Johnny Be Good (15 page)

We arrive at the Post Ranch Inn just after six o’clock in the evening, after winding our way into the cliffs of Big Sur, Johnny taking the corners like a Formula One driver. I’ve been feeling carsick for a while now, but haven’t been able to bring myself to say anything that may quash the look of glee on his face.

I called Davey an hour ago to find out how he’s getting on with Christian. He’s airborne, apparently, although by the time his plane lands at LAX airport, it will be too late to set off for Big Sur. Davey promises they’ll be on their way first thing in the morning.

We have a dinner reservation at eight, so set off to our rooms to settle in. A staff member takes us there in an electric hydro-vehicle, and as we head up the hill and round the corner, the sight takes my breath away. We’re high up on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Behind us in the distance are mountains and, in between, rolling grassy meadows and forests. I’m excited about staying here.

I almost don’t see the Ocean Houses where Johnny and Christian are staying because their curved roofs are covered with
a soft carpet of grass and wildflowers. I wait while Johnny and his luggage are seen to his room, and then it’s my turn.

I’m in a Tree House situated just across the pathway. It’s a triangular wooden structure on stilts, built right underneath a group of mature trees. My view is of the mountains, and it’s spectacular.

I follow my host up some stairs and along a wooden walkway into the house. He tells me the fridge is replenished daily and everything is included in the price, so after he’s gone that’s the first place I look. Goat’s cheese and posh crackers, crisps, nuts, chocolate…Ooh, and some wine. I open up a bottle and pour myself a glass of white, before exploring. Priorities, priorities.

The bed is very high and very cosy-looking, and a window in the roof overhead gives me a view of the tree branches, coated with mossy bark. There’s a fireplace, with a fire built, ready to be lit, and a window seat at the end overlooking the dappled green trees and the distant mountains. At the other end of the Tree House is the bathroom, hosting a deep spa bath with views reaching, again, to the mountains. I wonder how long it will be until sundown, and decide to take a wander with my wine to watch the sunset.

I come out of the Tree House armed with glass and bottle and turn right, ambling along the path. To my left is the ocean, far down below. I spot a hot tub near the cliff edge, full to the brim with steaming water, and can barely contain my joy at the idea of venturing into it tomorrow. This is by far the nicest place I have ever been to.

There are a couple of people in the tub, but to the left of that is a wooden bench. I make my way to it and sit down.

The departing sun is still so bright that it turns the ocean
white. I feel like I’m up in an aeroplane looking down over cottonwool clouds, or in Antarctica with miles and miles of snowy plains stretching out before me.

‘Had the same idea,’ I hear a familiar voice behind me say. I turn around to see Johnny, clutching a bottle of red in one hand and a half-empty glass in the other. I hold up my bottle of white.

He wanders towards me and perches himself down on the bench.

‘Cheers.’ We chink glasses.

‘This place is amazing,’ I say.

‘I love it here.’

‘Do you come here a lot?’

‘Every so often. Been coming here for a few years now. It clears my head.’

‘It’s so peaceful,’ I say.

‘It is, isn’t it? Good to get away from the city sometimes. And I love driving on Highway One,’ he adds.

‘You don’t say,’ I tease.

‘I didn’t go too quickly for you, did I?’ he asks, surprised.

‘No, it was alright,’ I brush him off. ‘You could have given Lewis Hamilton a run for his money on some of those bends, though.’

‘Always wanted to be a racing driver,’ he says, at the mention of Lewis’s name.

‘You’re a bit past it now, aren’t you?’ I helpfully point out.

‘Jesus, Meg, I’m only thirty.’

‘Yeah, like I say, past it.’

He cuffs me round the top of my head gently.

‘Oi!’ I berate him. ‘You’ll mess up my hair.’

He leans across and brushes a strand away from my face.

‘Nah, it’s fine,’ he says.

I look away to the ocean and take a sip of wine, wondering why I feel shy all of a sudden.

I haven’t felt close to him since that night at the Ivy. What happened with Serengeti forced me to see him in a different light, but he’s been distant with me anyway. Okay, so he’s been busy, but I’ve felt more like an employee than I ever did during the first two weeks after I arrived. I look back at him to find he’s still watching me. Then a movement behind him makes me freeze. Three deer quietly make their way through the undergrowth to the meadow grass overlooking this part of the ocean.

‘Look!’ I whisper. He turns around to follow my gaze.

