After the Honeymoon (20 page)

As her voice tailed away, Emma squirmed with embarrassment on behalf of her new friend. Should Melissa really say so much to someone she didn’t know – and in front of her new husband too?

There was a cough from Jack. He was addressing Melissa, rather than her. ‘Er, I was wondering if your children would like to come into town with me. There’s an afternoon gig in the square and one of my friends is playing.’

He was twisting his hands rather nervously as he spoke. Maybe he fancied the girl. They were quite young, of course, but then again, she’d met Tom at fifteen …

To Emma’s surprise, Melissa greeted the idea with enthusiasm. ‘I’ll check with them, but I’m sure they’d love to come.’

Jack looked pleased. ‘Does anyone want to rent a bike?’ he went on. ‘They’re on special offer at the moment.’

‘Great exercise,’ said Winston, looking at her pointedly.

Emma flushed. She’d give anything to look like Melissa.

‘I can find you something right now, if you like,’ added the boy, keenly.

Emma followed Jack up to the villa and the bike rack behind. What else did she have to do?

Looking back quickly, she observed Winston taking his bride into his arms and giving her a long kiss.

A pang went through her. When had Tom last snogged her like that? Even after the wedding, he had just given her a quick peck with his dry mouth.

Perhaps, she resolved, it was time for
her
to take the initiative when she returned from this bike ride.

Wow! It had been years since she’d done this! Emma stood on the top of the hill catching her breath. She’d cycled halfway up, which wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. And now she had this fantastic view as a reward, along with her aching legs, which had to mean that she’d done some good. No pain, no gain. Taking off the helmet, which Jack had insisted she wore, Emma felt the light breeze play with her hair. That was better. Still, she’d better put it on again before making her way down. In fact, she couldn’t wait to tell Tom how she’d cycled for a good hour now, and not just on the flat, either. Mum would be impressed too, when she made her evening phone call.

‘Lovely view, isn’t it?’

Emma whipped round to see a very tall, lanky, olive-skinned man walking towards her. Instantly she made to move on.

‘Hey, it’s OK!’ There was a broad grin with perfect white teeth. ‘I’ve seen you before. You are staying with my friend Rosie at her villa.’

A brown hand was thrust out in front of her to shake. ‘They call me Greco.’ His grip was strong. ‘I have lived on this beautiful island all my life. If there is anything you want to know, then I am your man.’

Emma took in this vision of a Greek god in front of her and then looked away, shocked at herself.

What was getting into her? Just because Tom wasn’t … well, wasn’t doing what a man should be doing on his honeymoon, didn’t mean she had to eye up every other male around her.

Trying to gather her wits, Rosie realised that she recognised Greco now; he was the man whom she’d seen holding hands with Rosie the other evening. It had surprised her at the time. Somehow the two didn’t quite go together; the Englishwoman was more conventional, Emma suspected. She might have lived out here for years, but she still served proper loose tea in teapots with floral china cups and saucers. That didn’t seem to go with this unshaven man with the red frayed shorts and rough brown hands that were gesticulating wildly.

‘Anywhere you want to go, I take you! You are on your honeymoon, yes?’

Was there anything that these people didn’t know?

‘Then I will whisk you and your new husband on special trip to magic island.’

Emma was intrigued. ‘Magic island?’

Another broad white grin. ‘You have not heard? We have a very special island near our own, that is hard to reach unless you know the waters.’ Greco’s teeth were brilliantly white, she noticed, and he had such a nice smile. ‘Luckily I am the man. We will make a trip, yes? Maybe with the other couple who have got married.’

It was certainly an idea, but only if she could persuade Tom. ‘I’ll let you know,’ she promised, beginning to move her bike. She didn’t want to look rude, but she’d been gone for long enough. It was time to get back and check on Tom.

‘I will see you soon, then.’

He stood at the top of the hill, waving at her as she went down, almost as though they were long-lost friends. The locals really were a bit pushy. Yet the man had a charm about him. He had looked at her in what was, yes, an admiring way, without seeming to notice her lumpy thighs under the shorts or her red, puffy face. Of course, these men had a reputation for being Romeos, but even so, it was still quite flattering.

