by Jules Wake
They went out to dinner, fish and chips on the pier, because of course by then it had stopped raining, she in a taffeta black dress with a puffed-out skirt, which didn’t quite go with her biker boots, and Richard in a very spiffy pin-stripe suit, although the broad lines looked as if they been chalked by a rather drunk tailor.
They must have made quite a picture, sitting on a wooden bench in all their finery surrounded by seagulls begging for chips.
The dress, a real find for only a couple of quid, which she’d kept and worn lots of times after that, was still up in the loft somewhere, along with a whole load of other clothes that she hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw away but she couldn’t see herself wearing again. They didn’t fit with who she was these days.
Lost in daydreams, she realised she’d relaxed into Richard without even realising it, abandoning her upright impersonal hold on his waist. Somehow her arms had slipped around his front, her legs had inched closer to his backside and she’d nestled into his broad back, laying her cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt with the scent of him right under her nose. Half of her wanted to jerk back, what the hell was she playing at, while the other half wanted to enjoy the smell and the sensation of holding onto a warm body. The fabric of his top felt soft, good quality and well worn, giving off a slight scent, one she remembered well. It was the smell of his neck in the mornings when she nuzzled in and, with a pang that struck her like a blow, the smell on the sheets on the nights he wasn’t there, when he’d first gone to Hollywood.
She inhaled deeply, aware of a low-level dull ache in her heart, always lurking under the surface, an ever-present shadow dogging her sub-conscious, but nothing in comparison to the wrenching pain searing a hole in her heart in those first few months he’d been gone. She needed to get a grip, that was the past. Older and wiser now, she could protect herself against that level of intense emotion.
Determined to ignore the memories that insisted on surfacing like cheeky, persistent dolphins, she stared at the scenery as they passed. They dipped in and out of the sun and shadows as they passed huge tracts of trees, the dark- green boughs creating shady pools on the sides of the roads. Pine and cypress on the air made her nose tingle.
The whine of the scooter grew as they climbed a hill and as they crested the top, almost at a snail’s pace by this time, the view out over the sea took her by surprise.
‘Want to stop?’ yelled Richard over his shoulder.
She nodded and they pulled into a viewing area, already full of cars and people lining the walls, snapping away with their cameras. The spot maximised the view of the Gulf of St Tropez and the Mediterranean beyond. A cruise liner ploughed its way across the horizon, slow and stately, like a swan surrounded by unruly ducklings, the yachts, sails billowing, zipping this way and that, catching the breeze.
Richard came to stand behind her and leaned in, his breath lightly tickling her neck as he extended one arm and, resting it on her shoulder, pointed to an area of the coast. It seemed natural to lean back into him and follow the smooth line of his arm, indicating a spot where the sea met the land curving away from them.
‘That’s where we’re going.’
She cast him a doubt-filled look. The sun had risen high in the sky already. The beach was going to be incredibly busy and only get busier.
‘Haven’t we left it too late? We won’t get a sunshade or sunbed.’
‘Don’t worry about that. But it is getting close to lunchtime.’
‘You’ve just had breakfast.’
‘What can I say? I’m a growing boy.’
They got back on the scooter and sailed down the hill, the roads becoming smaller and smaller until they turned off down little more than a dirt track, which they bumped along for a minute or two before it petered out into a small car park. In the wall ahead of them was a tall, narrow gate.
They hopped off the scooter and Richard slung Carrie’s bag over his shoulder, selecting a key from the ring of the scooter keys.
‘Here we go.’ With a quick twist he opened the gate and stepped back to let Carrie through.
On the other side of the gate, a decked landing area with a set of steps, led downwards and by the stairs sat a large blue ice box. A boardwalk stretched away to the right, to which Carrie gave a second curious glance.
‘Ah, great.’ Richard picked up and gave her a cheeky wink. ‘Lunch.’
He led the way across the platform. The set of wooden stairs ran in two flights down to the beach, a small curve of pristine sand about the size of a football pitch. Two hammocks had been pitched under a huge parasol on one side and comfortable recliners on the other with large sun shelter almost like a Bedouin tent.
