Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

There was a hammering in Philippe’s head brought on, no
doubt, by downing the entire contents of the bottle of champagne that he had
intended to share with the Forresters in celebration of his publisher’s email.
He had followed that with half a dozen bottles of beer, the only alcohol in the
house, as he waited for a reply to the email he had sent Holly. At first he had
assumed that, due to the time difference, she might be at work with no access
to her personal emails, but as one beer turned into five or six and the time
ticked on past midnight, Philippe finally staggered off to bed while he could
still walk.

The hammering was getting louder and Philippe realised it
was not just in his head, there was someone at his front door. Who could it be?
he wondered. His cleaner, Delphine, had her own key so that she could let
herself in and out without disturbing him while he was writing. He gingerly
hauled himself into an upright position and crossed towards the door, shuffling
his feet to minimise any jarring to his head. He tried unsuccessfully to open
the door before noticing that he had put the deadlock on. He flicked the button
and the door swung open to reveal a very worried-looking Delphine.

‘Mr Philippe, you scared me,’ she said. ‘When I couldn’t
open the door I thought something was wrong. You look terrible.’

‘Sshhh, please, my head,’ was all Philippe could muster.

‘Ah, the demon drink. I’ve told you before you should be
teetotal like me. You sit down and I’ll make you some strong coffee.’

Philippe slumped onto the sofa. ‘You’re an angel.’

Half an hour later, somewhat revived by the bitter dark
liquid, Philippe turned on his computer and was disappointed to see that there
was still no word from Holly. There was however another email from his editor:

Phil,

How soon can you pack up there and get back to the UK? I’ve got
the team working on the cover and the sleeve blurb, and I’ve already sent it to
the copy editor with instructions for the lightest touch. I want to get the
publicity on this started asap so I need you here... it’s going to be monster.
Talk about the pressure of a deadline – I guess that’s the journalist in you.
LOVE the title, and love the title character, she feels so real... not sure
whether to feel sorry for her or whether she’s just a money-grabbing bitch!
Poor Pierre! I’m already thinking bidding wars for the film rights.

Let me know when you’ve got your flight booked.

Jo

The late afternoon April sunshine was streaming in through
the double-height windows, flooding the room with a soft amber glow. Not only
was Valley View a stunning piece of architecture it also had a south-westerly
aspect at the rear. Holly was standing by the window gazing out at the
beautiful garden which was coming into bloom with red and white camellia bushes
and fresh green leaves on the cherry trees preceding their frothy pink blossom.
If I had a home like this I would never want to leave it, she thought.

She wondered whether she should wake Rosemary who had dozed
off halfway through her cup of tea. She knew Rosemary wanted to talk to her
privately and Robert would be back from his trip to the shops soon. He had
seized the opportunity to nip out while his wife was sleeping but had company
so she would not wake up alone.

‘It’s beautiful isn’t it?’ Holly turned at the sound of
Rosemary’s voice. The decision to wake her had been taken out of her hands.
‘Sometimes I wonder how Robert and I could ever have left this place to go on
holidays.’

‘I was just thinking the same thing. How are you feeling?’
she asked, crossing back to the sofa where Rosemary was reclining.

Rosemary sidestepped the question. ‘I think the house at
Tamarina Bay is the only one I could have given all this up for and now I won’t
need to make a choice between them. Don’t get me wrong, Holly, I know how
blessed I’ve been in my life to have all this and Bobby too, but I just wish it
could have been for a little longer.’

There was no anger just a quiet acceptance that her time was
almost up.

‘But Robert said the experimental drugs they have given you
for the past three days are working and you look amazing considering what your
body is going through.’

‘I know, it’s ironic isn’t it? I’m the one dying of
leukaemia but I feel like it’s killing Bobby. I can’t bear to see what prolonging
my life week by week, or at the very most month by month, is doing to him. It
has to stop and that’s why I need your help.’ She paused. ‘I’ve been
investigating a clinic in Switzerland.’

Hope sparked in Holly. ‘Have they discovered a new treatment
that doesn’t involve chemotherapy?’

‘It’s not a treatment clinic, Holly,’ she said, reaching
across to hold her hand. ‘It’s a place where I can end my life in dignity when
I’m ready to go.’

Holly felt an icy grip on her heart. She could feel the
blood draining from her face. She couldn’t speak. This frail, beautiful woman,
totally calm and composed, was talking about ending her own life.

She swallowed hard, ‘I... I...’

‘Please help me Holly. I will make all the arrangements. I
only need you to help me persuade Bobby that I would benefit from some fresh
Swiss mountain air and to tell him that you will organise where we are staying
and come with us for an extra pair of hands. When we get to Switzerland I will
tell him the truth. Please say you’ll help me, Holly.’