‘Tom,’ she said breathlessly, wheeling the bike back to the cottage. Fantastic! He was actually sitting up in bed. ‘You’ll never guess—’

‘Shh.’ He was waving her away, his ear next to the small transistor radio that had been supplied in the room. ‘I’ve just managed to tune in to the game.’

Man U again! Tom might have lived down south for years but his parents had come from the north and he was inordinately proud of it. Still, there was a time and a place. It was as though, now they were married, he couldn’t be bothered to try so hard.

‘If you’re busy,’ she said coolly, ‘I’ll see you later. I’m going up to the villa to get some lunch and then I’ve signed up for an art class.’

‘Great.’ He wasn’t listening to her, she could tell. Just like one of the kids. ‘See you.’

‘Our car broke down during our honeymoon drive from Yorkshire to Bath. It was 1952 and we couldn’t afford to get it repaired so we got the bus back.’

Tina, still happily married with three grandchildren

WINSTON

His plan was working! Jack had taken both Alice and Freddie off to a local gig after lunch. Amazingly, Melissa had unwittingly gone along with it, declaring it would be good for the children to have some fun. Watching Jack and Alice together, Winston had felt an unexpected twinge of nostalgia. How well he could remember being in love at their age. And how lucky he was to have found it again. He turned to Melissa. ‘How about,’ he murmured, squeezing his bride’s bottom lightly, ‘spending the afternoon in bed?’

Melissa gave a throaty giggle. He loved it when she did that. Sometimes she seemed too young and giddy to be a mother. ‘What if they come back early and find us?’

That was just the kind of thing that Alice might do, which was why he’d slipped her a handful of euro notes and told her to ‘enjoy herself’. With any luck, it might buy him a bit more time.

‘They’ll be out for a while,’ he said confidently, taking her hand. ‘Come on.’

An hour later, they were lying on their sides, facing the window that looked out onto the sea. Melissa was pressed against his back, her arms around him. ‘It’s fine,’ she murmured reassuringly. ‘This kind of thing happens.’

Winston stiffened, but not in the right parts. Her sympathy made it worse. Sure, he knew that men were, at times, unable to … well, do what a man was meant to do on a honeymoon. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t already, as the Victorians might have put it, consummated their marriage.

But in the last day or so, there had been something about the way that his stepdaughter glared at him that had put him off making love to her mother. He wanted to, of course he did. But the message didn’t get across to the bits that mattered.

Winston heaved himself onto his elbows, looking round the room. This place didn’t help. It would have been all right if they’d had one of the cottages – they would have had privacy then – but it was difficult losing yourself in passion when you were in the owner’s bedroom with all her paraphernalia around them. It was rather like being a teenager again and making love in places that you shouldn’t.

‘Did you see Mrs Harrison with that Greek man?’ Melissa asked, cuddling up to him. ‘I wouldn’t have put her with a man like that. He seems a bit, well, rough and ready for her. Nice cheekbones, though.’

‘Maybe they’re not married,’ he remarked. ‘She strikes me as a divorcee with a lover.’

Melissa pretended to look affronted. ‘Thanks. That was me until last week.’

‘Ouch!’ He winced as she began to tickle him. It was the one thing he couldn’t cope with. Stop! he wanted to gasp but she wouldn’t listen. So then he began to tickle
her
until she gave in and they both lay back, laughing like children. That was better, he thought. That was more like him in pre-Nick days when, like all the other Royal Marines, they went in for stupid tricks and tomfoolery in order to block out the horrors.

But after Nick, he hadn’t been able to do any of that.

‘Emma’s a pretty woman, isn’t she?’ continued Melissa. Her hand was tracing his body now. Nice. But it still didn’t achieve what they were both hoping it might, dammit. ‘She’s got gorgeous eyes, but I’m dying to tell her that she ought to use brown mascara and not black.’

Winston kissed the top of his bride’s head. ‘She needs to lose at least a stone,’ he said firmly. He glanced at the wall on his left, which had a large framed poster of an English country lane in autumn, complete with gold and red leaves. Maybe Mrs Harrison missed home. Still, the grass was always greener on the other side, wasn’t it?

‘Maybe.’ Melissa was nodding. ‘But sometimes people suit being plump.’ She moved away, stretching herself out and arching her back against the bed. God, she was beautiful. Something began to stir. If he didn’t think about it, it might be all right.

