Was she alluding to his skin colour? Hah! If so, she’d soon learn that it would take more than that to rattle him. ‘The point is,’ he continued, ignoring Alice, ‘that I think your new friend knows who we are. She’s been giving me some really funny looks.’
Melissa moved away and, seemingly aware now of her daughter’s disapproval, adjusted her top self-consciously. Having those kids here made him feel as though he and their mother were a pair of teenagers, trying not to get caught. ‘It’s all right. I had a word with her. Don’t look so worried, I’m sure she won’t tell anyone. She’s really sweet.’
He almost choked. ‘You told her who I was?’
‘Not exactly. I just said I’d rather she didn’t mention we were here to anyone. She lives in Corrywood. Such a coincidence!’
This was getting worse. Of course the woman would have put two and two together. She was probably ringing up OK or Hello! or Charisma magazine right now.
Swiftly, Winston tried to think damage limitation. If Emma had blown their cover, there was nothing he could do about it. After all, it was Melissa who had been worried about publicity when he’d proposed. She’d wanted the children to have a normal life, or so she said.
For himself, Winston was used to the fact there was a price to be paid for fame. Yet at the back of his mind, all the time, there was always the fear that the rat pack might dig up the one thing he didn’t want anyone else to know. Including Melissa.
Meanwhile, he was still mad about last night. ‘Haven’t you got something else to do?’ he said, glaring at Alice, who was watching them like a Victorian chaperone.
‘Winston!’ protested Melissa, frowning. ‘She’s entitled to sunbathe, isn’t she?’
‘It’s not as though there’s anything else to do,’ scowled Alice. ‘When Dad used to take us away, there was always a proper teenage club. Not some hole like this place.’
‘Then don’t bother staying,’ he retorted.
‘Winston!’
Melissa’s furious face forced him to mutter an apology. Maybe he had been a bit sharp, but they were all a bit twitchy still after last night. When Melissa had woken him to say that Alice and Jack still weren’t back, he’d reluctantly gone out to look for them. It had been pitch-black out there; if he hadn’t had his special head torch, he might never have found them. In fact, they were only a mile or so down the lane, walking back up to the hotel and pushing the kid’s bike, which had broken down.
Frankly, he was just relieved he’d found them safe and sound. But Melissa didn’t view it that way. Instead of seeing the bright side (the kids were in one piece, weren’t they?), she was almost hysterical when they’d all trooped back. ‘You know you’re not allowed on a motorbike,’ she’d wept. ‘Your father and I always made that quite clear.’
Then she’d turned to him. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
So he’d torn a strip off the boy, because that’s what Melissa seemed to expect, although deep down he felt quite sorry for him. He seemed quite nice and genuinely remorseful for having got his stepdaughter back late. After all, a snapped cable could happen to anyone.
Winston had said as much to Melissa when they’d finally got to bed, but she’d accused him of not understanding because he didn’t have children. Somehow it all escalated into a bit of a row which, thankfully, had ended with some pretty passionate make-up sex.
Today – amazingly – Melissa seemed to have forgotten that it was her daughter who had broken the motorbike rule. Instead, she was giving poor old Jack the cold shoulder, which wasn’t very fair. She’d also (despite the make-up sex) gone back to being cool with him too, as though this had somehow all been his fault.
Well, excuse me for being here on my own honeymoon, he almost wanted to say. Couldn’t Melissa see that the little monkey was twisting her round her little finger?
‘Why didn’t you tell Emma that you weren’t going to do the yoga any more after what Jack did?’ asked Melissa, referring to Winston’s all-too-hasty promise last night in an attempt to appease his wife.
Winston shrugged, watching her move away from him to the sun chair next to her daughter, as though trying to put as much distance as possible between them. He hadn’t realised until the honeymoon just how stubborn his new wife could be. ‘Because I’m still thinking about it. I know you’re cross with the boy, but he didn’t mean any harm.’
Alice shot him a reluctantly grateful look.
‘And besides, your new friend is looking forward to the class,’ he added. ‘It would be a shame to disappoint her.’
Melissa nodded thoughtfully. ‘I was thinking exactly the same myself. And maybe you are right about Jack. He seems quite a sweet lad.’
That was more like his wife; the one he had met three months ago. A real softie, although every now and then he glimpsed a flash of defiance underneath.
