There was a swish of curtains being pulled open, followed by the thud of footsteps, and although her eyes were tightly closed she could still sense daylight pressing against the lids, ready to prise them open at any moment and blast her retinas into dust.
Andi winced. If the thought of this was enough to fill her mouth with the metallic tang of vomit then the actuality didn’t bear thinking about. With a groan, she curled up into a tight ball and pressed her face into the pillow. Couldn’t she be left in peace and lie here all day, to not move until the sun slipped away again and the techno beat in her temples slowed?
She was in agony. Everything hurt. Even the ends of her hair ached.
“Go away, Angel. I’m not well,” she mumbled.
“I’m not Angel and you’re not ill,” replied a cheerful voice, accompanied by the rattle of cutlery and the chink of plates. “You’re hung-over. No don’t go back to sleep! Wake up and eat up something. Honestly, trust me on this. It’ll do you good.”
From her foetal position beneath the covers, Andi froze. Hold on. This voice was male and if that wasn’t a big enough giveaway that the speaker wasn’t her sister, then the aroma of sausages and bacon certainly was. Apart from the fact that Angel wouldn’t dream of eating breakfast, she was a dreadful cook and even less likely to make a fry-up for anyone else.
Oh my God. Where on earth was she and, more importantly, what had she done?
With a growing sense of doom Andi opened her eyes. Bright sunshine streaming through a massive bay window walloped her hard, and for an awful moment the world dipped and rolled in a sickening blur of glass, blue sea, an enormous four-poster bed, designer wallpaper and none other than Travis Chumley perched beside her, wearing a fluffy white bathrobe and a smile.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” beamed Travis. He waved a glass of Alka-Seltzer under her nose. “I’m on my second of these. Do you want one?”
Andi tried to shake her head but apparently her brain had come loose inside her skull and was sliding about. She didn’t dare move again in case she threw up, although she wasn’t sure whether this was from too much alcohol or the realisation that she too was in a bathrobe and had nothing underneath except for her underwear…
Oh God. How much had she had to drink last night? She massaged her throbbing temples with her fingers and tried her hardest to recall the events of the previous evening, but it was no use; apart from a raging thirst and a mouth that tasted of stale alcohol, she didn’t have a clue what had gone on. This was the mother of all hangovers. Any minute now she’d find a tiger in the bathroom…
“Bloody hell. You can party!” Travis said admiringly. “I could hardly keep up with you. I know you said you wanted to let your hair down, but even so!” He shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
What? What wasn’t he expecting? Her to party or… something else? Andi felt cold with dread. Lurking beneath her good-girl exterior she knew there hid a wild child who liked to let her hair down from time to time, but Andi normally kept her under lock and key. Angel’s job was to be the crazy one; Andi’s job was to look out for her. Her own partying had always been strictly under control.
She trawled her memory for any recollections of the night before and slowly, like mist clearing over the Camel and revealing little patches of the town below, images began to appear. She’d left the restaurant with Travis and wandered down the hill and into Newquay. Once in the town they’d bought mountains of chips from the kiosk on the harbour and eaten and eaten until they couldn’t manage another mouthful. Travis had chatted away and Andi had enjoyed seeing the arrogance and constant showing off vanish; in their place was a sweet guy who was actually surprisingly down to earth and good company. Throwing the remainder of their golden treasure to the squawking gulls, they’d headed into town and straight into Sailors, where Travis had bought them both a Magners and a whisky chaser.
Oh dear. They’d started the night with pints of cider in Newquay’s biggest party bar? No wonder her head was hurting and her memory had turned into Swiss cheese.
“You can certainly drink,” Travis continued cheerfully. “Respect to you! How many pints did we have, do you think?”
Too many, thought Andi despairingly. She looked at him to try to see if there were any clues as to what may or may not have happened, but it was all a blur.
“At least four, anyway. Then you were stuck into the tequila!” He shook his head. “I couldn’t keep up to be honest – and, anyway, one of us had to be relatively sober to try and get us home in one piece. Although getting you off the dance floor was easier said than done.”
Oh no. She’d been on the tequila? No wonder she couldn’t remember a thing. Kryptonite had a better effect on Superman than tequila did on Andi. And dancing? Seriously? She stared at him in horror.