Still no words would come to Holly. While Rosemary had been
asleep, she had wondered whether maybe Rosemary wanted her to help plan her
funeral so that a distressed Robert wouldn’t have to. She had steeled herself
waiting for the request but was still dreading hearing Rosemary talk about the
finer points of her own funeral service. But this... this was something else
entirely. She wasn’t sure she could keep her promise to help and in the process
deceive Robert.

Finally she found her voice, albeit tightly squeezed from
the back of her throat. ‘You can’t mean this Rosemary. You can’t give up hope.
One of the experimental drugs might work for you. You and Robert could have
years more together. You could live happily at the house in Tamarina Bay with
Robert taking care of you.’ There was desperation in her voice and she was
fighting back tears. ‘Robert loves you so much you can’t just leave him like
that, it’s... it’s... selfish.’

‘I want to do this because he loves me and I love my husband
more than any other living being on this planet. I want him to see me die
peacefully with people I love, not hooked up to machines with frantic nurses
trying squeeze another few days of painful existence out of this poor diseased
body of mine, in a London cancer hospital.’

They both heard the sound of tyres on the gravel.

‘He’s back, Holly. Please say you’ll help me,’ she implored,
squeezing her hand more tightly, emphasising the urgency.

‘I don’t know, I need time to think.’

‘I don’t have time, Holly. If I get too sick I wouldn’t be
able to travel or sign the documents in Switzerland.’

Robert’s keys were in the lock now.

‘When?’ asked Holly.

‘Next week.’

The front door opened.

‘I’m back, girls,’ said Robert.

Holly released Rosemary’s hand and moved into the centre of
the room from where she could see Robert on the galleried landing, a Waitrose
bag in each hand. Despite his bright tone of voice he was a shadow of his
former self, someone whose world was about to crash around his ears and there
was nothing he, or anyone, could do to stop it.

Looking down at Rosemary’s pleading eyes Holly understood
that these two had a rare and special love that most people only dream of. She
closed her eyes and nodded her head slightly.

The headlights coming in the opposite direction flashed
periodically into Holly’s already tired eyes making her squint at the road
ahead. A little bit of her was wishing she had accepted the Forresters’ offer
to stay overnight with them but she needed to get home to unpack. She had
texted Harry a very brief message to let him know she was home safe and sound
but she had promised to ring him later to have a catch up. I wonder if his ears
have been burning, Holly mused.

Over a dinner of mushroom risotto, which Robert had prepared
under careful guidance from Rosemary, Holly had confessed her reason for being
in Mauritius and Dubai, and had apologised for lying. Robert said he was
disappointed that she hadn’t felt able to confide in him too but he seemed to
accept the explanation that the fewer people who knew the truth, the less
likely that someone would accidentally give the game away.

He had asked then if she was married. Holly was surprised by
the question. Did he honestly think that she would have got into a relationship
with Philippe if she had someone waiting at home? Next came the inevitable
question about whether or not Philippe knew the truth to which she replied,
‘Not yet.’

‘So do you have family at all, Holly?’ Robert had asked, and
that was when she had finally been able to tell him about her beautiful boy
studying architecture at Bath University. Robert had shown an immediate
interest in him, encouraging Holly to bring him to visit next time he was home.

By this point in the evening Rosemary had tired of chasing
grains of carnaroli rice around her plate and was struggling to keep her eyes
open. That was when she had offered Holly a bed for the night but Holly had
declined. There really didn’t seem much point in staying as the two of them
needed to be up early again the next morning to get to the hospital for 9 a.m.

The M4 had never seemed so long but finally Holly pulled up
outside her little house. The downstairs lights were on because they were on a
timer when she was away but Holly knew there was no one home to greet her
except her suitcase standing in the hall.

‘It can wait until tomorrow,’ she said to nobody, giving it
a little kick as she walked passed on her way to the kitchen. Two minutes later
she was snuggled up on her sofa with a mug of camomile and honey tea in one
hand and the phone in her other. It was just after ten, early for Harry, and he
answered on the second ring.

‘Lucky you caught me in, Mum. I’m off out with the guys in a
bit.’

After the traumatic day she had had it was a relief to speak
to someone so young and vibrant and carefree.

‘It’s a bit late to be starting your evening isn’t it?’

‘I can’t believe you said that, Mum. You were young once,
you know.’

Holly didn’t point out that by the time she was his age she
already had him as a young baby, and she was up half the night for quite
different reasons. And when he was a toddler her evenings were spent studying
for her English degree through the Open University.

