Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1) (20 page)

For the second time in as many days Philippe surfaced with a
thundering in his head, his usually cool bedroom feeling oppressively warm and
his skin clammy to the touch. I must have been so drunk last night that I
forgot to put the air conditioning on when I got in, he thought. For a moment
he struggled to remember how he had got home, hoping that his friends hadn’t
allowed him to drive in the condition he was in. Then realisation began to dawn
on him. This was not his bedroom, this was not his bed, and he had a horrible
feeling that he might not be alone. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself
by turning over so he tentatively reached his left hand behind him and was met
with skin. His hand recoiled as if he had been stung by a bee and the sudden
movement disturbed his companion.

A female voice asked, ‘Are you feeling okay? Do you need the
bathroom?’

Philippe did feel sick but not just because of the alcohol.
He recognised the voice as one of the exotic dancers from the previous evening,
a petite pretty girl called Candice who Delphine had set him up with on a
couple of previous occasions when he had been in need of female company.

‘Where are we?’ he asked.

‘Upstairs at The Dolphin,’ she replied. ‘Your friend Billy
wouldn’t let you drive home in the state you were in so he asked the bar owner,
Denis, if you could have a room for the night. Jacques suggested you might want
a bit of company,’ she added coyly.

Philippe was not sure who he was more mad at, himself for
not being in a position to say he didn’t want female company, or Jacques for
suggesting it in the first place. One thing was for sure it was not Candice’s
fault, she was a sweet girl and she was just doing her job. He dressed as
quickly as his thumping head would allow and reached into his wallet for some
rupees which he handed to Candice.

‘Will you pay Denis for the room and keep the rest for yourself,’
he said, managing to avoid looking her in the eye, before he grabbed his keys
from the chest by the door, where they had been discarded the previous night,
and headed down the stairs and out into the blinding brightness of the midday
sun. He unlocked his car door and then slumped forward over the steering wheel
feeling absolutely wretched. He knew he was probably still not sober enough to
drive but he was desperate to get away from the scene of his infidelity. He sat
there for at least ten minutes trying to excuse his behaviour. It was Jacques’
fault for being such an obnoxious git that I had to drink so much to get me
through the evening, he thought. And it was Jacques that suggested Candice
should spend the night with me. And it’s not as though I haven’t slept with
Candice before so it’s not really cheating on Holly is it?

‘Of course it is you bloody idiot,’ he said out loud,
banging the steering wheel with his fist. ‘There’s no one to blame but
yourself.’

Sitting in the car park of the Dolphin Bar in Mauritius,
Philippe made himself two promises. He would never drink to excess again and he
would never be unfaithful to Holly again. He had fallen in love for the first
time in his life and he didn’t want to mess it up. He decided not to tell Holly
about his indiscretion because what would be gained by her knowing? he
reasoned. She would be hurt unnecessarily and that was the last thing he wanted
to do.

He drove back to Tamarina Bay carefully and let himself into
the house. He went through to the kitchen to brew some coffee and stopped in
his tracks. There was a paper bag containing fresh croissants holding down a
scrawled note:

I thought you might need these to soak up
the alcohol. Hope you’re okay.

Delphine
.

Again Philippe marvelled at how different Delphine and her
brother Jacques were. She had a heart of gold and he was going to miss her.
Even though the last thing he felt like doing was eating, he took Delphine’s
advice and began to nibble on one of the freshly baked croissants. Leaving a
trail of crumbs Hansel and Gretel would have been proud of he crossed over to
the French doors and opened them to let some air into the room. He was going to
sit out on the verandah in the shade but decided to check his email first. His
heart leapt when he saw there was one from Holly:

How COULD you? I can’t believe you’ve done this. I trusted you.

NEVER try to contact me again... I’m blocking you from my email.

Philippe stared at the screen in disbelief. How the hell
could Holly have found out about last night... unless? He looked down at the
croissant crumbs scattered on his desk... no, it couldn’t be Delphine.

The bath had not helped. Holly had lain up to her neck in the
warm scented water with tears streaming down her cheeks wondering if she had
over-reacted by sending Philippe the email without giving him a chance to
explain. She was angry at Philippe for taking advantage of the Holly he thought
she was, the one who had been recently widowed. But that wasn’t the real Holly
and she was partly to blame for not trusting him enough to tell him the truth
that he was the first person she had been intimate with since Gareth had left
her twenty years previously. If he had known the depth of her feelings for him,
if she had said those three little words, would he have behaved differently?

Then she thought about the graphic descriptions of their
lovemaking, even her most private feelings whispered to him in the throes of
passion, written in black and white for the world to see, and she realised that
was what really stung. The words, her words, had been uttered by a high-class
hooker in his book.

Holly could feel the bitter taste of bile rising into her
mouth. She felt physically sick and emotionally violated. There was no
acceptable excuse that Philippe could give for his total lack of respect for
her feelings, whoever he thought she was.

