Sleeping Arrangements (6 page)

'Don't be silly. We can't just disappear off.'

'That's what the nanny's for.' Hugh ducked his head down and gently tugged at the ties of her bikini with his teeth.

'Hugh!' hissed Amanda. 'Hugh, stop it! I can hear a noise!'

'Let's go inside then,' murmured Hugh, looking up. 'We won't be disturbed.'

'No, stop!' Amanda jerked away. 'Listen. Seriously, I can hear a car!'

Hugh stopped still and listened. Over the trees they heard the unmistakable sound of a car approaching the house.

'It's coming closer!' said Amanda. She sat up and reached for her T-shirt. 'Who on earth can it be?'

'The maid, I expect,' said Hugh. 'Or the gardener. Someone like that.'

'Well, go and see. Make sure they know we're supposed to be here. Go on!' Amanda gave him a little shove.

A paved path lined with lush plants led the way round the side of the house; it felt warm and dusty under Hugh's bare feet. He closed his eyes as he walked, relishing the sensation; the scent of a juniper tree as he passed it; the foreignness of the air.

As he came out into the drive the car was visible ahead: a rented Mondeo, parked on the other side. A man with curly hair, dressed in rumpled khaki shorts and a green polo shirt, was getting out of the driver's door; as he saw Hugh he gave a start of surprise. He bent down and murmured something to the others in the car, then walked slowly across the drive towards Hugh.

'Perdona, por favor,' he began, in an English accent. 'Me dice por donde se . . . se . . .'

'Are you English?' interrupted Hugh.

'Yes!' said the man in relief. 'Sorry to bother you. I'm looking for a villa. I thought we'd found the right place, but . . . well.' His eyes moved from Hugh, beer in hand, to the people-carrier parked outside the front door. 'Obviously this isn't it.' He sighed and rubbed his face.

'Our directions weren't exactly clear. I don't suppose you know the area?'

'Afraid not,' said Hugh. 'We had problems finding this place, actually.'

'Hang on a sec, what was that?' The man bent down to reply to someone speaking in the car. 'Well, that's true,' he said slowly, standing up, a new expression on his face. 'That's very true.'

'What is?'

'We must be at the right place. We were given a bleeper to open the gates.' The man looked around. 'Are there two villas here, or something?'

There was a sound from behind Hugh, and he looked round to see Amanda approaching, wearing her white T-shirt and a frosty expression.

'What's going on?' she said. 'Who are these people?'

'They're trying to find their holiday villa,' said Hugh. He turned back to the man. 'What's the name of the place you're after?'

'Villa del Serrano,' said the man.

There was silence.

'This is Villa del Serrano,' said Amanda at last. 'But it's been lent to us by the owner for this week. It sounds as though your tour company has made a mistake.'

'Tour company?' said the man indignantly. 'We're not here through a tour company! We know the owner, too. My wife's known him for years. Gerard Lowe. He said we could stay here from the 24th to the 31st.'

Hugh and Amanda exchanged glances.

'I don't think that can be possible,' said Amanda carefully, 'because Gerard lent us the villa from the 24th. The arrangements were made some time ago, I'm afraid.' She gave the man a smooth smile. 'However, I'm sure there are plenty of alternative—'

'Our arrangements were made a while ago, too,' interrupted the man. 'Ages ago, in fact.'

He looked from Hugh to Amanda. 'I don't suppose you could have got the wrong week?'

'I don't believe so,' said Amanda pleasantly. 'We were definitely told the 24th.'

'Same here.' The man nodded. 'The 24th.'

Amanda didn't flicker.

'We have a fax,' she said, as though producing a trump card.

'So do we,' returned the man doggedly, and reached into the car. 'A fax with the instructions. And a letter confirming the arrangements.'

He walked forward, holding out the documents. Amanda's gaze ran dismissively over them, as though over a fake designer handbag.

'Have a look, Hugh,' she said. 'I'm sure there must be some error. Some silly little confusion or other . . .' She smiled kindly. 'Every holiday has its hiccups.'

'I suppose so,' said the man, sounding unconvinced.

'Can we offer you a drink while this gets sorted out? An orange juice, perhaps? Or something stronger?'

'No thanks,' said the man. 'Very kind—but I think until we know what's going on, I'd rather just . . .' He tailed off into silence and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Both watched as Hugh scanned the papers. He turned a page, frowned and turned back again.

