‘Do you think they do that with everybody?’ she asked when he had retreated back to the bar.
‘No!’ said Bethany, Stephen and I in unison.
‘Ooh…’ said Savannah suddenly, sitting up and peering over her sunglasses. ‘I see men! There, three o’clock. No brides in sight.’
I followed her line of vision and spotted her prey: two young, fit guys with mahogany tans, pecs to die for, both wearing tiny swimming trunks.
‘I think your gaydar’s gone wonky,’ I sniggered. ‘Look at the way the blonde one’s rubbing suncream into the dark one’s thighs!’
Savannah narrowed her eyes and squinted up the beach. She was as blind as a bat but refused to wear glasses or contact lenses.
‘Shame,’ she mused. ‘But at least they won’t be on honeymoon.’
‘Oh, but they are!’ interrupted Bethany. ‘That’s Jack and James. They’ve just had a lavish civil ceremony in New York and this is their honeymoon too. They’re hilarious. We met them at the pool the other day. They’re more of an old married couple than me and Stephen – they even bicker more than we do!’
Bethany started waving to the boys and called over, ‘Jack! James! Come and join us! Meet our new friends.’
The boys waved back cheerfully and immediately started collecting their belongings and heading in our direction.
‘What is this, aversion therapy?’ I whispered to Savannah. ‘We are literally the only people here who have not walked up the aisle in the last two weeks!’
But however hard I tried, I couldn’t keep up my gloomy mood that day. Maybe it was the rum in the cocktails, maybe it was the Caribbean sun, maybe it was Jack’s self-mockery or James’ witty observations. It might have been Bethany’s constant awe and wonder at the world, or Stephen’s obvious devotion to his wife. It may have been Savannah – it usually was – with her infectious lust for life. But somehow, at some point during that long, lazy day on the beach, I began to smile again. The stabbing pain in my chest faded to a dull ache that I could lock in a box, label ‘Max’ and bury in a place called The Past.
The next few days were spent sunbathing, drinking, eating and laughing in our motley crew of six. James and Jack had rented a jeep and every evening we’d all pile in and go off to explore the capital, Gustavia, or celeb-hunt at Nikki Beach. James didn’t drink so he was always the designated driver. One night he got a bit lost heading back to the resort from Gustavia and we ended up on a high, clifftop track that was getting narrower and narrower. It was past midnight and pitch black and the jeep’s wheels were dangerously close to the edge of the track with a hundred-foot drop to the ocean below. The rest of us – who did drink – were all yelling and screaming hysterically at him to stop and reverse.
‘I think the road’s just going to, like, end any minute!’ squealed Jack. ‘We’re doomed! We’re all doomed!’
Just as it looked as if we were either going to plunge into a watery grave, or more sensibly sleep in the jeep and wait until sunlight to see where we were going, a bright green flashing light appeared ahead and we could hear the thump, thump, thump of dance music.
‘What the…?’ said Stephen. ‘Is that a nightclub? Here? In the middle of nowhere?’
‘Of course it is,’ said Savannah. ‘I love how things always go right in the end. This is perfect. Just perfect!’
James drove the jeep tentatively on along the narrow track until finally it opened into a huge car park filled with Ferraris, Mercedes and BMW convertibles. The trees all around were strung with fairy lights and lanterns, beautiful bodies in sequins and gold were spilling in and out of the doorways. And on the roof of the old stone building a green light flashed, enticing us in, like Daisy’s light, luring Gatsby. It seemed insane that this place could exist so far from anywhere.
‘I think I have finally found my spiritual home!’ announced Jack, bounding out of the jeep and rushing towards the door.
We all pushed our way through a heavy, red velvet curtain into a dark, sweaty, smoky, candle-lit cavern. Hundreds of writhing bodies all pulsating to one, heady beat. On tables, burlesque girls wearing sequined bikinis and feather headdresses danced and teased.
‘Wow!’ was all Savannah said. It was the closest I have ever come to seeing her awestruck.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ said a man, appearing from nowhere. ‘Welcome to The Green Light. I am Hanz and this is my little place. Come, come, let me find you a table. What would you like? Champagne?’
