by Lucy Lord
Jack had spent the last two nights at her flat, sneaking away from Ben and Natalia under cover of darkness, after putting in sterling performances of normality during lunches, respectively, at Playa Las Salinas and Aguas Blancas. The nights had been exquisite; as exquisite, in their own way, as their magical day on the beach. The more time Summer and Jack spent in each other’s company, the more convinced they were that they had to be together.
Summer had spent the last two days counting the minutes until he turned up at her door, handsome, always smiling, tearing off what little she happened to be wearing within seconds of setting eyes on her. And afterwards . . . afterwards they had talked for hours, between kisses and more lovemaking, each taking more joy in the other’s company than either of them had taken in anything before, their entire lives. It was heady, intoxicating stuff, probably made all the more so by its illicitness, but now it was going to have to stop.
Because today Tamara would be arriving on the island.
Summer felt Jack stir beside her and turned around to smile at him as he drowsily opened his eyes.
‘Morning, beautiful.’ Gently he drew her down to kiss him on the lips. After a few seconds, she felt his hardness rising against her leg, and she pulled away with regret.
‘Oh, Jack, I wish we could, but haven’t you got to be at the airport in . . .’ she glanced at the alarm clock on her painted wooden bedside table . . . ‘less than an hour?’
‘Shit,’ Jack groaned, sitting up and putting his curly head in his hands. ‘Has it really come around so quickly?’
‘I don’t know how I’m going to bear not being with you every night,’ said Summer, leaning over to kiss him again. Then she forced her innate practicality to take over. ‘But I guess we’ll manage somehow . . .’
Jack smiled ruefully. ‘Speak for yourself. It’s going to be hell.’
‘You go and get showered while I fix us a pot of coffee,’ said Summer, throwing back the sheets and leaping out bed. ‘And make sure you remove every last trace of me!’
Jack laughed. ‘No shower in the world could do that.’
As he walked past her on his way to the bathroom, he put his hands around her waist from behind and nuzzled the back of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair.
‘I’m going to miss you like crazy.’
*
Jack was waiting for Tamara at one of the two private jet terminals at Ibiza airport, wondering where the hell all these paparazzi had come from, considering he’d largely managed to avoid the paps since setting foot on the White Isle. And then he realized: of course, Tamara must have tipped them off. He wondered if it was something to do with the cryptic text she’d sent him. He took his phone out of his pocket and looked at it again:
Hey baby. Meet me at the airport at midday. I’m bringing you a surprise! Tammy x
He forced himself to smile, feeling foolish as he stood there with his enormous bunch of white lilies and roses, as the paps shot reel after reel of him, shouting questions all the while.
‘Over here, Jack!’
‘Been missing the missus, Jack?’
‘There are rumours that she’s been offered the lead in Miles Dawson’s new movie. Can you confirm these rumours?’
‘You planning anything exciting for your romantic reunion, Jack?’
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
‘We’ve been apart less than a week,’ he said curtly. He was starting to feel very uncomfortable about seeing Tamara again, and almost wished he could finish it with her as soon as he saw her. After the last two nights at Summer’s apartment, he was 100 per cent convinced that she was the only woman for him.
The only ones who knew what was going on were Ben and Natalia, both of whom had been sworn to secrecy. If it hadn’t been for the need to explain his repeated absences from Natalia’s villa, he wouldn’t even have told them. The whole situation was humiliating enough for Tamara as it was, without their entire circle of friends knowing about it.
Ben and Natalia had been sympathetic and agreed to keep up the charade until they all got home. Ben had decided that this was the time to tell Jack about Tamara’s abortive attempts to flirt with him, and Jack had been surprised by how little he cared. It did make him feel marginally less guilty, though.
The doors at the back of the arrivals lounge burst open and Tamara made her entrance. Clocking the paps, who were going into raptures at the sight of her, she struck several poses, petite and pretty in a red-and-white polka-dot playsuit, skyscraper scarlet Louboutins, matching glossy pout, and enormous Gucci shades. Then she cried out, ‘Jack! Darling!’ and ran over to him, throwing herself into his arms.
