Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

How dare that skinny, raven-haired bitch reappear after all these years and mess things up!

She picks up one of her discarded shoes from the floor and throws it furiously at the bedroom door.
Shit!!!

I
sabel sits on the roof terrace, sunbathing and trying to read the first pages of a novel that she had bought at the airport a week ago. She misses Rachel already and the house feels so quiet without her. She had left early this morning with Isabel’s parents, promising to text when they arrived home. She doesn’t feel like going down on to the beach on her own and she can’t concentrate on the book. She’s worried that Paul hasn’t received her text and will be waiting for her in Arrivals, right this minute. She can’t understand why he hasn’t replied. In a way it’s a relief. Endless messages, pleading with her to come home would have been far worse!

She jumps up from the sunbed as she hears her phone bleep;

Hey Iz, we’ve landed. Flight fine. No sign of Paul! Let me know how ur first day goes. Miss u already xxx

She settles back on the bed with a confused frown. He must have received her text then?! ‘Oh well!’ she says aloud to herself, ‘Rach, I think you were right. Maybe he
is
a psycho!’

Relaxed in the knowledge that everyone is home safely and Paul hadn’t caused any scenes, she closes her eyes and is just about to drift off to sleep when her phone rings. She reaches out for it sleepily, assuming it is her mum, ‘Hi!’ she says happily.

‘Hi! Who were you expecting?!’ replies a man’s voice.

‘Oh! sorry! Who is this?’ she asks, swinging her legs off the sunbed and walking over to the wall to look across the beach.

‘Sorry to startle you, Isabel, it’s Marcos. I hope you don’t mind me calling?’

‘Oh, course not! Did my parents give you my number?’ she asks, curiously.

‘Sort of, yes! They phoned my parents to thank them for the party. They thought it would give them peace of mind, if you had a friend nearby to keep an eye on you!’ he laughs, ‘and I’m your man!!’

‘I think they think I’m still fourteen sometimes!’ she giggles.

‘So, what are you doing now?’ he asks, very directly.

‘I was just reading on the terrace actually. It feels a bit strange now Rachel has gone home.’

‘Can I come and pick you up in an hour then? I can show you around my house and I can apologise properly for my behaviour last night! You don’t have to worry; Leanne won’t be here. I’ve told her I don’t want to see her for a few days. I am
very
embarrassed,’ he says, with genuine concern in his voice.

‘Oh please don’t be embarrassed on my behalf. We’ve all done things we’ve regretted in the past, I’m sure? I would love to see your house though,’ she quickly adds, trying not to sound too flirtatious or to read anything into the invitation either. ‘Shall I meet you outside “Sol y Mar” restaurant? It’s just opposite where I’m staying.’

‘Perfect, I know where that is. Shall we say two o’clock?’

‘Ok, I’ll see you then. Bye.’ She hopes that was casual enough, without sounding indifferent.

Isabel suddenly no longer feels sleepy. She gathers up her towel from the sun lounger and skips down to the bathroom, feeling happy that she’s going to have company for the afternoon.

Marcos pulls up in a black convertible Mercedes, wearing Ray Bans and a navy blue polo shirt. He looks every bit the wealthy Spanish businessman and she feels a little bit nervous as she lowers herself into the plush leather seat beside him.

‘Hi, you’re spot on time!’ she says, clutching her handbag on her lap and straightening her skirt beneath her.

‘You look lovely,’ he says, ‘very “surf chick”!’

‘Thanks! Although, I must tell you now, I’m not a big fan of surf chicks!’

He looks at her quizzically as he pulls slowly away from the curb.

‘My ex had an affair with a surfer, much younger than myself as it happens!!’ she shakes her head and smiles, ‘you weren’t to know!!’

‘Well, all I can say is that he must have been mad to have let you go,’ Marcos frowns, focusing on the road, ‘Is he still with her?’

‘No, it was a “fling” apparently, or “flings”, I found out through a friend of mine. She knew weeks before but he had threatened her to keep her mouth shut.’

‘Nice guy! Is he violent?’ He glances at Isabel with a concerned look on his face.

‘No, not at all. My friend, Claire, is gay. She didn’t want anyone to know yet. We live in a small village. Well, you know what people are like.’

‘Woah, what a bastard... so then you ran into a car??!’ he looks down at her, a look of amused confusion on his face.

