‘If you’d like to lie on your back I’ll get started on your facial.’ He turned onto his back and wiggled into a comfortable position. As he did, the blanket shifted a little, exposing his right leg, and large scar that ran down the side of his calf almost from his knee to his ankle. I couldn’t help but think there was a lot more to him than met the eye.
‘You can call me Ben. Mr Huxley feels too formal.’ He looked up at me directly, so I smiled in agreement.
‘Okay, Ben. Just relax, close your eyes, and I’ll get started.’ He did, and I took a moment to study his face under the dim lighting. It was strong with a defined jawline covered in neatly groomed, brown stubble. Long eyelashes and thick, neat brows framed his eyes. He was very good-looking and the idea that he too had been discarded surprised me. I’d not even thought about anything other than my own rejection and always felt it was because I’d grown frumpy and dull, but here lay someone else just as broken as I’d been, who was beautiful.
As I cleansed his face I drifted a little, wondering why someone would jilt a man like this. I obviously knew nothing about him other than he was drop-dead gorgeous, had a sense of humour, and was willing to attend a spa day, but that all seemed pretty perfect to me. Was he jealous, possessive, aggressive, or just plain boring?
By the time I’d put the face mask on I wasn’t sure if he’d nodded off. It wasn’t uncommon. ‘I’m just going to leave that on for ten minutes,’ I said softly before slipping out of the room. There was a small area for staff tucked away behind reception. It was mostly used as a stock room but we could get a coffee or glass of water in there. Kristy was in there taking a break.
‘So what’s the story with honeymoon man then?’ Kristy asked leaning forward and propping her elbows on her knees.
Forward as ever. ‘He said his fiancée said the wedding wasn’t right. I suppose she called it off.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What, at the last minute?’
‘I don’t know.’
She shook her head gently. ‘He’s lush in an older guy way.’
‘Older?’ I bristled. I’d guessed he was about my age.
‘Well a good ten years older than me, I bet.’ She had a point.
‘He is pretty er … lush,’ I agreed. The word ‘lush’ hung around in my mouth. It didn’t sit right. It reminded me of when Olivia said I was ‘slaying it’. Maybe village folk should avoid modern vernacular.
‘Makes you wonder why someone would chicken out of marrying him at the last minute. He must be a weirdo,’ she said, downing the last of her water. ‘Anyway, I have a walk-in appointment. I’ll see you later.’ She left, and I took a moment to mentally scold myself for being so intrigued by this man.
When I went back into the treatment room, I said his name gently but got no reply. I walked over to the bed and saw he was sleeping. I smiled to myself. The faint crow’s feet around his eyes and the lines etched into his forehead were relaxed. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and whispered, ‘Ben.’ Slowly, his eyes flickered open and met mine, sending a jolt through me. I swallowed hard to compose myself and somehow managed to sound professional when I said: ‘We just have your manicure left to do.’
As we took our seats at the manicure station, I felt a little bit disappointed that this would be his last treatment. We hadn’t spoken much, but something about him made me want to stay in his company a little longer (Kristy would probably tell me that it was down to his gorgeous body, but I knew it wasn’t that). It was probably due to feeling we had a connection because I knew what he was going through, and unwittingly, he knew what I’d gone through. We’d both been cast aside like Primark hoodies at a marathon.
I caught his eye again, and another shock hit me. It was so hard to look at him – I felt like a Year Seven girl catching eyes with the cool Year Eleven boy. Electricity zapped me every time our eyes met. I took his hand and started waffling through the process, focusing heavily on his well-kept fingernails. He wasn’t a biter; the nails on his smooth, tanned hands were neatly kept and perfectly rounded. ‘So how have you managed to get a tan on your first day of the cruise?’ I asked, mentally cursing myself for sounding like an interfering old woman.
‘It’s left from my stag do over a month ago now. Some nice weather back home helped keep it topped up. We had five nights in Lisbon.’ He smiled, the first genuine one I’d seen. It reached his eyes – whatever memory was crossing his mind was obviously a good one.