The owner was around fifty, a good few inches shorter than Savannah, and a good deal fatter than any of us! He wore a white linen suit and a panama hat and an enormous gold sovereign ring on his right pinkie. He was so tanned that his teeth glowed in the dark when he spoke. I couldn’t work out if I found him repulsive or delightful.
He sat us down at a round table with our own burlesque dancer for entertainment. All the while he gazed at Savannah with a look of disbelief on his face. I smiled to myself. Another man falling at the altar of Savannah’s beauty! He certainly wasn’t the first and he definitely wouldn’t be the last. Hanz plied us with free champagne all night, such was his lust for my best friend. While the rest of us talked to him and found the German ex-pat to be charming and funny, Savannah tutted every time he got close and turned her back every time he tried to strike up a conversation with her.
‘Urgh, he’s vile,’ she whispered to me at one point. ‘I hate him!’
It seemed a rather harsh reaction to a man who’d done nothing but buy her free drinks and invited her into his nightclub. At some point in the early hours Hanz whispered in my ear, ‘I am going to marry your friend Savannah.’
I spluttered on my champagne. I didn’t find Hanz vile at all but he was clearly insane!
‘Whatever gives you that idea? She hasn’t spoken to you all night,’ I told him as gently as I could. ‘Besides, Savannah doesn’t believe in marriage.’
‘That’s because she hasn’t met me before. She is mine. I am hers. She knows it as well as I do.’
‘I think she kind of hates you,’ I admitted, not wanting to give him false hope.
But Hanz just smiled knowingly. ‘She hates that she felt what she felt when our eyes first met,’ he stated confidently. ‘She is angry with herself for falling so hard and so fast. She feels out of control. It scares her. That is all. You’ll see, Kirsten. You’ll see. Tomorrow I will take you all out on my catamaran. I’ll pick you up at ten from your hotel. Tell Savannah that I said goodnight.’ And then Hanz disappeared back into the throng.
The next morning I woke up very confused with what seemed to be amnesia, not to mention a very sore head. The blackout blinds were drawn and the room was in pitch darkness. I had no recollection of how I’d even got into bed the night before. Glimpses of The Green Light and Hanz and the burlesque dancers flashed into my mind like a half-forgotten dream. I stretched out my leg and was alarmed when it hit human flesh, I stretched out my other leg and it too hit human flesh. I screamed. Someone else screamed right beside me and then a third voice joined in until the room was filled with hysterical shrieking. Finally the light snapped on and I came face-to-face with Jack on my right side and Savannah on my left.
Suddenly the bedroom door swung open and James – the only one without a hangover – stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.
‘So you’re finally awake, Dumb, Dumb and Dumber?’ he asked with faux petulance. ‘Jack, I cannot believe you slept with two women on our honeymoon! I have photographic evidence of your infidelity and I have already posted it on Facebook and Twitter.’
‘B..b…but?’ Jack scratched his blonde head. ‘I don’t even know how this happened.’
Neither did I, or Savannah by the look of bewilderment on her face. James’ handsome face broke into a grin.
‘I’m just teasing you,’ he laughed. ‘All three of you fell asleep on the way home from the club so Stephen and I carried you in here one by one and dumped you in the bed. Ours was the room closest to the car park. There was no way I wa
s carrying you ladies all the way back to your cottage. Right. Up you get. Hanz is picking us up to go on his boat in half an hour.’
‘Yuk!’ said Savannah, slumping back into the bed. ‘I’m not going. He’s disgusting.’
‘Yes, you are,’ replied James curtly. ‘Sea air is the perfect solution for a hangover.’
Hanz’s catamaran was glossy and white and it was moored at The Yacht Club in Gustavia. He was wearing navy shorts, deck shoes and a captain’s hat. His bare stomach was as round, brown and shiny as a carved Buddha’s. I found him almost cute. Savannah studiously ignored him but retained her usual boundless enthusiasm for the rest of us.
‘Wow, this is so much fun!’ she shouted, as she lay on the netting with the waves crashing up and breaking over her naked skin. ‘I think I was born for the ocean.’