“Christ, you look dreadful.” Travis hopped off the bed and collected a tray. Whipping off a metal dome, like a magician plucking a rabbit from a hat, he beamed at her. “Full English! It’s the only cure!”
But Andi was too poorly and too busy having flashbacks of dancing to face food. She vaguely recalled climbing the steps into a nightclub, the sort where the floor was sticky with beer and stuck to your feet, and towing Travis behind her into the gyrating crowd of boho babes and surfy dudes. There had been Jägerbombs too, she distinctly recalled that now, but after this there was nothing but a big blank.
Well, a big blank and waking up in a bathrobe in a plush hotel room with Travis. Nervously, she plucked at her robe.
“It’s all a little hazy,” she croaked. “What happened? Did we—”
Travis, busy shovelling grilled tomatoes into his mouth, paused mid-chew.
“Did we what?”
Andi felt her face turn the same colour as the food on his fork. She motioned at her robe. “You know. Did we do… that?”
For a moment Travis looked totally perplexed. Then he started to laugh.
“Do you mean did we shag, baby? Yeah?” he asked in a dreadful Austin Powers imitation, waggling his eyebrows up and down. “Do I make you horny, baby? Oh behave!”
Oh God, thought Andi in despair. Just how pissed was I?
“Chillax,” said Travis, seeing the horrified expression on her face. “Of course we didn’t. I’m not such a bastard that I’d do that when you were totally hammered! And anyway, I’d like to think that any woman I do sleep with remembers the experience and doesn’t need to drink Newquay dry first!”
Andi slumped against the pillows with relief. No disrespect to Travis, but she was very glad to hear this.
“Besides,” said Trav, spearing a sausage and plunging into sunshine-yellow yolk, “all you talked about last night was that annoying Jonty. I know I’m not the smartest bloke on the planet, Andi, but even I can tell when a girl’s head over heels with another guy.”
Andi closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear the sight of food. Nor could she bear to think that she’d been drunkenly spilling her soul to Travis. God only knew what she’d said. It was all nonsense anyway. She didn’t have any feelings for Jonty apart from friendship.
“I was drunk,” she croaked. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it.”
“In vino veritas. Or, in your case, in cider veritas,” he teased. “Hey, don’t look so worried. Your secrets are safe with me. Just ask Laurence.”
“So how come, if nothing happened, I’m in a hotel bed and in a bathrobe?” Andi asked. He had to admit, this didn’t look good.
Travis gave her a stern look. “Because, young lady, you were so rolling drunk there was no way I was going to be able to get you into a taxi and back to Rock. No taxi driver would have risked you throwing up in his cab, even if I could have paid him ten times the price. So somehow we managed to stagger back to this hotel; Dad owns it so they weren’t going to turn us away. I sorted us a couple of rooms – only then you thought it might be a right laugh to jump into the outdoor pool. With your clothes on. Down you sank, of course, like a stone, and I had to jump in and fish you out. I’m sor
ry if you’re offended, but I had to get you out of your wet things or let you die of cold. It made sense to wrap you in a robe.” He smiled. “Don’t worry. We had a chaperone. The concierge was very helpful too.”
Andi buried her face in her hands. Suddenly it was all flooding back. An icy splash, hands reaching for her, the world spinning around and then nothing.
He winked. “Nice underwear, by the way! Red and white spots are very sexy.”
She groaned. “I am never drinking again.”
“Don’t say that. You’re a lot of fun when you drink. I haven’t had such a good night out for ages. It makes Annabel’s and Boujis look tame. And as for Prince Harry playing naked pool? Compared to you, he’s a pussy! Wait until I see him next!” He exhaled happily. “Andi, that was a wicked pub crawl. Or should I say, stagger?”
Andi held out her hand. “I think I’ll have that Alka-Seltzer.”
Travis passed it over. “Good idea. Try some food too, if you can. It really will help. Then I guess we should head back. Aren’t you working today?”
Oh crap. She was. Andi was supposed to be putting a few hours in for Si – and then it was Jax’s party, where she’d have a starring role tugging her forelock. Maybe Travis should have let her stay in the pool and drown? The way things were going it would have been a happy release.
She took a big gulp of the drink, gagging at the salty taste. Bubbles fizzed up her nose and she spluttered.
“Not as much fun as tequila?” asked Travis, looking sympathetic.
Andi grimaced. “No fun at all. In fact I may not make it back to Rock.”