‘Lisbon? Not your usual stag-do hot spot.’ The ship had been into Lisbon a few weeks before, and though I’d enjoyed its rich culture and history, I wouldn’t have had it down as a raucous stag-do city.
His downtrodden demeanour changed as the corner of his mouth pulled up, almost forming a smile. ‘Ah we’re over the whole Magaluf stag do thing. Never again.’ He shook away some private memory whilst I cringed at the mention of Magaluf. I still couldn’t believe some (most – okay all) of the things I’d done. ‘We just wanted good food, a pool, and a bit of culture to absorb whilst sampling some local beer.’ He seemed to have relaxed a little bit, which was such a shame as we were about ten minutes from the end, and I reckoned the chance of him coming back to the spa were slim.
‘Well, the itinerary for this cruise is great,’ I said. ‘It’s Barcelona tomorrow.’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing it. I’ve never been, so I can’t wait to see the tourist spots. Las Ramblas, La Sagrada Familia, and the Gaudí park are on my list.’ Some enthusiasm crept into his tone before his face dropped and I wondered if he was thinking about his ex not being with him.
I continued buffing his nails but I felt I should say something. I’d been in his position, after all. ‘I’ve toured many cities alone since working on the ship. I’d never done that without my partner before.’ He looked at me curiously. ‘I was married, before this.’ I gestured generally to the ship. ‘Now, on my days off, I venture into these beautiful, romantic cities alone and it’s okay. Better than okay, even. I can do it all at my own pace. I can shop for hours and eat where I like. There are a lot of positives.’
It was a crap attempt to console him, and I’m sure ‘eating what you want’ is no replacement for a wife, but he’d get it in time. Nobody had managed to say anything helpful to me when I was in my raw state of rejection. There were no words of wisdom.
‘Thanks.’ He forced a small smile and I gave his hand a brief, understanding squeeze before putting it down.
‘Well, your spa experience is finished,’ I announced, feeling sad that I’d probably be moving on to massaging a snappy middle-class woman who’d no doubt know how to do my job better.
‘Do you know, I actually enjoyed that,’ he said, standing to leave. ‘I’d always these considered spa treatments a bit girlie, but now I think maybe it’s just what us men are led to believe so we don’t take up all the appointments.’ I caught a glint of humour in his eyes.
‘Well you’re more than welcome to book back in,’ I said, a little too eagerly. ‘If you leave it until nearer the end of the cruise there are usually some good discounts to be had, but you didn’t hear that from me.’ I winked.
‘You never know. I’m now a convert!’ He smiled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier.’
‘Hannah.’
‘Hopefully I’ll see you around the ship, Hannah.’ He stood up.
‘Yes, I’m sure you will,’ I lied. If I wasn’t in the salon, I’d be asleep, on the crew deck, or exploring a city.
I liked the idea though.
Chapter Eleven
The next day I was thrilled to have a day off. Kristy was working, so it was just me and the wonderful city of Barcelona. It was a nice feeling to be out of my spa uniform and in the comfort of my khaki combat shorts and black vest. My hair was tied up to keep my neck cool, and I had a messenger bag with just some cash, my camera, and a bottle of water in. Simple.
The heat struck as soon as I stepped onto the gangplank. The height of summer had seen temperatures rise into the
uncomfortable. I walked for about fifteen minutes until I hit the bustling La Rambla. I’d done most of the sightseeing tours over the course of the last few months, so I’d reserved the day for shopping, tapas, and soaking up some culture. La Rambla was as busy as I’d expected. There were several cruise ships in port that day, meaning a possible ten thousand day trippers on top of the usual crowds.
I walked as briskly as I could past the street performers and human statues who were willing tourists to pay to have photographs taken with them. Remembering the cruise director’s regular warnings about pickpockets, I double-checked that my bag was zipped shut and clutched it close to my body.
Against my better judgement, I decided to hit some of the tourist shops. I’d not had a chance to before, and realized with a bit of a start there probably wouldn’t be too many more opportunities now that I was approaching the last month on my contract. I was a bit like a magpie drawn to souvenir tat, admiring the colourful magnets and key rings on a stall outside the first shop I came to. I wondered which of the colourful magnets would make good gifts for Jen and the people back home. There was still Rome and Venice to visit, I reasoned.