Just like Nick.
‘In fact,’ said Winston, leaping to his feet, ‘I thought I’d go and find Jack now. Sort out a few things.’
Alice looked alarmed.
‘About the yoga. I need to check my emails too, and the reception’s better up there. See you later, OK?’
It was so good to get some time on his own. Every time he spoke now, he was waiting for his stepdaughter to jump down his throat. Melissa was different too when her kids were around – not so affectionate with him, only interested in her children. She also, like her daughter, kept referring to previous holidays, stirring him into jealousy. ‘Remember the Seychelles where we went scuba diving with Daddy?’ she’d said to Freddie only that morning, forgetting – or so it appeared – that her previous husband had behaved appallingly. In fact, her tone had been decidedly wistful.
Not for the first time, Winston began to feel a tremor of misgiving. Had he jumped in here a bit too soon? When Melissa had first told him about her kids, he’d wanted to look after them too, make up for the pain they’d been through.
What he hadn’t realised was that they still seemed to love their father. Instead, he, Winston, who hadn’t done anything wrong, was the enemy.
Now, however, he had a plan. It was quite simple really. Befriend the enemy. Fool them into thinking that you’re onside.
In other words, do something that would make Alice like him. All he needed to do was find … ah. There she was.
‘Mrs Harrison?’
The small, slim woman scattering corn to the chickens swivelled round. There was something about her heart-shaped face, framed with wispy bits of blond hair, which seemed vaguely familiar.
Then again, maybe it was just that common need to ‘recognise’ strangers in order to feel secure when you were away from home. He and his men had felt the same during those long six-month tours. Sometimes, the more you looked at someone, the more you thought you knew them – even when you’d never clapped eyes on them before.
Now Winston forced himself to smile; to put on what his assistant Poppy called his camera face. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m worried we got off on the wrong foot about your son and my stepdaughter. Jack seems a very nice boy.’
She was staring at him, hands on hips, waiting defensively.
‘He is,’ she retorted coolly.
‘I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble,’ he added.
‘Why should he be?’ Turning her back on him, she scattered more corn so that the chickens’ squawks almost drowned their conversation. ‘He didn’t do anything wrong. All the kids have motorbikes out here. It’s how they get around. If your stepdaughter isn’t allowed on one, it’s up to her to say so. My son can’t be held responsible.’
So defensive about her son! Just like Melissa over her kids. What was it about parents and children? His own father had never stood up for him and he wouldn’t have expected it.
Winston shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other, wondering how to phrase the next bit. ‘There’s something else too. It was very good of you to give up your room for us. I’m concerned that we’ve put you out.’
Her tone was softer. Friendlier. ‘You don’t have to worry about that. Sounded like it was our mistake.’
Despite her conciliatory words, Mrs Harrison was eyeing him strangely. She’d definitely recognised him. He could see that. Might as well come clean. ‘We appreciate the anonymity,’ he said crisply. ‘Thanks. It’s important to my wife that our honeymoon is as private as possible.’
Mrs Harrison raised an eyebrow in a rather imperious manner. She was possibly a little younger than he was, yet there was something about her which made him feel she had the edge. She seemed to know it too.
‘All honeymoons should be private.’
Winston found himself beginning to stutter, something he hadn’t done since school. ‘All I’m saying is that if any … if anyone should ring, asking if we are here, I’d be grateful if you could put them off.’
Another scornful look. ‘Mr King, I can assure you that I never reveal the identity of any of my guests, even if they’re famous.’ She flashed a short smile at him, leaving Winston feeling even more confused. Had she recognised him? Or was she just talking generally when she’d mentioned the ‘famous’ bit? It was hard to tell.
‘Now,’ she added with a sharp look, ‘if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’m afraid I have work to do.’
And with that, she turned and left.
There was something about this ballsy woman that both infuriated him and yet – if he hadn’t been married – was curiously attractive. Was there a Mr Harrison? Surely it couldn’t be the Greek oik she was always hanging around with. (For some reason that he couldn’t put his finger on, he really didn’t like the look of the bloke.)