‘Perhaps you are a mermaid,’ Hanz shouted back to her.
I noticed her glance at him briefly. Their eyes met for a moment and a tiny smile played on her lips and then she abruptly turned away from him and started talking to Bethany instead. We lazed on deck, drank champagne, dropped anchor, snorkelled amongst the tropical fish, ate a picnic onboard and then finally, as the sun began to set, we headed back to Gustavia.
‘I can’t wait to a marry her,’ Hanz said to me, gazing adoringly at Savannah as she leant out to sea, at the bow of the boat, looking as regal and proud as a ship’s figurehead.
‘Have you been married before?’ I asked, wondering if Hanz collected beautiful younger women, married them and then swiftly moved on. It was what some rich men did, after all.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I have been waiting my whole life for Savannah.’
‘But…she’s so…um, young…and, erm… well, you know,’ I tried to say.
‘You mean she is far too young and beautiful for me?’ he asked, without taking the slightest offence. ‘I am aware of that. But, Kirsten, I am a very rich man. And luckily, money makes ugly men handsome and fat men thin. Besides, I have a very beautiful soul.’
I didn’t know what to say. His crazy mix of confidence, arrogance and utter self-belief was almost intoxicating. Part of me believed him.
The next day was our last on the island. Savannah and I had a ten pm flight home. I was gutted to be leaving but determined to make the most of my last day. I realized, over breakfast, that I had been wearing a smile almost permanently for a week now and I hadn’t thought about Max once. Somehow, I had been cured! With our suitcases thrown in the back of the jeep, our gang headed to gorgeous Shell Beach at the other end of the island – this time with Hanz in tow. No one had exactly invited him, but wherever Savannah went, he seemed compelled to follow. Still, she ignored him. But I noticed the stolen glances and secret smiles were getting more frequent. We drank cocktails, lounged in the sunshine, gossiped, confided, laughed and swam. We had been freakishly lucky with the weather. There had been two short rain storms during our first week but other than that it had been perfect blue skies and white, fluffy clouds. So it came as a bit of a shock when on the afternoon of our final day the horizon turned dark, dark grey, the wind picked up and Hanz said, ‘Aha, a tropical storm. We’d better go and sit it out in the bar. It’s going to hit us any minute.’
The others ran towards the shelter of the bar as the sky above us blackened and the first heavy, fat raindrops fell onto our hot, suntanned skin. But Savannah and I turned to each other and smiled.
‘Shall we brace ourselves?’ she asked me, grinning.
I nodded and grabbed hold of her hand. We lay there, side-by-side on our loungers, on the suddenly deserted beach, as the thunder roared, the lightening flashed and the torrential rain soaked our hair, our towels and our skin. I squeezed her hand and we stared right into each other’s eyes and we laughed and laughed and laughed. Together, we were waiting for the storm to pass, because Savannah had taught me that if you’re brave, the sun always comes out again in the end.
‘You girls are crazy!’ shouted Hanz from the safety of the bar.
‘Maybe!’ shouted Savannah. ‘Maybe!’
At the airport, tears were shed and email addresses were exchanged with the lovely couples whose honeymoons we’d gatecrashed. Hanz hugged and kissed me, whispered something in Savannah’s ear and disappeared. Savannah and I sat alone in the departures lounge. For once, my best friend was silent. Her forehead was twisted into a frown as she chewed her fingers anxiously. She looked even more upset to be leaving St Barts than I felt. When our flight was called I stood up to board, but Savannah stayed seated.
‘Come on,’ I urged her. ‘Much as I’d love to stay here we need to get on the plane.’
She stood up and looked me straight in the eye.
‘I’m not going home,’ she said, suddenly breaking into a smile.
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked. ‘You have to.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said firmly. ‘I have to stay here with Hanz. I have no choice. I can’t fight the storm in my heart. I’ve tried but I can’t. I don’t know why, but I need to be with him. I’ll Skype you tomorrow. Now go. Don’t you miss the flight. I love you Kirsten!’
And then Savannah ran out of the departures lounge and she too disappeared. She seemed to have no idea that she’d left her suitcase on the plane!
