Meet Me at Beachcomber Bay

by Jill Mansell

  Except it didn’t come out like that; it came out as wishies. Like fishies.

  Oh God …

  ‘You were respecting my what?’ The corners of his mouth were twitching now. ‘My wishies?’

  ‘Wishes.’

  ‘You said wishies.’

  ‘I was going to say I respected your personal boundaries,’ said Clemency, ‘but seeing as we were sitting next to each other, I decided at the last minute to change it to wishes.’

  ‘But a bit of it got left behind.’ He nodded. ‘I like the sound of wishies.’

  In an ideal world, she would have produced her own pair of earbuds at this point and fitted them into her ears. But her earbuds were in her big suitcase in the hold of the plane. Instead she said, ‘Good,’ and returned her attention to the magazine.

  ‘Does this mean you’re ignoring me again now?’

  And when she looked across once more, he was smiling. With his beautiful mouth.

  ‘What are you saying? That it’s fine for you not to speak to me, but I’m not allowed to not-speak to you?’

  He inclined his head and replied gravely, ‘I’m sorry. I apologise. I didn’t mean to be rude earlier, but I clearly was. And now I feel doubly guilty. May I at least offer you half of my drink?’ He hadn’t poured his wine out; it was still in the mini bottle. When she hesitated, he indicated her ruined top and said, ‘May as well risk it. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  Clemency held out her empty glass. ‘Well, the plane could crash.’

  Sometimes, just sometimes, you decide you really don’t like someone, then they go on to confound you by turning out to be about a million times nicer than you ever suspected.

  His name was Sam, he lived in London and he owned and ran an IT company that involved a lot of flying around Europe visiting clients. As soon as they were allowed to unfasten their seat belts, he indicated Clemency’s top and said, ‘If you give that a soak before the wine dries, there’s a chance of saving it, isn’t there? Do you have something you can change into?’

  She shook her head. ‘All my clothes are in my big case. It’s OK.’

  Sam leant down and unzipped the bag he’d stowed beneath the seat in front of him. He pulled out a navy V-necked sweater and handed it to her. ‘Here you go, you can wear this. Don’t worry, it’s clean. Give your top a rinse in the sink and you might be able to rescue it.’

  The sweater was incredibly soft to the touch. It also smelt amazing, Clemency discovered shortly afterwards in the toilet cubicle as she pulled it over her head and pushed the sleeves up in order to rinse her yellow top in the sink.

  ‘Well?’ said Sam when she returned.

  Clemency dropped the wrung-out top into the sick bag he was holding open for her and tucked it under her seat. ‘I think it’s beyond help, but we’ll see. Thanks for letting me borrow your sweater.’ The smell of the soft wool was intoxicating; seriously, she kept wanting to bury her nose in it. Except that would look weird.

  Sam’s tone was genial. ‘Not a problem. It suits you.’

  ‘As soon as we get our cases back, I’ll be able to change into something else.’ Clemency stroked the wool fondly. ‘It’s lovely, though. You know, I once nearly died a horrible death because of a sweater like this.’

  ‘How so?’ Sam looked quizzical as she took a careful sip of the shared wine.

  ‘It belonged to my sister and I borrowed it without asking. She caught me wearing it and tried to wrestle it off me, and I ended up hanging backwards out of my bedroom window with the sleeves tangled round my neck.’

  Sam laughed. ‘In that case, I promise I won’t try to wrestle mine off you.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’ The rogue thought that such a scenario might actually be quite exciting flitted through Clemency’s brain. Ooh-er.

  ‘And how old were you when this happened?’

  ‘It was just the other week.’ She waited, then broke into a grin. ‘No, our wrestling days are behind us now. This was back when we were sixteen.’

  Sam’s eyebrows rose. ‘You were both sixteen? So you’re twins?’

  Now that they’d turned towards each other and were having a proper conversation, she could see, up close, that his eyes were brown with flecks of gold radiating from their centres and a black outer ring around each iris. His lashes were black too. There were faint violet shadows beneath his eyes and a tiny mole on his right temple. And as for his mouth … well, it was still beautiful.

