Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

‘Oh, lovely one!’ laughs Isabel, full of sarcasm as only half of Rachel’s face fits in the shot, ‘but it’s a perfect one of the lovebirds!’

‘God, I’m so tired. I think I’m delirious! Let’s get a bottle of water and go and crash out on the grass under the palm trees for a while. I don’t fancy going back to the apartment yet. It seems so depressing to sit inside on such a lovely day,’ suggests Rachel.

‘Good plan, you’re full of them as always!’

They pay and pass the romantic couple, gripping hands over the table, ‘don’t...!’ Isabel warns, as she jabs her friend with her elbow, worried that she’d say something that will make them both erupt into ridiculous laughter again, ‘I don’t even know what we’re laughing about anymore!!’

It is so refreshingly cool under the shade of the trees and so quiet that they both drift off to sleep to the sound of the waves and the rustling palm leaves.

Suddenly, Isabel wakes to the sound of Rachel cracking open the bottle of water, ‘oh yes please!’ she utters, drowsily as she takes a long swig and passes it back to her friend. ‘Did you sleep too?’ she asks Rachel.

 ‘Totally knocked out! It’s so relaxing here. Those leaves are hypnotic,’ she replies, resting back on the grass. ‘I was thinking just now, how do you fancy a trip into Málaga tomorrow?’ asks Rachel, ‘we could check out some of those places that Rafael recommended. Have a day in the city?’

‘Rafael?’ mumbles Isabel, looking bleary eyed and confused.

‘You know, “Mr Window Seat”,’ she laughs, ‘I have his number. Maybe we can meet him for a coffee or something? Can’t help for you to have a few contacts whilst you’re out here!’

‘Rachel, who said I was staying here without you?! You’re scheming again, aren’t you?!’ Questions Isabel, narrowing her eyes and smiling at her friend.

‘There’s a huge shopping street too which we could explore... treat yourself to a little “pool party dress”,’ Rachel adds, with a glint of excitement in her eyes, ‘we can’t rule out your recently engaged man-of-your-dreams Marcos just yet, hun!’

Isabel collapses back onto the grass again in exasperation and smiles, remembering the last time she saw him. If he’s still as gorgeous as he was thirteen years ago then Rachel’s right, there’s no harm in making a bit of an effort, surely?!

M
arcos lies on one of the thick padded loungers next to the pool, one hand resting under his dark wet hair, the other checking his phone for messages. None from Leanne, but a promising email from Rafael at the Málaga Language School. Out of the ten schools Marcos owns across Spain, this is the biggest earner. Foreign students like the thought of learning Spanish in Picasso’s home city, with a host of tourist attractions on their doorstep. Puerto Banús, the playground for the rich and famous, just a stone’s throw away. The school is fully booked again for September and October, over-subscribed even. He was going to have to meet with Rafael, the manager, over the next couple of days to discuss expansion and staffing. Things are looking good!

The sun is hot, even late in the afternoon and Marcos is feeling restless. His parents have planned a big party for his engagement to Leanne. They’ve invited a large number of people he doesn’t even know. He has invited some teachers from the Málaga school and a couple of his close friends but, as far as he knows, the rest of the guests are friends of his parents. He’s not keen on big, flashy parties, flaunting their wealth. He has seen his mother, María, in meetings on her terrace with all sorts of catering companies, lighting specialists, DJ’s... If he’s totally honest with himself, he’s dreading it. Then there’s Leanne. His fiancée seems even less interested than him. Marcos hasn’t seen her for three days, neither has she answered his text messages. She’s probably with her friends on a yoga retreat she had mentioned.
Probably no coverage
, he thinks, dropping his phone on the sunbed and wandering over to the edge of the pool.

He flexes his muscular shoulders and rotates his head slowly, to release the tension in his neck. He has an even, deep tan and the perfectly toned body of a triathlete. Since the expansion of his schools over the last ten years, he has been able to employ managers and take a step back from the everyday running of his business, giving him more time for training. He swims every day, sometimes early in the morning, in the sea. He cycles about two hundred kilometres a week and runs in the surrounding mountains in the cooler months.