That was a year ago. It feels like a dream now. So much has changed. I’m seeing a really great guy. He’s called Will and he’s a fellow architect. He’s always late and his shirts are never ironed but I think I kind of like him. It’s early days and I have no intention of handing over the keys to my Hoxton flat any time soon, but he treats me well and he makes me laugh until my belly hurts. He has no problem with me going out with my friends, he loves it when I wear short skirts and I don’t think his grandmother ever owned an ugly ruby ring. We’re going to St Bart’s next week and I can hardly breathe I’m so excited. Oh God no, not on honeymoon! We’re going for Savannah’s wedding. I’m the chief bridesmaid – I’m to wear a turquoise kaftan over a gold bikini, with fresh tropical flowers in my hair and bare feet. She and Hanz are getting married on Shell Beach. Will can’t wait to meet Savannah. He thinks she sounds amazing. But then Will seems to think that everything I believe in is amazing. For now, at least. Because, of course, I know better than anyone that you can never tell what’s going to happen next. Who knows the future, eh? I hope it works out for us. But if it doesn’t, I’ll be okay. As a wise woman once told me, it’s better to be alone than lumbered with the wrong man for the rest of your life. I know now I will never be put back in my box. Because I’m a force of nature too. And like a hot tropical storm, on a breath-taking West Indian beach, I will never be tamed.
About the Author
Katie Agnew was born in Edinburgh in 1972 and brought up in Lasswade. She studied at Aberdeen University and City University, London, before going into a career in journalism. Katie wrote for several national magazines and newspapers before becoming Features Editor on Marie Claire magazine at the age of twenty-six. In 2001, she left the world of fashion magazines to write her first novel, DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, which won a WHSmith Fresh Talent Award. She is currently working on her sixth novel. Katie lives in Bath with her two children, Olivia and Charlie.
TOO HOT TO HANDLE (published by Orion), which is set in St Barts, is out now.
Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/katie-agnew
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GENIE OF THE ROCK
***
Valerie-Anne Baglietto
Destination: Gibraltar
Carys backed away from the window, but in the restricted space it was barely far enough. Strange. She’d never had much of a thing about heights before.
Three years ago, Joe had proposed to her on the London Eye – the full down-on-one-knee, ring-in-a-box shebang – amid ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the f
oreign tourists sharing their pod. Maybe she’d been swept along by the thrill of romance that day and hadn’t noticed they were a hundred-and-thirty feet in the air.
The straps of Carys’ backpack were digging into her shoulders. She wriggled it off as best she could in the limited space she had among the other passengers, and let it slide to the floor of the cable-car cabin, where it slumped against her legs.
If she were dainty – a sweet little flower – she might have imagined herself wilting delicately in the July heat, but Carys had never seen herself as anything other than clumsy, awkward and too tall. Like a giraffe who couldn’t quite get used to its long neck.
She fanned herself with her crumpled travel guide, and directed a puff of air upwards through her dry, sun-chapped lips, trying to blow her fringe off her forehead. Some hope.
Below Carys, the city of Gibraltar huddled against the limestone mass of the legendary Rock: a sprawling hotchpotch of ancient architecture and a maze of narrow alleyways contrasting with the glaringly modern.
She’d read something once that claimed Gibraltar was the new Monaco. In relation to what, Carys couldn’t recall, but as she’d never been outside the UK before now, she couldn’t comment anyway. If you didn’t count Chester or Liverpool then Carys hadn’t often been outside Wales. A couple of times to London… with Joe. That was about it. She’d never felt the addictive tug of wanderlust.
The cable-car juddered, and Carys pressed her hand against the window to steady herself.
She was mad. Crazy. Deluded. She had to be, halfway up a mountain in a foreign land, even if it was a British territory. Why hadn’t she stayed shopping down in Main Street with her mother? And yet, Mum had let her go, had let her do The Tourist Thing, as if sensing Carys needed to be alone for a while.
Mum had been amazing lately. ‘Be careful, cariad!’ and ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, Carys, love?’ always on her lips, but ultimately going along with every decision Carys made.
Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1) Page 3
