We lay by the pool just after midday, a light breeze taking the edge off the Mediterranean heat. Jerrica had been reading her Kindle, her bikini the stuff of my teenage fantasies, and most of my adult ones too. The ones that were tame, anyhow.
“You know more than me about marketing.” I sat up, reaching for the sunscreen I had the sense to apply. “Where did you learn all that?”
She put her Kindle down and looked over at me. I’d caught her eyeing up my abs and chest a couple of times already, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t preened. It was harder, being far away from home and her brother, to remember the reasons why I shouldn’t be wanting her.
“It isn’t just about writing all the words. I have my own website, newsletter; I run ads — and I have to manage them myself. I’ve created a brand, which involves knowing how to post on social media — or trying to know. It’s not an easy industry. And I ran my own business before, too — so I learned a lot from that.”
I studied her, trying not to let my eyes wander down to her bikini top that wasn’t going to make sleeping next to her tonight any easier. “Still waters run deep.”
She laughed. “You should know. Man of mystery.”
I lay back down, hands behind my head, the sun blaring down on us. “Really isn’t much to be mysterious about.”
Jerrica shifted so she was on her side, watching me. “Your cousin. I guess you didn’t have my leafy-green childhood.”
“Concrete grey rather than leafy green.” Maybe it was the sun, or the blue sky that was so rare in Manchester, or her bikini, but I told her a little about how I grew up. Just the bare bones: my mother, how we moved, how she’d left. How she’d died.
It didn’t feel like I was telling someone else’s story now. The first time I’d gone through my childhood with my therapist, she’d made me tell it like it had happened to someone else. She’d told me to tell her about that boy, how he’d felt, as if it hadn’t been me, then over the years, I’d begun to own those feelings, to reconcile what had happened to me as a child without blame or guilt. Even regret.
I was almost at peace with how I’d grown up. It had made me the man I was now, even though he wasn’t perfect.
Jerrica didn’t say anything while I gave her the bones of my story, her eyes wide pools of something I could drown in. I didn’t want her sympathy. Maybe I wanted her understanding. Maybe I just wanted to give her something of mine to take away, something I didn’t give freely. Maybe it was the sweet air of the south of France and tang of the grapes and the wine we’d already sipped at.
“The fact I’m here now, thinking about investing in a place like this, makes me feel like a god.” It sounded conceited, but I didn’t mean it that way. “Or at least some god gave me strength from somewhere.”
Jerrica sat up, the movement drawing my eyes to her tits again. I’d given up trying to not look anymore.
“The media has never worked out where you came from?”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s part of the reason why I try to keep a low profile. Being captain helps, because I can have a club profile and that seems to keep them happy. Genevieve has kept them at bay too a few times when they’ve managed to dig something up.”
“Why wouldn’t you want them to know?”
“I don’t want to relive it in public. It’s in my past and I’ve dealt with it on my terms, which makes me sound like a selfish fucker. You’re one of the few people who know.” I sat up, hearing footsteps that sounded like Carina’s.
“I won’t say anything.”
“I know you won’t.” I didn’t think for one minute she’d prove me wrong.
We toured the vineyard, Gérard showing us around with the same amount of pride as Rowan after scoring a hattrick, his broken English not a barrier in explaining the process of moving the grapes from the vines into wine.
Jerrica wore a yellow sundress over a different bikini that she’d had on while we were sunbathing. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, her sunglasses overly large, making her look like a movie star. I managed to take in some of what Gérard was saying, but most of my attention was on her, the way she smiled, the way she nodded at what he was saying, how she gestured with her hands when she was enthusiastic.
The winery was a decent size — I’d visited several in the last few years to be able to compare, but it wasn’t really kitted out for tours. Carina and Suzette planned to convert one of the nearby outhouses into a visitors’ centre, complete with restaurant and shop, where they could sell more of the wine and the cheeses they produced too. The chateau was close enough to the town to make it easy to get to, and part of the plan was to offer a pickup and drop off service from some of the main hotels.
So far, I was liking everything I’d seen.
“So, it is time for your wine tasting. If you come with me, I’ll take you to the table we have laid out for you.” Gérard’s glance at his watch told me his tour had probably run over.
That didn’t matter. We had nowhere else to be today, nothing else to do apart from drink wine and eat food in the late afternoon sunshine. Carina was busy with the deliveries they’d had this morning, styling rooms and getting testy with Suzette, who was trying to sort out another team of builders who’d arrived.
Sitting down at the rather rustic table laid out for two, underneath a pergola with climbing flowers tangling up it, felt rather like a date. Gérard pulled out our chairs, talking us through the first wine. The dinner was more of food with wine pairings, a menu that Neva would never in a million years approve.
“So what are your thoughts? Are you going to invest?”
Jerrica sipped the white wine, her expression showing that she liked it.
“Probably. It seems like a no brainer.” Being by the pool had made my mind up; the place was a little piece of paradise, and I could see how the chateau would look when it was finished. It was exclusive without being pretentious and had a casual vibe that I could see being addictive for those looking for a place to escape where it wasn’t about who they’d be seen by.