Lowering his goggles over his icy blue eyes, he raises his arms above his head and dives into the cool depths of the crystal clear pool, enjoying the rush of bubbles across his face. He swims a length underwater and then surfaces into the glaring sunlight, pushing himself off the side with his knees bent, ploughing through the water and turning his head, filling his lungs with the warm afternoon air.

His concentration is broken by the ringing of his mobile. In one swift movement he launches himself out of the pool, grabs a towel and sees Leanne’s name flashing on the screen.

‘Leanne, I’ve been wandering what happened to you,
cariño
!’ he says, smiling.

‘Hey, I know, sorry, I didn’t have any reception where we were. I just got back now. Feeling relaxed after the yoga! What about you? You training today?’ she asks casually, knowing that he never goes a day without exercising.

‘Not really, I was just doing a few lengths when I heard my phone. I’m so glad you called. I was getting worried. Mum is going way over the top with the party plans!’ he says, rubbing his hand over his wet hair, relieved that she has called.

‘Oh no, I wish she wouldn’t make such a fuss. It’s not as if everybody didn’t already guess that we’d be getting married sooner or later. We’ve been together for five years. Seems a bit over the top to me!’ He imagines her twisting her long blonde hair through her delicate fingers, wrinkling her nose, sitting cross legged on the white sofa on her terrace overlooking the sea.

‘I know! Look, I miss you, when can I see you
guapa
?’ he asks, sitting on the steps of the pool, his feet in the water.

‘Looks like it may be the morning of the party babe. I’m staying at a friend’s tonight and tomorrow. Nadia, up in Antequera... you know? I don’t think you know her, but listen, I’ll make it up to you, I promise!’ he can almost imagine her pouting and fluttering her long lashes.

It’s not just her hair that she can wrap around her finger
, he thinks, sighing.

‘Ok honey, but get here early if you can. I think mum and dad will appreciate some help with setting things up... I love you
mi amor,
’ he says quickly as he hears people in the background and knows that she will hang up soon.

‘You too
cielo
. Text me tomorrow, byeee,’ she sighs breezily and the phone goes dead in his hand.

He is used to Leanne’s weekends away with the girls, parties with her friends from the Five Star Spa Hotel where she works as a hairdresser and beautician. When they met, Leanne was just twenty-one-years old, a student at the Málaga Language School. He was twenty-six. He had come to do some formal observations of the new staff and he had been knocked off his feet by her beauty. Her pale skin and long blonde hair, a stark contrast with his dark, exotic looks. He had visited the school more times than necessary that week and finally plucked up the courage to ask her out for a drink at the course “graduation” party. He was so relieved to find out that she actually lived and worked in Málaga and was not returning to the UK the following week, like many of the other students.

The first three years of their relationship had been a whirlwind of exotic holidays, romantic meals and long days languishing in bed together. Entwined, inseparable. Nothing much had really changed, they love each other deeply, but Marcos supposes that they had just become very ‘comfortable’ together. Everybody automatically assumed that the glamorous couple would marry and settle in Marcos’s large Villa in the hills where they would bring up their beautiful children and enjoy a life of luxury together.

He lies back on the sunbed as he remembers his proposal two months ago. He wanted it to be special. How could any girl refuse? He took her out on his yacht at night and anchored out at sea, off the shores of Nerja, where they could see the glimmering lights of the coast. The sea was still as they made love on the deck under a perfectly clear dark sky, Leanne’s beautiful golden hair glistening in the moonlight, the sea delicately lapping against the side of the boat.

Later, wrapped in a blanket together, gazing up at the stars, Marcos had opened a bottle of champagne and they had fed each other delicious blinis with smoked salmon and cream cheese. The setting could not have been more perfect!

‘To us’ he had said, raising his glass and retrieving the little box with the diamond ring from the pocket of his shorts.

Leanne’s reaction was not quite how he had expected. He thought that she might have guessed what his intentions were and he remembers being surprised when she covered her mouth and just stared at the glittering jewel for a while, as if lost for words.
Say yes!!
he thought to himself, beginning to feel uneasy. He recalls the relief as he saw her eyes begin to fill with tears and she threw her arms around his neck and shouted ‘YES!’ out to the horizon.

They spent the rest of the night on the boat, making love into the early hours of the morning. They sailed back the next day to make the happy announcement to their parents. Her parents booked immediately to come over and stay for the party and his own parents have been on overdrive ever since!

