Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

The distinct aroma of cooked breakfast wafting through the
cabin was making Holly feel nauseous as she pushed the light fleece blanket
away from her and stretched her arms above her head to ease the tension in her
back. As a seasoned long-haul traveller she knew that very shortly the cabin
crew would be blocking the aisles with their trolleys while they served
breakfast and then there would be a long queue for the wash-rooms. The woman
occupying the seat next to Holly, who had been sleeping for most of the
journey, a fact verified by the occasional snore, had gone for a walk to
stretch her legs, so Holly took advantage of the freedom to escape from her
window seat and use the toilets before the rush.

She slid back the folding door to the cubicle and closed it
behind her activating the unforgiving light over the mirror. The reflection
staring back at her looked pale and tired and quite different from the one who
had done exactly the same thing on a flight to Mauritius just three months
earlier.

Was it really only three months ago? she thought. Who would
have believed that I could meet two wonderful new friends, fall in love, get
pregnant, lose one of my new-found friends to cancer and fall out of love
again, all in such a short space of time.

In a few months I wouldn’t even fit in here, she thought. No
wonder they don’t allow pregnant women to fly beyond seven months. When I get
back from this trip I’ll have to break the news about the baby not only to
Harry but also to the Soleil Group.

Holly had devised a plan that she hoped Soleil Group would
be agreeable to. She would make more frequent trips prior to the seven month
deadline but continue to post the blogs a month apart. If she could manage four
extra trips in the next four months no one need know that Liberty Sands was on
maternity leave.

Holly rinsed the toothpaste out of her mouth, spitting into
the miniature metal sink, and then ran a brush through her unruly hair before
returning to her seat. As she was about to push her bag under the seat in front
she noticed something white sticking out of the corner of the small pocket on
the front of it. Intrigued, she lifted her bag onto her knee then caught her
breath as she realised it was a white feather. Holding it against her chest
with both hands she gazed out of the window at the expanse of blue sky. It felt
like Rosemary was trying to tell her something.

Breakfast service had started and although she wasn’t hungry
Holly knew she had to try and eat. She tried to push the feather back into the
pocket she had pulled it from, so that she could return her bag to the floor
and lower her tray table. Something was obstructing it. Sliding her finger into
the pocket Holly felt the corner of a piece of paper which she thought must be
an old train ticket. She pulled it out and was surprised to see it was a slip
of paper folded into a small rectangle.

Holly’s heart started to beat faster.

The last time she had used this handbag was on the journey
to Switzerland with Robert and Rosemary. Hands shaking, she started to unfold
the piece of paper and in doing so released the faint but unmistakable
fragrance of Giorgio, Beverley Hills.

There were just a dozen words written in Rosemary’s flowery
handwriting:

We all make mistakes Holly. Find it in your heart to forgive.

In memory of my friend Stretch

Thank you to Justine Taylor my copy editor for your patience
and hand holding through my first attempt at writing a novel. I have learnt so
much and hope the sequel will be an easier job for you. Speaking of which, I
really appreciate you casting your professional eye over the first few pages of
the new book between nappy changes and feeds.

Thanks to Yvonne Betancourt for making my manuscript into a
book and for being patient with me while I tried to reach decisions about fonts
and layout. Who knew it could be so complicated?

I hope you all like the cover as much as I do? A big thank
you to Angela Oltmann for transforming the vision that was in my head.

To everyone at Ripped thank you for your support and belief.

A massive thank you to the island of Mauritius for the
inspiration you gave me.

Thank you to my friend Denise Kelly for adding ‘and Then…’ to
the title. I like it much better and in your honour I’m publishing on your
birthday.

Thank you to three of my colleagues at QVC. To Debbie Flint
for your generosity in sharing both your time and your contacts and for being
my friend for almost twenty-five years. To Kathy Taylor for agreeing to give me
feedback but especially for your comment, ‘It’s like a proper book.’ And to my
friend Teresa Bodnar, it was very important to me that you liked it.