The email had been the right thing to do. She never wanted
to see or hear from him again. There had been such a sense of finality when she
had pressed send and then blocked him. At least he has no other way of
contacting me, she thought, always assuming he would want to. That was the bit
she found hardest to accept. He had been so keen to see her again knowing that
he had written about their most private moments. Maybe he needed to do some
research for another book, she thought sarcastically, thankful she hadn’t given
him her phone number or address and that he had no idea about her work.

A thought occurred to her. Would Philippe be brazen enough
to try and get her contact details from the Forresters? The moment she thought
it she knew that if he did want to contact her that is exactly what he would
do.

She climbed out of the bath, almost slipping on the shiny
surface in her haste, wrapped her towelling bathrobe around herself without
bothering to dry with a towel first and rushed downstairs to phone Robert and
Rosemary giving no thought to what she was going to say. Robert must have been
standing next to the phone because he answered on the first ring.

‘Hello,’ he said in a hushed tone.

‘Robert, it’s Holly. Have I caught you at a bad moment?’

‘Hang on a minute, Holly.’ Holly could hear Robert close the
door to the living room. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said in a more normal tone.
‘Rosie’s just having a nap on the sofa.’

‘I didn’t wake her, did I?’

‘No I think I caught the phone in time. Everything all
right, you sound a bit flustered?’

‘Erm... yes. Actually I was just ringing to say I can come
over today if you’d still like me to. I got through my work quicker than
expected.’

‘We’d love you to come of course but it’s four fifteen, so
if you leave now you’ll be stuck in all the rush hour traffic on the M25. Why
don’t you come a bit later for dinner and stay over as you were planning on
visiting tomorrow anyway?’

‘That’s a lovely idea, if you’re sure I’m not putting you to
any trouble,’ Holly said, relieved that she wouldn’t be spending the evening
alone.

‘No trouble at all, Rosemary will be delighted.’

‘Okay, well I’ll try and get there just after seven. One
other thing,’ Holly said, trying to keep her voice as natural as possible,
‘Philippe and I have split up.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Holly. I thought you two were
really well suited.’

So did I, thought Holly, but instead said, ‘Oh you know...
just a holiday romance. If... if Philippe asks you for my phone number can you
tell him you can’t give it out without asking me first. Sorry to land this on
you with everything else you have going on.’

‘Of course. I would never give your number to anyone without
your permission.’

‘Thanks, Robert, I appreciate that. I’ll see you a bit later
then.’

As Holly put the phone back in it’s cradle she noticed a
green car pulling up outside the house. She ran to the front door and flung it
open as a tall blond young man reached into the back seat for his duffle bag.

‘Harry!’ she cried, flinging her arms around her son and
promptly bursting into tears.

Harry ushered his mum back into the house and then stood in
the cramped hallway holding her until her sobs subsided.

‘Not quite the reaction I was expecting, Mum,’ he said,
trying to lighten the mood. ‘What’s up?’

‘Sorry, Harry. You just caught me at a bad moment and I was
so surprised to see you. I was just overwhelmed. What are you doing here
anyway?’

He steered her through to the kitchen and sat her down on a
chair while he filled the kettle and put it on to boil.

‘Tea?’

Holly nodded.

‘My lecturer called in sick this morning and they couldn’t
get a replacement at such short notice so I’ve got a couple of days off. I
decided I’d come home to see my mum and no I haven’t brought any dirty washing.
I thought maybe you could take me to meet Robert Forrester as you mentioned you
might be away next week.’

‘Actually that was who I was on the phone to when you pulled
up outside. I’ve just arranged to go to theirs for dinner tonight and to stay
over. If I ring Robert back I might be able to cancel before he tells Rosemary.
I would hate to disappoint her.’

‘Do you have to cancel? Couldn’t you just ask if I could tag
along?’ Harry asked, handing his mum her cup of tea. ‘You did say he was keen
to meet me.’

Holly looked at her son who was clearly a bit star-struck at
the thought of meeting such an eminent architect.

‘Well I could ask if it’s all right for you to come to
dinner but we’ll have to drive back here tonight, I wouldn’t want to put them
to any trouble making up an extra bed. I’ll call them in a little while,
Rosemary was sleeping and I don’t want to risk disturbing her. She really is
very sick, Harry.’

‘Is that why you were so upset, Mum?’

Holly never lied to her son, and she wasn’t about to start
now. ‘No, Harry. I’ve broken things off with Philippe.’

‘Why? When we spoke last night you were all loved up and
couldn’t wait to see him. What’s happened?’

Holly chose her words carefully.

‘I found out that he has done something which shows a total
lack of respect for me.’

‘Has he been seeing someone else?’ Harry asked in a
threatening tone.

‘Not exactly. Look, I don’t really want to talk about it at
the moment but suffice to say he has made me feel like a complete idiot. I just
want him out of my life without a trace, erased from my memory as if I never
met him. I thought he was someone special but he’s not. That’s all.’

