Wish You Were Here

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable of handling the trip on your own,’ he’d said. ‘Or that I don’t trust you.’

  ‘But I could have managed,’ she’d insisted. ‘I’ve a list of criteria and questions as long as your arm to ask. I won’t be swayed by anyone. If the package isn’t right in every detail, I’ll make sure it’s put right before I finally sign it off.’

  ‘Beth—’

  ‘Jack. I’ve been extremely thorough.’

  ‘I know you have,’ he said, taking off his sunglasses so she could see his eyes. ‘There are two reasons why I’m here and one of them isn’t to do with this trip, not absolutely anyway.’

  ‘I’d love to hear them,’ said Beth.

  ‘Think of it like this. I run a travel company and I haven’t actually been traveling since I started working here. I’m not getting close enough to our core product, and I believe in leading by example. If it’s any consolation, I’ve decided to accompany Tom and Shreeya on two of their supplier recces before the end of the year.’

  She wrinkled her nose, unsure whether to believe him or not. ‘But what was I to think when you landed at the airport? You could have told me,’ she said, swirling the ice nervously in her diabolo, making it chink against the side of the glass. ‘I would have guessed you had a million and one things to do that are more important than coming here. I mean you must have had to rearrange your entire calendar and the travel plans. Or has Martha done that?’

  ‘Maybe I should have told you, but frankly, I was by no means sure that I could reschedule my calendar at short notice. But I had an important meeting canceled so I was able to come with you,’ he said briskly, indicating there were to be no arguments.

  She tried to ignore the feeling they were circling around each other.

  ‘As for your capabilities. Beth, this is a big contract. I don’t think it’s fair to send you alone and heap the responsibility on your shoulders.’

  ‘So it’s not me, it’s you…’ she murmured, staring at his hands around the glass.

  ‘Don’t forget that Olivier and I go way back. It would be silly not to take advantage of the fact that I already have some kind of relationship with him. I know him.’

  ‘And I might not?’

  The hotel porter appeared by their table. ‘Your rooms are ready, monsieur.’

  ‘Merci,’ he said, draining his diabolo and picking up his bag. ‘I’m really not checking up on you,’ he said as they’d stepped out of the afternoon heat and into the cool shade of the foyer. ‘Try to think of me as more of an observer.’

  His warm smile left her teetering on the edge of giving him the benefit of the doubt. His explanation was perfectly reasonable, although the turning up at the airport was hardly textbook. She had a distinct suspicion that he’d been too scared to tell her in advance, but she didn’t dare confront him any further. He was the chief exec, after all.

  ‘I’m only here to offer advice and support when you need it. Other than that, think of me as just another guest,’ he said as they followed the porter into the hotel.

  ‘That’s probably asking a bit much.’

  They stopped outside her room.

  ‘I know, but can you try?’

  She nodded then pushed the key in the old lock but didn’t open the door. It was stiflingly warm on the landing. He reached across her wrist and turned the key for her, nudging the door, brushing against her hand.

  ‘We’ll see, but remember who’s in charge,’ she murmured, stepping inside.

  He laughed. ‘See you at seven.’

  Then he’d carried on to the next landing, his boots thudding nosily on the wooden stairs.

  She’d glanced at her hand, still feeling the touch of his fingers now as she lay on her bed, the pen and notes abandoned. Around her, the light had softened and the shadows had lengthened and a glance at her watch had her springing from the bed. She had to get ready for dinner.

  She took a cool shower in the antiquated bathroom and wrapped herself in a rough white towel, letting the sea breeze dry her hair. Then she began to unpack her rucksack. Clean underwear, bug repellent, shorts, flip-flops, maps—all of it was pulled out and laid on the bed and floor. Olivier had said she could leave any unnecessary stuff at his office, making sure they could travel as light as possible on the trek. She’d got to the bottom of the pack when she found something she was sure she hadn’t put there: an unfamiliar package wrapped in pink tissue paper.

