After the Honeymoon (29 page)

Melissa knelt down next to her. ‘Thank you for comforting me earlier on when Freddie was out there. It meant a lot to me.’

Emma squeezed her hand in reply.

‘Are you all right?’ Melissa’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way off.

She tried to nod but her head wouldn’t obey. ‘I’m just sleepy.’

‘Maybe it’s the sun. It is very bright here.’ She could feel Melissa’s hand patting her arm. ‘Why don’t you move to the shade?’

Dimly, Emma was aware of a hand steering her away from the picnic, towards a little clearing just up from the beach. There was the sound of giggling and someone speaking in a French accent.

‘Mum, Mum!’

Emma stiffened. For a minute, she’d thought it was Gawain calling her.

‘The kids want me.’ Melissa spread out a red tartan rug. ‘Why don’t you sit here for a bit? Have a little snooze.’

There was silence for a while and then the sound of footsteps padding across the sand, followed by the cracking of a twig. ‘Ah, so this is where you are hiding,’ said an amused voice. It wasn’t Melissa’s, as she’d thought, but a man’s. The thought occurred to her dimly that maybe Tom had come to find her after all.

No. It was Yannis. The realisation both excited and frightened her. Was he really interested in her, a podgy mother of two? If so, it was, she had to admit, quite flattering. Especially after Tom’s earlier honeymoon behaviour.

‘Mind if I sit down with you?’ he said, putting his head to one side quizzically.

‘No. Yes. I’m not sure.’ She felt herself blushing furiously.

‘Don’t be shy.’ His hand reached out and held hers. Emma knew she ought to move away but was unable to. Maybe, she thought suddenly, this was the real thing – passion – what she’d wanted all her life and exactly what Tom hadn’t given her. Didn’t she deserve it? A throb of desire shot through her. If she said no to Yannis now, she might never know what it was like. Was this the drink talking? No. If she was honest, she wanted him. She desired this handsome Greek, partly because his interest made her feel beautiful. Sexy.

‘May I kiss you?’ he asked softly.

Emma found herself nodding as his mouth came down on hers. Instantly, her entire body burst into flames – or so it felt. So this was what it was like!

‘May I?’ he asked again. This time, his hands began to move underneath her tee-shirt.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, feeling as though another woman was speaking. Then she added, almost as though to convince herself, ‘Please.’

Emma woke with a start after an erotic dream in which Yannis had been making love to her. She flushed furiously at the thought. Honestly, it was amazing what the mind could do when you were asleep. If she was honest, she couldn’t help fancying him. But it went without saying that she’d never be unfaithful to Tom. Besides, Melissa had been with her in the woods, hadn’t she? But where was she now?

Making her way out of the clearing, conscious of the taste of drink in her mouth, she made her way down to the beach and the sound of voices. There they all were, gathering around the boat with its little red front and talking urgently. Mrs Harrison’s Greek boyfriend was particularly loud, waving his hands around and talking vigorously.

‘You’ve been away for ages,’ said Melissa, looking up. She dropped Winston’s hand, Emma noticed, but now seized Emma’s as though they were old friends. Her face creased with concern. ‘You haven’t been in the woods all this time, have you?’

‘Well, yes.’ Emma felt confused. ‘You were there. Don’t you remember?’

Melissa shook her head. ‘Only for a bit. Then I came back here. We had a lovely game of French cricket and then we swam and did some sunbathing. But it looks as though we’ve got a problem.’

Emma’s chest did a funny little flip of apprehension. ‘What sort of problem?’

Melissa gestured at the boat. ‘The engine won’t start. Greco reckons that it’s got some kind of rubbish stuck in it …’

‘Flot Some and Jet Some,’ chirped Freddie beside them. ‘That’s what it’s called.’

‘Show-off,’ spat Alice.

‘So what? Just cos you’re stupid.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are.’

Well, at least things were back to normal! Apart, of course, from the engine. ‘But they can fix it, right?’

Melissa shrugged. ‘They’re not sure. Winston’s trying to help – he’s rather good at that sort of thing – but they reckon they might need a new part to get it going.’

A new part? Whenever Tom said that about the car, it always meant trouble.

