The Bridesmaid's Secret

by Sophie Weston

  But that could be Annis. And from the pain in his voice, it did not sound like an old hurt. She wished she had the courage to ask. It would make it all so simple…

  ‘I see,’ Bella said in a small voice, not asking.

  He looked up quickly. ‘Does that make us quits?’

  She was bewildered. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You told me you were afraid of your father,’ he reminded her softly. ‘You said you’d never told anyone before. Well, that’s my contribution to the pot of secrets. I’ve never told anyone either.’

  Bella’s heart twisted. She said in stifled voice, ‘I’m sorry.’

  He said nothing. The angel voice sang languidly, meltingly. Beyond the terrace, the cicadas trilled. Below them, the sea curled murmurously round the headland and whispered up the beach. The stars shimmered in velvet darkness. Clouds, insubstantial as moon-breath, scudded across them, making them tremble.

  Bella trembled too, not from the cool evening breeze.

  At last he said in an odd voice, ‘I think you are. Sorry, I mean. Oh, well.’

  Bella found her eyes were full of tears. She had no idea why.

  Eventually he said, ‘I usually barbecue something I’ve caught. Didn’t have time to fish today, though, so it’s vegetarian tonight. OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Bella, wondering how she would ever force anything down her tight throat.

  ‘And then we’ll talk about how you want to run this assignment of yours.’

  He got up. ‘Enjoy your wine. And the music.’ He tossed a CD case onto the table. ‘I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.’

  He left her staring out into the dark, more torn than she had ever been in her life. The music tumbled round her like a magic waterfall.

  Ask him! said her old, brave self. What have you got to lose?

  Hope, said the new, vulnerable Bella.

  She was still batting the arguments back and forth in her head when he came back with candles and a pile of crockery.

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Light the candles.’ He tossed her a box of matches and went.

  The candle flames streamed a little in the breeze off the sea. Bella shivered. It was a perfect night. She had never felt this alive in her life.

  Gil returned with a big dish of salad and barbecued haloumi cheese. He set it down on the marble table, and offered her a plate and a fork.

  ‘Dig in.’

  She fully expected that he would revert to his practised, civilised conversation. But he didn’t.

  ‘So tell me about this thing with Kosta,’ he said when the food was finished and they sat in the light of candles and the distant stars. ‘Were you serious? Did you really turn up on his doorstep with seduction in mind?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Bella. Her flippant tone was very good, she congratulated herself.

  ‘No underwear at all?’

  ‘Not a stitch.’

  Gil shook his head, the movement of amazement eloquent. ‘Lucky chap.’

  ‘He didn’t see it quite like that.’ Bella was dry. ‘Put yourself in his shoes.’

  ‘I wish!’ said Gil, even drier.

  Bella might have been trembling, with every sense piercingly alert, but she could still fight her corner.

  ‘But you said you’re not the sort of person who thinks sex is just for fun,’ she pointed out acerbically. ‘Why would you appreciate it any more than Kosta did?’

  He drew a sharp breath. ‘Why do you think?’

  She glared, half bewildered, desirous. But he did not touch her.

  It set the pattern for the days to follow.

  During the day, Gil fished or swam or worked on the land out of Bella’s sight. In the evening he gave her a drink and discussed what he called her assignment, encouraging her to take notes and photographs. Then he left her to listen to music and watch the haunting, beautiful darkness alone while he cooked her a meal. She struggled to eat it.

  All the time he talked, about his work, his remote father, the friends he surrounded himself with, about books and music and pastimes. He was a rock climber, she found. He had never listened to Latin music before he’d met Paco and did not know one of the artists that Bella listened to every day. He hardly ever went to the movies. Never watched videos.

  In return, and cautiously, Bella told him a little about her passion for children’s films but she felt out of her depth all the time. He seemed to want to know about her. And yet the one thing that she knew they had in common, he never approached.

  Every night they said goodnight and went to their separate beds.

  Bella did not know how she could bear it. But she had no choice. Along with the suitcase of designer gear, Sally had booked her a closed-ended ticket, with a return date at the end of a week. If she left early she would have to pay her own fare, but that was not what worried her. If she returned early she would have to explain. And that was something she really could not bear.

  So she stayed. And walked in the garden when he was on the beach. And made notes for her article. And took a rapid course in classical music from the CDs on his shelves.

  There was one song in particular, a serenade that swelled and rocked like the sunlit sea below, sweet and steady and not quite sad. Bella found her body moving to its timeless sway involuntarily. She was ravished by the delicacy of the singer’s voice. She had never heard anything like it. It was a physical sensation, like a gentle finger down the spine. Like love, she thought, half ashamed of the fancy.

  She could not decipher the words, though. She thought they were French. She contemplated asking Gil what they meant but somehow that seemed too dangerously intimate. So she didn’t.

  But she did not want to stay in the house, with her emotions ripped ragged by his music. So she found the most workman-like of Sally’s exotic bikinis and put it on. She pulled a shirt of her own over it, and went down to the beach.

  Gil was there, as she had half known he would be. Or rather he was in the sea. A plastic container and his fishing tackle, stacked neatly in the lee of the jetty, showed that he had caught their supper. And now he was enjoying himself.

