly dropped in the sand.
Apart from that, nothing else had happened. She might have had too much to drink, but not enough to forget something like that. Just as well. She could never be unfaithful to Tom. So why, Emma asked herself crossly as she got out of bed and turned on the shower, did she have this feeling of disappointment? Hadn’t she always declared that there was no excuse – none at all – for playing around?
Yet, as Emma began to soap her breasts (which had a rather pleasing suntan line), she was uncomfortably aware that there had been an attraction there.
If she hadn’t been married, something could definitely have happened …
‘Did you have a nice time last night?’ murmured Tom from his side of the bed when she returned from the shower.
Emma froze. ‘It was all right. You wouldn’t have liked the food, though.’ How guilty she felt, saying that! Hadn’t she had seconds? ‘Stuffed tomatoes and lamb in oil,’ she added with emphasis.
Tom shuddered. ‘Don’t. You’ll set me off being sick again.’
Whatever happened to the so-called stronger sex? With an annoyed sigh, Emma turned away to slip into the slinky beach sarong that Melissa had lent her.
‘You know what?’ She rounded on him. ‘I really wish we’d stayed at home. At least then we’d have spent some time together.’
Tom’s dark brown eyes regarded her with disappointment. ‘I told you. I didn’t want to let you down.’
Emma ignored him, aware that this wasn’t like her. Then again, what was she like? Ever since they’d arrived in Siphalonia, she’d felt different.
‘I’ll try to do something with you today, Em,’ Tom pleaded, adjusting his pillow. ‘We’ll go for a little walk, as long as it’s not too hot.’
‘Well, it is.’ Emma adjusted Melissa’s sarong in the mirror and gave a little twirl. ‘It’s very hot and you won’t like it. I’m just going off for yoga now and then I’m having a swim. I’ll pop back after that to see if you’re all right.’
Tom’s voice was weak with self-pity. ‘You’re angry with me.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she said sulkily.
He reached out for her hands. His limp grasp, she couldn’t help noticing, was so different from Yannis’s strong grip as he’d helped her down the hill. ‘I can tell you are.’
‘Put it this way, Tom. If I didn’t feel well, I’d make more of an effort to be with you on our honeymoon. I’m sorry for you, of course I am. But you men just give in to things, don’t you? When you’re a mother, you can’t afford to be ill.’
Tom’s eyes flickered with hurt. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Isn’t it? Think about it. Look, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for yoga.’ Grabbing her big blue-and-orange-striped bag, Emma left before she said anything she shouldn’t.
Sometimes, she thought, catching sight of the French couple wrapped around each other on their balcony, it felt like she was the only one around here who wasn’t getting any sex.
Those once-a-fortnight duty fumbles in bed hadn’t seemed much of a problem before. But now, in this island paradise where everyone else was a proper couple, Emma couldn’t help feeling that she’d really missed out.
And now she was married it was too late. Or was it?
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Melissa chummily when the yoga class had finished. ‘Want to join us by the pool? The children are playing football with Jack,’ she added, touching her arm lightly in a girly fashion. ‘They’re really excited about the fishing trip tonight.’
She’d forgotten to mention that to Tom. Still, there was no point, was there?
‘Will your husband come to that?’
Emma snorted. ‘Shouldn’t think so.’ A picture of Tom’s hurt expression swam into her head. Maybe she’d been a bit tough back there in the cottage. On the other hand, didn’t it serve him right for not making the effort? ‘I don’t know if I should go on the boat trip,’ she began.
‘Why not?’ demanded Melissa. ‘It’s your holiday too.’
Her new friend was right. All that anger which had been building up inside began to gather momentum. Just because Tom was being so wet didn’t mean she had to go along with it.
‘You’re right. I’ll go! Think I might have one of those massages on the beach today.’ She’d not had the idea until the words came out of her mouth. It wasn’t cheap, but blow it! She deserved a bit of pampering.
‘It’s lovely.’ Melissa sounded dreamy. ‘Had one myself yesterday.’ Then she gave a shy little glance at her husband. ‘Mind you, Winston’s massages are the best. He touches all the right spots.’
I bet he does, thought Emma with a flash of jealousy. It wasn’t that she fancied Winston; it was Melissa’s allusion to the physical bit that had made her envious. Everyone around her appeared to be doing it.
‘Sometimes,’ added Melissa wistfully, ‘I wonder if the sex is almost more important than it should be. We don’t actually have a lot in common, Winston and I. He doesn’t have kids, you know, so it’s hard for him to understand. But after my first husband went off with someone else, it was very flattering to find that someone else wanted me.’ She put a little hand to her mouth. ‘Oh dear, I’m probably saying too much again.’
Yes, she was! Melissa kept using Winston’s name. Did she think Emma wouldn’t recognise him? Or was she just hoping that there were other dark, bald men out there, also called Winston King, who weren’t famous?
If so, she was pretty naive.
Nevertheless, Emma felt the need to reassure her. ‘When you’re away from home, you need someone to talk to,’ she said.
But secretly, she felt uneas
y – not just because of the confidence but because of the sex bit. Emma’s thoughts went back to the jokes that Phil, their best man, had made at the wedding. Smutty jokes with all kinds of innuendos about what she and Tom would be getting up to on their honeymoon.
Tom had sniggered along with the rest of them, she remembered, but the truth was that sex had never been a big part of their relationship. Even when they’d first met, she’d found his kisses rather, well, wet and coarse. After she’d finally gone on the pill, after putting it off for as long as she could, she’d been quite disappointed.
Was that it? she’d asked herself when Tom had made a funny little grunting sound. (They’d gone up to her bedroom one night when Emma’s mum was out on another blind date.) What a lot of fuss about an act that was rather daft when you thought about it!
She certainly didn’t feel that tingling that she’d experienced last night when Yannis had walked her back. Emma shook herself. It was ridiculous to compare the two! Tom was her husband. You didn’t need chemistry when you had been together for as long as they had. Anyway, there certainly wasn’t much room for passion when you had kids.
Or was that really just a convenient excuse? And was that why the fury inside her was reaching boiling point?
The massage was a great idea. She’d never had one before. Mind you, it was a bit of a surprise when a man did it (a rather short one who barely came up to her shoulders). Rather awkward too, having it on the beach with everyone going past. But then, as the masseur’s hands worked their way down her spine, Emma closed her eyes and began to forget she was in public view.
Mmm. This was lovely. So relaxing. Then she stiffened. Surely his hands weren’t going to go up there? So close to her … well, her intimate bits.
Emma froze; at least she tried to, but her body had different ideas. She was beginning to experience a sensation she hadn’t had before. Not exactly an orgasm (something she rarely managed to achieve with Tom) but a general, well, letting-go.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ asked a voice.
Gasping, Emma lifted her head to see Yannis. He was walking past – not stopping, thank goodness – but there was something about his voice and the smile on his face that made her want to curl up and die.
After the Honeymoon Page 18
