Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

‘No one knows for sure how quickly my condition will
deteriorate but we are talking months rather than years.’

Holly felt totally crushed.

‘No wonder you couldn’t answer when I asked how long you
would be staying in Mauritius? Is that why you’ve come, to spend the rest of
your life here?’

‘No, I have something else in mind and I may need you to
help me. Would you do that, Holly? Would you help a dying woman with her last
wish?’

Holly was still reeling from the shock of hearing that
Rosemary was dying. ‘Of course. I’ll do anything I can.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You have no idea how much that means
to me. I wanted to visit Mauritius one last time before I get too sick to fly,
but I don’t want to die here because I want Robert to be able to come to this
house, where we had planned to retire together, and remember all the happy
times we shared, watching beautiful sunsets like this.’

Holly raised her eyes to follow Rosemary’s gaze. The sun was
a fiery orange ball and was just starting to dip below the horizon, the sky
around it a colourful backdrop of pinks and yellows. They sat quietly,
Rosemary’s hand resting on Holly’s, until the final flash of orange had gone,
both wondering how many more sunsets Rosemary would enjoy.

‘They’ll be back soon,’ Rosemary said. ‘We’d better start
getting things ready for supper.’

Robert and Philippe were in good spirits when they arrived
home shortly after sunset with steaks from the huge yellow fin tuna that Billy
had helped them land and gut. Holly was relieved that the fish was ready to
grill on the barbecue. She hadn’t gutted a fish since making roll-mop herrings
as an eleven-year-old in her school cookery class when she had almost fainted
after cutting down the fish’s belly before twisting its head off. She had gone
home and announced to her mum that she wanted to be a vegetarian to which her
mum had replied, you’ll eat what you’re given.

With the tuna steaks sizzling on the hot coals of the
barbecue Philippe and Robert gave a blow by blow account of how they had not
only landed the yellow fin tuna but also a prized ruby snapper. Billy had
grudgingly said it was beginner’s luck but was nonetheless grateful when the
boys had given it to him, along with the rest of their catch, as a thank you
for their day out on the ocean.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t fall overboard, Robert,’ Rosemary
teased, as it was clear that he was more than a little tipsy. ‘I thought I
asked you to look after him, Philippe.’

‘I did,’ countered Philippe, winking in Robert’s direction.
‘He was never without a bottle of beer in his hand!’

The tuna steaks were delicious accompanied by the salad that
Holly and Rosemary had prepared. Philippe offered wine but Robert declined,
admitting that he had probably had enough alcohol for one day, and Rosemary
also gave it a miss as she had volunteered to drive back to the Plantation
House in Philippe’s old BMW.

‘You’ll join me in a glass of white, won’t you, Holly,’
Philippe urged. ‘I don’t like to drink alone.’

Holly hesitated before replying, ‘Just one glass then.’

As soon as they had finished their meal Rosemary said, ‘I
think I should get you back to the hotel, Robert, before you fall asleep.’

‘You might be right, old girl,’ Robert said.

‘It’s early, Holly,’ Rosemary said, ignoring the old girl
comment. ‘If you don’t want to leave just yet you could always phone the hotel
for a taxi when you’re ready.’

Holly could feel three pairs of eyes on her, and felt a
blush begin to colour her face. Part of her wanted to make her excuses and
leave with the Forresters. That would be the sensible, safe option. But running
around in her head was Rosemary’s advice about not living to regret missed
opportunities and besides she really didn’t want the evening to end yet.

It was only a ten-minute drive to the hotel from Tamarina Bay
but Robert could feel his eyelids drooping. He was feeling a bit irresponsible
for letting Philippe ply him with drink all day. What if Rosemary was taken ill
in the night and he was in no state to help her? he thought guiltily.

‘She’s a grown woman, Robert, and quite capable of making
her own decisions,’ said Rosemary, who had mistaken Robert’s silence as
disapproval of her meddling in matters of the heart. ‘I was merely pointing out
that the hotel could send a taxi if she wanted to stay a bit longer.’