Two of the deer start at the sound of my voice, running back towards the forest from which they came, but the third, not sensing any danger, continues as he was, nibbling on grass. We watch him silently for a while, until he has his fill and disappears out of sight.

‘Wow,’ I say in awe.

Johnny looks back at me and smiles.

‘You hungry?’ he asks.

I consider his question. ‘Yeah, I am a bit. Shall I go and get some cheese and crackers?’

‘Yeah!’ he enthuses, holding out his hand to take my glass. I head off back to my room, and return laden with snacks from the fridge.

I open up the crackers and goat’s cheese and cut a slice with a small knife, handing it to him. He, meanwhile, tops up my wine.

‘So Christian’s coming tomorrow, then,’ I say.

‘What time did Davey reckon he’d make it here?’ Johnny asks.

‘Well, he said they’d set off early so I guess the afternoon sometime,’ I reply.

‘What the hell is that?’ he says suddenly, pointing down at the ocean. ‘No way…’

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘It’s a whale,’ he says, nodding. ‘Yes, it is, it’s a blue whale.’

‘No!’

‘Seriously, look!’ He leans his head in close to me so we’re touching. I follow the line of his outstretched finger.

‘Oh my God!’ I gasp. A surge of water spouts out of the whale. Then another one follows close behind it. ‘There are two!’

‘Wow,’ he says. ‘I’ve been coming here for years and I have never seen a blue whale. They migrate at this time of year,’ he explains, glancing at me sideways.

‘Are you a bit of a nature buff?’

‘No!’ he says, shaking his head quickly.

‘You are, aren’t you?’ I tease. ‘Super-cool rock god, Johnny Jefferson, at one with nature.’

‘Meg, did you just call me a super-cool rock god?’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘No, you must have misheard me. I never said any such thing.’

He chuckles. ‘Give me another piece of cheese, chick.’

‘You’re going to spoil your dinner,’ I say, handing it to him and cutting myself a slice.

‘Oh, well,’ he says. ‘Chuck us those crisps.’

We sit there for another forty-five minutes, polishing off our snacks and wine until it’s time to either cancel the reservation or go to dinner.

‘Cancel it,’ Johnny decides. ‘Let’s go for a swim in the hot tub instead!’

‘Okay!’

‘We’re out of wine. You happy on white?’ he asks.

‘Yeah. You happy on red?’

‘Yeah. So you grab me your bottle of red and I’ll bring out my white. Meet you back here in five.’

We set off to our rooms. The wine has gone straight to my head, I realise, as I walk up the stairs to my Tree House. I dump the empty bottles and snack packaging and put my complimentary bottle of red wine by the door, then I dig out my bikini. I put on my white towelling guest robe and slippers and call to cancel our dinner reservation before setting off back to the spa. There are no other guests around–they’re probably all in the restaurant.

Johnny is already in the water. He’s leaning against the edge, looking down at the ocean. His arms are resting on the sides of the tub, the light from the underwater bulb casting a warm glow across his back.

He turns around, sensing me, and watches as I put his bottle of red next to my bottle of white at the side of the pool and slip my robe off.

‘I’ve just seen another whale,’ he tells me, as I walk around to the steps.

‘Have you?’ I ask, brightly. ‘God, it’s hot,’ I say as my foot hits the water.

He wades over to the other side to pour our wine, turning back to hand a glass to me once I’m submerged up to my shoulders.

‘Thanks.’

We both move back to the far side of the pool, overlooking the ocean. The sun has almost set and it’s beautiful. We watch
silently for a while, my body taking to the heat. The water is as warm as a bath.

‘This is nice,’ he says, finally, letting out a deep breath.

‘It’s amazing,’ I agree. ‘Thank you for letting me come.’

‘Of course.’ He pulls a face then turns to me, chinking my glass for the second time that evening. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ I respond. ‘How are you feeling about the tour?’

‘Aah, Nutmeg, let’s not talk about work…’

‘Okay.’ I look at him sideways. ‘What do you want to talk about, then?’

‘Do you reckon I could get away with smoking in here?’

‘Well, there’s no one around…’

He gives me a cheeky wink then passes me his glass to hold while he gets out. He’s wearing just-above-knee-length dark-blue swimming trunks. He dries his hands on one of the many towels freshly washed and waiting poolside, then rummages around in his robe. He pulls out a packet of fags and lights one. His toned body is slick with water, his tattoos dark upon his tanned skin. I realise I’ve turned my back on the sunset to watch him and have to force myself to look away as he gets back into the pool.