From the bottom of my heart I would like to thank all the
cancer charities who do such important work but in particular Leukaemia and
Lymphoma Research without whose fundraising efforts into the latest treatments
I may not be alive today. Although survival rates are much higher in the UK now
than they were ten years ago not everyone survives leukaemia so I would also
like to thank Professor Anthony Goldstone at UCLH for the wonderful care he has
given me since my diagnosis with CML.

And so to my family. Thanks to my mum, the first person to
read my manuscript, for your encouragement in all I do. To my partner Chris’s
mum who will be pleased to hear that the beginning of the next book is at the
end of this one… you’ll be able to sleep at night again. To my wonderful
children Daniel and Sophie who have embraced growing up with a mum who is a
little bit different and last but not least to my long suffering partner Chris
– I’m sorry I can’t promise you that I won’t be scribbling notes on our next
holiday… and the next… and the next.

History has repeated itself in Holly’s life …

or has it ?

Read on for a preview of the second book in the Liberty Sands
trilogy

IF HE REALLY LOVED ME …

Prologue

Holly stirred. The gentlest of breezes rustled the glossy
flat leaves of the Badamier trees providing light relief from the warmth of the
late afternoon Mauritian sun. As her eyes flickered open they rested on the
empty buggy at her side but before panic could set in over the whereabouts of
Rosie, her eighteen-month-old baby daughter, she spotted two familiar blond
heads close together, hard at work down by the shore. Rosie was picking up
pieces of coral one by one and bringing them back to her helper who was
building a fort with them. Even from twenty feet away Holly could hear her
daughter’s voice saying, ‘a du’, as she handed each piece over. It was the
little girl’s way of saying thank you, which Holly much preferred to ‘ta’. The
chubby little legs, well protected from the sun by a generous layer of factor
50, were on the move again. Holly watched as Rosie stopped at the edge of the
water but instead of bending down to choose her next piece of coral she was
pointing at something and shouting excitedly in her baby voice, ‘Ree, Ree.’

Harry was at her side in seconds and scooped her up in his
arms. ‘What is it Rosie?’

At eighteen months Rosie had a very limited vocabulary. She
could say mama, dada, a du and Ree, her name for her big brother, Harry.
Whatever she had spotted in the water she had no word to describe it.

‘What can she see, Harry?’ Holly called out.

‘It’s just a shoal of fish, Mum. Go back to sleep.’

‘I wasn’t asleep,’ Holly protested. ‘I was just resting my
eyes.’

‘Of course you were,’ Harry said as he released his
wriggling sister back on to the sand to continue her coral search.

‘Nice fort,’ Holly said changing the subject. ‘Is it a scale
model of something you and Robert are working on?’

‘Very funny,’ Harry said good-naturedly and then turned his
attention back to his baby sister. ‘I think Mummy has had too much sunshine,
Rosie.’

‘Mama,’ the little girl said, reaching her hand in Holly’s
direction, clenching and unclenching her fist.

‘We’ll go and see Mummy in a minute, Rosie, let’s finish our
fort first.’

The two of them walked hand in hand, Harry talking one pace
for each half dozen of Rosie’s steps, towards the pile of stones. Holly settled
back on her sun lounger to watch them, a warm feeling spreading through her
entire body that had nothing to do with the sun that was starting its decent
towards the sea. She had always loved the way the reflection on the water
seemed to lead a path directly to the person observing it, sparkling and
glittering on the way. As she reached her hand up to tuck a wayward strand of
dark curly hair behind her ear something else glinted and dazzled in the
sunshine. Holly’s breath caught in her throat as she admired the beautiful
rings on the third finger of her left hand. There were three of them where two
short years ago there had been none.

‘Happy?’ said a voice from behind her as two bronzed hands
rested lightly on her shoulders and a kiss was planted firmly on the top of her
head.