‘Never crossed my mind, old girl,’ said Robert, slurring his
words.

Rosemary stole an affectionate glance at her inebriated
husband. It was so unlike him to drink too much but he wasn’t used to beer and
clearly couldn’t handle it as well as he could wine.

‘Once was enough, Robert,’ she admonished.

‘What’s that?’

‘Old girl,’ she said. ‘I let it go at Philippe’s but let’s
nip it in the bud now. It makes you sound like the Major from
Fawlty Towers
.’

‘He really likes Holly, you know,’ said Robert, referring
back to Rosemary’s original remark. ‘He told me so on the boat. Did she talk
about him at all?’

‘His name might have been mentioned,’ Rosemary teased and
then added mysteriously, ‘but I have been sworn to secrecy on our conversations
today so don’t bother asking.’ It was a clever way to avoid further discussion
of her day with Holly.

‘Spoilsport,’ said Robert. ‘We always tell each other
everything.’

‘Usually, Robert,’ she corrected. ‘We usually tell each
other everything, but in this case it’s off limits.’

Robert looked at the defiant angle of his wife’s chin and
knew that whatever the girls had been talking about all day it wasn’t going to
be shared with him. If he hadn’t felt quite so tipsy he might have persevered
in trying to break down his wife’s resolve but it wasn’t worth causing an
argument over a load of girlie chat.

Rosemary pulled the car into a free space in the hotel car
park and said, with a hint of irony, ‘Come on, old boy, let’s get you back to
our room.’

The irony was completely lost on Robert.

Philippe was usually confident around women but he felt
ridiculously nervous at being left alone with Holly in his own home. It had
been different going on the island tour with her in the company of Sachin. Even
when the driver had left them alone to have a stroll on the beach there had
been plenty of other people around, but here it was just the two of them. He
had been surprised when Holly had agreed to Rosemary’s suggestion to stay a
little longer. He had purposely not said anything to encourage her to stay,
frightened that she would feel he was trying to pressure her, so it was all the
more pleasurable that she had opted for a later night than his other two
friends. He was also surprised that she had accepted his offer of a second
glass of wine.

He carried the two replenished wine glasses out towards the
verandah where Holly was leaning on the rail looking out to sea. The big silver
moon was lighting the night sky and from the angle he was looking as he
approached her it looked like a halo around her head.

Holly could hear his footsteps as he crossed the room but
only just over the hammering of her heart. She was already wondering if she had
made the right decision to stay. What would they talk about? What if Philippe
assumes that by agreeing to stay a while longer I’m agreeing to have sex with
him? she thought. And is that why I’ve stayed? she wondered. Feeling confused
and vulnerable she deliberately kept her back to him and looked out to the
ocean.

‘Your wine madam,’ Philippe said as he handed her the glass,
bowing slightly.

‘
Merci
,’ she said, responding to
his French accent.

‘Do you speak French, Holly?’

‘Probably about a dozen words and that’s if you include yes,
no and what time is it,’ she laughed. ‘I always admire people from other
countries who speak English so fluently. I suppose it came quite naturally to
you,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘One of the benefits of having parents
from different nationalities. Did you learn both from the time you could talk?’

‘I speak a lot less French than you might imagine, even
though I grew up in France. My father was adamant that I should learn about
English history and geography so I had a tutor from the age of six. I only
really mixed with the village children when I went out to play and that wasn’t
that often as my mother didn’t like me to get dirty.’

‘Oh, I just assumed you would be bi-lingual.’

‘I always swear in French if that helps?’

‘You swear?’ she said, a look of mock horror on her face.
‘I’m shocked!’

‘Doesn’t everyone? Although I usually only swear when I’m
writing,’ he said, anxious to dispel any opinion she may be forming about him
being foul-mouthed. ‘And only when the words won’t flow.’

Holly seized the opportunity to change the subject.