Feeling a complete fraud, Jack held her tightly, watching over the top of her head as one of her bodyguards pushed her stack of Louis Vuitton cases across the concourse towards them. With increasing disbelief he carried on watching as the doors burst open again to reveal his dad, Filthy Meadows, resplendent in full leathers, despite the soaring temperature, with a red-and-white bandana wrapped around his head.
‘Dad?’
‘Surprise, Son!’
Jack held Tamara at arm’s length. ‘This is the surprise you told me about?’
The paps were beside themselves with excitement now.
‘Uh-huh!’ She grinned up at him. ‘Isn’t it great? Filth is playing at Ibiza Rocks in a couple of nights’ time, so we thought we’d show up together and surprise you.’
‘You made a detour to St Tropez to meet Tamara rather than coming straight here? Hi, Dad,’ Jack added, embracing his father.
‘We wanted to surprise you,’ Filthy repeated. ‘And, hey – I haven’t been to St Trop since the Eighties. It was a real blast from the past, returning to the scene of so many crimes!’ He winked and Tamara giggled.
‘Let’s talk about it in the car,’ said Jack. ‘What a fantastic surprise! Great to see you, Dad!’ he said loudly for the benefit of the paparazzi. ‘Have you got all your stuff? Let’s go!’
Once in the car, Tamara, pretty little face glowing, said, ‘Isn’t this wonderful? It’s so cool to see you, Jack. I can’t tell you how much I missed you.’
Feeling lower than he’d ever felt in his life, Jack said, ‘You too, sweetheart, you too. So, Dad,’ he quickly changed the subject. ‘Ibiza Rocks? What’s the deal with that?’
‘I’d never heard of it either, but Tammy – hey, it’s your story, babe – you tell him.’
‘The night before last’ – Tamara was practically bouncing off her seat, so pleased was she with her story – ‘I was out with Miles and his friends and we got chatting to these guys who run this gig called Ibiza Rocks.’
Jack nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Not sure what it’s all about, though.’
‘Well, a few years ago, they decided that with all the clubbing and dance music, there was a gap in the market for good old-fashioned guitar music.’
‘Nothing old-fashioned about guitar music,’ said Filth.
‘Of course there’s not, darling. Just a turn of phrase.’ Tamara smiled fondly at her future father-in-law. ‘So they started Ibiza Rocks, which is held like once a week and is now insanely popular.’
‘But what has this to do with Dad?’
‘I was coming to that,’ said Tamara impatiently. ‘The guys were in a major fix as the Arctic Monkeys were gonna to be playing like this Friday but . . .’ she paused for dramatic effect, ‘. . . they bailed, big time!’
‘So Tamara stepped in and offered them my services,’ grinned Filthy. ‘And I, ever the gentleman, was happy to oblige.’
Jack laughed. ‘You mean you, with nothing better to do, and able to command an enormous fee, were happy to oblige.’
Filthy winked.
‘You know me too well, son.’
‘Isn’t it great?’ grinned Tamara again, desperate for approval. ‘Didn’t I do good?’
Jack felt a sudden and enormous surge of fondness for her. ‘Yes, Tammy, you did brilliantly.’
*
‘David Abrahams is unable to take your call right now. Please leave a message and he’ll get back to you as soon as he can.’
‘Uh – hi, David. It’s me, Summer. Could you call me back, please? It’s quite important. Thanks.’
Summer gazed at her phone, exasperated. She’d already left David three voicemail messages that morning – two at the office and another on his mobile. She’d texted and emailed and even sent a Facebook message. In fact she’d spent so much time checking and re-checking her phone, emails and Facebook that she’d been incapable of concentrating on the piece she was supposed to be writing – the introduction to her delicious recipe for wild rabbit with lavender, thyme and honey.
She wouldn’t dump him by phone, email or Facebook, of course – she was merely trying to arrange to see him, so that she could do so face to face. She knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t finish the affair with her boss immediately, but it felt like the most important thing in her life right now.
After the last couple of nights with Jack, she felt that they knew each other inside out, mind, body and soul. She couldn’t bear the fact that she was keeping this secret from him. Her head was overflowing with images of his handsome, smiling, trusting face, his sincere green eyes as they looked into hers with so much love.