  In fact, getting more beautiful by the minute.

  Chapter 2

  OK, concentrate. Sam had asked her a question and she couldn’t just sit here gazing slack-jawed in wonder at his face.

  ‘Not twins.’ Clemency gathered herself. ‘Well, not even sisters really. We’re stepsisters.’

  ‘Ah.’ Picking up on her rueful tone, Sam said, ‘And which of you is the elder?’

  ‘Belle is. By two months, which she never, ever lets me forget. Makes all the difference apparently.’

  ‘I can imagine. And how old were you when your parents got together?’

  ‘Fifteen. It probably sounds funny now, but you can’t imagine how traumatic it was at the time.’ Clemency shook her head. ‘We already knew each other, you see. Went to the same school. And we were just so completely different, we’d never got along together at all. Belle was perfect and organised, and quite show-offy because her dad was this multimillionaire and she’d grown up being given everything she ever wanted. Whereas me and my mum were living in a rented flat above a fish and chip shop where Mum worked sixty hours a week.’ She smiled as she said it, because just yesterday, while she’d been staying with her mum and stepfather at their glorious villa outside Malaga, they’d jokingly referred to ‘the chip shop years’.

  Sam said drily, ‘I can see that it could be awkward.’

  ‘God, tell me about it. Belle had a huge swimming pool in her back garden. The nearest we had to a garden was our window box. Her dad drove a pale blue Bentley Continental. My mum had a rusty clapped-out Fiesta. Belle used to make fun of my clothes, and me and my friends used to make fun of her and her friends. Then one day my mum sat me down and told me she’d been secretly seeing someone for the last six months and things were getting serious. And I was so thrilled for her, because for years I’d been longing for her to meet someone nice. I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t said anything before.’ Clemency paused. ‘Until she told me who it was she’d been seeing. And then I couldn’t believe it. Nor could Belle, obviously, but for once in her life she wasn’t able to get her own way and make it stop. We both prayed they’d realise they’d made a horrible mistake and break up, so that everything could go back to normal. But it just didn’t happen, because they were properly in love. The next thing we knew, they’d announced that they were getting married. Is this boring?’

  He looked startled. ‘What? No!’

  ‘OK, just needed to check.’ After last time, she was wary. ‘I bored you before. Don’t want to do it again.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘Seriously, that wasn’t you, it was me. Now I’m enthralled. Gripped.’ He gestured with his left hand. ‘Please continue. You can’t stop now.’

  His voice, beautifully modulated but not off-puttingly posh, was the kind you’d never tire of listening to. Better still, now that he’d stopped being completely dismissive, it was warm and confiding, with a dash of humour. Clemency felt herself falling under his spell; was he as interested in her as she was in him? It was too soon to tell, but the faint possibility that he might be was sending little zings of anticipation down her spine.

  ‘Well, everyone at school thought it was hilarious, but Belle and I were mortified. Belle was extra angry because she was convinced my mum was only marrying her dad for his money. Which drove me insane, because I knew my mum wasn’t like that. And once you’d seen the two of them together, it was obvious how happy they were.’ She shrugged. ‘So that was that; we ended up having to be bridesmaids in matching dresses, which was a laugh. And after th
e wedding, me and Mum gave up our flat and moved into their great big house with the swimming pool in the garden and the Bentley on the driveway. Not to mention the stroppy stepsister who went ballistic whenever I borrowed her clothes.’

  ‘Which, let me guess, just made it all the more fun to do.’

  ‘Well of course it did! Because it was such a thrill when I got away with it. Who could resist a challenge like that? And her clothes were so much more expensive than mine,’ added Clemency. ‘Which made it better still.’

  ‘So you were … what, sixteen by then? And both still at school? Weren’t the two of you given the same amount of money to buy clothes?’