  ‘Now what is this?’ she muttered to herself, pulling out the soft tissue and unwrapping the package. Inside was a piece of fabric and she shook it. A post-it note fluttered out of the heart of the material onto the polished wooden floor. As she picked it up, a smile spread over her face.

  Sis,

  Can’t have u looking minging 4 Orlando Bloom.

  Luv,

  Lou-lou xxx

  PS Put it on—and text me a pic.

  Carefully, she untwisted the dress and held it up in front of her. It was one of those dresses that were made to be worn crumpled. Soft blue crinkly cotton with a halter neck and a low back. She wondered if she’d seen it on the back of the chair in Louisa’s room. She shook her head but still felt touched. Louisa could be a real sweetheart sometimes. Just when you thought she hadn’t listened to a word you’d said or didn’t care, she did something impulsive like this.

  Letting the towel drop to the boards, she shimmied into the dress. The cotton fabric felt cool and soft on her bare skin even though it clung to all her curves. She pulled open the old door of the old armoire in her room and as expected, found a full-length mirror with an interesting crack across it that split her reflection in two like an old fairground attraction. She had to admit that the blue looked lovely against her tanned skin and her hair looked shiny and glossy, thanks to Freya’s magic highlights. Snapping a very weird picture of herself from neck to knees, she sent Louisa a text.

  Thx Lou.

  Dress is fab. Must go.

  Orlando w8ing in bar.

  B x

  As she watched the message fly off, a knock at the door startled her. A scan of her watch told her it was later than she’d thought.

  ‘Beth.’

  She snatched in a breath. It was Jack. She panicked. Did she have time to pull off the dress and get back into her shorts and a clean T-shirt? Even if she did, she didn’t know where they were, among the debris scattered over the floor and bed.

  ‘Beth!’ he called.

  She blew out her breath. Damn it, where were her shorts? Where were her knickers, for goodness sake! She absolutely couldn’t let him in like this. For some reason, the thought of him coming into the room when she was naked under the thin dress made her feel… vulnerable. A sudden twist low down in her abdomen made her realize the feeling wasn’t unpleasant. The prospect of being caught knickerless by Jack was also unbearably sexy.

  He knocked again, louder and more insistently.

  ‘Beth—are you all right in there?’ His voice sounded concerned.

  All right! What did he think had happened to her in her room? Been kidnapped by Corsican terrorists? Slipped on the soap?

  ‘Hold on a minute!’ she cried, still at a loss as to the location of her undies.

  The door handle rattled softly.

  ‘I’m here,’ she said, pasting on a smile as she tugged open the door.

  His expression when he saw the dress said it all. He recovered quickly but she still caught the look. It was definitely surprise, possibly pleasure too; she wasn’t quite sure. She was too busy trying to look casual because Jack, freshly showered, shaved, smelling of minty toothpaste, in shorts and a white shirt was as much as she could stand.

  ‘I—I didn’t know you were still getting ready…’ he hesitated, seeming embarrassed. ‘I waited in reception for a while and then I thought you might have lost track of the time or fallen asleep or something. When you didn’t answer, I was worried and thought—’

  She laughed gently at him. ‘I’d fallen
off the balcony?’

  ‘Ha ha, very funny.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve been working and got carried away. Then I had to um… brush my teeth.’

  ‘Oh. Fine. Right. Um… So are you ready to go out then?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll just get some shoes and my um… sunglasses,’ she said spotting her flip-flops and a pair of knickers poking out from under the pillow.

  Turning her back, she cursed as he hovered in the doorway. She slipped on the flip-flops and managed to scrunch up the panties in her fist and push them into a tiny bag.

  ‘Ready,’ she said, spinning round to face him.

  She saw him watching her. He looked almost mesmerized. ‘I can see that.’

  He pointed to the bedside table. ‘But you’ve still forgotten your sunglasses.’

  She tapped her temple. ‘Doh… silly me.’

  Jack crossed to the bed, picked them up, then held them out to her. ‘Shall we go now?’