Holly turned her head slightly to gaze into the light green
eyes that were full of adoration for her and said, ‘I can’t believe this is
really happening to me…’

Chapter 1

Two years earlier

Holly closed and locked the door of her straw-roofed beach
bungalow, descended the four wooden steps leading on to the soft white sand and
headed towards the shoreline for her ten-minute walk to breakfast. She had
never been to the Maldives before but had heard it described on many occasions
as a ‘no news no shoes’ destination, something she had been sceptical about
before arriving on Kuremnu Island seven days ago. Holly had felt sure that the
phrase didn’t mean no shoes at all, so for the first couple of days she had
carried her beaded flip-flops to the restaurant, slipping her feet into them at
the entrance before going in. Once she realised that everyone else was
embracing walking barefoot on the sandy restaurant floor she abandoned the
practice for all meals except dinner. It didn’t feel right to be wearing
make-up and an evening outfit with nothing on her feet. The beaded flip-flops
that she had packed for daytime use had come in handy, not so the wedge-heel
gold sandals, which she hadn’t bothered to unpack. They were now reunited with
the rest of her belongings in the suitcase that had been collected from her
veranda the previous evening by Muhammad, the house boy, for the first leg of
her journey home.

The week had passed quickly and Holly had found little to
complain about – the service, rooms and food had all been to a very high
standard – but Holly had to admit that she wasn’t in the least bit sad to be
leaving this island paradise. Her job as a secret travel blogger for Soleil
Resorts meant that she travelled alone, but she had never before felt so lonely
on an assignment. Like most of the Maldivian holiday islands, the resort of
Kuremnu took up the entire island, and there was no escaping loved-up
honeymooners or older couples celebrating a lifetime spent together. In one of
the blogs Holly had posted during the past week she had categorically stated
that Kuremnu was not a singles’ destination, not unless you had a masochistic
streak. As if to underline her solitude, a young couple stopped on the
shoreline fifty yards ahead of her to kiss, and beyond them another couple were
walking hand in hand. It wasn’t that Holly begrudged them their happiness, she
wasn’t even jealous of it, after all she had plenty to be thankful for, but she
wasn’t a member of their happy couples’ club.

Everything had seemed so different four months ago when she
had met and fallen in love with Philippe. After so long without a significant
other, Holly had finally believed she had met her Mr Right.  She paused
mid-stride, allowing the warm turquoise water of the Indian Ocean to pool
around her feet, her mind filled with images of intense green eyes, his slender
Gallic nose and persuasive hungry lips. She shook her head to remove the
pictures.  How did I get it so wrong? she thought. Why couldn’t I have learned
from my previous mistake? Subconsciously she rested her hand on her slightly
protruding belly. ‘I don’t mean you, little one,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not a
mistake, you’re a blessing.’

Holly started walking again, the gentle waves lapping the
hem of her colourful sarong. A hunger pang reminded her that she was later than
usual for breakfast. Once she had got past the morning sickness of the first
trimester Holly’s appetite had returned with a vengeance and at times she
really did feel like she was eating for two. She was quite surprised that none
of the guests she had got chatting to over the past week had guessed that she
was pregnant. Maybe they just think I’m chubby because I eat so much, Holly
thought with a smile.

 The day was already very warm and the clouds that had
brought the rain of the last two days had now gone, leaving behind the most
perfect blue sky. While the image of the Maldives was permanent sunshine and
blue skies, and some travel agents did little to change that opinion, if you
travelled in the rainy season, roughly equivalent to the British summer, you
would expect to have some rain. This was different from the rain that Holly was
used to back in England – warm and soft rather than cold and driving – and
yesterday Holly had gone for a swim in the sea with the raindrops falling on
the surface around her. Holly had written honestly about the weather, and it
was exactly this honesty that had made her Liberty Sands blog so popular and
driven people to the site. Holly’s blog managed people’s expectations, thus
avoiding disappointment, and was seen as a refreshing change from other
companies’ blogs that just regurgitated the corporate line. Soleil Resorts were
happy: they had seen a significant drop in complaints received – as well as an
upsurge in bookings – since Holly had started writing her ‘warts and all’ blog
for them.

