Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1)

by Roberts, Julia

  It was deserted. No one had yet appeared to reserve their sunbeds with brightly coloured beach towels and it was a bit too early for most people to take a pre-breakfast stroll.

  Flip-flops in hand she stood at the water’s edge, with the shallow rippling waves caressing her toes and looked out to the reef. The sound of the waves crashing against it created a constant background roar which was comforting and very different from the rumble of traffic she was used to at home. She began to walk in the direction of Flic en Flac, carefully avoiding the pieces of coral that had been carried in by the tide.

  Holly had always loved the feel of sand beneath her feet and the smell of the ocean, which was quite odd as she had grown up in Clifton, a suburb of Nottingham, one of the most inland cities in England. There hadn’t been any exotic holidays throughout her childhood, not even a package holiday to the Spanish costas, but she could still recall the thrill of racing her dad down the long expanse of beach at Skegness into the chilly waters of the North Sea. They weren’t joking on the sign that welcomed you to the little seaside town that announced, ‘Skegness Is So Bracing’!

  That was one word for it, Holly thought, but at least she had been able to enjoy a week’s holiday away from home each year at the caravan park in Ingoldmells, something she hadn’t been able to provide for her own son, Harry. He had made do with pitching a tent in their pocket handkerchief-sized garden when the weather allowed.

  A different sound cut through the background rumble of the waves on the reef. Holly couldn’t place it at first but it seemed to be getting louder. She raised her chin to look up from under the peak of her baseball cap but couldn’t see anything, other than the groundsmen from the various hotels that fringed the beach raking up the needles that had fallen from the filaos trees and burying them into the holes that they had dug.

  The sound, she now realised, was coming from behind her and it was horse’s hooves approaching at a gallop. She turned to see a blond man, stripped to the waist, astride a big black horse less than a hundred yards away. He galloped past, and a vision of Brad Pitt in the movie Troy flashed into her mind. The expression on the man’s face was totally focused, almost trance-like, and she doubted that he had even noticed her as he passed by, but she had certainly noticed him, tanned and handsome in a rugged way, and not dissimilar to Gareth. She felt flustered as she stood watching the horse and rider retreating into the distance, realising that she had almost called out ‘Gareth’, had the sound not been strangled in her throat.

  Moments later horse and rider had rounded the headland and if it wasn’t for the hoof marks carved into the sand Holly might have believed him to be a mirage or a product of her imagination, the result of too much alcohol and not enough sleep.

  It couldn’t be him, could it? she wondered, a tiny glimmer of hope rising in her as it had done hundreds of times over the years, only to be quashed by her sensible side. Don’t be ridiculous, it said, Gareth’s gone.

  Her heart was thumping in her chest as she turned and strode purposefully back towards the hotel. The sun was already starting to heat up and she hadn’t applied her sun protection yet. It wouldn’t do to get sun burnt on her first day.

  Chapter 7

  Rosemary watched Robert cross the small expanse of grass to place their towels on the sun loungers closest to their room. She loved to sit on the beach and gaze out to sea or read a book but these days she did it from the shade of a beach umbrella. Gone were the days when she would lie out in the sun from ten in the morning until the sunset with no SPF to protect her skin and a liberal application of coconut oil to help her ‘fry’. Thank goodness her mother had instilled in her the need to use good quality skin care products from a very early age which had minimised the damage caused by the sun. One of the reasons that she loved coming to the Plantation House hotel was the range of beauty products that the hotel spa carried. She really enjoyed the decadent treat of facials and full body massages.

  This was her favoured end of the hotel complex away from the swimming pools surrounded by families and the ‘body beautiful’ types. She had nothing against either group but she had nothing in common with them either. In the not-so-distant past women would envy and men would admire her slender body, with her long lean legs, rounded bottom, flat stomach and small pert breasts. She still felt confident of her appearance in cleverly designed clothes but there was no hiding in swimwear.

  Robert, or Bobby as she called him, was making his way back towards her, having reserved their place on the beach for when they had finished breakfast. She had long since stopped nagging him about his posture. His rounded shoulders and rounded belly were a consequence of the many hours he spent at his drawing desk or more often these days at his computer. Just like all other areas of modern life computers played an increasing role in the work of an architect. They were a wonderful technical aid for producing the stunningly quirky buildings he had been working on recently in Dubai but they couldn’t give the human touch to turn a structure into a place where people felt comfortable spending their time.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d care to join me for breakfast would you?’ he quipped, extending his arm for her to link hers through.

  ‘Why I don’t mind if I do,’ she replied in a southern American drawl, mimicking the accent of her favourite movie character, Scarlett O’Hara.

  Chapter 8

  Holly was anxious to get back to her room to start on the work she should have done the previous evening. Fleur, the travel company representative, was already ten minutes late, which was not creating a very good impression on Holly or the other guests who were waiting to see her. They were all gathered in the lounge area where Holly had checked in the previous day, but noticeable by their absence were the British couple that had arrived at the same time as Holly. She hadn’t seen them at breakfast either, but then she had gone quite early.