‘Okay, Mum, but if you change your mind and want to talk I’m
a big boy now.’

Holly looked at the earnest young man sat next to her on the
sofa, the image of his father the last time she had seen him, but different in
so many ways. She was sure Gareth would have approved of the way she had raised
their son. It will be a very lucky girl who ends up with my Harry, she thought,
her heart swelling with pride, before realising that all mothers must think
that about their boys, maybe even Philippe’s
maman
.

Philippe sat staring at his computer screen. He had read the
words over and over again. At first he had thought that maybe Holly was
bluffing about blocking his emails but he had tried sending one and it had been
returned by the postmaster, and besides how could he possibly expect her to
forgive him after sleeping with someone else.

One word kept running through his mind: why? Why would
Delphine tell Holly about his unfaithfulness? It didn’t make sense. Delphine
had been his friend since he arrived in Mauritius and she knew that he had
fallen in love with Holly because he had told her. Unless... Oh no, he thought,
is Delphine secretly in love with me and will do anything to stop me leaving?
He decided that must be it. That must be how Holly had found out, and so
quickly too. He checked his sent box looking for an email sent to Holly by Delphine
from his computer but there was nothing. She must have written Holly’s email
address down and emailed her from somewhere else. You’re being ridiculous, he
told himself, you’re clutching at straws. Delphine loves her husband and she is
much too nice a person to do anything like this.

Then another thought occurred to him. What if Delphine had
not been alone when she had brought the croissants for him? Maybe while
Delphine was leaving the scrawled note in the kitchen, her brother Jacques was
reading through his emails and it was he who had taken Holly’s email address to
tell her what her darling Philippe had been up to in her absence? The more
Philippe thought about it the more he convinced himself that this is what must
have happened. He had never liked Jacques and the feeling was obviously mutual
and now this low-life had found a way to punish him. He had set him up with
Candice deliberately, when Philippe was in no condition to say no, and then he
had emailed Holly and told her.

‘The bastard!’ Philippe shouted, anger rising in him. ‘The
low-life, sleazy, cheating bastard!’

Philippe was pacing the room now, punching his fist into his
hand, wishing all the time it was Jacques’ smarmy face. There must be something
I can do, he thought, I can’t just let Holly go without a fight.

With sudden clarity, Philippe grabbed his car keys and
headed back into town to look for Jacques. He would confront him and force him
to send Holly another email, telling her that the whole thing was a set-up when
Philippe was too inebriated to know better. Holly will understand he convinced
himself, she’ll give me another chance, he thought desperately.

The tyres of the old BMW screeched to a halt in the car park
of the Dolphin Bar. Philippe strode across the sun-hardened earth and pushed
the swing doors of the bar open aggressively. He didn’t need to ask where
Jacques was, he could see him in the far corner of the room laughing and joking
with some friends.

Probably laughing at my expense, fumed Philippe
irrationally, marching over to them.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ demanded Philippe.

Jacques looked surprised. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking
about.’

‘Yes you damn well do. You set me up with that dancer just
so you could email my girlfriend and tell her I’ve cheated on her.’

‘Why would I do that, Philippe?’

‘That’s what I’ve been wondering. Did it give you some kind
of thrill to know that you’re wrecking my life?’

‘I think you are still drunk from last night, my friend.’

‘I am not your bloody friend, and I am not drunk. I just
need you to email Holly again and tell her you set me up,’ Philippe shouted.

The Dolphin Bar had cleared of all people except those at
Jacques’ table.

‘I have no idea who this Holly is.’

‘You’re lying,’ raged Philippe.

‘That’s the last time I do you a favour,’ said Jacques,
remaining calm. ‘I thought you liked Candice.’

‘This is not about Candice this is about you interfering in
my life. You have to tell Holly what you did or I’ll... I’ll...’

‘You’ll what, Philippe?’

Philippe lunged across the small round table, launching his
fist in the direction of Jacques’ face but Jacques was too quick for him and
stepped backwards avoiding the contact. Philippe clattered to the floor amidst
the sound of smashing glass which brought Denis rushing from behind the bar.

‘Break it up, break it up,’ he said, his large bulk
positioned in front of Jacques to prevent the fight from getting out of hand.

Jacques held his hands up. ‘I didn’t start this one.’

‘I know. I saw what happened. Maybe you should head home and
I’ll sort this out with Philippe.’

As Jacques and his friends headed towards the exit, Denis
turned to help Philippe up. He had known this mild-mannered Frenchman for
almost a year and had never seen him raise his voice, let alone his fist
before. Whatever had caused the outburst must be pretty serious.

‘Come on Philippe, let’s get you tidied up,’ he said, but
Philippe didn’t move.

Denis leaned down into the jumble of table, chairs and
broken glass to take hold of Philippe’s arm. As he started to lift him off the
floor he noticed a bright red stain spreading rapidly across Philippe’s white
linen shirt. It wasn’t red wine.

‘Oh my God, somebody call an ambulance,’ he shouted.