Perspiration was beginning to trickle down the back of
Holly’s neck as she walked past the jetty towards the entrance of the main
restaurant and some much-needed shade. The hotel staff were already setting up
the welcome party at the head of the jetty for the next intake of guests. There
were flower garlands to place over people’s heads, a tray of glasses waiting to
be filled with a fruity drink, and the bodu beru drums, made from bamboo and
sting-ray hide, which would beat out a welcome to the new arrivals. In the
first blog she had written the day after she arrived, Holly had mentioned what
a nice touch it was. Fortunately for Holly, the ‘no news’ bit of ‘no news no
shoes’ was less accurate than the other part of the saying and most of the
island resorts now embraced modern technology, although if she had actually
been on holiday, as her fellow guests were, she would have viewed television
and access to the Internet as an intrusion into the escape from reality that
Kuremnu offered.

In a couple of hours, the sea plane would be discharging its
latest cargo of holiday-makers, blinking like startled rabbits caught in
headlights as they emerged from the cabin into the brightness of the midday sun
and anxious to seek shade from the intense heat. As soon as they disappeared
into the reception area clutching their welcome cocktail, Holly and the other
departing guests would be ushered along the jetty to the waiting plane to fly
them to Malé where they would check-in for their flights home. I’ll be on my
way to London Heathrow in just a few hours, thought Holly, settling at the
table indicated by Farhan, her waiter, and home before my birthday starts.

When she had received the dates for her latest assignment
Holly had initially been disappointed that she wouldn’t be spending her
birthday in paradise but now she was glad that she would be back in the UK,
even if it rained, as it often seemed to in June these days. At least I won’t
be on my own, she thought. Her son Harry had invited her to spend the day with
him in Bath where he was finishing his second year at university. Just the
thought of seeing Harry caused her mixed emotions.  Theirs was such a close
relationship. There had only ever been the two of them after Harry’s father,
Gareth, had disappeared from Holly’s life before the baby was born. She had
never regretted her decision to keep her baby but there had been many times
when she had wished there had been someone to share those special moments -
Harry’s first step, his first day at school, learning to ride his bike without
stabiliser wheels – precious memories that only she had witnessed. And now
history was set to repeat itself. She had fallen in love with Philippe – the
first time she had allowed herself this emotion since Gareth had abandoned her
– only to have her heart broken again. Philippe had no idea she was pregnant
and she was going to keep it that way. She didn’t want him back in her life
because of some misplaced sense of duty. Harry was a different matter. He had
been her entire life for twenty years but she had no idea how he would react to
what she was about to tell him. She had already delayed longer than she had
intended because Harry was in the middle of end-of-term exams but Holly knew
she would have to have the talk with him when she returned from the Maldives.

‘Can I get you some mint tea?’ asked Farhan, bowing slightly
as he spoke.

‘You’ve got a good memory. That would be lovely,’ Holly
said, smiling. She guessed Farhan was probably about the same age as Harry. As
she watched his retreating back she wondered what career path he might have
chosen if he had been born somewhere else in the world. Maybe in England or
America he would have gone to university to study architecture like her son. Or
maybe he would have waited tables in a greasy spoon café, returning home after
a twelve-hour shift to a tiny bedsit in a rough part of town. At least when the
staff in Kuremnu had finished their work they lived in idyllic surroundings.

Farhan returned with a pot containing fresh mint leaves and
boiling water. ‘Would you like me to pour for you?’ he asked.

‘No thank you, I’ll get my breakfast first. You’ve been here
every day of my stay, do you have a day off soon?’

‘I am going home tomorrow,’ Farhan said, barely able to
conceal his excitement.

‘Home?’ Holly queried. ‘I thought this was home.’

‘None of the staff live on the resort islands, we only work
here. My home island is still in the Lhaviyani Atoll but it is a thirty-minute
boat ride away, near the tuna cannery island. Did you go on the tour?’

Holly had, as she thought it would be good to put on her
blog, with the added benefit of escaping the loved-up couples for a few hours.
She had enjoyed the boat-ride in the colourful dhoni, a traditional Maldivian
boat, but the moment they drew near to the island she began to regret her
decision. There was an overwhelming stench of fish, which made her feel as
nauseous as she had during her first few weeks of her pregnancy, and she was
still surrounded by couples.

‘How long will you stay at home for?’

‘Usually it is only a week but my wife has just had our
second baby so I am allowed to stay for a whole month.’