No, there was nothing else for it – if the mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad, Muhammad would have to go to the mountain. Summer shut her laptop and walked inside from the balcony, where she had been working on her article. She threw a navy-and-white Breton-striped halter-necked jersey minidress over her bikini, shoved her feet into a pair of white plimsolls and started to make her way down the hill to the Island Life offices.
*
Bella, Andy, Poppy and Damian were sitting outside, drinking early evening G&Ts. They’d just put Daisy to bed and were getting excited about their night out (Britta had kindly offered to babysit and Bella knew that her little girl would be safe in the Swedish woman’s capable hands).
‘I’m dying to see Aqua,’ said Bella. ‘Nice of Shane to extend his invitation to all of us.’
When he’d heard Tamara’s prospective arrival date, Shane Connelly had offered a ‘welcome to the White Isle’ dinner at Aqua for Tamara, Jack, Ben, Natalia, Poppy, Damian, Bella and Andy. They were to sit at the VIP table on the rocks, and Jack and Tamara were to arrive by boat (with a couple of carefully selected paparazzi lurking). He had offered the entire meal on the house, but Jack, thinking of Summer’s words, had insisted on paying for them all. She was right – he could afford it a hundred times over.
‘Well, he wouldn’t have met the celebs without us, would he, Belles?’ said Poppy. ‘Although, between you and me, I bet he thought we’d make the evening more fun.’
‘Of course he did, darling,’ said Damian, leaning back in his chair and looking around. ‘God, it’s beautiful here. I totally understand why you moved.’ The garden was cast in its sunset rosy glow, the trees starting to cast long shadows on the shimmering pool. Apart from their voices, the only sound was that of the cicadas, which were at their loudest at this time of day.
‘Yes, it’s truly gorgeous,’ said Poppy. ‘Thanks so much again for inviting us.’
‘You know you’re always welcome,’ smiled Bella. ‘Mi casa es tu casa.’
‘So you can speak Spanish! I was starting to wonder.’
‘Oh, piss off, I’m a bit rusty, that’s all. I—’
She was interrupted by a familiar voice shouting, ‘Surprise!’ from the far end of the garden.
‘Daddy!’
Bella jumped out of her chair and ran along the length of the pool into her father’s outstretched arms.
‘Hello, angel face,’ Justin said in his weird Cockney mid-Atlantic drawl. ‘Hope you don’t mind me turning up like this – I know you got guests . . . Hi, guys!’ He waved over at the others and they all waved back. ‘But I got my hammock and sleeping bag. You know me, I—’
‘Like to sleep under the stars. I know, Daddy,’ said Bella. ‘It’s so lovely to see you. Are you here for any particular reason, or did you just decide to pop on the boat at the last minute?’ Justin lived in Majorca, a mere ferry’s ride away, and was prone to impetuous decisions.
‘Isn’t wanting to see my beautiful daughter and granddaughter reason enough?’
Bella laughed. ‘Of course it is.’
‘You’re looking fantastic.’ Justin stood back and looked Bella up and down. ‘Your mum always used to dress you in pink when you were tiny.’ His voice was wistful for a second. Despite the misdemeanours that had given Bella’s mother, Olivia, no choice but to divorce him, he still had a soft spot for his ex-wife.
Bella had dressed up for the evening in one of her old pre-pregnancy dresses that she could at last get into again: a pale pink, A-line, Sixties-inspired mini that showed off her nice brown arms and legs. Her long dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and she knew she’d scrubbed up well for once.
‘Anyway, enough of this chat.’ Justin brandished the large bottle of Fundador brandy he was holding in his right hand. ‘I’m gagging for a drink, and I want to see my beautiful granddaughter.’
‘Daisy’s just gone to sleep,’ said Bella as they walked back across the garden, past the lavender bushes, orange trees and scarlet wild poppies. ‘But we can go and have a quick look at her if you promise to behave yourself and be quiet.’
The last time Justin had been over, Daisy had been asleep when he arrived, but he’d been so overwhelmed with love that he couldn’t resist leaning into her cot to kiss the top of her downy blonde head. Daisy hadn’t minded in the slightest, but had failed to get back to sleep for the rest of the night, rendering Bella completely shattered for the whole of the following day.
