After the Honeymoon (7 page)

Besides, it would do them good to be with their father for a week. Winston would have given anything, at that age, to have had that opportunity.

As the bus rattled its way across the airport to the terminal, Winston put his arm around Melissa and pressed his lips against her hair, breathing in her smell. ‘Did you enjoy the wedding?’ he whispered.

She nodded, sinking her head into the broad dip in his shoulders. When she’d first done that, it had felt like someone had slotted a missing jigsaw piece into his body. ‘It was perfect,’ she murmured.

It had been, too. For a few brief seconds, Winston allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and recalling every precious minute. That tense wait inside Corrywood registry office (a nondescript dark red building near the post office), waiting for Melissa to arrive. Desperately willing her to come – there was a pit of fear in his solar plexus, in case she’d changed her mind. Casting questioning looks at his assistant and agent, to check that there weren’t any photographers about.

That had been one of Melissa’s stipulations when she’d accepted his proposal. ‘I don’t want to get caught up in all that publicity,’ she had insisted. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on the children. Or on us.’

She was right. Winston didn’t like it himself, though he knew there had to be some price for all the money he was paid. Still, he was as keen on a private ceremony as his bride was, despite the lucrative magazine and newspaper offers which had come pouring in.

And somehow, thanks to all the false trails that Poppy had laid, they had achieved it! Melissa had arrived, looking stunning in an Amanda Wakeley dress and a little black sequin jacket because, as she said later with her beguiling smile, you didn’t get to her age without earning a few black marks.

They’d said their vows and recited a poem each (which they’d made up themselves), despite Melissa’s daughter giving him the evils and the boy continually kicking his sister during the ceremony amidst loud ‘ouches’.

Afterwards, they’d sneaked out of the back entrance, giggling like a pair of school runaways, and into his agent’s Mercedes with tinted windows. Then they’d taken the children and Melissa’s sister, who’d travelled from France, out for a late Italian lunch.

The difficult bit had been the evening when the husband had turned up to collect Alice and Freddie. Amazingly, since the man only lived round the corner in Corrywood, Winston hadn’t met Melissa’s ex before; partly because he’d taken care not to be around when he came to pick up the kids for weekends and partly because the man was always away working. But Winston had built up a mental vision of him, accrued through jealousy and the odd family photograph that was still in the house.

When Marvin turned up at the restaurant as arranged, Winston had been a bit taken aback. His predecessor was taller than he’d realised. More good-looking too, with a suave assurance that made Winston feel he’d been the one who was in the wrong.

‘Dad!’

Alice and Freddie had flung themselves at him, and Winston was surprised to find himself experiencing a slight pang of resentment as he watched the man ruffle the kids’ hair and then – bloody nerve! – place his cheek against Melissa’s.

She had flushed like a beetroot.

‘Congratulations,’ Marvin had said, in what sounded to him like an over-jovial voice. Then as he walked past Winston he had muttered, ‘Good luck. You might need it.’

What do you mean? Winston had almost said. Conscious that his fists were clenched inside his pockets, Winston watched his new bride’s anxious face as she kissed the children goodbye. ‘It’s only a week,’ she kept saying, but they didn’t need any reassurance – couldn’t she see that? The turncoats were happy as Larry, skipping along with their dad towards one of those ridiculously big people carriers where a tarty-looking peroxide blonde was waiting in the driver’s seat.

‘It will be all right,’ he’d murmured to Melissa on the way to the airport. ‘It’s
you
they really love.’

She’d given him one of her sad but amazing smiles which made him feel both protective and alive. Really alive; as though she’d just opened a huge shaft of light in his head. ‘Thank you,’ she’d replied softly. But nevertheless, she’d been quiet all through the flight and as soon as they’d landed, had checked her phone. ‘They promised to text as soon as they got back,’ she’d fretted. ‘But the reception here is awful.’

The little buggers were probably having too good a time to bother with their mother. ‘We’ll call from the villa.’ His eyes were still distracted; darting everywhere; checking, as they got off the bus and made their way into the small, cool terminal, that there wasn’t anyone around with a camera.