Marcos just wishes that Leanne shared some of his sporting interests. Now that he has so much time on his hands and he is officially a very wealthy man, maybe he could encourage Leanne to give up her work at the Hotel? He smiles as he tries to imagine her face when he suggests it to her. She could even set up her own salon here at the house, if she still wanted to work.
Perfect!
he thinks. He grabs his towel and heads on into the house to ask Marisa, his housekeeper, to prepare him a vodka and tonic and a light dinner. He’ll be dining alone tonight, he tells her.

I
sabel and Rachel step off the bus which has dropped them right in the centre of Málaga. It was only a fifteen-minute bus ride, but they had enjoyed seeing the outskirts of the city; first the Industrial estates and Commercial Parks, then the residential area with tall apartment blocks of all ages and colours, some in a better state of repair than others. Some had washing drying on the balconies, giving them a clue as to who the residents might be, and some were lined with charming flowerpots. As they drove further, the streets became darker for a while as they were surrounded by towering buildings, many with little convenience stores on the ground floor. People hurrying along with their shopping bags filled with vegetables and baguettes, some carrying little packages of elaborate cakes, others in restrictive formal shirts and trousers, trying to stick to a route in the shade. Suddenly the road had widened and they had seen a beautiful, palm tree lined promenade running along the centre of the main road, with little cafés, children’s playgrounds and, on the one side, a row of horses and carriages.

Rachel’s eyes widen as they step off the bus at the end of the promenade and see the sea on the other side of the road stretching out to the horizon.

‘Wow, you don’t expect a city to be this tropical do you??’ she says, ‘look at that boat, it’s huge. Is that what you call a “super-yacht”?’

‘Oh Rach, it’s beautiful isn’t it? Is that where we’re meeting Rafael later? In the Port?’ Isabel asks, excitedly.

‘Yes, must be. There’s a café with wicker chairs and white parasols, apparently. Wow...’ says Rachel, as they cross the busy road to get a better look, ‘you could stay here for a month and eat in a different restaurant every night. It’s buzzing!’

They skip back across the crossing and head up the main shopping street. ‘We’re not meeting Rafael until four o’clock so we’ve five hours to explore. I suggest we begin the dress hunt, then stop for a snack along the way. We’ll have plenty of time for the cultural stuff afterwards!’ Rachel grins as she links arms with her friend, dragging her into
Zara
.

With an armful of dresses, Isabel closes the curtain around her and Rachel settles herself on a stool in the changing rooms.

‘Try the black one first!’ she shouts encouragingly as Isabel shrugs off her strappy sundress. ‘Do you want me to go and get you some heels to try on with them? We won’t get the full effect with your canvas pumps!’

‘Ok, just grab anything, size thirty-seven!’

Rachel passes a pair of silver heeled sandals under the curtain, ‘Try these, they’re really nice actually!’

After a few minutes of shuffling and unimpressed mumbling coming from inside the cubicle, Isabel pulls back the curtain, ‘Nah’ she says immediately as she steps out and poses with her hands on her hips, ‘Too much... too “cocktail party”.’

‘Hmmmm, turn around. Nah, you’re right. You won’t be able to fit a bikini under that either!’ she laughs, ‘next!’

‘Getting better!’ says Isabel as she steps out in a cream maxi dress with a halter neck, ‘not that the shoes go with it...’

‘No, I think you need to get your legs out! Try the lemon coloured one. The colour will look fab with your tan.’

‘Yes boss,’ moans Isabel like a grumpy child, ‘you know I hate shopping... and I’m getting overheated in here!’

‘Ohhhh, I actually love this one’ she says more cheerfully from behind the curtain.

‘Show me!’ squeals Rachel excited, getting up from the stool, ready to appraise her friend. Isabel flings back the curtain and shouts ‘ta daaaahhh’ as she poses in front of the full length mirror.

‘Wow girl, I’ll buy you that dress myself if
you
won’t. Oh Iz, you look stunning! And it’s semi-transparent above the waist, so a bikini would be great underneath. Different shoes of course, but... oh Izzy, those legs!! I’m so jealous. I should hate you really!’

It is a short chiffon, soft lemon coloured dress with a fitted waist, layered skirt and a wide neck which gives a sassy, almost off-the-shoulder look.