‘It sounds crazy when you put it like that,’ she laughs, hiding her face in her hands, ‘I found out from Claire over the phone. She had finally plucked up the courage to tell me, but I got the wrong end of the stick,’ she flinches at the memory of how she had ripped into her, ‘I was so upset that I just found myself running away from Paul in such a blind rage, then...
bang
!’

‘And all this was just three weeks ago?’

‘Yep!’ she smiles, ‘we Brits are mental; you should know that?!!’

‘So, has he been in touch since?’ he continues to interrogate, as they leave the main road and head up towards the mountains.

‘We’ve been in touch, just by text. I said that we’d talk when I got back,’ she mumbles, feeling stupid as she realises how that must sound, ‘I haven’t said that I’ve forgiven him or anything but I think that I might have given him the wrong impression,’ she adds quickly, ‘...I do still have feelings for him.’ She blushes and plays with the strap on her leather handbag. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have given him so much hope. I’m a long way off forgiving him for what he did.’

Marcos glances over at her and see’s the confusion and hurt in her eyes. He suddenly feels very protective over the lovely, vulnerable girl beside him and vows secretly to keep her safe.

Isabel takes in the scenery around her, avoiding his penetrating look of concern. The mountains are like nothing she has ever seen. Dark, almost purple in the evening light, the shadows in the ravines looking like creases in a full skirt. She thinks how she would love to climb up there, and wonders even if it were possible.

‘It’s so different up here,’ she says, ‘and we’re only ten minutes’ drive away from the coast!’

‘You’re right,’ he agrees, obviously very proud of where he lives. ‘I don’t think I could live down there now,’ he nods in the direction of Torremolinos. ‘I enjoy the peace and quiet too much and the views, of course, are fantastic. You can watch people and see the glimmering lights in the evenings, without actually having to be a part of it all,’ he adds, as she feels him physically relax. ‘Leanne prefers life down there! Maybe I’m getting old,’ he laughs, and slows the car down to a smooth stop, pulling out a little remote from the glove compartment above her knees. He presses the button and the gates in front of them open to reveal a long gravel driveway, leading up to a house in the distance, surrounded by the most luscious, tropical garden. There are trees that she doesn’t recognise. Amongst them, she notices orange- and lemon- trees, olive trees, and huge Aloe Vera. In the middle of this paradise, as they make their way slowly up the drive, she glimpses the shimmering turquoise water of a pool surrounded by palms and sun loungers.

‘Oh... my...’ she chuckles, covering her mouth with both hands, unable to find the words to describe her feelings.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispers eventually, as Marcos parks the car in front of a large, white single storey house with a detached double garage and separate built-in barbecue and chill-out area. The terrace roof is covered in terracotta tiles, supported by six square pillars, providing welcome shade from the afternoon sun. At one end there is, what she can only describe as, an outdoor lounge area with white sofas. At the other end a large, rustic wooden dining table with six chairs and Moroccan-style coloured glass lanterns.

She hopes that she isn’t gaping too much as she steps out onto the stones, ‘outdoor living is something that we just don’t have the weather for in the UK, I suppose!’ she muses, ‘you must spend most of your time out here on the terrace. Who needs a house?!’

Marcos laughs and leads Isabel into the shade of the terrace, ‘most of the year’ he says casually, ‘although it can get very cold in the winter you know? Not freezing, but enough to drive you inside to the warmth of the open fire.’

‘I can’t think of anything nicer. How long have you lived here?’ she asks, looking out over the pool, trying not to let her mind wander back to Friday evening.

‘Eight years now. I lived with my parents when I first came back to Spain, eleven years ago,’ he says, walking over to join Isabel at the edge of the terrace. ‘Their house is so big that we could pretty much live independently anyway and, to be honest, it gave me time to set up my business,’ he smiles modestly. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks, wandering over to the house and sliding open the patio door. Isabel follows him and steps into a huge, modern, open plan kitchen-diner with an archway leading into a cosy looking lounge.

‘Oh, it’s so lovely and cool in here,’ she sighs, placing her handbag on the back of one of the chairs at the breakfast bar.

‘Couldn’t live without aircon in the summer,’ he smiles widely, opening the fridge and examining its contents.

‘I’m presuming you’d like a cold drink rather than coffee?’ he asks, filling a little ceramic painted bowl with plump green olives.

