The Holiday (45 page)

Last night on the phone with Theo, he had referred to Izzy as his guardian angel, and even now, this morning, when he was thinking straight at last, he could think of no better description. Goodness knows how much longer he would have remained sitting in that petrifyingly inert state if she hadn’t turned up. The awful horror of being so vividly reminded of Niall’s death had disarmed him of the power of reasoned thought. All his brain would allow him to focus on was that he had so very nearly failed again. And he would have failed if it hadn’t been for Izzy: if she hadn’t had the sense to use Max’s boat that girl would have died. Him too, probably.

But that wasn’t entirely why he had lost it yesterday. Coming up from the beach, after his explosive outburst at that idiot Patterson boy, he had come face to face with temptation for the first time in years. The craving for a drink had hit him so suddenly, had been so strong, it had completely freaked him out. Cold fear had made him nauseous and he had only just made it in time to the villa before he was violently ill. He was shaking, and sweat poured off him. Shocked at the strength of the craving, he hadn’t trusted himself to move from the chair in the kitchen, terrified that just a single step might take him to where he knew Theo kept his hoard of ouzo and Metaxá. And, as he desperately fought to keep his nerve, his mind had swirled in the vortex of Niall’s drowning and his funeral. Mark’s parents hadn’t wanted him to attend it, they had said he was too young, that he had already gone through enough, but he had insisted on going. Afterwards he had wished he hadn’t. Niall’s mother had been distraught with grief-stricken anguish. She sobbed throughout the service in the little church, loudly and without restraint, and later collapsed against her husband at the graveside. Mrs Percival’s inconsolable sorrow had left an indelible impression on his tormented mind. Even so young he had felt the need to comfort these heart-broken people, to take their grief from them. But what could he offer them when he was a living reminder of all they had lost? They never said anything, but he could see it in their eyes, the bitter reproach - Why couldn’t it have been you who drowned? And in that moment, as he had stared at them across the gaping hole in the ground, the body of his friend just feet away, Mark would have given anything to trade his life for their son’s.

And, of course, for the best part of twenty years that was exactly what he tried to do. If it hadn’t been for Theo, he might have succeeded.

What a lot he had to thank Theo for.

Then, gazing down at Izzy’s sleeping face, he thought that he had a lot to thank her for too. He couldn’t remember much about being on the boat with her, but he could recall the determined way in which she had worked to bring Sally back from the dead. To his shame, he had been convinced her efforts were in vain.

Turning his thoughts to last night, a flicker of a smile crossed his face as he thought of Izzy’s endearingly prim expression when he had asked her to stay with him. Only twenty-four hours earlier he had been fantasising about getting her into bed, but last night all he had wanted was to feel her arms around him so that he would sleep, and surer still that she would keep him safe ... safe from the weakness that would always be with him. To his amazement, she had trusted him enough to do as he asked.

Few people had ever really trusted him, and who would blame them? Not so long ago he had lied, cheated and stolen from his own family and friends, but here he was, lying next to this innately good person who trusted him implicitly.

And if Izzy trusted him so completely, what did he feel for her?

Difficult to say.

Or was it?

Didn’t being with her make perfect sense? Hadn’t he always, right from the start, felt comfortable with her? And hadn’t he looked forward to their chats on the beach? And what of his writing? Wasn’t it time now to be honest about his use of her in his book? Pretending that she was nothing but a lucky hit of inspiration was a classic example of deluded thinking that would fool no one. That was the real reason why he hadn’t told Theo the truth behind his new-found roll of creativity. Theo would see straight through him.

So what did it all mean? That while he had been setting her up as the love interest for his protagonist in his novel he had been nurturing a whacking great desire to sleep with her?

Or did it go deeper than that?

Did he see something in her that was lasting and emotionally satisfying? The potential for a long-term relationship, perhaps?

 

It was a little after nine o’clock when Izzy woke. Her first thought was of Mark, and seeing that the other side of the bed was empty, she didn’t bother to dress but went in search of him.

