After the Honeymoon (19 page)

Sweating, Rosie glanced at the door to check it was closed. ‘Gemma, I’m going to tell you something that you simply can’t tell anyone else, OK?’

Her friend’s smile wavered. ‘What? You’re scaring me.’

‘You … you remember Charlie.’

There was a second’s pause, during which Rosie wondered if the sound had failed. ‘Yes. Of course I do.’

‘It’s
him
. The groom.’

There was a small gasp. ‘But it can’t be. He’s called Winston.’ There was a little wobble in her voice. ‘What was Charlie’s surname again?’

Rosie felt her nails dig into her palm. ‘King. According to his passport, he’s using his middle name. I don’t know why, but it’s him all right.’

She could see from Gemma’s expression that her friend was still trying to take this in. ‘Has he recognised you?’

‘No. At least, I don’t think so.’

‘And are you going to tell him?’

‘No way.’ Rosie felt a bit sick. Maybe she should have kept this to herself. Even though she trusted Gemma more than anyone else she knew, she was still taking a risk. ‘No one must ever know I had his baby. This is so awful, Gem. What am I going to do?’

‘Poor you.’ Gemma’s sympathetic voice brought a lump to her throat. ‘Is it difficult seeing him with someone else? I mean, I know it’s been years but …’

Her voice trailed away. She understood, thought Rosie gratefully. Understood that you never forgot your first love, whatever else happened afterwards – especially if it had led to a child. Rosie froze. What was that noise? It sounded like someone was stifling a sneeze outside the door. Jumping up, she flung it open. No one. Was she imagining noises on top of everything else?

‘I feel so guilty,’ she said returning to the screen. She lowered her voice. ‘I mean, Jack thinks his dad is dead!’ She put her head in her hands briefly as the enormity of it all began to sink in. ‘What am I going to do? Do I tell him? And if I do, what if Charlie – or Winston – denies it? It would break Jack’s heart to be rejected.’

Gemma let out a little sigh. At the same time, her face began to blur. That was Skype for you. The reception could be very unpredictable around here. ‘I don’t know, Rosie. I wouldn’t want to say one way or the other. It’s a decision only you can make.’

‘What would
you
do?’ Rosie asked suddenly.

‘Not sure. Maybe …’ There was the sound of yelling in the background. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go. Thought it was too good to be true. Little one has just woken up.’

Instantly Rosie felt guilty for having hogged the conversation. ‘How are
you
doing?’

‘Fine, thanks. Just getting over the sickness bit.’

How chirpy she sounded! Briefly, Rosie reflected on her own pregnancy, when Cara had taken her in out of the goodness of her heart, clucking around her in a language she didn’t understand but which had sounded reassuringly comforting. Until then, the world had seemed so scary, so uncertain. But with Cara’s help and, she had to say, her own initiative, she’d managed to carve out a life for herself and her son.

I’ll be damned, Rosie told herself sternly, if Charlie, or Winston, or whatever he calls himself now, is going to mess it up for me.

‘I’ll call later in the week,’ Gemma sang out. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Mum mentioned that your dad had to have an op. Nothing serious apparently – he’s out of hospital now – but I thought you ought to know. Chat soon. Bye!’

Dad had had an op? What for? Rosie felt a flutter of unease, followed by hurt. Dad had only written once since she’d left; even though she’d sent him the odd letter and snapshot of Jack now and then. How was it possible, in today’s day and age, for a parent to disown you for having a child out of wedlock, as he’d put it?

If Mum had been alive, she’d have understood.

Sometimes, Rosie toyed with the idea of taking Jack back to the South-West to see his grandad. Maybe then he’d change his mind when he saw what a lovely grandson he had.

Then again, who was she kidding? Her father was a selfish man who had made her mum’s life a misery when she’d been alive. At least, according to Gemma’s mum.

Her head now reeling with everything that had gone on, Rosie got up and looked out of the window. By the pool, she could see Emma Walker talking to Winston’s bride. Her heart did a little flip. So that was the kind of woman who had finally captured Charlie’s heart. Not surprising really. Melissa King was gorgeous.