  A few minutes later, they were threading their way through the narrow streets of Bonifacio towards the steps that led down to the marina. The evening sun still had plenty of heat in it and warmed her bare shoulders. Her hair tickled her skin—she hadn’t even had chance to tie it back, as normal, before answering the door. At the bottom of the hill, lining the quayside, cheek-by-jowl with yachts and fishing boats and gin palaces were dozens of restaurants.

  ‘Take your pick,’ he said as they lingered on the quayside.

  ‘Oh—anything will do,’ she said airily. Anywhere, she thought, with a loo where she could put some underwear on. She pointed to a run-down pizza place next to a tabac. ‘What about that one?’

  ‘Are you sure? I think we could find somewhere nicer. After all, we’ll have plenty of chances to rough it in the next few days.’

  ‘Of course.’

  They ambled along at an agonizingly slow pace, checking out menus and watching waiters buzzing to and fro from kitchens to quaysides, plates piled high with seafood and steaks and pizzas. At last, he pointed to some tables under a canopy up ahead. ‘That looks good to me. OK by you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to hold down her dress discreetly with one hand.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not too cold? The wind’s got up.’

  ‘Just hungry. Ready for something hot inside me.’

  He raised his eyebrows as she gave herself a mental kick. ‘Then we’d better get you filled up and fast,’ he said, grinning.

  She felt his hand on her elbow, motioning her forward. He didn’t seem to notice he’d done it, so unself-conscious was the gesture. She shivered in the breeze as the aromas of herbs and garlic mingled with diesel from cars trying to negotiate the narrow marina road.

  The restaurant he’d chosen was perhaps the smallest place on the quay and still relatively quiet. The bar and kitchens were housed in what was barely more than a cave—a hollow carved out of the rock cliff face that literally held up the rest of the town above. Moments later a waiter was pulling back a chair for her, handing them two menus, and asking if they wanted an aperitif.

  ‘A beer,’ said Jack.

  ‘Orangina.’

  He glanced up in surprise.

  ‘I’m thirsty and um—I need the Ladies,’ she explained.

  ‘Fine,’ he said smiling, though he looked puzzled at how the two were connected.

  A few minutes later, she was back. She wriggled a bit on the chair, feeling much safer. ‘I’m starving,’ she declared, picking up the menu.

  Jack shot her a glance that made her tingle from head to toe, then smacked his lips. ‘Me too. Absolutely ravenous.’

  Chapter 20

  Jack was having immense trouble concentrating on the menu. He’d nearly lost it when Beth had opened the door to her room and he’d seen her in the clingy, floaty dress that showed off her bare shoulders. He also loved the way she’d let her hair fall loose, the way it was tinged golden by the sun.

  ‘Vous avez choisi?’ asked the waiter.

  ‘Est-ce que je peux avoir le loup grillé, s’il vous-plaît?’ she replied.

  A tiny shiver ran up Jack’s spine as he pictured her slipping out of her dress and whispering, in a throaty voice ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, Jacques?’ Then he cleared his throat, annoyed with himself for having such cheesy fantasies.

  ‘Monsieur?’ said the waiter. ‘’Ave you decided yet? Do you want ze same as mademoiselle?’

  ‘Grilled wolf?’ he stammered, finally working out what she’d ordered.

  She giggled. ‘Fish. A loup is a type of fish as well as a wolf.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Of course,’ he said, squirming inwardly. ‘Um… that please,’ he said poking a finger at the menu. ‘The plat du jour…’

  ‘Rognons blancs?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Is monsieur certain?’ the waiter asked, looking at Beth with a knowing smile. ‘That he wants the—how you say en Angleterre—the pig’s—er… testeecles?’

  She giggled as Jack’s face crumbled.

  ‘Jeez, no. I meant that—that one below.’

  ‘Pizza Marguerite?’

  ‘Yes—that’ll do. Merci.’

  The waiter sniffed. ‘One pizza for monsieur and le loup grillé for mademoiselle.’

  ‘Any wine?’

  ‘A liter of rosé,’ said Jack. ‘S’il vous plait.’

  ‘Bien.’