  ‘Oh yes, we were. Her dad insisted on that. We got the same allowance, but at that age I was going through a surfing craze, so all my money went on wetsuits, traction pads and board wax. Out of the water, everything I wore came from charity shops.’ She grinned. ‘Which of course meant Belle would rather go out stark naked than wear any of my dreadful clothes. So that was a win-win situation for me.’

  Sam said, ‘And did you both slightly enjoy having a go at each other?’

  Ha, he knew.

  ‘A bit. Sometimes. Me more than her,’ Clemency admitted. ‘What with us being the interlopers who moved into the house she’d grown up in. You can understand that, I suppose. And it was only for a couple of years, until we both left for university. How about you? Do you live on your own?’

  OK, maybe not the subtlest way of asking the question, which presumably accounted for the brief moment of hesitation before Sam said, ‘Yes, on my own.’ He took a sip of his wine before continuing. ‘But you should have seen the house I shared with six other students while I was at university. Actually, you can thank your lucky stars you didn’t. What a health hazard that place was. There were real live toadstools growing in the bathroom.’

  Clemency felt herself perk up like a meerkat. ‘We had water dripping from a light fitting for months in our living room.’

  ‘We used to have competitions to see who could eat the most out-of-date food.’ Sam shook his head at the memory of just how gross it had all been.

  ‘We once found a dead mouse in our fridge.’

  He smiled. ‘You’re very competitive, aren’t you?’

  ‘Rate yourself for competitiveness,’ Clemency said promptly. ‘Out of ten.’

  ‘Nine,’ said Sam.

  ‘Eleven.’ She grinned. ‘See? I win.’

  They flew on, heading back to the UK, talking non-stop. Two more mini bottles of red wine were opened, and Clemency felt their connection deepen. There was an undeniable chemistry between them; at first she’d wondered if it was just on her side, but now she was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. When you found yourself on the receiving end of this much attention and the spark between you was almost palpable, it was kind of a giveaway.

  And a very nice giveaway at that. The conversation had swooped and darted from one subject to the next, from teenage adventures to escapades on holiday in their twenties, from the various part-time jobs they’d undertaken over the years to all-time embarrassing moments.

  ‘Mine was pretty awful.’ Sam shuddered at the memory. ‘I asked a client when her baby was due. She said, “I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.”’

  ‘OK, I can beat that. This guy brought his little daughter into the café where I was working, and I said, “Ooh, is Daddy going to buy you an ice cream?” And the little girl looked all confused and the person with her said, “Actually, I’m her mum.”’

  Sam almost choked on his drink. ‘God.’

  ‘I know! But … short hair, no make-up, jeans and a fleece … and in my defence, there was a definite hint of moustache.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Clemency flapped her hand. ‘The obvious. Apologised like crazy and told them I was registered blind. Then I served them coffee and ice cream and pretended I was counting out the money by feeling the coins. They sat in the café for thirty minutes, and the whole time I had to make out I was doing everything by touch … OK, you can stop laughing now, it wasn’t funny at the time. I was eighteen and mortified.’

  The captain’s voice came over the tannoy. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, can you make sure your seat belts are fastened … we’re now beginning our descent.’

  And for the first time in her life Clemency wished a flight could have lasted longer. But hopefully this wouldn’t be the last she’d be seeing of this particular travelling companion. Once the plane landed, Sam would be heading into London and she’d be making her way back to Northampton, which wasn’t the most ideal of situations. But it wasn’t completely ridiculous either. When two people liked each other, a bit of commuting might sometimes need to be factored into the equation. And from Northampton to north London was only … what, sixty-odd miles? That was doable.

  In her imagination, Clemency realised, she was already picturing them driving to meet each other, or catching trains, the excitement of seeing each other again more than making up for the slight inconvenience involved. And who knew, maybe if things progressed nicely, it might even make sense for her to leave Northampton and search for a job in London … unless Sam wanted to move out of the capital to be with her …

  OK, this was like being a teenager, scribbling your first name and your new boyfriend’s surname all over your school exercise books just to see how they’d look together if you got married. Though she didn’t even know Sam’s surname and couldn’t ask him what it was in case he guessed why she wanted to know. Ah, but once they’d managed to retrieve their cases from the luggage carousel, she would give him one of her business cards and hopefully he’d return the compliment.