He was outside in the garden, sitting on the low white wall in the bright sunshine. Dressed and shaved, he was looking better than he had last night, much more his normal self. He smiled when he saw her and came to meet her in the shade of the terrace as she leaned on her crutches, wishing she could be rid of them and fling her arms around him.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

He kissed her cheek. ‘A little wobbly, but a lot better ... thanks to you.’

‘I didn’t do very much. I only — ’

He silenced her with a kiss, this time on the lips. ‘You were there when I needed you. So do me the kindness of accepting my thanks with good grace. Breakfast?’

‘Just a mug of tea would do.’

‘Tea it is, then. And don’t even think of following me. Sit down and allow yourself to be waited on.’

It was a beautiful day. The sky was vast and uncompromisingly clear, and beneath it the sea stretched away into a hazy infinity of shimmering blue. A delicate warm breeze fanned the leaves on the nearby olive tree, and down in the bay, the sound of waves breaking gently against the rocks accompanied the early-morning shift of cicadas, who were already in fine voice. It was a glorious morning and contrasted sharply with the disturbing events of the last couple of days.

During the night Izzy had heard Mark moaning in his sleep, as if caught in the grip of some deeply rooted terror. Once or twice she had reached out to him, tried to soothe him, but it had had no effect.

‘I’ve made you some toast,’ he said, reappearing sooner that she had expected, ‘just in case you were being polite.’

She looked at the tray he was carrying. ‘Toast as well as chicken tikka masala. You were holding back on me.’

‘Doesn’t do to give too much away too soon.’ He sat opposite, picked up a mug of tea to pass to her, but paused with it mid-air. ‘You know, I really am grateful for last night. If it hadn’t been for you I might ... Well, who knows what I might have been driven to do?’

She took the mug from him. ‘It’s Theo who deserves the thanks. He phoned me and when I told him how concerned I was because nobody had seen you he made me come and make sure you were okay.’ She took a small sip of her tea and added, ‘He’s a very good friend to you.’

‘I know. Which makes what I feel for you all the more complicated.’

Not looking at him, or asking what exactly it was that he felt for her, she said, ‘I would never want to come between the two of you.’

‘It wouldn’t come to that.’ And changing the subject, he said, ‘So tell me, how’s Sally?’

She told him that Sally had been given a clean bill of health by the doctor Max had called out, about the Pattersons coming to see them, and how everyone had left yesterday afternoon.

‘Leaving you home alone?’

‘I did suggest that maybe I should cut short my holiday, but Max and Laura wouldn’t hear of it. They said they’d be back soon and that everything would return to how it was. Laura will probably come ahead of Max, so I shan’t be on my own for too long.’

‘I’m glad they persuaded you to stay on ... and that you’re alone.’

She raised her eyes and met his. They were the same colour as the sky above them, just as clear, just as breathtakingly beautiful. ‘I’m glad too,’ she murmured.

His lips twitched with a smile. ‘Eat your toast and stop flirting with me, Izzy.’

She feigned indignation. ‘I wasn’t flirting with you. The very thought.’

‘Yes you were, and unless you want to find yourself being carried off to bed, I’d advise you to go easy on any more direct eye-contact.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘No, merely propositioning you.’

‘Oh, I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before. So, what you’re saying is, if I behave myself we’ll just carry on having a quiet breakfast together. Whereas if — ’

Slowly rising from his chair, he came round to her side of the table. ‘Whereas if you keep looking at me the way you are, I’ll have no choice but to do something about it. It’s entirely up to you.’

She pushed herself to her feet, smiled flirtatiously and hooked her hands around his neck. ‘Well, in that case, ready when you are.’

Laughing, he picked her up, carried her inside and lowered her on to the bed where they had slept the night. He kissed her lovingly, but when she began to remove what little clothing she was wearing, he waved her hands aside. ‘How about you let me handle that, Izzy? I think I can remember what to do.’

‘So tell me again about this dunderhead Alan who didn’t know a G-spot from his Air on a G-string?’

It was a week later and they were by the pool, following a failed attempt at taking an afternoon nap — a siesta seemed such a waste to Mark when there were other things he would much rather be doing with Izzy. Now, as he rubbed sun cream on to her back, he felt pretty damn smug with himself. More than once in the last few days he had thought of Bones’s words about knowing when the right buttons had been pressed and, credit where credit was due, the man had known his stuff. Lying in the drowsy afterglow of their first time in bed together, Izzy had left him in no doubt that the buttons had been well and truly pressed. Not just once, but several times. ‘Do it again, Mark,’ she had sighed, her arms wrapped around him.