‘Yes please. Anything cold,’ she answers, feeling strangely formal. She was going to ask for fizzy water but when he takes out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay she finds herself accepting gratefully.
The alcohol will help me to relax
, she thinks.
If only Rachel were here to tell her how to behave!

She follows Marcos out onto the shady terrace and they settle themselves on one of the outdoor sofas. Isabel lets her flip flops fall to the floor and she folds her legs under her, desperately hoping that it makes her look cool and relaxed!

‘Here’s to reunited friends,’ Marcos exclaims, holding up his glass of wine and handing her hers.

‘S
alud
’, she says.

‘Oh, so you haven’t forgotten
all
of your Spanish then,
Señorita
Marsh!’ he smiles.

‘The important stuff,’ she giggles, taking a sip of wine, ‘like ordering food and drinks. Survival skills, you know!’

Marcos sits forward on the sofa, laughing softly, looking down at the floor between his feet.

‘Look,’ he says suddenly in a serious voice, ‘I want to say sorry for Leanne’s behaviour on Friday night. I have never seen her like that before.’ He shakes his head in shame, running the tip of his index finger around the rim of his glass. ‘I’ve told her that I don’t want to see her for a few days. To be honest, I saw a side of her that I really don’t like, Isa.’ He looks sad, his eyes still fixed on his wine.

‘There’s no harm done Marcos, honestly,’ Isabel says brightly, ‘I bet she’s sitting at home now regretting everything she said and did. She’ll be desperate to make it up to you.’
I hope so, for his sake
, she thinks.

‘Do you really think so?’ Marcos asks as he looks up at Isabel, searching her eyes for reassurance.

‘Definitely,’ she answers as confidently as she can, leaning forward and patting his knee like a good friend. She prays, for Marcos’s sake, that Leanne has seen sense and given up the man she and Rachel had seen her with. As much as she would love to claim this beautiful man for herself, she would never split them up intentionally. Besides, they may have even been wrong about Leanne’s relationship with this other man.
Very unlikely
Isabel thinks,
judging by that romantic display at the beach bar the other night
...

‘Everyone deserves a second chance,’ she adds quietly, thinking about Paul.

‘I’ll give her a call tomorrow and see what she has to say,’ he says, seemingly happier and more confident.

They both sit back on the sofa and Isabel rests her head back on the cool, comfortable fabric, glad that the ice has been broken between them. She is taken by surprise when he suddenly asks quietly, looking out onto the lawn in front of him, ‘have you ever thought about what it might have been like if we’d got together?’

Isabel is silent for a few seconds as she gazes up into the mountains, watching the tiniest little puff of cloud float over the summit and evaporate. ‘I vowed I’d come and find you as soon as I was eighteen,’ she smiles, pulling her legs underneath her and taking a sip of wine, ‘but I suppose it just wasn’t the right time for us,’ she adds shyly, looking across at his profile. ‘I went to college, then to Uni, and by then I had met Paul and it all seemed so long ago.’

‘Did you ever think of me?’ he asks, looking over at her, seeing the girl she had been, when he had last seen her all those years ago.

‘Of course I did,’ she answers quietly, smiling briefly at his upturned face, ‘but I never even knew where you were and I would have felt foolish asking my father.’ She pauses and pops a juicy green olive into her mouth. ‘You? Did you ever think of me after you left?’ she asks, helping herself to another olive, trying to keep the conversation as casual as possible.

‘I threw myself into my work when I came back here,’ he replies, bending one leg up onto the sofa, turning to face her, ‘I heard your news from my parents occasionally of course. I must confess, I heard all about Paul and how you had moved in together. Your parents were delighted for you,’ he continues, pulling at a loose piece of cotton on the hem of his trousers, ‘I suppose at that point, I gave up hope, really, and decided that it was time I settled down myself.’

‘So, you
did
think of me?!’ sighs Isabel.

‘Of course,’ he says, covering her hand with his, looking at her with such tenderness.

‘And then you met Leanne,’ she says, as indifferently as she can.

‘There were other casual relationships, but nothing serious, until Leanne,’ he pauses, his hand still holding hers, ‘and now you’re single again.’

The power of this statement is not lost on either of them as Marcos stands to pour them another glass of wine and Isabel perches awkwardly on the edge of the sofa.