'Oh, for God's sake,' he said at last, looking from one page to the other and back again.

'What a bloody . . .' He looked up at Amanda. 'He's right, you know.'

'What do you mean, he's right?' said Amanda, still smiling pleasantly but with an edge to her voice. 'Who's right, exactly?'

'The dates are exactly the same,' Hugh shook his head. 'Gerard's obviously gone and double-booked the place.'

'He's what?'

'He's promised it to both of us.' Hugh looked up at her. 'To us . . . and to them. To Mr . . .'

'Murray,' supplied the man. 'And my partner—and our two boys.' He gestured to the car and the others followed his gaze, but the sun was shining obliquely on the windows, so its occupants were invisible. 'One's a teenager,' added the man. Whether this was supposed to im-prove or worsen things, Hugh wasn't sure.

There was silence as the ramifications of the situation passed through everyone's minds.

Then Amanda shook her head.

'No,' she said. 'No, I'm not having this. I'm not having it.'

'I have to say, this is typical bloody Gerard,' said the man. 'Typical. He's so incredibly vague. I might have known something like this was going to happen.' He looked back at the car and made an apologetic gesture to the people inside. 'What the hell are we going to do now?'

'We're going to phone Gerard,' snapped Amanda, grabbing the fax out of Hugh's grasp.

'We're going to phone him right now, and give him a piece of our mind. This is absolutely outrageous.' She looked at the man. 'Will you come and speak to him, too?'

'I suppose so,' said the man, shrugging again. 'Though what good it'll do . . .'

'He can jolly well put one of us up at a hotel! Or sort out alternative arrangements.' Amanda began to stride towards the door, and after a slight hesitation, the man followed. 'I'm Philip, by the way,' he added.

'I'm Amanda.'

'Hugh,' said Hugh, nodding politely.

'Philip?' came a female voice, and they all looked round to see the passenger door of the car opening. A slim, fair-haired girl—no, woman—in a cotton dress was getting out, looking at Philip with raised eyebrows.

Hugh felt his entire body contract in shock.

'What's going on?' said Chloe to Philip. 'Isn't this the right place?'

'It's the right place,' said Philip, 'but Gerard's cocked up the arrangements. Double-booked all of us. We're just going to phone him now. We won't be long.'

'I see,' said Chloe. 'Well . . . OK.'

There was silence as Philip and Amanda began to walk towards the villa, leaving Hugh still staring at Chloe's averted face. Only when they had disappeared through the door did she turn her head to meet his gaze. Hugh stared back, unable to speak, his heart thumping hard inside his chest. Rays of afternoon sun were falling through the trees, dappling shadows on her face, making her expression unreadable.

'Hello,' she said at last.

'Hello,' said Hugh, and cleared his throat apprehensively. 'It's . . . it's been a long time.'

Philip stood by Amanda's side, not really listening to the telephone conversation, but gazing about him in more than slight shock. The villa was so much bigger than he had imagined. So much grander. The drive had been impressive enough—but this cool, circular hall, with its sweeping staircase and galleried landing, was spectacular. After the long, hot drive, it was like a sanctuary.

'I'm afraid that's not the point.' Amanda's ringing voice chimed through his thoughts and guiltily he snapped to attention. 'The point is, we're all here now. Yes, I'm sure you are morti-fied. But what are you going to do about it?' She listened for a few moments more, then sighed impatiently. 'You try.' She thrust the receiver at Philip, adding in an undertone, 'He's so hopelessly vague.'

'Hello?' said Philip cautiously into the receiver. 'Gerard? It's Philip here.'

'Philip!' came Gerard's rich baritone voice. 'How are you?'

'I'm fine,' said Philip. 'Gerard, I don't know if Amanda has explained what's happened . . .'

'She has! You know, I simply don't understand it. It's so unlike me to make this kind of mistake. Are you sure you've both got the week right?'

'Absolutely sure,' said Philip.

'Well, really, it's quite extraordinary. I feel quite upset by all of this.'

'Yes,' said Philip. 'Well, the thing is—'

'You don't think I've got Alzheimer's, do you?' Gerard's voice rose in alarm. 'They say it begins with absentmindedness. Maybe I've been having blackouts and not realizing.'

'Yes, maybe,' said Philip. He met Amanda's eye and pulled a helpless face. 'The thing is—'

'I fainted last month. Quite out of the blue. That could be linked, couldn't it?'