‘Problem is,’ continued Melissa, tossing back a strand of dark hair in a gesture that Emma was beginning to think might be deliberate, ‘no one’s mobile is working here.’

Really? Emma got hers out to look but Melissa was right. No signal. Just Willow and Gawain’s sweet little faces grinning toothily from her screen saver. So far away …

‘Greco says that he can send up some flares when it gets darker,’ added Melissa lightly as though she was a mother trying to reassure a child, ‘but it’s possible that if he can’t fix it, we might have to stay the night.’

‘Cool!’ Freddie’s eyes were shining. ‘Can we explore by moonlight? Do you think we’ll find treasure?’

Alice snorted. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are. I’m not staying here, arguing with a baby.’

‘Alice.’ Melissa’s tone suggested she’d given up before she’d begun. ‘Come back.’

But the girl was already off, walking down to the beach where she proceeded to sit down, cross-legged, looking out at the horizon which was a wonderful explosion of apricot and blue. Almost immediately, a figure joined her.

Jack.

‘They’re all right,’ said Melissa quietly, as though to herself. ‘I trust her. We’ve had a long mother–daughter talk.’

Would she and Willow have the kind of relationship where they could do that in years to come? Emma hoped so – just as long as Willow wasn’t rude like Alice. Then she realised something with a thud. ‘But if they can’t fix the engine, we might not get back in time for our flight.’

Melissa shrugged. ‘I know. Real bore, isn’t it? Still, at least it means Winston can’t read the papers yet. Poor man. He’s really nervous about the
Globe
piece, although, as I’ve told him, he has to ignore things like that.’

Emma heard her voice come out like a child’s wail. ‘But I’ve
got
to get back. Tom will be out of his mind with worry. We can’t miss the plane either. The children and Mum are expecting us. And we can’t afford another flight.’

Her friend gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Haven’t you got travel insurance?’

Emma thought of the shiny blue-and-white EHIC card she’d carefully put in the back of her purse. No need to have anything else, Tom had said. ‘I don’t know that it covers us for a new flight.’

This was dreadful! It would be so expensive to have to buy two more air fares. They couldn’t afford it. Not with the expense of the wedding and the gas bill that was much more than they’d thought it was going to be. But none of this was as important as the immediate problem: the need to get back to Tom. Even worse was the fear of missing the flight home, back to the kids.

At that moment, Yannis came up the steps from the bottom of the boat. He looked straight at her, a soft smile playing on his lips. ‘You were wonderful,’ he whispered, as he went past. ‘Can you get away later?’

Emma froze. ‘What do you mean?’

Yannis’s eyes went cold. ‘Don’t play games, Emma. You wanted it as much as me. In fact, you were begging for more.’

Bile rose up in her mouth. Was he telling the truth? She’d had too much to drink, after all. Supposing that erotic dream she’d had about Yannis had been true?

No, it couldn’t be. Could it? In her ‘dream’, she’d been eager. Passionate in a way she had never known herself to be. To be crude, she’d definitely been up for it. Oh my God! What had she done?

‘Are you all right?’ asked Melissa, in a kind, concerned voice.

She shook her head as a dark pool of terror formed in her chest. ‘No, actually, I don’t think I am.’

‘A couple at the next table insisted on paying for our dinner. They were celebrating their forty-fifth anniversary and wanted to “share their good fortune”.’

Amelia, a newly-wed

ROSIE

The trip was fated! She’d had a bad feeling about it from the minute that Yannis had come on board, with the stench of wine about him. Recently, Rosie had decided she didn’t care very much for Greco’s cousin. Cara clearly couldn’t stand him, though, frustratingly, she refused to explain why. Rosie appreciated that he was a great cook, but he had an air of arrogance about him that grated. Just look at how he had turned up a week late, without so much as an apology. Nor did she like the way he was so familiar with the guests, especially Emma Walker.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was desperate for help in the kitchen, Rosie would have told him where to go.

‘Have you been drinking?’ she’d asked him sharply before they’d set off on the trip.

He’d shrugged, giving her that lazy smile of his. Here was a man who clearly fancied himself. Hah! It was wasted on her.

Greco, overhearing the exchange, had taken her aside. ‘He will be all right. I will keep an eye on him.’