Travis might have thought this was a joke, but by the time his Range Rover crunched up the drive to Ocean View he’d seen enough to realise that Andi was serious. She’d spent most of the journey with her head stuck out of the window gulping back tidal waves of nausea. A couple of times she’d looked ready to leap out and launch herself under a lorry.
“Are you sure you’re really up to working?” he asked, opening the car door and helping her out. “I can’t imagine that you’ll be much good at adding up figures today.”
With legs that felt about as sturdy as soggy string and a stomach doing cartwheels, Andi wasn’t convinced that she’d be much help to Simon either, but she hated to let him down. Besides, he’d been so accommodating when she’d phoned and said she’d be in late that she felt she owed it to him to at least try. What had she been thinking, getting roaringly drunk with Travis? Andi was furious with herself. She hadn’t gone on a bender like that for ages. She’d thought her inner wild child was well and truly locked away. The last time she’d drunk so much that she’d gone blank had been back in the heady early days with Tom…
Another wave of nausea swamped her at this memory, although possibly not from her hangover this time, and Andi pushed it away quickly. She was doing her best not to think about Tom and his threats.
“Mel’s bound to have some strong coffee on the go and I’ll mainline that for a few hours,” she told Travis. “I’ll be fine. Anyway, there’s not a great deal left to do. The accounts are practically tied up.”
“As long as you’re sure,” said Travis, doubtfully. “Give me a ring if you change your mind and I’ll come back and run you home.”
Rising onto her tiptoes, Andi kissed his cheek. “Thanks for being a gentleman.”
Travis’s hands rested on her waist and he stared down at her with a half smile.
“Let’s just say that may go down as one of my biggest regrets.”
She stared up at him, surprised. In his mirrored shades she saw her reflection, wild red curls bright against the blue sky and yesterday’s clothes all creased and dishevelled. Goodness, but she looked like a girl who’d been out partying all night and then some. Maybe she should have gone home and changed first?
Travis winked. “I’ll leave you to go and show those numbers who’s boss.”
Andi laughed at this, before a movement from the shrubbery caught her eye. She stepped back swiftly when she saw that it was Jonty. The water running in rivulets down his golden torso and glistening in his dark hair spoke of a morning swim, and now he was on his way from the pool to Mel’s kitchen for his usual breakfast. When he saw Andi and Travis he’d stopped in his tracks.
For a split second the three of them were frozen in a tableau; Travis lightly touching Andi’s waist as she laughed up at him and Jonty, statue-still in the greenery, the light dappling his face and making his wet skin glitter like one of Stephenie Meyer’s vampires.
Travis’s hands fell away. For the briefest moment Jonty and Andi stared at one another. There was an expression in Jonty’s eyes that she couldn’t fathom before indifference slipped over those finely carved features and masked his thoughts.
“Andi. Travis.” Jonty nodded a curt greeting before turning on his heel and walking back into the shadows.
Andi watched him go with a horrible sense that something fragile had been broken beyond repair. Their easy friendship of the weeks before seemed almost an impossible dream and his unspoken disappointment with her quivered in the air. Andi wasn’t a fool. She knew exactly what this looked like; her with wild hair, wearing yesterday’s crumpled clothes and kissing Travis Chumley goodbye. Yet who was Jonty to judge her? Jonty, who seemed to go running whenever Jax clicked her fingers?
There was a knot in her throat. Why was she filled with the strongest urge to tear after him and explain exactly what had happened? Although the sun was still high in the cloudless sky, Andi felt suddenly cold.
Chapter 39
Gemma was a nervous wreck. So far she’d totally ballsed up a chocolate cake by using plain flour by mistake, dropped a mixing bowl (and splattered the entire kitchen with sponge mix in the process), and spelled the name wrong on the birthday cake she’d been icing. It was hardly surprising. She was so busy checking her phone to see whether Cal had texted that she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Her hands were shaking so much that it looked as though the three-year-old the cake was intended for had taken matters into his own hands.
Gemma sighed. The way she was performing today, a three-year-old would probably have done a better job. Dipping a palette knife into hot water, she began the soul-destroying task of scraping off the frosted In the Night Garden scene that she’d just spent the last twenty minutes struggling to perfect. She really ought to focus on Igglepiggle and Upsy Daisy, but all she could think about was Cal.