Apart from that the beach was completely deserted. Carrie stopped dead at the top of the stairs.
‘Is this for us?’ For you, she should have said.
‘Yup.’
The sea lapping at the edge of the sand sparkled in the sunshine, clear and bright. Around the edge of the bay outcrops of rocks stood guard, protecting the privacy of the beach. Their very own private, perfect slice of earth. Her heart skipped with a quick kick of excitement. To have the beach and the sea to themselves was quite the most decadent thing she could think of.
‘Belongs to a friend of mine.’ Richard picked up the ice box and, with her bag over one shoulder, headed down the steps, looking back at her and beyond her shoulder to the hill behind. ‘The path at the top of the stairs leads to the house,’ he nodded, ‘you can see the roof. It’s unoccupied at the moment, apart from a couple of skeleton staff who are here all year round.’ He put his head down and concentrated on the steps, his clear actor’s voice carrying back to her. ‘Keith and his family, grown-up kids from his first marriage and little kids from wife number two, are in Mexico this summer, but Keith said I could use the beach whenever I wanted. Well, he said I could use the house too, but I didn’t fancy that. Not on my own. It’s too big for one person to rattle around in. Christine, the housekeeper, gets bored. Means she’s happy to knock up a picnic anytime for me.’
She stared at his back. Housekeeper. Skeleton staff. Having a picnic ‘knocked up’ for you. Her height of luxury was buying a Marks and Spencer’ prawn sandwich on a Friday instead of taking a home-made one into school.
‘Do you come here a lot, then?’
‘Occasionally. I like to swim without someone trying to get my autograph or a selfie,’ he stopped at the top of the next flight and turned to her, ‘or worse, nick my swimming shorts.’
‘Did that honestly happen?’ Surely he’d made that up.
‘A couple of girls have tried.’ He offered her a self-deprecating smile. ‘I managed to fight them off.’
‘I can’t imagine what they were thinking.’ Or why they would want to. ‘Do they seriously think your meat and two veg is better than any other man’s?’
‘Thanks for that. You’re good for my ego. Keep me in my place.’
‘My pleasure.’ Now she was half way down, you could see the house more clearly. ‘It’s a terrible waste. There must be loads of places that are empty. Marguerite’s family didn’t want to stay in the villa, for which I’m very grateful, but there must lots more that stand empty all year.’
‘Which is why I’ve never bought a place.’
‘But you’re buying in London?’
‘I intend spending more time there.’
Carrie didn’t want to ask any more questions.
She took her time on the steps, letting Richard march ahead, hardly able to believe that they had the whole beach to themselves. With a quick smile, she wondered whether it would impress Jade or not.
At the bottom, she took her time, enjoying the workout, walking in the shifting sand exercised her muscles. There was nothing quite like it, she thought, although she was rather grateful that she didn’t have to carry anything. It was nearly midday and the sun had reached its peak in the sky. She picked up her pace towards the fancy shelter that Richard had already reached. Homes and Interiors ha
d come to the beach. Under the white awning were two wooden full-length sun loungers, with thick padded cushions in white and sunshine-yellow bolsters.
‘I wish I’d put a skirt on, my legs are cooking,’ said Carrie, ducking into the shade.
‘Sorry, but I wanted you to be safe on the scooter. I see lots of kids in shorts come off and badly mess up their skin.’
‘Forgiven.’ Just when she was all hot and bothered, he pulled it out of the bag.
He flipped open the lid of the ice box and pulled out two cans of lemon Pellegrino.
She put the condensation-dripping can on her cheek. ‘Bliss.’
Everything was. The sand so clean, she wondered if someone came down and raked it on a daily basis. That was too fanciful, perhaps, but it was clear that nature alone was responsible for that incredible depth of blue of the sea. She could see exactly why this coastline was referred to as the Côte d’Azur and this tiny secluded bay might have been created for a scene in a film. The hilltop behind them had a few pine trees casting their shadows on the beach and the craggy rocks on the outer edges created added interest.