  Bella stood still and shaded her eyes. The white sand was soft and warm under her feet. She wriggled her toes luxuriously. Gil was a long way out, a black dot heading for the horizon with powerful strokes that cut through the water.

  She did not know if she was disappointed or relieved. Relieved on the whole, she thought. At least he was not there to see when she dropped her nice familiar shirt and launched herself into the waves. Sally’s most conservative bikini was made of shiny copper material and skimmed her nipples with minimal decency. But at least it was not a thong.

  It turned out to be quite comfortable to swim in. Bella did not let herself think whether she would be equally comfortable to be seen in it. No, correct that: for Gil to see her in it.

  She could not understand herself. She had danced and posed and sunbathed in provocative gear all her adult life. She had never felt this weird, shivering at the thought of just one person seeing her in anything. Yet the prospect of Gil returning from his marathon swim and finding her in Sally’s high-fashion swimwear made her go hot and cold and want to turn for the hills.

  Or alternatively stay and see what happened.

  I must be out of my mind, thought Bella. In her agitation, she got her breathing wrong and sank. She emerged, spluttering.

  When at last she got her breath back and opened her salt-stinging eyes, the dark speck was no longer heading for the horizon. It was about three feet away from her. And grinning like a devil.

  ‘Knew you couldn’t resist it in the end,’ said Gil.

  And kissed her.

  It was like drowning. It was like flying. It was total sensation. It was beyond thinking. Beyond any further moves in any hypothetical game.

  And, she suddenly realised, it was for ever. ‘I love you,’ said Bella, shaken.

  But it was soundless and Gil’s eyes were closed. He did not hear.

 
; Just as well, thought Bella, pulling herself together, though her body still trembled in his arms. The sea pushed and nudged at them like a playful animal. Gil gave a husky laugh and opened his eyes.

  ‘We’re going to drown if we stay here.’

  I think I just did.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ agreed Bella ambiguously.

  She let him lead her out of the sea but detached herself as soon as they were on the beach, towelling herself with such concentration that she nearly took the skin off. Then she pulled her shirt over the damp bikini and buttoned it up to the throat.

  ‘Does the winch work or do we have to climb?’ she asked. To her own ears her voice sounded false.

  Gil looked at her narrowly. He did not attempt to touch her again.

  After a moment he said levelly. ‘It works. Let me show you.’

  And he did. He helped her onto the little stage, showed her the lever to pull, and stepped back.

  ‘I’ll walk,’ he said drily. ‘Give us both a breathing space. We seem to need it.’

  He was right. Of course he was right. But Bella went up on the winch alone shaking so hard that she had to lean against the retaining bar or her legs would have buckled.

  When it got to the top, she raced for the camera. It was a sort of protection. If she could remind him—remind them both—that she was here on a professional assignment, maybe she could take some of the dangerous tension out of the day.

  She couldn’t of course. Her body was not fooled. Her body was trembling so hard that she could scarcely hold the camera steady when she went to the top of the cliff to meet him.

  He came up the path slowly. He looked indescribably weary. Almost defeated. Bella could not bear it.

  She said his name softly. It was a note she recognised. And so did he. His head came up, and he met her eyes, his own incredulous.

  She took the photograph on pure reflex. Then, very carefully, she put the camera down and went towards him.

  Gil stopped dead, watching her gravely. Bella swallowed. And began to unbutton the damp shirt.

  His eyes flared.

  They did not make it to the house.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AFTERWARDS, of course, it was not at all romantic. The reality of sweaty, dust-stained bodies was as nothing compared with the screaming embarrassment in her head. She had virtually jumped on him! After he had told her that he did not take sex lightly! What he must think of her!

  And there was something wrong, she knew it. Gil kept looking at her, as if he was waiting for her to say something. What? thought Bella, almost hysterical. An apology.

  As soon as she decently could, she escaped into her bedroom and closed the door firmly. He did not invade her privacy. She had known he would not. She was glad.

  He was not out on the terrace or in the kitchen that evening, though. The music poured out into the scented night as it always did. The barbecue was alight as it always was. There were glasses on the marble table. But no Gil.

  Bella called his name. No answer. Was he playing games? She called again, more loudly.

  She thought there was a sound from the end of the garden, where the rose-covered perimeter wall was in darkness. He was playing games. Bella’s feelings fluctuated dramatically. She decided anger was safest. So, lips folded together, she marched down the path towards the sound.

  There was a door in the wall she had not seen before. She pushed it open.

  ‘Gil?’ She did not sound quite as angry as she would have liked to. Or as confident.

  A light wavered. Bella narrowed her eyes. He came to her out of the darkness. She held her breath.

  But when he spoke, it was the most prosaic stuff.

  ‘Did I alarm you? Sorry. The calor-gas cylinder is lower than I thought. And Jorgo didn’t leave the new one where I asked him to. I thought he might have put it down here in the garage but he hasn’t. I’m afraid we’ll lose all power this evening.’

  ‘Power?’