‘You do think the children will be OK, don’t you?’ She was lying on one side, looking at him through her mane of dark hair. Winston began to run his hands through it.

‘Definitely.’ He was burying his head in her hair now, working his fingers down her neck: something, he was discovering, that she really liked.

‘You don’t think I was irresponsible letting Alice go with Jack after last time?’ Melissa’s voice sounded uncertain. ‘She was so desperate to hang out with him that I couldn’t say no.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I remember that stage myself when I was her age.’

Winston’s head was moving down her body. ‘Isn’t that why we sent Freddie with them?’ he asked huskily. ‘To make sure they behaved themselves.’

God. She smelt wonderful. Yes. It was definitely beginning to happen now. His breath began to quicken, in tune to Melissa’s. Any minute now and …

DING, DING, DING, DING. DING, DING, DING, DING.

‘My phone!’ squealed Melissa, her hand shooting out to the handset by the bed. She kept it on night and day, just in case the kids needed her – even when they were in the same house. Silently Winston groaned.

‘Hello?’ Melissa’s voice was edged with a panic he had grown to recognise. It usually meant nothing. Maybe some homework that had been left behind. Or the pressing need to be dropped off somewhere or collected. Sometimes it was Marvyn declaring he couldn’t have the kids after all. But that was at home. What did they want now? Hadn’t he paid both Jack and Alice enough euros to keep them both quiet for a bit? Winston turned away, feeling his body subside. The moment had really passed.

‘It’s for you.’ Melissa handed the phone over. ‘Your agent. She’s been trying to get hold of you but your phone has been off.’

Yes, Winston almost said, because it’s our honeymoon and I don’t want to be disturbed.

Reluctantly, he took the handset, eased his legs out of the bed and padded towards the window overlooking the sea. He could concentrate that way, without being aware of Melissa watching him. Life always worked better when it was compartmentalised. If nothing else, his work had taught him that.

‘Winston!’

Tara, a savvy woman he’d hired for her networking contacts and reputation rather than her crisp bedside manner, was wearing her no-nonsense voice. ‘I wouldn’t have called, darling, but this one is urgent.’

There was a fishing boat on the water, he could see, bobbing closer and closer to shore. Some people had such simple lives. Maybe he should have taken that path himself.

‘Darling, someone’s spilled the beans, I’m afraid. I’ve had a phone call from
Charisma
magazine. They’ve got wind of your little Greek hideaway and wanted a quote.’

Winston slammed his hand against the window pane in anger.
Charisma
had just been voted the top weekly glossy celebrity magazine. So far, all their articles about him had been gushing with admiration, but Winston was very aware that the press was a fickle beast. It was, as his agent kept reminding him, why he had to keep them sweet.

‘Don’t worry, sweetie. I didn’t give anything away. In fact, I’ve promised them an exclusive when you get back, providing they don’t send anyone out there.’

Really? Winston’s gaze was riveted on the fishing boat as it drew closer. Any minute now, and some bloody journalist would be leaping out, complete with photographer.

‘There is something else, though.’ Tara’s voice had something in it that he’d never heard before; a flicker of apprehension. Tara didn’t do apprehension. She dished it out.

‘What?’ Winston hadn’t taken his eyes off the boat. It was a trick he’d been taught years ago. When in a crisis, focus on something that makes you feel calm. For some reason, this simple fisherman – not a photographer at all, as it turned out – made him feel exactly that. There was something about his easy manner, the way he slung his catch over his back and walked up the beach, that made Winston feel the world was a simpler and more manageable place after all.

‘Have you got Internet access in that place?’ Tara’s crisp voice sliced down the phone.

‘Every now and then. It’s patchy.’

The fisherman was grinning now. Holding up his catch with pride as though he was a caveman returning with his kill. He was calling out to someone. Winston’s eyes narrowed. It was Mrs Harrison. She was coming down to meet him. Of course! It was the Greek that he and Melissa had just been discussing.

Bloody hell. That was some kiss: more on the Greek’s part than hers, from what he could see. Mrs Harrison, who had pulled away first, seemed to be looking around to see if anyone had noticed.