‘Anyway how are you? How was Dubai?’

‘Dubai was hot outside and like a fridge inside because of
the air conditioning. It was a really well-run resort though and you would love
the building, it has a kind of twist in it.’

‘I think I’ve seen pictures in class of a couple of the
newer buildings there. Awesome aren’t they. Hope I’ll be good enough to come up
with stuff like that after I’ve graduated. You sound a bit knackered. Have you
just woken up after a nap?’

I wish, thought Holly.

‘No, I’ve just been to see the Forresters. Oh my God, you
should see their house. It’s absolutely gorgeous. Do you remember I told you he
is an architect?’

‘Yes, and you couldn’t tell him about me because of your
double life. Honestly, Mum, you’re not exactly a secret agent. Would it really
hurt that much if they knew about the undercover blog writing?’

She smiled at his bluntness. ‘Well, they both know now, I
told them over dinner and Robert said he’d very much like to meet you.’

‘Really? I could come up next weekend maybe?’

‘That might not work for me Harry. I may be going to
Switzerland for a few days.’

‘I didn’t know Soleil had a resort in Switzerland.’

‘They don’t. I might be going on a little trip with the
Forresters.’

‘Blimey, Mum, have they got a place there too?’

‘No.’ Holly chose her words carefully. ‘Rosemary’s not well.
She wants me to accompany her to a clinic.’

‘It’s not one of those euthanasia places is it,’ Harry said
jokingly. ‘ You know you can get banged up for helping people top themselves.’

‘Don’t, Harry, that’s not funny.’

‘I was just joking, Mum.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. Listen, have a
great night out and I’ll check with Robert when would be a good time to get
together. Love you.’

‘Love you too, Mum.’

Holly finished her camomile tea and toyed with the idea of
curling up on the couch but she knew she would regret it in the morning.
Wearily she dragged herself upstairs to the bedroom, kicked off her shoes,
undressed, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor behind her and climbed
between the sheets. Tired as she was, her last thought before sleep enveloped
her was a line from
Gone With the Wind
...

‘I can’t think about this now, I’ll think about it
tomorrow...’ She didn’t even complete the quote before she was fast asleep.

Holly reached over to her bedside table to turn off the
alarm. She had hit the button several times before realising it wasn’t her
alarm clock making the noise but her mobile phone ringing and it had now
stopped of its own accord. It was usually turned off overnight but she had been
so tired she must have forgotten. As she hauled herself upright it started
ringing again. It’s either a message or someone is keen to get hold of me, she
thought, sliding her feet into her sheepskin slippers and trying to remember
where she had left her phone.

Although she had slept for ten hours she wasn’t feeling at
all rested. Too much going on, she thought, glancing at the clock. It was 9.15
a.m. and her thoughts immediately went to Rosemary who would be sitting in a
hospital bed waiting to have the intravenous drip hooked up. Holly was still
shocked that the ever-composed Rosemary could be considering assisted suicide.
There had been many news reports on television about people in a near
vegetative state wanting to end their own lives but that was not Rosemary’s
situation. She was still bright and lucid and relatively mobile. Why wouldn’t
she want to hold on to life for as long as possible? Holly leaned forward
resting her elbows on her knees and massaged her temples. She knew the answer
to her own question. Rosemary didn’t want anyone else to be implicated in her
death, so she had to act while she was still able. Far from being selfish,
Holly thought, it’s a totally selfless act to relieve the suffering of her
adoring husband.

The phone started to ring again. For a moment Holly
panicked, wondering if Robert was trying to reach her, but then she reasoned
that he would be at his wife’s bedside in the hospital, so his phone would be
turned off. Harry wouldn’t have surfaced yet as he had been out last night, so
it wouldn’t be him either. She made her way downstairs in search of her phone
which she found still zipped up in the pocket of her handbag, abandoned on the
kitchen work surface when she had made her camomile tea last evening. On
glancing at the screen she could see that the last two calls were indeed from
her message service. She wanted to know who was calling her so early on a
Tuesday morning but decided they could wait a few more minutes as she headed
back upstairs to the bathroom retrieving her toothbrush and cleansing balm from
the overnight bag she had dumped in her hallway yesterday afternoon.

After applying the balm as a cleanser and removing it with a
cotton cloth, she re-applied it as a mask to put a little moisture back into
her parched skin. All this flying was playing havoc with her skin, in fact,
with her body generally. Her doctor had prescribed some special eye drops
because her eyes felt constantly dry and itchy, and her normally regular
menstrual cycle had been totally erratic since she had started her job with
Soleil. She wondered if air-stewardesses suffered the same problems.