He holds out his hand for his glass, lit cigarette hanging from his lips. Suddenly I really fancy a smoke.

‘Can I have a drag?’ I ask.

He sucks in deeply and shakes his head, frowning at me.

‘No,’ he answers, before exhaling.

‘Why not?’ I’m a little hurt.

‘You don’t smoke,’ he says.

‘I do sometimes,’ I tell him.

‘When was the last time you had a fag?’

‘I don’t know, university?’

‘Exactly. You don’t smoke,’ he says, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke away from me.

I look away from him, annoyed.

‘Aw, are you sulking now?’

I look back at him, meeting his green eyes. ‘No.’

‘Yes you are.’ He grins and pats my head.

‘Get off!’ I brush him away. ‘I’m not a bloody dog!’

He laughs and flicks his ash over the side.

‘Drink up, girlfriend,’ he says, leaning his back against the pool edge and kicking his legs up in front of him.

‘I’m not your girlfriend,’ I say, mimicking his body language.

‘Thank fuck for that,’ he says.

‘Oi!’ I poke him in the ribs. ‘I should be saying that. Judging by past behaviour…’ I add, ominously.

He sucks the air through his teeth. ‘Jeez, Nutmeg, go easy on a guy.’

‘You don’t deserve anyone to go easy on you,’ I tell him in my best schoolmarm voice. ‘You’re a scallywag.’

‘A scallywag?’ He laughs.

‘Yes. A scallywag.’

‘That’s harsh, Nutmeg. Harsh.’

‘Just finish your cigarette before I splash you.’

‘You better not splash me, girl…’ he warns.

‘Why?’

‘I will make sure you regret it.’

‘Will you now.’ Oh my God, I am
so
tempted. Do I dare?

‘I’m warning you.’

I push myself off the side of the pool and swivel round to face him from the other side, kicking my legs up again. It would be so easy…

In a flash, he stubs his cigarette out on a rock beside the pool and puts his wine glass down on a ledge, kicking off from the side to get to me.

‘Argh!’ I flinch, and quickly put my glass on the side, expecting him to drench me. But he doesn’t. Instead he pins my arms to my side, powerfully, so I’m unable to move.

‘Try and splash me now, little girl,’ he teases.

‘Ow! Let go!’ I squeal, trying to wriggle free. It’s impossible. He’s too strong. ‘I’ll kick you in the goolies,’ I threaten.

His response is to wrap one of his legs around my bum, pulling himself into me close, so I’m pressed up against the side, and he’s pressed up against me. His face is inches away.

Now I’m lost for words. All I can do is breathe.

He looks into my eyes, unsmiling. He’s so close I could count the freckles on his nose. A bolt of desire zips through me and I swear I feel him stiffen between my legs. A split second later he lets go and pushes himself backwards to the other side of the pool. We both laugh, awkwardly.

I turn around and pick up my wine glass, while he leans his arm backwards to pick up his. I think I’ve had too much to drink. In fact, I know I have, but I’ll just keep going for the hell of it.

‘Dirty girl,’ he says, when he’s facing me again.

‘
Me?
’ I respond, outraged. ‘I’m a good girl,’ I tell him.

He raises one eyebrow, flirtatiously.

‘I am!’ I insist.

‘Sure you are,’ he says. ‘I bet no one’s ever tried to corrupt you.’

‘Hey, I didn’t say no one had tried…’

‘Ha! The boys you’ve been with wouldn’t have a clue about corruption,’ he says, knocking back his drink in one. He kicks
himself over to my side and pours himself another glass, his left arm brushing against my right as he does so. It takes everything in me to stay where I am. My instinct is telling me to go to the other side of the pool immediately. He picks up the bottle of white and tops up my glass, then returns to the other side himself.

Phew.

I think.

‘I dread to think how many girls you’ve corrupted.’ My tone is mocking.

He shrugs. ‘I haven’t had any complaints.’

‘You don’t open your own fan mail, though, do you?’ I joke.

His head shoots up to look at me. ‘You haven’t had any letters about that sort of thing, have you?’ he asks.

I just laugh.

‘Wait till we go on tour…’ he says.

‘Oh,
nice
!’ I exclaim.

He chuckles.