FORTY-THREE
Gracie felt like she was on the set of a Hollywood movie. It was day eight of their nine-day holiday in paradise and she still thought she was dreaming. It would be such a wrench to go back to the normality of London life.
Lying next to Noms, on a huge white sunbed with a retractable hood, holding a cocktail that their waiter (yes, their personal pool waiter) had just brought to her, she sighed and lay back, her face to the sun. Jack was flailing around on a lilo with his armbands and a snorkel on. St Lucia had been more special than she could ever have imagined. So green, so tropical, the beaches beautiful and the happy people just so wonderful.
The villa was out of this world. Set high up in the quietest part of the island, it was a white-walled haven of expensive artefacts and extreme comfort. They had ventured out to the nearest beach a few times, and to a street market one night, but most of the time they chose to stay at the villa. It was hard to do anything else when they had a personal chef to cook all of their meals, all the entertainment and space they could wish for and, in the evening, could put Jack to bed at a reasonable hour and sit up drinking and chatting for as long as they liked, undisturbed.
Jack’s dad had done as Naomi had asked and there were no photos anywhere. He had obviously also briefed the staff to look after them exceptionally well. No expense had been spared for his only son.
Gracie stretched out on her double sunbed and sighed contentedly.
‘Maybe you should consider making another play for him, Noms.’
Noms laughed. ‘He’s dating Risella, the new supermodel on the block, now. Not sure I’d have a look-in, and I actually wouldn’t want to, not now.’
Gracie laughed. ‘He was obviously attracted to you once.’
‘Yes, at a drug-induced private beach party I managed to crash in Croatia. I didn’t even know who he was until he told me the morning after.’
‘And I guess you’ve done all right out of him, so why complicate life? But on the other hand…’
‘Gracie, I have all the perks of dating an international film star, without any angst. Why change that.’
‘What are you laughing at, Auntie Grace?’ Jack appeared dripping wet next to her and took a glug of lemonade.
‘Just your mummy and what a funny lady she is.’
‘Can we go to the beach now,perlease?’
Gracie inwardly groaned; she was so comfy and was just about to start reading her much-anticipated new Milly Johnson romcom.
Noms sat up. ‘You stay put. I’ll take him for a bit, it’ll be a bit cooler down there now and it’s easy with the jeep in the garage.’
‘Yeah! I need a poo, though, first.’ Jack peeled off his trunks and kicked them under the sunbed.
‘Nice one, son, thanks for sharing. Go on, then, I’ll wait for you around the front.’ He charged off at full pelt. ‘Grab clean beach towels from my bedroom on your way out,’ she shouted after him.
Gracie heard her phone beep.
‘Ed, again?’ Noms wrapped her sarong around her.
‘Yep.’
‘What’s he saying, this time?’
‘Just confirming when we’re back.’ Gracie had agreed to see him again. She didn’t know what to think or what she wanted, but she knew she liked him enough to at least hear him out. ‘He did offer to pick us up from the airport, but I’m going to meet him the day after. I need to be on good form.’
‘Good plan. And any more from Lewis?’ Gracie sat up and rested on her elbows.
‘Not a thing since I ran away from his proposal. I feel so bad, Noms.’
‘You need to stop beating yourself up. He took a chance, you weren’t ready.’ Noms sat up straighter and looked serious. ‘OK, let me pose this question. If one of them was to walk around the corner of the villa right this second, who would you rather it be?’
Gracie didn’t have a chance to relay a response as walking towards them – in loose khaki three-quarter-length trousers, a white linen shirt and dark glasses – was not Ed, not Lewis, and not Dustin the pool waiter but – even more delicious in the flesh – Hollywood superstar and absent father of one, Leo Grant.
FORTY-FOUR
Maya clicked her front door shut, walked slowly to the bathroom and started to run a bath. She checked her phone – two days without contact from the professor, but that wasn’t unusual. She had deleted his number but had remembered the last three digits of it. She was trying her best to move on and, if he contacted her, well, she would have to try and be strong. It was silly, really, she thought. It wasn’t that they were having a relationship or anything. Just an affair. A sex-fuelled, intermittent affair. But she was still reeling from how she could have been so silly to let feelings get in the way of bloody good regular sex with benefits.