  They landed safely – always a bonus – and made their way through passport control, then waited at baggage reclaim for their cases. Clemency’s was one of the first ones to appear on the carousel and she lifted it off with relief.

  ‘OK, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be two minutes.’ Having unzipped her case and rummaged through it, she pulled out a red stripy top and waved it at Sam. ‘There’s a loo down the corridor – I’ll go and change in there, then you can have your sweater back. Oh, and take this as well.’ As an apparently careless and casual afterthought, she handed him one of the business cards that had been tucked into a side pocket inside her case. ‘Right, I’ll be back in no time.’

  Then, because Sam was gazing intently at her rather than at the luggage carousel, she added, ‘Mind you don’t miss your case!’

  In the ladies’ loo there was a queue for the cubicles. At last it was her turn. Clemency changed out of Sam’s top into her own, then gave his sweater one last lingering sniff, committing the scent of it to memory. Although hopefully she would smell it again soon, maybe when they said goodbye to each other a few minutes from now and he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  Or on the mouth …

  OK, doing it again, stop it. Expertly reversing her cases and manoeuvring them out of the cubicle, Clemency prepared to make her way back to the carousel. Oh, but what if Sam murmured, ‘I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. Can I buy you dinner?’

  And after that: ‘Now I’m definitely not ready to say goodbye. Do you have to go back to Northampton tonight, or could I persuade you to stay?’

  Could he? That was the question. Clemency felt herself quiver with anticipation; she was so clearly able to picture Sam’s face and hear his voice as he issued the invitation.

  Oh, who was she trying to kid? Of course she would stay. Today, meeting him on the flight, had felt like one of those defining, life-altering events.

  If Sam were to ask her to spend the night with him, there was no way in the world she’d say no.

  But when she reached the carousel, there was no sign of him.

  Which was unexpected, but presumably meant he’d decided to visit the men’s loo before making the journey home.

  After loitering at a discreet distance for several minutes, Clemency headed over there, pushed open the door and called out, ‘Sam, are you in here?
’

  Silence. Until a man shouted back, ‘Yeah, darlin’, that’s me, I’m Sam. Couldn’t come over and give me a hand, could you? Ha ha ha …’

  She let the door swing shut. All of a sudden the happy-fantasy-that-was-about-to-become-reality appeared to be veering wildly off course. How could Sam have vanished?

  Her heart clattering, Clemency made her way through customs. Still no sign of him anywhere. Emerging into the arrivals hall, she searched the sea of faces without success. Hastily she checked her phone to see if he’d texted her, but no. Nothing.

  What was going on? This made no sense at all.

  Out through the revolving doors she went, because where else could she search for him in a huge airport? If he’d left a car here and had headed for one of the car parks, she’d never find him, but if he were getting a cab …

  Except why was she even doing this? She’d given him her business card – if he wanted to be in touch, he had her number. It was just that it was so completely unexpected. Apart from anything else, she still had his navy sweater. And it wasn’t just any old sweater; this one was cashmere.

  Seconds later, she spotted him. It was only the back of his head, but it was definitely him. Feeling as if she’d been hit in the stomach by a medicine ball, Clemency dragged her cases behind her until she was alongside him. He was waiting in the long queue for a cab, facing directly ahead, jaw visibly tense.

  Why? Why?

  One thing was for sure: she wasn’t going to ask.

  ‘Here you go.’ She held the sweater in front of him. ‘Thanks for letting me borrow it.’

  For a split second she glimpsed a world of pain mingled with guilt in his eyes. Then he took the sweater from her and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  Clearly this was the end of the line; the connection between them had been as fleeting as it had been fun. And now it was over, the shortest holiday romance in history.

  Clemency said, ‘Me too,’ and turned away.

  He caught up with her twenty seconds later, his hand reaching for her arm to stop her in her tracks.