Why hadn’t he called? Gemma put the knife down and checked her phone for the umpteenth time, but the little flame of hope that maybe the iPhone had beeped so quietly to itself that she’d missed it died quickly when she saw that the screen was stubbornly blank. Was Cal angry with her? Did he blame her for what had happened? Was he at this very moment wishing he’d never met Gemma Pengelley? Or, even worse, was he so upset and broken by the events of the day before that he was unable to even face talking to her? Gemma hated to think of this scenario even more than she hated to think that maybe he was avoiding her. Cal was such a big personality, in all senses of the word, and she couldn’t bear to think of him being alone and miserable. Knowing Mike and the rest of the entourage, he’d be punished by having to pound on a treadmill or gnaw endless celery sticks like a masticating Sisyphus.
The press had been savage. Dee’s copies of the tabloids lay in a well-thumbed, chocolate-fingerprint-covered pile on the shop counter. After reading several of the red tops, Gemma had felt queasy and unable to face sampling the saffron buns and fairy cakes. Most of her formative years had been spent longing for fame and press exposure, so it was a shock to finally be handed it on a plate – or in this case in a Big Mac box. Headlines like I’m Loving It – too much, Cal-ories and her personal favourite Who’s Fat Girl? were doing things for Gemma’s appetite that Weight Watchers could only dream of.
Angel, who’d reappeared ridiculously loved up with an adoring Laurence in tow and babbling on about some brilliant idea, had been weirdly delighted by the press attention.
“W
e must get hold of Cal!” she’d shrieked, bounding around the caravan like a demented creature. “Oh my God! Talk about timing! This is perfect!”
It was the oddest definition of perfect Gemma had ever come across. She’d ignored Angel’s plea for Cal’s phone number and stomped off to rehearsal, where she’d fluffed her lines and generally made a total mess of the part. She had to get a grip, Gemma decided. The first performance was only days away and after all the effort that had gone into it she couldn’t blow it now. So it might only be an amateur production in a small Cornish town, but everyone had worked so hard and there was no way Gemma could let them down. As she mopped up congealing cake mixture, Gemma thought that just as Viola “sat like patience on a monument”, eating her heart out for Orsino, it was ironic that she’d be doing the same for Cal. Her only consolation was that it would hopefully make for a stellar performance. What she’d do when the play, and indeed the summer, was over was anyone’s guess.
She’d worry about that later.
Angel, on the other hand, didn’t seem at all concerned about the future. Gemma had, to her amazement, heard the story about Laurence being as stony broke as her friend – and although there was a certain poetic justice in the situation, she couldn’t help being alarmed. After all, hadn’t the whole point of Rock for Angel been Project Rich Guy? She would have expected her best friend to be furious and straight back to the drawing board, but instead Angel seemed thrilled and unable to let go of Laurence’s hand for a nanosecond. It was all very unusual and, quite frankly, disconcerting.
Angel’s behaviour was nearly as peculiar as her sister’s, Gemma decided as, placing the iPhone out of reach, she returned to the sink and started to rinse out bowls of bilious green and pink icing. Most uncharacteristically, Andi had stayed out all night with none other than Travis Chumley, he of the ridiculous hair and dubious maritime skills. In a million years Gemma would never have pegged the bumptious northerner as Andi’s type. With his flashy cars, ludicrously expensive watch and bulging wallet, she’d have placed her last penny on him being far more Angel’s cup of tea. Andi was brainy and sensitive and, with her gorgeous figure and cloud of tumbling red curls, she looked just like a girl from a Rossetti painting – albeit one who wore jeans and a worried expression. Stacking the empty bowls to drain, Gemma decided that she would have staked her life on Andi carrying a torch for the dark and brooding Jonty. He might not have two pennies to rub together but he had an undeniable presence, and when he looked at Andi his eyes seemed to light up from the inside. Gemma smiled in spite of her misery. Oh, who was she kidding? Jonty was bloody gorgeous: he looked as though he’d stepped straight out of a Calvin Klein advert, with his Gillette-sharp cheekbones, striking eyes and slow sexy smile. She’d seen how other women followed him with their gaze (even while they were seated with their wealthy partners), as he strode across the pontoon. She wouldn’t have blamed Andi in the slightest for falling for him. But no, it seemed that Travis Chumley had mysteriously found his way into Andi’s heart.
Escape for the Summer Page 34