  Breakfast had been a delicious combination of fresh fruit, followed by griddled tomatoes and a poached egg on toast. Holly’s request for HP sauce had been met swiftly and her coffee cup refilled several times without her having to ask. The only cause of disappointment was the fruit juice which was reconstituted rather than fresh – a big black mark in Holly’s opinion.

  Holly glanced at her watch. The rep was now fifteen minutes late. Holly stood to leave just as a short dark-haired woman, clutching a clipboard, rushed into the lounge.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ apologised Fleur. ‘The traffic was terrible this morning.’

  ‘Really?’ said Holly, genuine surprise in her voice, after all this was Mauritius not the Marylebone Road.

  ‘Yes,’ said Fleur, oblivious to the sceptical looks all around her. ‘A bus had broken down on the hill out of Flic en Flac and the police were directing the traffic, but they were only allowing a few cars from each direction at a time. Anyway I’m here now, and I’ll try and make-up for my lateness by speeding through the boring bits.’

  There were a few mumbles and grumbles but Holly liked this woman’s sincerity so she sat back down to listen to the ‘Welcome Speech’. True to her word, Fleur had finished all the basics in less than twenty minutes.

  Most of the other people stood up to leave, but Holly remained seated.

  ‘Is there something else I can help you with?’ Fleur asked.

  ‘Actually there is,’ said Holly. ‘I’d like to have a look around the island. Would you recommend that I hire a car and make my own way or would it be better to organise a car with a driver for the day?’

  ‘I would strongly recommend that you book a day with one of our driver/guides. They know all the best places to visit and they will be able to get you discount on some of the entrance fees. Was there anywhere in particular you wanted to go?’

  ‘I liked the sound of the coloured earth that you spoke about,’ said Holly, ‘and the dormant volcano, but I’d also like to visit the north of the island to see what the coast is like up there.’

  ‘The tours are normally either in the south, where the coloured earth of
Chamarel and the Trou aux Cerfs crater are, or the north where you can visit the botanical gardens to see the giant water lilies and then go to the beach for lunch, but I can ask if any of our drivers would do it.’

  ‘Perhaps you could ask the driver who brought me from the airport,’ said Holly, hoping that the 200 rupees she had tipped him would be enough to persuade him, particularly if he thought there might be another tip.

  ‘Do you remember his name?’ asked Fleur

  ‘ I believe it was Sachin,’ Holly answered.

  Ten minutes later, after a phone call to Sachin and paying the fee on her credit card, the trip was arranged for Friday, giving her three days to sit around the pool and beach and mingle with the other hotel guests.

  Right, thought Holly, now I really must get on with some work.

  Holly patiently typed in the premium access code for the Internet for a second time and pressed ‘enter’ again. Perhaps she had hit a wrong key. The same message flashed up on her computer screen:

  Access currently unavailable.

  She reached for the phone and dialled 0.

  ‘Hello Miss Wilson,’ said the receptionist, answering her call on the first ring. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m having a bit of trouble getting on to the Internet using the premium code you gave me. I keep getting a message saying “access denied”,’ Holly explained. ‘Am I doing something wrong?’

  ‘I am very sorry, Miss Wilson, but the Internet access for the whole resort is currently down. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘Do you know when you are likely to have it up and running? I have an email I need to send quite urgently.’

  ‘We should have it back by tomorrow morning at the latest,’ replied the receptionist. ‘It’s rarely off for more than twenty-four hours and it only went off this morning.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ said Holly replacing the receiver. There was no point getting cross with the receptionist as it was beyond her control. The only person Holly was angry with was herself.

  It’s my own fault, I should have done this last night, she admitted. Well there’s no point crying over spilt milk, she thought, it will just be late.

  She pressed ‘save as’, typed in ‘First Impressions’ and then turned her notebook off. She locked it, her passport, her purse and her jewellery in the room safe, picked up her beach bag, already packed with a book to read, a notepad and pen, her camera, towel and battered straw hat, popped her sunglasses on her nose and headed for the beach.

  It was just after midday, so Holly needed the shade of a beach umbrella. There were plenty to choose from on this stretch of the beach. Although the resort had seemed quite busy, judging by the number of people in the restaurant at breakfast, they were obviously nowhere near capacity and anyway this was the quieter end of the resort away from the two swimming pools.

  She hadn’t even finished reading a paragraph of her book when the first beach seller approached her.

  ‘You like to buy sarong,’ he questioned, holding up a brightly coloured piece of fabric printed with hibiscus flowers. ‘Only 600 rupees.’

  Holly smiled, shook her head and went back to the pages of her book. She had deliberately left her purse in the safe in her room so that she wouldn’t be tempted to buy. She didn’t need anymore colourful beach sarongs, she had a dozen or more back in the UK plus the four she had brought with her on this trip. Even so she knew she would have bought something if she had any money on her. That was the beauty of All-Inclusive, you didn’t need to carry money with you for anything.

