Hawaiian Affair (Part 1 of 4) (Hawaiian Affair - 30 days to sign the deal - and stay out of love) (2 page)

But
hey, she thought, fanning herself with the glossy brochure she’d been allowed
to keep by the amused French salesman, it would make a nice little story to
tell her girls when she got back. And she’d got the prized photo on her phone –
which she began uploading to her cloud storage straight away, whilst she
wandered distractedly back down the jetty once more. It had been worth it,
pretending to be someone else, even if only so briefly. And no one would know,
would they?

Time
to chase the luggage again.
But
there was still no news. She could only hope and pray it would turn up at her
hotel by this evening, as her laptop and spare back-up were in there with
everything for the meeting tomorrow.
Oooo more palpitations.
The meeting
– tomorrow - everything depended upon it. Her little health food store back
home in Guildford, the girls’ education – everything. This opportunity was what
she’d been praying for – it simply had to be a success. And if it wasn’t…

She
shuddered at the alternatives, all too dismal to contemplate, each of them
meaning she would still have to rely on pain-in-the-butt Stuart.

Sadie
took a moment to catch her breath and looked out at the amazing view on the
other side of the jetty - the bluest sky she’d ever witnessed, and the most
luxurious harbour. She felt like she was on one of those travel programmes. She
sort of expected Judith Chalmers to come creeping out from a yacht with a
microphone… looking all orange and pristine. Sadie was old enough to remember
Judith Chalmers’ travel shows. Another fact that bothered her slightly - she
wasn’t getting any younger. She caught herself mid-thought.
No! No
negativity. Come on Sadie, think positive.

One
minute and some serious focus-work later, she was allowing herself to feel a
little elation. After all, she - Sadie Samantha Turner - had made it this far.
Who
would have ‘thunk it’
as her girls were fond of saying.

Not
her critics, who kept telling her she’d never amount to anything - Stuart, his
mother and his mother’s mother (strangely enough) being the core group.

This
time,
they would see
that this wasn’t ‘just another hare-brained scheme’ as her old boss had called
it, when - post-divorce - the newly single Sadie had left the university
research lab to strike out on her own in more ways than one.

This
time
it was Sadie
doing it by herself. And if she could only pull off this multi-million pound
negotiation, the commission would be incredible.
Then
let’s see them
laugh on the other sides of their faces.

And
in her ex-mother-in-law’s case, that would be at least two.

The
mobile phone in her bag rang and snapped Sadie out of her stupor. She squeaked
in surprise. Retrieving it from her bag, she checked the screen and then
straightened up and answered in her best voice.

‘Good
afternoon, Sadie Turner speaking? …Oh thank God.’ She continued walking as she
talked. ‘So, where did you find it? ... But
how
could one suitcase end
up in Frankfurt and the other in Milan? … What time “later”? … Well it will
have
to do, won’t it. And I’ll just boil in my business suit till then… Yes, I know
you’re doing your best. It’s not your fault, I’m just having a bad….’ She
stopped.

Don’t
say it Sadie, think positive. Always think positive.

 
‘It’s… unfortunate. I’ve got an
important meeting first thing in the morning so I sincerely hope it
will
be there this evening… Yes, that’s the right hotel. Thanks for letting me know.
Bye.’

Heaving
her bulging bag from her shoulder, she put the phone safely back inside and
zipped up the top. She straightened up, overbalanced slightly as her heel
caught on a cobble again, and the glossy brochure slipped from under her arm
and smacked to the ground. She stared at it, hands on hips.

Bending
down to pick anything up in this tight business skirt was not going to be easy
– it needed some thought and preparation. She angled her legs awkwardly, and
hoisted the hem a smidgen, then stretched and stretched until she managed to
bend low enough to pinch the corner of the brochure between finger and thumb.

Pleased
with having retrieved it, she wafted herself with its glossy pages a little.
Then huffing and puffing, she gave her heavy handbag a hoist onto her shoulder
- the weight of it almost swinging her round, like an unstable clothes-airer on
a windy day.
Oh good God.

 ‘Why
me?’ she said out loud, ‘Why is it always me.’

‘Because
you
believe
it’s always you?’ ventured a nearby voice.

A
deep voice.

What
the…?

Startled,
Sadie swung round to see a man silhouetted against the sunshine slightly above
her, on the deck of a huge yacht. Even bigger than the Nomusa. She squinted up
to try to see him. She could hear metal against metal, and smell engine oil and
soap suds… was he fixing something?

 ‘I’m
sorry? What?’ She shielded her eyes with her hand but still couldn’t see more
than an outline. The outline of an athlete, whoever he was.

‘I
was watching you.’

‘And
listening in on my conversation too?’

‘Yes
and the earlier one. Couldn’t help it – you were talking so loud.’

‘I
was…?’ said Sadie.

‘You
asked “why me?”,’ he interrupted, ‘I’m guessing something always upsets your
plans, right? Well it will - if you always expect it to. The trick is to hope
for the best, but plan for the worst.’ He had a London accent. She hadn’t
expected that, although his accent was a bit broader than hers, which she took
a certain amount of comfort from. After all, she felt out of place amongst all
this opulence. But finding someone with an accent not dissimilar to her own…

Maybe
it wasn’t all toffs and tiaras here on the Riviera.

She
found herself responding, intrigued. ‘Yes – but -  it’s probably just my bad
luck, this time.’

‘Well
some people say we make our
own
luck,’ there was an unmistakeable smile
in his voice, ‘
every
time.’

‘Hey
– it’s usually
me
preaching positivity and no-such-thing-as-coincidence!’
she said.
Who WAS this guy?

‘Well
in that case, why be so negative today?’ he continued. ‘I was watching you
earlier, being all humpy, all
don’t call me darling,’

‘Eavesdropper!’