‘How is your book coming along?’ she asked.

‘It’s a work in progress,’ he said, not adding that progress
had been very slow.

Philippe was anticipating her next question and was
wondering how to refuse allowing Holly to read his manuscript without offending
her. If he hadn’t lied about it being a travelogue he wouldn’t have minded her
reading a chapter or two.

The question never came. Before Holly could speak there was
a whooshing followed by an explosion of sound and multi-coloured sparkles.

‘Fireworks,’ she cried. ‘I love fireworks.’

‘That’s a relief,’ said Philippe. ‘I wasn’t sure if you did
when I organised the display.’

Holly turned to look at him and caught the twinkle in his
eye.

‘I hope you’re not lying to me, Philippe?’ she said
accusingly, digging him playfully in the ribs.

‘What a suggestion,’ he countered, draping his arm around
her shoulder as the fireworks exploded in the night sky and in Holly’s heart.

The display lasted for fifteen minutes and concluded with a
spectacular arch created by the exploding fireworks in the colours of the
rainbow.

‘That was beautiful. I love rainbows, they have a special meaning
for me,’ Holly said, turning to Philippe as the final light extinguished.

‘Not as beautiful as you,’ Philippe said, leaning down and
kissing her softly on her full inviting lips.

For a moment Holly allowed herself to be kissed and then she
pulled away.

‘Perhaps I should be going,’ she said, turning away from
Philippe so that she didn’t see the look of disappointment flash across his
face.

The acrid smoke from the firework display was starting to
drift towards them in a coloured cloud. Philippe realised he had been too
forward but he hadn’t been able to resist her upturned face.

‘We should both go inside before we’re engulfed in the
smoke,’ he said, steering her gently into the living room and closing the door
to the verandah. ‘I don’t want you to go yet, Holly, but I will call you a cab
if you’ve had enough of me for one night.’

Philippe could see that Holly was wavering. He wanted her
more than any woman he had ever met but only if she wanted him too.

‘I promise I won’t lay a finger on you if you don’t want me
to,’ said Philippe.

‘How do I know I can trust you?’ she asked.

‘I promised Rosemary I would do nothing to hurt you,’ he
answered. ‘I would never lie to Rosemary, she is like a mother to me.’

‘You and Rosemary have been discussing me?’

‘I wouldn’t say discussing you,’ he replied quickly, ‘but I
did tell her I thought you were beautiful and that I fancied you like mad and
she was very protective towards you.’

Holly relaxed a little. ‘She feels like a mother to me too,
more so than my own mum in a lot of ways,’ admitted Holly, sinking down onto
the comfy sofa.

Philippe nodded sadly as he sat down beside her. ‘I know
what you mean,’ he said. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Holly told a watered-down version of her early life and how
she had always felt that she was a burden to her mother despite her best
efforts at being a model child. The harder she tried and the better behaved she
was, the more her mother seemed to dislike her. It was easy to talk to
Philippe. He just listened quietly. At one point she lifted her head from his
shoulder, where she had been resting, to make sure he was still awake. His eyes
were wide open but he was looking out towards the full moon.

‘Why did you stop?’ he asked looking into her deep green
eyes.

‘I thought I had bored you so much that you had fallen
asleep,’ she replied.

‘I’m listening,’ he said. ‘I’m a good listener.’

Holly continued her story but stopped at the point where she
left home to go to university.

‘What did you study?’ he asked.

‘English,’ she replied and then quickly continued before he
could ask her anything about her time at university. ‘So come on it’s your turn
to tell me about you.’

She snuggled into his chest with her legs curled up on the
sofa and his arm resting around her protectively. The last thing she remembered
thinking, before falling asleep, was that the story about his mother sounded
vaguely familiar.