Right, she thought, dialling her messaging service, let’s
see who is trying to get hold of me:

‘Hi Hols, it’s DD. Did you get my email? I’ve sent you a new
manuscript and don’t panic it’s not another “celebrity turned author”. This is
your reward for doing such a good job on
A Perfect Swine
,
and by the way I had no control over that awful title either! This one is
definitely a bestseller, a bit raunchy in places, but you’re a grown-up if you
get my drift! Really well-written so only needs checking for punctuation and
grammar. Just one thing: I need it back as soon as possible. I know you’re good
with deadlines so... any chance by the end of the week? I can’t wait to hear
what you think. Can you tell I’m excited? Drop me an email to let me know
you’ve got it.’

Holly hadn’t heard her friend this enthusiastic about a book
in ages. She was intrigued but also hungry. Thank goodness there was some
cereal and long-life milk in the cupboard.

Half an hour later Holly had finished her breakfast,
unpacked her clothes straight into the machine for a wash, her laptop was back
on her desk, turned on in anticipation, and the suitcase was back in the
cupboard under the stairs for another three weeks. She nipped back upstairs to
change into her comfy jeggings and a light sweater, and twisted her hair into a
scrunchie to keep it off her face while working.

With a second cup of peppermint tea in her hand she sat down
at her desk. Okay, let’s see what all the excitement is about, she said to
herself.

She clicked on her inbox and there was the email from DD.
There was also one from Philippe which set her pulse racing. Although the new
manuscript was important, for once she let her heart rule her head as eagerly
opened his message:

Holly, my darling,

Sorry I haven’t been in touch for a few days but I was up
against this stupid deadline. The good news is I finished the book. I’m just
waiting to hear back from the editor whether or not they like it and if they do
I’ll be packing up here and back in England in a couple of weeks. I can’t wait
to see you again (all of you) – I’ve really missed you. You had better email
your address so that I will know where to tell the taxi to take me to when I
get off the plane at Gatwick.

Missing you

Philippe xxxx

Holly checked the date on the email. It had been sent two
days previously. It must have arrived just after she had packed her case to
come home from Dubai so she had missed seeing it. She was pleased he had
finally finished his book and hoped that his editor would give it the all clear
to go into print.

She clicked reply.

Hello Philippe,

It’s lovely to hear from you, I thought maybe you were starting
to forget about me? I’m really pleased you finished your book. Did you hear
back from the editor yet? I hope it’s good news. Can’t wait to see you (all of
you)! Let me have your flight details once you’ve booked it, and don’t worry
about having my address, you won’t need a taxi, I’ll come and meet you.

Missing you too

Holly xxxx

Holly had been very careful to only put the same number of
kisses that Philippe had, not wanting to appear too keen even though the
butterflies were back in her stomach just thinking about him. She knew there
was a bit of explaining to do when he got back to England but she was sure he
would understand her reasons for lying to him. She was so looking forward to
spending long hours getting to know him better... she blushed at the thought.

Right, she thought, concentrate. After sending a quick email
to DD, letting her know she had received the manuscript and that, although it was
a tall order, she would try and have it finished by the end of the week, she
opened the attached Word document, hoping that DD’s exuberance was justified.

‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Holly. ‘I don’t believe it!’

She was staring at the four words on her computer screen:

TIFFANY

by

Veronica Phillips

She brought her hands together in mock prayer, raised her
eyes to the heavens and said out loud, ‘Thank you, DD.’

Holly could hardly believe that she was being entrusted to
copy-edit this woman’s long awaited follow-up to her best-selling first novel
Maman
. There was mystery surrounding the author as there
had been no photograph of her on the book sleeve and she had refused to do any
radio or television interviews for promotion. Some people said that the book
was so good that it must be an already established novelist writing under a
pseudonym. Holly didn’t care. All she could think was that she, Holly Wilson,
could potentially get an acknowledgement for copy-editing this new book. Dad
would have been so proud of me, she thought. Maybe at last her luck really was
changing both professionally and personally.

She began to read:

Chapter 1

He drained the last few drops of amber-coloured ice-cold
beer from his glass. He placed it on the bar and carefully traced rivulets of
condensation with the tip of his index finger, grateful for the distraction.
Overhead the ceiling fan whirred quietly but efficiently. The breeze, although
welcome, was not sufficient to prevent perspiration causing his white linen
shirt to cling to his back. He barely noticed. He could only think about the
blunt email he had received that morning from his publisher. She was right
about the first draft of his book but did she need to be so cruel? Writing,
always a solitary business, became positively lonely when inspiration deserted
you, he thought miserably. He ran his hands through his light blond hair
observing his reflection in the mirror behind the spirit optics. He looked
tired, dispirited, older than his forty-one years. Regret replaced optimism.
Giving up his lucrative career as a journalist to pursue his dream of becoming
a novelist seemed reckless now.