As I was putting the magnets back, I sensed a presence close to me. It seemed to move as I did, gliding nearer and nearer. I clenched my bag tighter and started to edge towards the entrance to the shop for safety when a hand touched my shoulder. I jumped.
‘Hannah?’
I spun round to see familiar brown eyes. ‘Mr Huxley, I mean, Ben?’ I said, quickly remembering his dismissal of formality.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you. I just saw a face I recognized and pounced without thinking.’ He smiled awkwardly.
‘It’s okay. I’m always just a little on edge after all the pickpocket warnings. It’s actually perfectly fine as long as you take precautions,’ I said. ‘Have you enjoyed the sights so far?’ I asked, trying to make general conversation over the noise of my still-pounding heart.
‘Yes, I love it,’ he replied enthusiastically. ‘I did a tour this morning but now I’m starving. I was going to head back to the ship until I spotted these tapas bars.’ He gestured to the busy boulevard behind.
‘Tapas in Barcelona is a must,’ I said politely. The guys and I had managed a late dinner together back in May on one of the side streets, not so long after Magaluf-gate! It had been to die for. ‘You should head off La Rambla de Santa Monica though – it’s an overpriced tourist trap.’ I adjusted the strap of my bag, getting ready to leave.
‘You could join me,’ he said quickly. ‘If you were planning to eat anyway …?’ My first instinct was to jump at the chance, which surprised me.
The two close encounters with men I’d had on board involved Pete, which was way too soon after Daniel, and then Javier, who was a victim of my Jäger-infused bravado. Sober, normal me hadn’t considered lunch with an attractive man (nor had sober, normal me had any offers). Aside from that, we weren’t supposed to get up close and personal with guests and Marion’s words about professionalism rang through my ears.
‘Thank you, I would have loved to but …’ My words stuck in my throat as I remembered he was broken, vulnerable, and alone. ‘The truth is that we’re not really allowed to spend time with guests socially unless they’re family or friends from home,’ I said honestly.
‘It’s just two people enjoying some great food … and maybe a jug of sangria.’ He raised an eyebrow on ‘sangria’. I supposed I was being a bit presumptuous, and the rules weren’t clear – surely tapas would be okay?
‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘Come on, I know a place.’ We turned onto Carrer dels Escudellers, one of the narrow side streets off the boulevard, and walked until we neared several restaurants with canopies and outdoor seating. I felt secure that none of the staff or crew members from the ship would see us; most of them would be off shopping or sleeping if they weren’t working. We sat down outside and looked at the menu and an awkward silence descended.
I studied the menu, still nervous of making eye contact. ‘Shall we share a few dishes?’ Ben asked over the top of his menu.
I braved a glance. ‘Yes, sounds good.’ I’d barely registered the options because my heart had been racing as I wondered what the hell I was doing. ‘How about some patatas bravas?’ I asked, guessing they’d be on the menu somewhere.
‘Perfect. Do you like chorizo? Tortilla española?’
‘Yes, both.’ As soon as I placed my menu down, a waiter approached us.
‘¿Para beber?’ he asked, drawing a blank expression from me.
‘What would you like to drink?’ Ben said from across the table.
‘You speak Spanish?’ I asked, impressed. My appreciation for second-language speakers had skyrocketed since trying to learn Italian.
‘Just a little,’ he replied modestly. ‘Do you fancy some sangria?’ Or perhaps even a Jäger-bomb.
‘Okay. I don’t have to work later so why not?’ Hopefully it will calm my racing heart.
Ben looked up at the waiter. ‘Sangría por favor, dos copas.’
‘I’m impressed,’ I said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Where did you learn Spanish?’
‘I studied languages at college. I thought it would give me a competitive edge in the jobs market and greater chance of getting what I’ve ordered when on holiday.’ He smiled.
‘Languages, plural?’ Not just a pretty face. As the conversation started to flow, I eased into myself a bit more, even chancing meeting his eyes. He was more confident, looking directly at me as he spoke.