Sleep had eluded Philippe. Once he realised that Holly was no
longer listening to his story he carefully removed his body from under her head
and replaced it with a cushion. He fetched the white waffle blanket from the
spare room and covered her with it but he didn’t pull the curtains closed as he
didn’t want to disturb her. He had retired to his bedroom but couldn’t sleep
knowing that the object of his desire was just metres away. He wanted to be
close to her when she woke up in strange surroundings and guessed she might
wake early when the first light of the new day filtered in through the
unguarded windows, so he had lain staring at his ceiling wondering why he had
such depth of feeling for someone he barely knew.

Philippe was in unfamiliar territory. To him women were
objects of beauty to be enjoyed without allowing them to get too close. He had
no problem attracting the opposite sex, particularly when he was working as a
journalist, but he didn’t have lasting relationships. Seducing a woman with his
practised small-talk and laconic sense of humour was easy but it was only ever
to achieve one end result: a night of sex.

Many woman, from work colleagues to nubile young glamour
models, had succumbed to his charm but none had ever heard their adoring words
in the heat of passion reciprocated. Philippe never misled any of them, always
telling them that he wasn’t looking for anything permanent, however most of his
conquests believed they would be the one to change his mind. None of them had.

He hadn’t uttered those three little words, that every woman
longs to hear, since he was thirteen years old. His parents were separating and
Philippe had asked his mother why they couldn’t live together.

Her reply had been truthful but not explanatory.

‘Your father doesn’t love me any more,’ she had said.

‘But I love you, Maman,’ he had pleaded.

‘You don’t know what love is, Philippe,’ she had said
dismissively. ‘Maybe one day you will.’

Philippe wondered whether finally that day had arrived.

As dawn approached he quietly crept back into the living
room and knelt down beside the sleeping Holly. The lust he had felt when he had
first seen her in the hotel restaurant was still there but it was tempered by a
desire to nurture and care for this emotionally fragile woman. The long dark
lashes that framed her beautiful eyes were flickering and he knew that in a few
moments she would wake. He whispered her name.

Holly had been dreaming about the holiday she and Harry went
on eight months earlier that had changed her life so dramatically but she
couldn’t understand why he was calling her by her name.

‘Mum,’ she mumbled incoherently, as she started to wake from
sleep. ‘Call me mum.’

Philippe rested his fingers lightly on Holly’s lips assuming
that she had been dreaming about her mother as that was the last thing she had
been talking about before falling asleep. He wondered if Holly and her mum were
still in contact after the unhappy childhood she had endured. Maybe in the
depths of sleep she was asking her mum to call her, but it hadn’t sounded like
a plea, more of an instruction.

Philippe was acutely aware that he hadn’t spoken to his own
mother since he had sent her a copy of his book which she had read without
recognising the woman he had written about. She was upset and angry in equal
measure when he had patiently explained in a telephone conversation that the
title character was his perception of her through adolescent eyes.

‘You should have spoken to me before you started writing and
I could have told you the truth about your father and me,’ she had said in an
aggrieved tone of voice.

‘But the book was a novel, so the character was based on you
and how I saw you from my point of view, not actually who you really are,
although I’m not sure I have ever known the real you.’

‘The real me would have made a much better story,’ she said
defiantly before she abruptly ended the call.

That was over a year ago and she hadn’t answered any of his
calls since.

Holly was looking up at him now her green eyes wide with
questioning but not alarm. He realised he still had his fingers resting on her
lips and moved them away as if they had been scalded.

‘Did you need me to keep quiet?’ she asked sleepily. ‘Am I
not supposed to be here? Is your girlfriend at the door?’

‘None of the above,’ Philippe replied. ‘I just wanted to be
close to you when you awoke. I didn’t know if you would remember straightaway
where you fell asleep.’

‘I’m so sorry Philippe,’ she said apologetically, the colour
starting to rise in her cheeks I can’t believe I fell asleep when you were in
mid flow. Do you want to carry on where you left off?’ she rambled.

‘Maybe later,’ he said, his sexy French voice loaded with
innuendo. ‘But now I need you to get up. There is something I have to do that I
think you will enjoy.’