It wasn’t just Melissa’s privacy he was worried about. It was the other thing too. There was only so much that the world was allowed to know about Winston King. It wouldn’t do for anyone – including his bride – to get too close. She might not understand.

‘Isn’t it pretty?’ exclaimed Melissa as the car turned the corner and stopped outside a smallish white house with the sign ‘Villa Rosa’ outside.

Winston’s sharp eyes took in the position. Perched on the seafront as the ad had said. Surrounded by hills which would be perfect for the ten-mile jogs he liked to take every day. A slightly faded Mediterranean-blue veranda running along the front, and the glimpse of the promised holiday cottages, also in white, at the back.

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘You did well to find it.’

When Melissa had first mentioned the notice at the children’s school, advertising the Villa Rosa, he’d got his assistant to check it out. Yes, she’d assured him. It was very quiet and they didn’t have any other English bookings.

Great. Then there’d be no one to spot them.

So he’d instructed Poppy to book under a false name. Luckily, she wasn’t asked for passport details. At the same time, he’d got his assistant to book some more high-profile destinations in other spots to throw snoopers off the track; the privacy would be worth the cancellation fee.

Hang on. Another car had stopped close behind them. It was the other honeymoon couple. ‘Feeling any better, Tom?’ he heard the bride saying in one of those little girl voices that set his teeth on edge.

So they were staying here too? An English couple who might recognise him – just what he hadn’t wanted! Hastily he put on his shades again. If necessary, he’d keep them on for the whole holiday. Inside and out.

‘I still can’t get any reception,’ Melissa was saying, checking her phone again.

Winston fought back the impulse to tell her that she had to get over this. That for one week only, she needed to let the children go. ‘As I said, we’ll ring from reception,’ he reminded her briskly. ‘Let’s make a move, shall we?’

Slinging one suitcase on his back, he picked up the other and marched ahead, conscious of the admiring glances both from his wife and the moon-faced bride. ‘He must be strong,’ he heard the latter mutter. Instantly, he reproached himself for doing something that stood out. Wasn’t the whole point about this break to have some privacy? To look after Melissa? To make an amazing start to their life together?

They reached the small reception desk before the other couple. To his irritation, there was no one there, although there was the sound of scurrying behind a door leading off the little hall. Winston rang the tinny bell that was on the reception desk. No answer. He tried again.

This time, the door opened and a young man walked in. On closer look, Winston realised he was more of a boy and that his older appearance came from a smooth, unblemished skin uncommon in adolescents, plus a very polite, assured manner.

‘So sorry to have kept you,’ he said in impeccable English with a very slight Greek accent. Good. So there wouldn’t be any communication problems here then. Winston bent his head in acknowledgment.

‘It’s Mr and Mrs Walker, isn’t it?’

That wasn’t the false name he’d instructed Poppy to use! ‘Actually,’ he said quietly, ‘we’re booked under Churchill although the real name is King.’ Swiftly he looked behind to check no one else was listening. ‘
Winston
King.’

If this kid recognised the name, he wasn’t showing it. Instead, there was a flurry of page-turning. ‘Ah, here we are. Churchill.’

Winston’s heart soared with relief.

‘But it looks as though it’s been cancelled.’

No! Winston felt sweat trickling down his back – and not just because of the poor air conditioning. ‘That can’t be right.’

The boy gave him a look, the type you got if you returned something to a shop and were told that no one else had ever complained. ‘Do you know who you spoke to when you first made the booking?’

Of course he bloody didn’t. ‘My assistant did it.’ He was struggling now to remain polite. ‘Are you sure it was cancelled?’

‘Look.’ The boy pushed the diary across the desk. Winston stared. The booking had a big red line through it. Someone had cocked up big time. Either his assistant or someone at this end. No prizes for guessing who his money would be on. Poppy was never wrong.

There was a hand on his back. Melissa. Every time she touched him, he wanted to melt. She looked so beautiful in her halter-neck red cotton dress, which set her dark hair off to perfection, that he could hardly believe she was his.

Nick. Forgive me.

‘Is everything all right?’

He nodded, desperately trying to collect himself. ‘Sure. Why don’t you go and sit in the cool? We won’t be a minute.’

He turned back, gritting his teeth. ‘Please find me your manager.’