Waves rippled into the shore, playful and merry, winking and sparkling in the sunlight.
Carrie kicked the shoes from her hot feet, promising them a cool refreshing paddle, and began to unpack her bag. Why had she brought this much stuff with her? Richard hadn’t brought anything and now she could see why.
On each of the sunbeds was a neatly folded velour towel, navy-and-white striped on one, pink-and-white striped on the other and on top of each a white hand towel folded cleverly to form a basket that held two bottles of Lancaster sun cream, a high and low sunscreen factor, a Lotus flower facial mist spray and two fragrances of L’Occitaine shampoo and conditioner.
All were still sealed. It seemed a shame to open them but she couldn’t resist trying the refreshing facial mist.
She had no idea if Lotus flowers had any special properties but removing the seal and reading the bottle helped delay the moment when she was going to have to strip off to reveal her bikini under her clothes.
‘Wow, that is gorgeous.’ She closed her eyes, enjoying the cold hit on her skin, although its effect was fleeting. ‘I bet most of the guests don’t even look at these things, do they?’
‘You are kidding.’ Richard reached down to the hem of his T-shirt and started to pull it up. Carrie wanted to look away but as he’d buried his head in the navy cotton, she stole a good long look at the lightly tanned skin, the line of hair running down his stomach, and smooth abdomen with discreet muscles that hinted at definition rather than shouted, check us out.
His muffled voice carried on, ‘The richer people are, the more they have, the more they’re given and they all love a freebie.’
Carrie busied herself with arranging her towel. ‘And here was I thinking I was a cheapskate for wondering if I could take a couple of items back for Angela and Jade.’
Richard threw the T-shirt on the sunbed and started unbuttoning his jeans. Carrie quickly looked away.
‘You can take the lot, if we can get them on the scooter. You look like you packed for a week.’
‘A briefing issue. Your instructions weren’t exactly detailed. Not all of us are used to Ralph Lauren towels and designer toiletries being laid on wherever we go.’
He shrugged. ‘You coming in the sea?’ He pulled down his jeans to reveal black jersey undershorts and somehow managed to pull the jeans over his feet with graceful ease instead of falling about all over the place like most people would.
‘Yes,’ she said, shimmying out of her linen trousers and pulling her T-shirt awkwardly over her head, struggling to manage the plait, which managed to get itself wound up in the fabric.
When she emerged the black jersey shorts lay puddled on the sand.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She swallowed, staring at them with the horrified fascination of someone faced with a spider, praying at any moment it might scuttle away of its own accord.
The shorts stayed put.
‘Are you coming in or not?’
With a quick blink, she raised her eyes to focus on his face. Nowhere else. Look at his eyes. Just keep looking at his eyes. Don’t let your eyeline drop. Look at his nose or his mouth, anywhere but down.
A mistake because he grinned, bold as a pirate, confident and that slight tip of his eyebrow raised in definite challenge.
‘Someone already stolen your swimming shorts?’
Lifting her chin, she held his gaze, defiant at first. Did he think she was going to follow suit because she didn’t want to look gauche? Or was he trying to imply she was too chicken to strip off?
‘Whatever happened to gung-ho Carrie? The girl who took the world on, every day?’
‘I told you I’m older—’
‘Balls. She’s still in there, I’m sure. What happened to you? I don’t buy the older and wiser crap.’
She heard the disdain in his voice as his jawline hardened, making her stomach churn. ‘What happened,’ she snapped her hands to her hips, ‘is that when you went off to never-never land, I stayed in the real world. Got a real job. Had responsibilities.’
‘A real job?’ His mouth dipped. ‘Yeah because twelve- hour days back to back for months on end isn’t a real job. Learning lines. Sitting in a sound studio for days on end. No, that’s not real work.’
A shimmer of guilt bothered Carrie until he scowled at her.
‘I worked damned hard to get where I am. Those first eighteen months were killers. Making sure directors knew I was Mr Reliable. Being amenable. Doing the publicity. Playing the game. All those shots of me with other women, that was work. Every spare moment I had, I called you. You knew it was going to be tough, but we both agreed I had to go for it.’