‘Whatever.
Look - we’ve got sunshine, fresh air, clothes on our backs and shoes on our
feet. Some people say that’s all we need.’

‘Well
some
people
ought to try being in my shoes for a while - they
hurt.’

He
seemed to be looking down at her feet, but the sun was still in the wrong place
to see his face properly.
Was he old? Young? Sane? An axe murderer?

‘Nah,
I wouldn’t wear
those
shoes if you paid me,’ he laughed. ‘Except on Sundays.’

Oh
he’s such a smart Alec.

‘Bikinis,
sarongs…’ he went on, ‘Pedal-pushers and pumps at most – that’s the
de
rigeur
dress code for these yachts.’

Yes,
a smart Alec who’s making me feel stupid. ‘
I know that! But there’s a reason I’m dressed like this,
actually
,’
Sadie said, pulling her jacket down smartly.

‘A
reason…? Ohhhh I’ve got it! You’re here for Mario’s birthday aren’t you! But I
thought we ordered a policewoman.’

‘I
am
not
a stripper-gram!’ she said.

‘I
was teasing…’

‘Oh.’

‘…his
birthday’s not till Friday.’

Much
as she didn’t want to – Sadie had to smile. He’d caught her.

A
very smart Alec.

‘So,
what
are
you doing here? You don’t look like the usual posh yacht
people.’

‘You
saying I don’t belong? Huh! So says
you
, with the heavy London accent,’ she
said.
Got him.  
She could hear a little chuckle.
‘
Well what,
exactly, do the usual posh yacht people look like then?’ Sadie asked.

 ‘Oh,
I don’t know,’ he replied, ‘stuffy, stuck up, boring as hell and seriously,
seriously unattractive. You’re none of those.’

Okay,
this man is the devil.
He
had to be. Every time she was about to get angry with him, he took the wind
right out of her sails.

‘Really?’
she almost cooed like a teenager. ‘So you think I’m…’

‘…not
stuffy. Yes.’ Trampling right over her moment of glory - and he knew it. ‘And anyway,’
he added, ‘you didn’t answer my question. What’re you here for?’

Sadie
looked up at him – and for a brief moment she wondered,
yes, what AM I doing
here exactly? 
Making a right royal mess-up of being away on my own, that’s
what.

Sadie
winced as she remembered her plane journey – feeling stupid for thinking you
have to travel smart in Club Class. No one else had – scruffy-chic was more the
order of the day. And the real reason why she was right here right now - the
kind women who’d given Sadie the ticket. Plus they’d clearly felt sorry for her
and took her under their wing when she was still standing at the luggage
carousel long after everyone else had collected their cases and gone. She
couldn’t help but accept their offer of a lift to the quay after all that
kerfuffle at the airport. It was their fault she’d become curious enough to go
party-crashing. And her own fault for doing it.

And
now she’d been sucked into a surreal conversation with some strange deckhand
who obviously thought she was a bit of an idiot. Perhaps he was right.

 ‘Actually,
I think I’m just lost,’ she said.

‘In
life? Or just today?’

He
stepped down the gangplank towards her.

Sadie’s
usual laser-sharp retort evaporated on her lips at the sight that came into
focus before her.

He
was tall – tall and lean.

Attractive
in a rugged sort of way - if you like them rough and ready. And Sadie did. The
problem was, her pounding heart forgot she was on a ‘Man-Ban’.

 
He was wearing shorts.
Just
shorts. All that stood between them was a pair of oily cut-offs and a spanner.

‘UH-ohhh,’
she murmured. She
wished she hadn’t, but it happened all of its own accord.
Uh-ohhh.
There
it was again.

This
man was gorgeous. She fanned herself faster with the brochure. He spotted it.

‘Ahh,
I see you’re viewing today? Well you’re not
very
lost at all – this is
the
Nomad
. The
Nomusa
is a few berths down.’ He wiped his hands
on a dirty cloth hanging from his pocket and smiled. By now, Sadie was in a
complete trance.

Hot
Boat Guy waited for her answer, but it didn’t come, so he smiled a bigger
smile.

‘Oh,’
she replied eventually, ‘you mean the
blue boat
down there. Yes, I’ve
just been round it, actually.’ He waited as if wanting her to say more. ‘
Nomusa
 means
merciful
you know,’ she added.

‘And…’
 

‘And?’
She had no clue what he was asking.

‘…and
what did you think of it? The “blue boat”?’

Oh
God is he seriously going to quiz me on it? I can’t say I wasn’t supposed to be
there, I just wanted a nose-round and a free glass of champagne.

‘
Actually, it’s ...not quite what I was
looking for,’ blagging as if her life depended on it.

‘Not
big enough?’ he purred.

The
corner of his mouth curled and Sadie felt like a rabbit in the headlights. Her
blush attack began in earnest, as he took another step towards her down the
gangplank.

‘Did
you want something bigger?’ he asked. The shorts were dangerously near, now.
His thighs getting closer. Eye-level thighs.   

OH
MY GOD.
He’s talking about his crotch. Is he talking about his crotch?

After
all, there was only about two feet and a layer of denim in between it and her…
what should she say? What should she say? The first thing she should
do
,
is stop looking at it. She quickly averted her eyes to the right.

Oh
God it looks plenty big enough
,
she thought to herself, as she struggled not to look back but couldn’t help it.
After all, it had been so long since she’d actually seen a naked man…

Stop
it Sadie
, she told
herself.
Being six hundred miles from home might mean you can go
‘pretend-shopping’ for a boat... but you cannot go home with a member of crew
rolled up and tucked under your arm like the rug you bought in Turkey.

Turkey
- that was the last time she went abroad alone, after the break up with Stuart.
God, was that really four years ago?