Even so, two children was quite something to take on. Winston would have his hands full. How ironic that his own son was here and he didn’t even know it …

Heavens! Rosie let out a gasp as she suddenly found herself being swung around in the air, strong dark hands round her waist. How long had Greco been there for? And had that been him before? ‘You can’t just sneak in like that,’ she said, noticing that the door, which she’d shut, was now ajar.

He gave her a broad grin as his deep blue eyes bore down on her. ‘I like to take you by surprise. It is romantic, yes?’

Yes. No. She wasn’t sure. To be honest, ever since they’d got back, Rosie hadn’t felt comfortable about the new footing they now found themselves on. Everyone seemed to be watching them, including Jack.

‘We must be discreet,’ she said, steadying herself.

Greco looked disappointed. ‘You have changed your mind about me?’

‘No.’ Rosie glanced out of the window again. Winston was by the pool now, sitting on the edge of his new wife’s chair, his arm casually slung around her with an air of ownership that made her chest tighten. ‘I just haven’t had a chance to talk to Jack yet, that’s all.’

Greco put his head on one side quizzically. ‘About me or his father?’

Rosie froze. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Rosie. I know.’

‘You were listening through the door,’ she said furiously. ‘You had no right. That was a private conversation I was having.’

There was a conciliatory shrug. ‘You should have learned by now that there is no such thing as a private conversation on the island.’

That was true enough. Frantically, Rosie tried to recall exactly what she’d said to Gemma.

‘So Jack’s dad isn’t really dead at all,’ mused Greco thoughtfully.

Blast. Had she really said that?

‘So who could it be?’

Clearly he hadn’t heard everything, then.

‘Let’s think. It can’t be the pale Englishman with the travel sickness. It might be the Frenchman who insists on making love to his mistress on the veranda, even though they pretend to be on honeymoon.’ Greco was stroking his chin. ‘But my money is on the big man who is running your yoga class.’

What?

‘You didn’t know?’ Greco clearly found this rather amusing. ‘I gather your son has arranged it.’ He put a finger under Rosie’s chin, tilting it up so she had to look straight into his eyes. She felt her heart lurch. He’d got her, dammit. What was it about chemistry that threw two such unlikely people together?

‘It seems, Rosie, that there is quite a lot going on at the moment that certain people don’t know about. But do not worry. Your secret is safe with me.’

Then he gave her a little look, suddenly surprisingly vulnerable. ‘I presume this old boyfriend of yours did not come here to find you.’

Rosie spluttered. ‘No. It’s … it’s just one of those awful coincidences.’

Greco smiled wryly. ‘There is no such thing as coincidence in life. These things happen for a reason.’ He glanced out of the window at Winston, who was poised, ready to dive into the pool. He looked pretty good, Rosie couldn’t help thinking. Really fit.

‘Perhaps it is the universe giving you a little nudge, Rosie. Maybe now you have to face up to some tough choices.’ He patted her bottom lightly: an action which Rosie didn’t know if she liked or not. ‘Including your decision about me, my lovely English rose.’

‘We ran out of coins for the electric meter in our B&B on honeymoon. We cuddled up instead. Still do.’

Pam, still cuddling but with more cash now

EMMA

Emma woke with a start, trying to remember which day of the week it was. Wednesday? Thursday? When she was at home, she knew exactly where she was, right down to the minute. Everything was organised: it
had
to be when you had two small children, Tom to get up for work, and a little job yourself.

Emma was so used to her family’s frenetic routine that she never stopped to think how shattered she was. But right now, as she stretched out in the heat next to Tom, it all felt like another world.

Willow and Gawain were her life. Yet after four whole nights away from them, she was actually beginning to get more accustomed to their absence.

There was no one here yelling ‘Mum!’ Or wanting her to wipe their bottom or give them something to eat or hold their hand or mop their tears. In one sense it made her feel redundant. In another, she felt strangely liberated. For once, she had time to do things for herself …

Then she remembered. Early-morning yoga! Her heartbeat quickening with excitement, Emma slipped out of bed, leaving Tom snoring for England, mouth open like a goldfish and his hair all sweaty. That was his own fault. Last night, he’d insisted on the air conditioning being turned off because it was ‘too noisy’.

Squeezing into her pink shorts – the only thing she had that was suitable for yoga – Emma searched for her flip-flops, which had got kicked under the bed. Maybe, if Tom was still asleep when she got back, she’d hire one of those bicycles she’d seen outside the villa.