Against her better judgment, Rosie had agreed, but only because she needed help with the picnic. Then when she’d seen him go up the beach and into the copse where the new Mrs Walker had just disappeared, she had felt extremely perturbed.

Should she go after them? Part of her wanted to, but at the same time, it was really none of her business. Emma Walker was a grown woman, and what she did or didn’t do was up to her.

Everyone, as she’d tried to tell Cara back at the villa, had the right to choose how they led their own lives. And it was her choice not to tell Jack the truth about his father, even if Cara thought otherwise.

‘We’ll talk about it when you return,’ the older woman had declared.

Much as Rosie loved Cara, she’d forgotten just how dogmatic and insistent she could be, like many Greek matriarchs.

But all this was nothing compared with what might have happened to Freddie. Rosie still felt sick with relief. Supposing the boy had drowned? It wasn’t the terrible publicity that worried her (although that would have been awful). It was how his poor mother would have coped.

Losing Jack would be her worst nightmare. Yet Melissa had been so calm, so dignified, as she’d waited, watching her husband scour the sea for him. She’d believed in him, Rosie realised, which was why she hadn’t gone to bits. And she had to hand it to Winston. He’d saved the boy, against the odds.

But now, just as everything seemed all right again, the engine had packed in! Rosie hadn’t believed it when Greco went to start it, after the picnic. She didn’t know much about boats but even she could tell that the spluttering and choking sound wasn’t good.

‘Mind if I take a look?’ asked Winston after Greco had played around with it for over an hour, before announcing that they needed a spare part. ‘I might be able to fix it without.’

Greco had scowled. Greek men were not good, Rosie had observed over the years, at letting someone else do better than them.

‘Let him try,’ she’d said softly, laying a calming hand on Greco’s strong brown arm. His heat transferred itself to her and for a minute, she had a lovely warm recollection of last night; a stolen hour after the Greek evening in Greco’s little white fishing cottage on the beach.

He’d cooked her a plate of delicious sardines with brown crusty bread and a glorious crispy salad, accompanied by lashings of red wine. Afterwards, they had lain side by side on the colourful rug that covered the stone floor, leaning against giant cushions in stunning blue and red. Greco might be a fisherman but he had an eye for design.

‘I don’t want to talk about Jack and Winston,’ she’d warned at the beginning of the evening and he’d steered clear of the subject. Instead, they chatted about books and music and some ideas Rosie had for the villa.

Soon, as they lay together, her head in his lap, the talking had stopped, and they had merged as one, right there on the rug.

He’d insisted on keeping the light on, his eyes on her throughout as though to tell her that she was the one that he wanted. No one else.

I’ve misjudged this man, she thought afterwards. Greco is a good man. He and Yannis might share the same grandmother, but they were cut from a different cloth.

Now, on the boat, she stroked Greco’s arm encouragingly, willing him to allow Winston to have a go with the engine. ‘Very well.’ Her man had shrugged with that almost aristocratic toss of his head which might seem rude to others, but which Rosie knew was a sign of male pride. ‘See if you can do better.’

Winston was clearly taken aback by Greco’s hostile tone. No wonder! How could he know that Greco was jealous of him?

‘I cannot bear to think of you and that man together,’ he had growled last night, as they’d cuddled up together.

‘I don’t question you about your past girlfriends,’ she’d pointed out.

Greco had shaken his head. ‘But they are not present, right now, are they? Not like that man.’

‘But Winston doesn’t know! He doesn’t remember me.’

Another furious toss of the head. ‘That makes it worse. How can a man father a child and not remember the woman he made it with?’

Exactly what Rosie had been asking herself. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, flustered. ‘He must have had several girlfriends since then, I suppose.’ She dug him in the ribs, trying to introduce a note of lightness. ‘Just like you.’

‘No.’ Another vehement toss of the head. ‘I recall each one of the girls I have been with.’

‘But there are rumours of children on the mainland.’ It was one of the many things that had been troubling her about her lover’s past.

Greco propped himself on his elbow and gazed down at her. ‘Those are untruths, put about by women who wanted to be with me. Do you not think that, if I had a child, I would take care of it? I am a responsible man. A child needs a father: that is why I feel so strongly that you should tell Winston about Jack, even though I do not like it. But I can assure you, Rosie, that I am not a father myself.’