‘Don’t worry, darlin’, I learned my lesson! Bloody hell, the house is coming on a treat – when did you get the pool filled? All right, Andy? Hello, Poppy gorgeous! Nice to see you again, Damian.’
They all exchanged greetings and Andy went to get a glass to pour Justin his brandy. As soon as they were settled once more around the table, Bella said, ‘Dad, lovely as it is to see you, we’re going out tonight, to rather a posh do. We’ll be leaving in an hour or so. Sorry to have to desert you on your first night, but—’
‘What’s the do, darlin’?’
‘We’ve been offered the VIP table at a new restaurant called Aqua, owned by a chap by the name of Shane Connelly. He used to be in—’
Justin slapped his thigh, grinning. ‘Not old Connors? Gay Aussie Connors?’
Bella started to laugh. She might have known. Her dad knew everybody who was anybody in the Balearics.
‘Yup.’
‘Well, we go way back. I’ll give him a ring and he’ll set up another place for me at your posh table. No problemo.’
*
Summer gazed out over her balcony, looking at the view of higgledy piggledy streets down to the old port, trying to quash the panic inside her. Tamara had arrived. Tamara was with Jack. Tamara Gold, movie star and international sex symbol, was with her Jack. The Jack who had brought her to orgasm after intense orgasm, and told her, repeatedly, how much he loved her.
At the time she’d believed him, trusted him implicitly, but now tiny doubts were starting to niggle away at her. What if he’d been playing with her? Summer was neither overly modest nor one to think too highly of herself. Realistically, she knew that she was good at most things and better than average looking, but compared to a movie star? And if she was capable of lying so blatantly to Jack’s face about David, what was to stop him lying blatantly to her?
When she’d tried to approach David in the office that afternoon, it had been impossible to get his attention for even a minute. Valentina had told her that he was stressed about end-of-month deadlines, but it almost seemed as though he’d been avoiding her deliberately.
God, the whole thing was such a mess.
Looking down again at the sun setting over the harbour, Summer made up her mind. Tonight
she’d go out. These days she only went clubbing a few times a year, having got most of it out of her system in her hedonistic teens, but tonight she wanted to let her hair down, to forget about everything. She’d go up to the bars in the Old Town, meet some of her old friends, have fun, remind herself of what life used to be like.
And then she’d go to Pacha and dance. Yes, she had to get up for the crèche in the morning, but to hell with it – she’d manage. Tonight she needed to lose herself in the music. And what better place to do that than Pacha?
*
‘Oh my God, this is soooo incredible!’ said Poppy, flinging her arms around Shane’s neck. ‘Bonza, bonza and thrice bonza, mate!’
‘Try not to rupture yourself, Pops,’ said Damian. Poppy swivelled on her heel and gave him the finger. ‘But I have to agree. You’ve got a pretty awesome set-up here.’
‘Thanks,’ said Shane. ‘But just you wait . . .’
They made their way down the whitewashed walkway that led to the VIP table on the promontory, Bella, Andy and Justin a few steps behind them. Justin, who had drunk around half the bottle of Fundador he’d brought from Majorca, was staggering slightly, and Bella was holding onto him tightly – it would be a shame if he fell into the sea.
When they arrived at the enormous, round VIP table, they all laughed in amazement. It couldn’t have been more perfect. Cleverly lit, the white-linen-clad table looked as though it was floating above the sea, which they could hear lapping at the rocks, thirty metres or so below.
‘Mate,’ said Justin, stumbling and giving his old friend an enormous hug. ‘This is BONZA!’
‘Sorry about Dad,’ said Bella. ‘He’s been on the Fundador.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Shane. ‘Anything goes in Ibiza.’
‘True,’ said Bella, feeling happy and free. It was the first time she’d been out partying since Daisy had been born, and she was enjoying herself already. This is what life used to be like, she thought.
‘Hey, guys,’ said Natalia, walking down the whitewashed walkway and looking like Tippi Hedren or Kim Novak; any of Hitchcock’s blondes. ‘What an amazing venue. Congratulations, Shane.’