‘I’m not as young as you, Izzy.’ He had laughed. ‘I need to rest up for a while.’

‘No, you don’t,’ she had murmured, her lips brushing his ear, while one of her hands drifted across his chest, caressing his hot skin with light, sensual movements. She soon proved him wrong - that he was in no need of rest - and later, when they had refuelled on supplies brought in on a tray from the kitchen and they were sitting cross-legged on the bed, she had told him about her last boyfriend, who had convinced her that she was a non-starter when it came to sex.

‘Well, if you’d like me to write him a letter disputing that theory of his,’ he had told her, as he trailed a finger over the smooth curve of her shoulder, ‘I’d be more than pleased to do so.’

Taking his hand and kissing each of his fingertips, she said, ‘You know what? I couldn’t give a damn what he thought about me.’

‘Tut tut, Miss Jordan, you’re using language your mother wouldn’t approve of.’

‘I think I’m doing a lot more that my mother wouldn’t approve of.’

‘Time to extend the list, then. I’d hate to short-change her. What shall we play now?’ And manoeuvring her on to her back, he had begun kissing her, working his mouth down the length of her body.

‘No, Mark, not again.’

‘You’re only saying that.’

‘Oh, go on, then.’

‘A little more enthusiasm, if you wouldn’t mind ...’

‘Why do you want to know so much about that rat?’ she asked now, and in answer to his question.

‘No reason.’

‘You’re lying, Mark.’

‘Oh, gee, you’re too smart for me, Izzy. But it’s a guy thing, you wouldn’t appreciate it.’

She turned over and sat up. ‘Try me.’

He screwed the lid back on the sun-tan lotion. ‘Okay,’ he conceded, ‘it makes me feel incredibly good about myself to know that where he couldn’t cut the mustard I can. Makes me sound a bit of a rat as well, doesn’t it?’ he added.

She smiled. ‘Like you said, it’s a guy thing.’

‘Not cross with me, then?’

‘No, not cross with you.’

‘Good, because I couldn’t think of anything worse. I’d have to spend the rest of the day on my hands and knees grovelling to you. I’d have to raid every florist’s on the island and surround you with flowers of apology. I’d have to dream up so many extravagant gestures of love that you’d — ’

‘Throwing your money at me now, are you?’

‘I might not look the part, but Theo’s not the only one with bags of gold under his mattress.’

‘Is that so?’

He caught the edge of mockery to her voice. ‘Hey, I’m a household name, didn’t you know?’

‘What, like Andrex?’

He laughed. ‘Phew, for a moment there I was running the risk of being in awe of myself.’

 

Angelos paid them a visit later that afternoon while Mark was working. He brought with him a carrier-bag of home-grown tomatoes and cucumbers, and after checking the pool, he went round the garden watering Theo’s beloved plants. He hadn’t said anything, but Mark knew that Angelos and his wife must have guessed what was going on between him and Izzy: they couldn’t have failed to notice that she was never at Villa Petros and that only one bed at Villa Anna was being slept in. He hoped to God that Theo had no cause to get in touch with either Angelos or Sophia while he was in Athens: he didn’t want his friend to hear the news from anyone but him. Initially he had thought that it would have to be done face to face when Theo returned, but it was proving so difficult for either of them to talk to Theo on the phone without feeling guilty that this morning they had agreed they couldn’t keep lying to him, that they would have to break it to him the next time he called.

They had gone to ridiculous lengths to keep the truth from Theo, each of them chatting separately with him on the phone - Izzy spoke to him on the mobile he had given her, and Mark on one of the phones inside the house. There had been no question of Mark staying with Izzy at Max and Laura’s place: after last week, when Mark hadn’t answered the phone, Theo was now keeping a regular tab on him, calling most evenings when he had finished work and had returned to his apartment. ‘You really don’t have to do this, Theo,’ Mark had told him, only last night.