The boy looked him straight in the eye with what seemed like more than a whiff of arrogance. If he’d been one of his men back in the Royal Marines, he might have got a warning.

‘I’m afraid she’s away for a few days. Would you like to wait on the patio? We can give you a complimentary drink while we try and find you another place to stay.’

Winston’s voice was low and steady. ‘I don’t want a complimentary drink. And I don’t want alternative accommodation either. I want the cottage for my wife and myself. The cottage that we booked. We’ve been travelling all night, and frankly, we want to rest. Is that clear?’

There was the sound of someone retching behind him. Great. The man with the honeymoon sweatshirt was actually vomiting on the ground.

‘I’m so sorry.’ The blonde woman was hastily mopping up with tissues from her bag. ‘I’m afraid my husband isn’t feeling very well. Do you think we could go straight to our cottage? The name’s Walker.’

Winston let out a silent groan. So this couple had got their rooms! He waited as the woman filled out the registration form while the man was sick again, just by his feet. Thank God Melissa was on the patio, still trying to get reception. It might give him time to sort out this mess.

‘What are you going to do about us?’ he growled to the kid. As he spoke, Winston willed himself to calm down. There was something about this place that he liked. It had an air of peace about it, despite that man throwing up. Nice position, too – right on the sea, which always soothed him. Close to the hills so he could climb high and lose himself. He didn’t want to have to find somewhere else.

‘Please.’ The boy was picking up the phone. ‘Give me a moment and I will see what I can do.’

He carried the handset through the door but Winston could hear the odd word. ‘Not sure whose fault it is. Really, Mum? You’re sure?’

Then he returned, his young face revealing a dark flush. ‘The manager apologises for any mistake. Unfortunately we’ve had a leak in the main house guest rooms so they’re out of action.’

What kind of dump had they come to?

The boy, as though sensing his annoyance, hurried on. ‘So she has suggested that you have her room. It has a luxury en suite, a terrace and a stunning view over the sea. There will, of course, be a discount.’

‘Thank you,’ he said firmly. ‘I appreciate it. There’s something else. My wife needs to make a phone call and she can’t get any reception.’

The lad shrugged. ‘Rather hit and miss, I’m afraid.’

In one way, that was good, Winston told himself, although he didn’t like the casual attitude. ‘In that case, I presume there’s a phone in the room.’

The boy’s face suggested he’d asked for the moon. ‘Sorry. The only landline is in reception.’

‘Then may my wife use it? She needs to ring her children.’

Immediately, the boy looked sympathetic. ‘Of course.’

His wife didn’t need telling twice. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said to the boy.

‘Pleasure. Mr and Mrs Walker, would you like to come this way?’

Meanwhile, Winston picked up one of the tourist magazines in the little hall and pretended not to listen in to his wife’s conversation. But it was difficult not to.

‘Really? Why? I see. No, Marvyn. That’s fine. I mean, if there’s no option. Yes, I know they’re my children too. No, Winston won’t mind.’

Something was up.

‘Marvin’s been urgently called out to Hong Kong for work.’ Melissa’s face was fixed on his with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. ‘He can’t have the children any more. He’s rung around their school friends but everyone has gone away, and my sister’s gone back to France. So he’s booked them on the next flight here.’

She leaned on his shoulder and he felt his body melt, even though his head was beginning to throb. ‘That
is
all right, isn’t it?’

The Queen took her corgi Susan on honeymoon to Balmoral.

ROSIE

‘Problems?’ asked Greco quizzically, when Rosie dropped her mobile back into her bag.

‘You can say that again!’ She sighed, running her hands through her hair as she was prone to do when stressed. ‘Either Jack has messed up – I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me – or one of our clients has got it wrong. It would be pretty bad at any time but this one is with some wedding guests who have requested absolute privacy. Apparently, they booked one of the cottages in a false name, but in the book it’s been cancelled. Now they don’t have anywhere to stay.’

Rosie took a deep breath, steadying herself. ‘So I’ve given them my room. Jack’s going to have to tidy it up and put my stuff somewhere. And on top of that, Cook’s decided to leave this week instead of next month – something to do with his arthritis – so Jack’s having to hold the fort until Yannis arrives.’