If Holly had been drinking her mint tea, she was pretty sure
she would have choked on it after that revelation.

‘You don’t look old enough to be married let alone a father
of two,’ Holly said.

‘I’m twenty and my wife is nineteen,’ he responded, somewhat
defensively. ‘I think people in England have children at this age too?’

Holly realised the absurdity of what she had said. Although
she would be thirty-nine when her new baby was born, she herself had given
birth to Harry at nineteen. At least this young couple were married and,
judging by the look of pride in Farhan’s eyes, happy.

‘Of course,’ said Holly, anxious to avoid offence. ‘Was it a
boy or a girl?’

‘I have two beautiful girls but I love them anyway.’ Holly
raised her eyebrows but said nothing. ‘Do you know what you are having?’ he
asked with an almost imperceptible glance at her rounded belly.

 ‘N-not yet,’ Holly stammered, thankful that she had been
wearing the old gilt ring that Gareth had given her twenty years ago to back up
her cover story of a grieving widow that she used to explain why she was
travelling alone.

 ‘Well, I hope you and your baby will have a happy life,’
Farhan said, bowing slightly as he left Holly’s table to attend to other
guests.

 Holly poured herself some mint tea and sipped it to calm
her nerves. I’ll definitely have to tell Harry about the baby when I see him on
my birthday, she thought, if my bump is that obvious to a stranger.

Less than thirty minutes later, Holly emerged from the
comparative cool of the restaurant, with its high ceilings and overhead fans,
into a temperature already climbing towards thirty degrees. She deftly twisted
her dark curly hair, now dry after her morning shower, into an elastic band
before setting off on the post-breakfast walk around the island she had enjoyed
every morning since her arrival on Kuremnu.

 The island was larger than most in the Maldives but you
could still circumnavigate it in under an hour. From the restaurant Holly
headed along the beach to the northern-most tip of the island where the sand
gave way to rocks and the lush vegetation draped in the water, making it
difficult but possible to pass when the tide was low. It was only 9.30 a.m. but
the sun was already high in the sky and as she had done on previous mornings
Holly was tempted to stop for a drink at the small bar, The Outcrop, where very
early risers could get a light breakfast of fruit and watch the sunrise. A
quick glance at her watch told Holly that there would be no time for this
particular indulgence if she was to have another shower before assembling in
the Lionfish bar with the other guests who were leaving that day.

 A smile spread across Holly’s face as she remembered her
reaction to her bathroom the night she arrived from England after a
fourteen-hour journey. Muhammad had welcomed her to a beautifully appointed
room with petals scattered on her bed and towels folded into the shapes of an
elegant swan and her cygnet. Holly was tired. She had been anticipating
slipping into a relaxing bath before dinner with water made silky to the touch
by the addition of her favourite bath oils.

Muhammad had opened the door in the far corner of the room
and said, ‘And here is your bathroom.’

 The door led outside to a small enclosed garden. A raised
tiled area covered by a sloping straw roof housed the toilet, shower and
washbasin. Although it was outside, it felt quite private but the bath was a
different matter. It was standing isolated in the middle of the garden,
completely open to the heavens.

 ‘Well, this is different,’ Holly had managed to say, trying
not to show her disappointment.

 After Muhammad had left, Holly sank on to the bed wondering
what to do. She had really been looking forward to a soak, particularly as her
ankles were swollen from the flight, but she was a private person and not given
to displays of nakedness in public. The walls enclosing the garden didn’t seem
very high but then there were no two-storey buildings on the island, apart from
the restaurant and nightclub, so she was pretty sure that no one would be able
to see in, unless they climbed a tree or walked around on stilts. In the end
her desire for total relaxation won over her fear of being seen naked but she
had lowered herself carefully into the inviting bath water nonetheless, only
releasing her towel at the last possible moment. As she had lain in the
fragrant water with the skies gradually darkening to indigo, revealing a
multitude of stars hidden from view in most of the light-polluted parts of the
planet, Holly couldn’t help wishing that she had been sharing the experience
with Philippe. He would have made her feel completely at ease, as if this was
the most natural thing in the world.