A small movement caught the corner of his eye. A woman in
a coral dress stood at the entrance to the bar. She seemed to hesitate for a
moment before crossing the room to slip onto the bar stool next to his.

‘May I?’ she asked.

‘Help yourself,’ he replied. He guessed she was a little
younger than him, dark-haired and curvaceous, but what really caught his
attention were her deep green eyes.

How weird is that? Holly thought. It could be a description
of me. I even own a coral dress.

‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘That’s kind of you,’ the woman said, maintaining eye
contact for a few moments, ‘but save your money, I’m staying here on an
all-inclusive deal.’

He persisted. ‘Well, at least, let me order for you, that
way it will feel like I’m buying you a drink.’

A slow smile spread across her face. ‘I’ll have a piña
colada please,’ she said, ‘and if you’re getting me a drink we should at least
be on first-name terms. I’m Tiffany,’ she said, holding her hand out to shake
his.

‘Pierre,’ he replied, raising her outstretched hand to his
lips and lingering slightly before letting it drop.

Holly was starting to feel vaguely uncomfortable. There was
something familiar about this, a kind of déjà vu, but surely Veronica Phillips
wouldn’t copy anyone else’s work? Then she realised. This was not something she
had read before, it was something she had been part of. A Frenchman kissing her
hand on their first meeting. It was not so unusual, in fact a typically French
thing to do, but how odd that she should be reading about it in a book just
weeks after she herself had experienced it. But it was the next line that
really resonated with Holly.

‘So what brings you to Mauritius, business or pleasure?’

This was beyond coincidence, Holly thought, her heart
starting to thump in her chest, what on earth was going on?

‘Difficult question,’ she replied, avoiding an answer.
The two of them watched in silence as the barman shook pineapple juice, rum and
coconut milk in a cocktail shaker with crushed ice then poured the thick white
liquid into a glass before pushing it across the bar to Tiffany.

Pierre tried again. ‘So are you here with your family or
maybe work colleagues?’

‘Neither,’ she replied taking a sip of the sweet liquid.
‘I’m here alone.’

Pierre was intrigued. The journalist in him couldn’t let
it drop. ‘Do you often holiday alone?’ he ventured, knowing his persistence may
cause her to finish her drink and leave.

Tiffany lowered her drink. She was looking at him intently
with her beautiful green eyes which he now noticed held a deep sadness.

‘The last time I came to Mauritius was with my husband on
our honeymoon but now he’s dead. I’ve come here for closure.’

Holly gasped. What the hell? That was her cover story. How
could that be? She felt her skin begin to prickle and then the heat of a flush
that started on her neck and spread to her face. Unless? The pieces of a very
complicated jigsaw started to fall into place. She remembered the quizzical
look Rosemary had given Philippe when he had said he was writing a travelogue
the first evening they all had dinner together. Philippe had told her he had
been struggling with his book for months but suddenly he’d become inspired and
finished it within weeks. Even Rosemary’s email about Philippe’s first book
made sense now. Veronica Phillips was not just the pen name of a famous author
wanting to remain incognito. Veronica Phillips was not even a woman. Holly was
absolutely certain that Veronica Phillips was in fact Philippe and, judging by
what she had just read, she was Tiffany.

Holly didn’t know how to feel. Part of her was flattered
that she had made such an impression on him that she had become the title
character of his latest book, but another part of her was upset and angry that
he hadn’t told her the truth about who he was. You hypocrite, she thought.
Philippe has written about a woman with a tragic story that he thinks is you
and that tragic story is the biggest lie of all.

Holly leant her elbows on the desk either side of her laptop
and rested her forehead in her hands unsure what to do. Should she email DD and
tell her that she knew the author? It was unethical to work on the book of
someone you know without telling them. No, she couldn’t do that because DD
would tell Philippe and he didn’t know that she was a copy-editor, he thought
she worked for a charity. She could work on the book but ask for her name to be
left off any acknowledgements but DD would want to know why she didn’t want a
credit. She thought about emailing Philippe to try and explain why she had lied
to him, but instantly changed her mind. She couldn’t bear the thought of him
not understanding her reasons and finishing with her.

‘Damn it,’ she said to the empty room. ‘Why do things have
to be so complicated?’