Under his narrow-eyed study, the knots twisted tighter but she was unable to look away as the wordless exchange became a battle of wills.
‘Fine, you worked hard. I get that. But now, life must be pretty easy.’
‘It’s easier in some ways, yes, but not in others. It’s hard to get to know people. Are they sincere? Do they want something? There’s always someone with a camera. I’m public property. Finding any privacy is pretty hard.’
Carrie raised an eyebrow. ‘So you trust me?’
He sighed, his eyes focused on her face with sudden intensity. ‘The Carrie I remember wouldn’t sell me out. And I’m pretty sure she’s still in there, even if she is older and wiser. I bloody hope I can trust you. It’s not much fun on a beach on your own.’
Finding it impossible to read him, she started to drop her eyes but the mocking challenge faded, replaced with a gentler, searching assessment, as if he was trying to look right into her soul.
Sharp awareness scythed through her as something in her consciousness shifted. Was that disappointment on his face?
‘You can trust me.’ Even as she said the words, she knew she’d ducked the real issue.
When had she stopped taking on the world? Jumping into life with both feet? Taking chances? Regret pinched, so acutely it almost hurt, forcing its way through long-held barriers.
Once upon a time she wouldn’t have thought twice about what anyone else thought, she’d have stripped off because she wanted to.
When was the last time she’d acted on instinct, followed her gut or been herself? With a rush of self-awareness, it came to her. Like evolution, she’d adapted tiny bit by tiny bit, infinitesimal adjustments that over the years nibbled away at the edges, eating into the essential elements of who she really was. A person she’d almost forgotten had ever existed.
Sure in her decision, with steady hands, she unclasped her bikini top and took it off, rolling down her bottoms and laying both on the bed with unhurried casualness. The Carrie Richard had married would have peeled her top off and tossed it aside with much gayer abandon, but maturity brought with it some limits.
‘Last one in is …’ she said, and with a cheeky smile took off down the beach to the sea, her heart skippi
ng with the joy of being alive, the touch of the sun on her skin and triumph at the shocked surprise on Richard’s face.
Ploughing into the sea, she splashed through the shallows, flinching and wriggling as the cold water spat up at her. Even though she didn’t look around, she knew Richard was right behind her. Funny, she was okay about him seeing her bottom, for some reason, even though he’d seen it all before, but a touch of self-consciousness about flashing him a full frontal made her charge forward, wading her way laboriously through the water as it grew deeper, dragging at her legs and slowing her pace. Knowing that there was only one way to brave the cold, she threw herself in, gasping as the sea water embraced her body in an icy hold. A splash beside her told her that Richard had followed suit. With a kick of her legs, she swam quickly into the sun, aware of the water coursing over her naked body and Richard alongside her.
With dark hair plastered to his head, and drops of water twinkling on his long eyelashes, the bloody man even looked good dripping wet, like some exotic merman. Had he got better looking over the years? Or was it that familiarity had stopped her seeing it?
For some reason, swimming nude felt very different, even though a costume provided a very brief layer, or perhaps it focused her thoughts more. Her nipples hardened in the water and she felt the icy touch of the sea between her legs as she swam breast stroke.
Deciding this was far enough out, she stopped, treading water as Richard swam ahead, doing a clean, swift front crawl, powerful shoulders and arms planing the water. With a sigh she flipped on her back to look towards the beach, treading water. Despite telling herself not to, she’d taken in long lithe legs, flat stomach and lean hips. Richard exuded good looks with every damn breath. Unfortunately, her libido had decided to duck the lesson on common sense and the cold water did nothing to cool her wayward thoughts.
Richard had turned and headed her way, shaking the water from his head.
‘That’s more like the Carrie I remember.’
When she was enjoying herself this much, it seemed dishonest not to grin back. ‘This is heavenly. I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to swim in the sea and not to have to be anywhere or do anything. I think this is the first time I’ve felt properly on holiday. You know, switched off from real life. No responsibilities whatsoever.’ She held up her hands. ‘I’m not having a dig.’