He nodded. ‘I studied French too. When I was at college I spent the summer travelling France and Spain, brushing up.’
‘Well, those languages will come in very handy for the next two weeks.’ I smiled. I didn’t mention that I’d been learning Italian. I’d be too embarrassed if he asked me to say something; knowing Spanish probably meant he could understand a bit of Italian. The thought of looking stupid in front of Ben bothered me more than it probably should have.
‘I’m actually on a three-week cruise,’ he said. ‘Lydia, my ex, thought we should do something extra special and that two weeks just wasn’t enough, so we booked the one-week cruise from Venice to continue after this one.’ He raised his hands and shrugged.
‘Gracias,’ I said to the waiter when he brought the sangria, earning myself a smile from Ben.
He poured out two glasses of the deep red liquid and the smell of alcohol-soaked fruit wafted my way. ‘It is difficult to learn a language when you’re not immersed in it. It wasn’t until I travelled around that it all started to fall into place.’ He took a sip of his drink, and I did likewise. I wanted to ask him more about his fiancée and what led to her backing out of the marriage but I couldn’t. Baby steps. I tried an indirect approach.
‘So, what have you got planned for the rest of your holiday? Any excursions?’ I asked casually.
‘I’ve nothing planned so far. Do you have any recommendations? I’m assuming you’ve visited all of the places on the itinerary.’
‘Er, yes I think I have on this cruise, but your third week is a new one for me.’ The exact itinerary escaped me, as I was usually only a few days ahead in knowing the ports of call. ‘Barcelona is one of the highlights, which you can now tick off. And Rome is a must-see.’
‘Despite coming close on my travels, I’ve never actually been to Italy.’
‘If you haven’t drunk Prosecco in Italy then you’ve missed out,’ I teased.
‘I don’t know about that. I sampled lots of sangria in Spain.’ He grinned.
‘Well, that sounds just as good.’ I raised my glass and took a sip. It was at that point it dawned on me how relaxed I was. In the spa I’d felt so intimidated by him, but he seemed like a nice, normal guy. ‘You should book the tour in Rome. They cram so much into one day.’
‘Will you be on the tour?’ he asked. It took me aback.
‘Me? No. I’ll be working that day.’
His face dropped a little. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘I don’t know, I’ve done it before but we’d spent almost two years planning this wedding and the plans always revolved around what “we” would do. I suppose it’s just weird to be doing it alone.’ He rubbed his chin. He seemed uncomfortable talking about it and I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t involve prying, so I gave him a sympathetic smile.
‘But you’re here and you should enjoy it.’
‘I know, and I’m going to.’ He stared out down the narrow street with an unreadable expression. The waiter came back with our food. Rich aromas filled my nostrils: the spicy tomato sauce, the chorizo blended with the scent of sangria. The sun was beating down, and I felt the slight tingly buzz of the alcohol running through me. It was almost a perfect moment, but the strangeness of two people that had shared a similar heartbreak, being thrown together like this, didn’t escape me.
‘So, she didn’t want to go ahead with the wedding?’ I asked tentatively, remembering his words from the day before.
‘Nope. You’d have thought she’d have told me that before our supposed wedding day.’ He cut half of the tortilla and put it on my plate before dishing the rest onto his. ‘Sorry, I’m crappy company aren’t I?’ He smiled but it wasn’t the natural one I’d caught a few times already.
‘No, not at all,’ I said. ‘In actual fact, I was in your position just before Christmas. My husband of ten years announced out of the blue that he was leaving me for someone else. It was a massive sideswipe I’d not seen coming.’ I sighed, surprised at how easily it came out now. Ben furrowed his brow.
‘Jeez, I’m sorry. I guess some men are nobs too. At least we’d not got ten years of marriage in,’ he said sympathetically.
‘Yes, I was a bit of a mess. I almost lost my house, and I did lose my business because I spent a good six weeks wallowing in chocolate and alcohol. You’re doing well to be on a cruise so soon after.’ I jabbed my fork towards him for emphasis before popping a piece of chorizo in my mouth.
The Holiday Cruise Page 13