Holly was intrigued. She freshened up in the bathroom by
splashing water on her face and then using some of Philippe’s sun protection
lotion as a moisturiser. Some men had a whole host of beauty products, thought
Holly, but Philippe was very old school with just his shaving foam, after shave
balm and deodorant in the bathroom cabinet. She squeezed a line of toothpaste
onto her finger and rubbed it over her teeth to banish her morning breath. Her
tousled curls looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards, she
thought, using her dad’s favourite phrase, so she raked her fingers through her
hair and then retrieved a stretchy band from the pocket of her shorts and tied
it back in a pony tail. The only other things in her pocket were a stick of lip
salve, which she gratefully applied to her lips, and her hotel room key.

‘Come on, Holly,’ Philippe urged through the closed bathroom
door. ‘I don’t like being late for this.’

This must be very special, she thought, unlocking the
bathroom door, because he doesn’t mind being late for almost everything else.

He grabbed her hand as soon as she was through the door and
pulled her towards the verandah and down the wooden steps onto the beach. The
sun was starting its ascent but there were still traces of red and orange in
the early morning sky. They ran along the soft sand for about fifty metres and
then Philippe turned away from the sea towards a small field sandwiched between
two houses. In the furthest corner was a ramshackle stable and nodding his head
in greeting was the magnificent black horse that Holly had seen Philippe riding
on the beach a few days before.

As they approached Philippe reached his hand into the bin of
feed and held it out to the appreciative animal.

‘Is he yours?’ Holly asked.

Philippe shook his head. ‘He belongs to my fisherman friend,
Billy,’ he said, ‘although I like to think it is the other way round. Billy won
him in a poker game and had no idea how to look after him so I volunteered to
help him out by exercising him three mornings a week. I could ride almost
before I could walk which is funny as the Greek meaning of my name is “lover of
horses”. Do you ride Holly?’

‘There wasn’t much available cash for riding lessons when I
was growing up.’

‘Well you don’t need money to ride this horse,’ said
Philippe, placing the bit in the horse’s mouth, buckling the bridle and looping
the reins over its head.

Holly felt uncertain about getting on this magnificent
animal.

‘What’s his name?’ she asked.

‘His name is Helios, the Greek sun god. Maybe that’s why he
loves to go for a gallop as the sun is starting a new day.’

Holly looked at the impressive beast towering above her and
then at Philippe’s animated face.

‘Aren’t you missing a saddle?’ she enquired, fearful of the
answer.

‘Helios and I don’t like saddles,’ he replied. ‘We like to
feel the heat and motion of each other’s bodies,’ he said, looking Holly
straight in the eye. ‘Are you going to let me teach you?’

Holly could barely breathe. She understood the power of
horses, particularly one as large as this, but she felt sure Philippe wouldn’t
let her come to any harm. That was not why she was hesitating. It was the
thought of sitting astride a horse with Philippe’s arms around her and his
torso pressed into her back.

‘I know he’s big,’ said Philippe, his eyes twinkling in a
mocking manner, ‘but he’s very well behaved. You know you want to.’

Holly knew she was being teased but she didn’t care. It was
time to throw caution to the wind and live a bit. Besides she had always wanted
to ride a horse bareback. It was on her ‘things to do before I die’ list, that
Harry made such fun of.

She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘How do I get up there?’

In one deft movement Philippe spun her round to face Helios,
lifted her by the waist while instructing her to throw her right leg over the
horse’s back and then pushed her bottom upwards until she was sat astride its
wide back. Moments later he too had mounted the horse and reached around Holly
for the reins which he rested gently in her hands, his own hands covering hers.

It was dizzyingly high but Holly focused her eyes on
Helios’s dramatic black mane.

‘Are you sure you want this?’ Philippe asked.

‘Yes I’m sure,’ she said, leaning back against his firm
chest, feeling the rippling of muscles in his arms and legs as he urged Helios
forward at a gentle walking pace.