  The beach seller hung around for a few seconds to see if she would change her mind and then moved along to the next occupied sun loungers. Holly watched as a young woman with short dark hair fingered the fabric and then said something which she couldn’t quite hear as they were too far away, but it must have been a question regarding other colours or designs as the beach seller dropped his sports bag to the sand and started pulling out other options. The woman was engrossed in her selection and the man with her was on his mobile phone so neither of them noticed their toddler wandering towards the sea a few yards away. Holly sprang to her feet and called out to attract their attention. Within moments the woman had scooped her daughter up into her arms and carried her, wriggling like crazy, across the sand and sat her down on the sunbed. She hadn’t shouted or smacked the child, as some mothers might have, she simply handed her a piece of coral to play with while she completed the sarong purchase. The man had continued his phone conversation throughout the episode.

  The little girl was very cute with dark curly hair.

  It’s funny, thought Holly, that’s exactly how I had imagined my baby would look, but Harry was blond and blue-eyed, like his father. She only realised she was staring when the baby’s mother waved and called out,

  ‘Grazie!’

  ‘Prego,’ responded Holly, making use of the tiny Italian vocabulary that she knew.

  Several other beach sellers approached Holly over the next hour or so, offering necklaces made of beads or pearls, T-shirts and little carvings of dodos, the national emblem of Mauritius. She refused them all with a smile. She knew she would succumb eventually, after all they were only trying to earn a living, but she really must get through her first morning without making a purchase otherwise they would pester her for the rest of her stay knowing she was a soft touch.

  She closed her eyes behind her sunglasses and must have dozed off briefly because the next time she looked across towards the Italian family they had gone, although their towels were still there so they were obviously planning on coming back.

  They’ve probably gone for lunch, thought Holly, what a good idea.

  The condensation formed on the cooled beer glasses as soon as they came into contact with heat of the Mauritian early afternoon. Holly had been tempted to order a beer to have with her lunch but had decided to stick to sparkling water, just as refreshing, no calories and no more drinking alone.

  She had chosen a table at the back of Waves restaurant so that she could see everything that was going on around her while pretending to look out at the view. She waited for her lunch, a simple Greek salad, and observed the efficient service of the waiters and waitresses. No one waited for more than a minute before being shown to an available table, and the drinks order was usually taken immediately. There was the right mix of friendliness and respect for the paying guests, with particular warmth and attention directed towards the children, not that there were many children of school age. Early March was term time in the UK and probably most other countries around the world, Holly thought.

  She scanned the restaurant for the Italian family but could not see them. She did however notice the British couple who she had missed seeing at breakfast. They were talking to another man in a linen suit and as he turned she realised she recognised him. His face had smiled out from the cover of the resort magazine that had been pushed under her door at some point that morning. He was the resort manager. He might have been doing his job, mingling randomly with the hotel guests, but Holly sensed a degree of familiarity.

  I need to strike up a conversation with those two, she thought, they could be very useful.

  At that moment Holly’s lunch arrived and she was about to protest that she had been given the wrong order when the waitress, Ornelia, smiled and said, ‘Enjoy your Greek salad.’

  It was like no Greek salad Holly had seen before. It was stacked, having come out of a mould, with a layer of cucumber at the bottom, followed by a layer of fresh chopped tomatoes, topped with cubes of feta cheese and sprinkled conservatively with black olives. It looked amazing and tasted even better.

  She was so engrossed in her lunch, trying to eat from around the edges towards the middle without it toppling over, that she didn’t see the British couple leave.

  Chapter 9

  ‘If she’s still on her own tonight we should ask her to join us,’ Rosemary said to her husband as they strolled through the gardens hand in hand. ‘I
thought that maybe she was meeting someone here but every time we’ve seen her she has been on her own.’

  ‘Well, no harm in asking,’ Robert said, ‘she can always say no.’

  ‘I’m sure she won’t be able to resist your charm,’ Rosemary teased. ‘I know I never could.’

  Changing the subject to avoid further teasing Robert said, ‘The old girl’s still looking pretty good.’

  ‘Robert,’ exclaimed Rosemary, a look of mock horror on her face, ‘that is no way to talk about your wife!’

  ‘You know full well I didn’t mean you,’ he said, smiling indulgently and gazing up at the hotel building. ‘I think they’ve only painted her twice since the renovation works were finished and that must be sixteen years ago.’

  ‘At least,’ agreed Rosemary. ‘We celebrated our first wedding anniversary here the week she opened and it’s our eighteenth in November, assuming we make it,’ she added.

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Rosie,’ he said, ‘of course we’ll make it.’

  ‘I don’t know what you were meaning,’ she quipped. ‘I was meaning if I can put up with you for that long!’

  She let go of his hand and ran down the sandy path towards their room with Robert in pursuit. To onlookers they may have looked like a couple of young newly-weds except that when they reached their terrace a couple of minutes later they were both terribly out of breath. He swung her round to face him and kissed her full on the mouth.

  ‘Why do you persist in joking about it?’ he asked, as he unlocked the door to their room. ‘It’s really not funny.’

  ‘You know I’m only teasing, Bobby,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking her sandals off, ‘and you used to like me teasing you.’