Over Amanda's shoulder Philip saw the heavy front door open. Chloe came into the hall and raised her eyebrows, and he shrugged back.

'The thing is, Gerard,' he said, cutting off a stream of words, 'what should we do? Should some of us decamp to a hotel?'

'A hotel?' said Gerard as though surprised. 'Dear old thing, it's the height of the holiday season. You won't be able to get a hotel room. No, you'll just have to stay put.'

'What, all of us?'

'There aren't that many of you, are there? I'm sure you can box and cox. The maid will be in on Thursday . . .'

'Gerard, I'm really not sure—'

'You'll manage fine! And do help yourself to the cellar. Is Chloe there?'

'Yes,' said Philip. 'Do you want a word?'

'No, don't worry,' said Gerard. 'Actually, I must go, I'm late for a clarinet recital. I do hope it all works out. Adios!'

The phone went dead and Philip gazed at it, slightly bewildered.

'So?' said Chloe.

'Well . . . it looks like we're stuck,' said Philip. 'Gerard reckons we won't get a hotel room this time of year. So we're just going to have to . . . Well, the way he put it was "box and cox".'

'Box and cox?' said Amanda suspiciously. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I don't know,' said Philip. 'He didn't elaborate.'

'Was he apologetic?' asked Chloe.

'Well . . . he said he was sorry,' said Philip doubtfully. 'To be honest, he sounded more interested in whether or not he had Alzheimer's.'

'Alzheimer's?' said Chloe incredulously.

'He wasn't making much sense at all.'

'If you ask me, he's a bloody shambles,' said Amanda sharply. 'He doles out invitations like the grand host—and then washes his hands of the matter when things go wrong. I mean, what exactly does he expect us to do? All sleep here together?' Her voice rose indignantly. 'I mean, there isn't room, let alone anything else.'

The front door opened, letting in a blast of heat and sunlight, then closed behind Hugh. He looked from face to face, then at the phone, still in Philip's hand.

'Any joy?'

'Not really,' said Philip. 'Gerard doesn't seem to know how this has happened.'

'Or to care,' said Amanda. 'Basically, we're stuck with each other.' She looked at Chloe.

'Not that I have anything against . . . I mean, obviously, you seem very nice people, and I certainly don't want to imply . . .'

'No,' said Chloe, her mouth twitching slightly. 'Obviously not.'

'But you know what I mean.'

'I do know what you mean,' agreed Chloe. Hugh's eyes moved to hers and away again.

'Perhaps we should find a hotel,' he said, turning to Amanda.

'Yes, darling,' said Amanda. 'Very good idea. You do realize what time of year this is? If you can find hotel rooms for five of us, with absolutely no notice—'

'All right,' said Hugh, a little testily. 'Well then . . . maybe one lot of us should get flights back home. Leave the others in peace.'

'Home?' echoed Amanda in horror. 'Hugh, do you have any idea of what state the house is in? The new kitchen floor goes down today!'

'We're not going home,' said Chloe calmly. 'We need this holiday.' She walked over to the sweeping staircase and sat down on the third step, as though staking a claim. 'We need it, and we're going to have it.' Her voice echoed round the domed cupola as she spoke and her blue eyes shone intensely out of the pale, marbled gloom.

'Do you have very stressful jobs?' said Amanda, looking at her with more interest. 'What do you do?'

'I'm not talking about work this week,' said Chloe, as Philip automatically opened his mouth to answer. 'Neither of us is. It's a banned subject. We came here to escape all that. To get away from everything.'

'And instead, you got us,' said Hugh after a short silence. He inclined his head gravely towards her. 'I apologize.'

'We shouldn't be apologizing!' said Amanda sharply. 'It's that bloody Gerard who should be apologizing. I tell you, I'm never reading his column again. In fact, I'm going to boycott his Wine of the Week.' She looked at Chloe. 'I suggest you do the same.'

'We can never afford his Wine of the Week,' said Philip. 'Bloody pretentious stuff.'

'I agree, actually,' said Hugh. 'I've never rated him. Not as a wine reviewer, anyway.'

'So—what's the connection between you and Gerard?' said Philip. 'Obviously not wine.

Are you a friend of his?'

'I was at school with him,' said Hugh. 'We lost touch years ago and then met up again by chance. He seemed very keen to rekindle the friendship.'

'Oh, Gerard loves gathering people back into the fold,' said Philip, a little sarcastically.

'You'll be inundated with invitations now. He has a party just about every month.'