  The waiter snatched up the menus and returned to the bar, but not before rolling his eyes significantly at Beth. ‘Good choice about the wine,’ she said when the man had gone. ‘Rose goes better with pizza than testee-cles or grilled wolf. You’d want a nice robust red for those.’

  He laughed out loud. He didn’t care about being teased; he just loved seeing her smile. It relaxed her face and added a sexy sparkle to her grey eyes. Her cheeks were glowing from the sun and she was biting her lower lip, a gesture he found innocent yet strangely erotic. He held out his glass.

  ‘This beer is just great. I’d forgotten how good it was. Here have a taste.’

  Condensation trickled down the glass and onto his hand as he offered the beer. She curved her fingers round the slippery glass.

  ‘Try it. It’s fantastic,’ he urged.

  She sipped, flicking a pink tongue over her lips to catch a stray fleck of foam. ‘It’s good. Very good,’ she said, smiling and nodding. ‘So sweet and yet so bitter. Do you remember the last time we drank—’

  She stopped abruptly, but it was too late because Jack did remember. It was one day in their trek. They’d slipped away from the main party to get food and ended up having sex in the heat and dust of shepherd’s refuge. Afterwards, almost dizzy with thirst, they’d stopped for a local beer at the bar. Chestnut beer, just like this, with bubbles bursting rich and sweet on your tongue.

  ‘Here’s your pizza,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I know.’

  Having brought the meals, the waiter took a book of matches from his pocket, struck one, and lit the candle on their table.

  ‘Tres romantique, n’est ce-pas?’ he said, smiling.

  Beth looked down at her hands so Jack couldn’t see her face.

  ‘Could we have some more bread please?’ he said politely.

  ***

  Later, as they wandered back up the steps to the citadel, Beth felt as if her whole body was glowing and she wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the steep climb. Their dinner had been so easy and casual and, apart from the waiter assuming they were a couple, it had been the most relaxed few hours she’d spent with Jack since they’d first met. Away from the office, she—and he—seemed to feel free to be themselves. She tried not to think how alike their true selves actually were.

  ‘Marisa seems nice. How long have you known her and Olivier?’ she said, making conversation as they neared the city ramparts at the top of the slope.

  ‘Oh, ages. We worked together for a season at a trekking company in the Alps then he moved back here awhile ago.’

  ‘He’s very charismatic and charming,’ she s
aid, sighing dramatically.

  ‘Charismatic? I shall have to tell him that one. He’s a cool customer, is Olivier, and a very clever one. He did an MA in English and History at the Sorbonne.’

  ‘The clients must love him, he’s so funny and witty. Kind of ironic—in a sexy French way,’ she added wistfully.

  He pushed out his lower lip and feigned offence. ‘Now, I think you take ze pees out of me, non?’

  ‘Peut-être. Perhaps un petit peu…’ she said, trying not to laugh.

  ‘You are vairy naughty, Elizabeth,’ he said, wagging his finger at her as she covered her mouth with her hand.

  She felt high on wine and laughter as he mimicked Olivier. ‘I don’t think I can let you take ze pees out of me, Elizabeth. Peut-être, think I will ’ave to teach you a leetle lesson, ze French way…’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ she cried as he took a step towards her.

  He frowned, but his eyes were still laughing. ‘Don’t dare do what?’

  ‘Carry on talking in that French accent,’ she said, not wanting to say what she thought he was going to do.

  His face fell. ‘And I zought it was zo charming…’

  He shook his head and let out a deep laugh that had her heart pitter-pattering, mostly with pleasure, but also because she was afraid she was sliding back the bolts on a place deep inside her heart.

  As they reached the ramparts, the sky was almost indigo and over the straits, lights shimmered on the Sardinian coast. The moon made a path on the surface of the water; a broad shimmering lane that she fancied she could almost walk across. Jack leaned back against the sea wall.

  ‘Thought you’d need a rest after that,’ he teased.

  ‘What? Moi? It looks like you need the rest.’

  ‘Hey, I run every day. It’s my caffeine habit that makes me so twitchy.’