  He lifted the torch he was holding. ‘Yes. We’re a long way from mains electricity here, you know. The radio and CD player work off batteries but light and heat are gas powered. No more hot showers until I get a replacement cylinder, I’m afraid. And you’ll be going to bed by candlelight.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Bella. It came out a lot huskier than she’d meant.

  As they walked back to the house, the terrace lights flickered out.

  ‘There they go,’ said Gil, resigned.

  He put his arm round her. To steady her, presumably. He pointed the torch ahead of them at the uneven path, anyway. In the darkness, his body felt like warm rock at her shoulder.

  Bella had a sudden inner vision. This was the man he should have been, the man he really was. Not the cyber millionaire she was here to interview. Not even the edgy genius who had possibly, probably, fallen in love with Annis. This was a man who knew about the practicalities of survival. He had the sustaining strength of one of his own olive trees. Not massive but enduring.

  And he did not have enough passion in his life. Maybe she could give it to him. Maybe, in spite of the differences between them, maybe simple feeling could carry them through. She was in love, after all. She knew that now. Love counted for something, didn’t it?

  She said, ‘I wish you would make love to me, Gil.’

  It was meant to be an invitation but for some reason it sounded ineffably sad.

  Gil stopped dead. His arm fell.

  ‘Oh, Bella,’ he said, as if it was wrenched out of him. ‘I know it must sound stupid to you. But sex is more than fun to me. As long as there’s someone else in the picture, I just can’t.’

  She thought she would die, it hurt so much. Suddenly it didn’t matter if it was Annis or someone she had never heard of. There was a woman in his heart and in his memory that Bella could never oust, no matter what she did. Love was no use against a rival like that.

  She gave up then.

  He must have felt her reaction because he said quite kindly ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  But he did not put his arm round her again. He did not touch her at all that night or for the rest of their time together on the island.

  But he was a civilised man and he still made civilised conversation. Every word went through her like a knife but Bella lifted her chin and pretended that she did not care. For the two remaining nights, she fenced with him on the terrace in the starlight and then retreated to her solitary bed and lay wide awake until the dawn, agonised.

  Just once, he tried to open the subject again.

  It was on the last night. The angel voice was singing a playful, sexy little song about his lady love’s beautiful mouth and the way she said yes. Bella knew that was what it was about. She knew that CD insert off by heart now.

  Gil looked up from the wine he was not drinking and said with difficulty, ‘Bella—we have a problem. I want to be honest with you. There’s no future for us until this other love—whatever it is—is well and truly in the past. Can you see that?’

  She shrugged. ‘You don’t have to tell me that.’

  She thought he flinched. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  The dancing little tune was suddenly unbearable. She got up.

  ‘So that adds up to no future at all, I think. Probably just as well. We’re not exactly soul mates, are we? I think I’ll go to bed now. It’s a long journey tomorrow.’

  And she fled.

  It was a relief to get back to work. In three days she had the story on her editor’s desk.

  Rita Caruso was pleased with the diary of the millionaire’s island, ecstatic with the photographs for some reason, although Bella knew that her lack of expertise showed badly. Caruso was less pleased with the covering copy.

  ‘Where are the secrets?’ she demanded. ‘You were there for a week. He must have told you something.’

  ‘No.’

  Caruso narrowed her eyes at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Did you have an affair with him?’

 
Bella was silent just fractionally too long. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You did. Great. That’s exactly what we need. You can gloss the diary. But at night we—’

  ‘No,’ shouted Bella, jumping to her feet.

  Caruso was suddenly steely. ‘You want that job when your secondment is over?’

  She did. Oh, she did. She needed it. The only thing that was going to get her through this awfulness was a job she could immerse herself in. But not if it meant betraying Gil.

  ‘Not at that price,’ said Bella quietly.

  ‘Then get out. You’re fired.’

  Bella nodded. Under the shocked eyes of the other people at the meeting, she stood up, gathered her notes and left.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Sally diving after her.

  The fellowship of the workplace locked into place at once. Three of them took her to lunch.

  ‘You don’t want to listen to Caruso. She fires everyone at least three times,’ said one.

  ‘She’ll be calling you in to cancel before the day’s out,’ offered another.

  ‘Can’t you compromise?’ suggested Sally. ‘Meet her half way? I mean, you must have had a passionate kiss in the moonlight once. That gear I ordered up for you. No man would be able to keep his hands off that.’

  ‘No,’ said Bella with resolution.

  Sally bit back a smile. But she said, ‘OK. Your funeral.’

  So Bella was packing her personal effects into an old photocopier-paper box, when she registered that a hush had fallen on the room.

  Caruso coming back to put the boot in for a second time, she thought wearily. She turned, bracing herself.

  ‘It’s all right. I’m packing up—’

  And broke off.

  It was Gil de la Court. He was in his city suit again but somehow she did not see it. She only saw the golden brown eyes. They looked very serious.

  He got to her desk, took the box away from her and took both her hands in a strong clasp.

  ‘Bella Carew, you’re a crazy, complicated deceptive woman. I don’t care if you still think you’re in love with another man. I know you’re not. You may be in mourning for your lost childhood, but we can deal with that. This thing between us is too good to let it go for a fantasy. Will you marry me?’