She cast another look at her new husband. Now the sickness had stopped, there was nothing wrong with him – just a reluctance to get out into the sun because it brought him out in a rash. ‘You go ahead and enjoy yourself, love,’ he’d said to her yesterday in a weak voice, which, she was surprised to find, deeply irritated her.

Emma thought of the French couple in the cottage next door, who’d been ‘making out’ (as Bernie would have put it) so loudly and obviously. So far Tom hadn’t even bothered to kiss her properly! It was understandable when he’d been sick, but he was so much better now. And it was, after all, their honeymoon …

A picture of the Frenchman next door doing unmentionable things with his legs swam into her mind, making her feel surprisingly moist below. Had she been missing out on something for all these years?

‘Reach up to the sun!’

Emma felt a hand lightly touching her shoulder; gently adjusting it a little way to the right instead of the left. That felt so much better. He was good, really good.

If only she could tell Mum right now that she was actually doing yoga on the beach with Winston King and that he’d touched her bare arm to ease her into the correct position! But she’d made a promise, hadn’t she?

‘Now down.’

Keeping her eyes fixed on his body – you could see those muscles moving like fish! – Emma placed both hands on the sand as instructed, desperately trying not to wobble. There were some small brown children going by, including a little girl she’d seen the other day with her hair braided with pink and yellow beads. It gave her a pang to think of Willow at home without her. Unable to help it, Emma gave her a big smile. The little girl gave a shy smile back. What a poppet! Enchanted, Emma tried to wave without falling over.

Glancing to one side, she could see Melissa doing the moves in a serene, smooth way. There was the French couple too, which made her blush – hopefully they hadn’t seen her prying! – and a couple of others whom she didn’t recognise.

On the edge of the group was Jack – just the kind of boy that she’d like Gawain to grow into one day.

‘Salute the sun!’ Winston was now commanding. Emma found her body stretching out in an almost cat-like pose. It seemed much easier to do this on the beach in the warmth than at home on the kitchen floor with Gawain tugging her hand or Willow crawling all over her.

‘Thank you.’ Winston was sitting on the ground cross-legged wearing long white shorts, with his hands clasped together as though in prayer.

Melissa was doing the same next to him, her eyes closed and hair swished back in a glossy ponytail. She didn’t look as though she was wearing any make-up at all, yet she still seemed as lovely as ever.

Was the class over now? Emma didn’t like to move until everyone got up. She’d just have to sit here, pretending to meditate like some of the others. Up on the slope, she could hear the sound of ping-pong and a shout, ‘That’s
my
point!’

‘No, it’s not, you moron!’

Melissa opened her eyes, rolled them as though to say ‘Kids!’ and then gave Emma a wink before closing them again.

It was no good. She was going to giggle. Serious occasions always did this to her: she’d almost got going at her own wedding and had stopped purely through concentrating hard on the altar flowers.

But there was no stopping the silly laugh which was escaping through her mouth. Winston was giving her a disapproving glare. Oh dear. She’d really blotted her copybook now.

‘Sorry,’ chirped Melissa as they all drifted apart on the sand amidst the ‘Thank yous’ and ‘See you tomorrows’. ‘That was my fault for setting you off.’

Emma couldn’t believe how nice she was. The wife of someone famous like Winston was actually apologising to her! Not, of course, that Melissa knew that
she
knew.

‘No, it was me. I’m afraid your husband is going to think I’m not taking the yoga seriously. But Mum and I always try to do his – I mean our – exercises at home.’

She looked down at her body ruefully. ‘Not that it’s done much good.’

‘Nonsense!’ Melissa’s voice had that slightly artificial ring to it that people had when they weren’t quite telling the truth. ‘I think you’re great as you are.’

‘Give me back my ball!’

‘It’s my turn to serve!’

‘No, it’s not!’

Melissa laughed. ‘There we go again! Better go and sort those two out.’ She gave Emma a conspiratorial smile. ‘Winston thinks I’m too soft on them, don’t you, darling?’ Then she lowered her voice. ‘But they’ve been through so much with the divorce that I don’t like to be too hard. And now they’ve got a new life to get used to …’