Winston considered this as he wandered on through the ground floor of the villa, admiring the bold watercolours on the walls, the blue and orange rugs on the stone floor and the huge white pitchers, bursting with pink flowers that he couldn’t put a name to. No, Mrs Rosie Harrison was probably one of those self-assured English divorcees, who had come over here to make a new life and take a lover. What was wrong with that?
‘Hi there.’ Entering the kitchen with its huge gleaming range and copper saucepans hanging from the ceiling, he smiled reassuringly at the boy, who was prepping the veg. Nice movement, observed Winston. The kid could certainly use a knife.
‘It’s OK. Don’t look so worried. I’ve come to apologise.’
The boy frowned. He looked a bit like a startled hedgehog with his hair ruffled up like that. When was it, wondered Winston, that young boys lost that rather sweet expression? Thirteen? Fourteen? It depended on what life had thrown at them, he supposed. For him it had been much younger. Maybe that explained why he was as he was. Independent but needy, as Nick used to say.
‘About the bike business,’ he continued, pulling up a chair next to the kid. ‘Reckon I was a bit tough on you last night. My wife too. I want to make it clear we don’t hold you responsible.’
The boy’s face cleared. ‘Really?’
‘Sure.’ Winston tried to sound casual. ‘Tell me, do you like my stepdaughter, Jack?’
The poor kid was blushing as red as the tomatoes on the wooden board in front of him.
Winston gave him a reassuring pat on the back. ‘It’s natural if you do.’ For a minute, he thought back over some of the girlfriends he’d had as a young man. There had definitely been one or two whom he would have liked to have seen more of, but it wasn’t easy when you did his kind of job.
‘The thing is,’ he went on, ‘my stepdaughter is a bit bored. So’s her brother. I was wondering if you could get them involved with your mates.’
‘Sure.’ The kid was flushing even more.
‘I don’t mean take them out on bikes. Just for some beach volleyball or whatever it is you do round here.’
Jack’s eyebrows were raised, reminding him of his mother’s steady gaze just now. ‘We do a lot of fishing. And football.’
Fishing? Great. That would really get the kids out of his hair for a good two or three hours. With any luck, he might persuade Melissa it was all right if Freddie was there as well. ‘Fantastic. Now all I need you to do is suggest it to Alice. It would look better if it came from you.’ He delved in his pocket and brought out a couple of notes.
The kid’s face tightened. ‘I felt bad about you giving me money last time, sir. I don’t take money for friendship.’
Instantly, Winston realised he’d stepped out of line. ‘Sorry. I just thought we might make some kind of regular arrangement. A boy like you could probably do with some pocket money.’
‘It’s why I help out here.’
Good honest labour. Mrs Harrison had brought him up well. ‘Sure. Sorry.’ Now it was Winston’s turn to feel like a gauche teenager. ‘So, I’ll leave it up to you, shall I? Oh, and by the way, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let Alice know that the day out suggestion came from me.’
The boy’s eyes narrowed. ‘You want me to lie?’
‘Of course not. But that yoga instructor …’
Winston was fishing here but his instinct told him he was right.
‘He didn’t really let you down, did he, Jack? You forgot to book him and you’ll be in trouble if you don’t find a replacement.’
Jack nodded reluctantly. Just as he’d thought. It was the kind of thing Winston might have done himself at that age. ‘So we have a deal then? I’ll still do your yoga, provided you entertain my stepkids.’
The boy shrugged in agreement, giving him a look that made Winston feel rather dirty. Wishing he could have put it a bit better, he turned away just as his mobile rang.
Unknown.
Winston’s antennae, fine-tuned through years of survival, prickled. He knew it. The blonde bride had alerted the press! It would be a journalist, wanting to ask how his ‘secret honeymoon’ was going.
‘Winston King?’
The voice down the line was vaguely familiar. ‘Marvyn here. Melissa’s husband. Her first husband.’
This was said as though a first husband was the only real kind.
Winston stiffened, conscious that Jack was probably listening behind him. ‘Marvyn.’ He tried to sound as though it was perfectly natural for the ex-husband of his wife to call during their honeymoon. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve just been talking to my daughter and I’d like to know what the fuck you think you’re up to?’
Swiftly Winston walked out of the kitchen, past Mrs Harrison, and waited until he had some privacy. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘My daughter said that you allowed her to go out with some kid from the village on a motorbike. How bloody irresponsible is that?’
Little minx! So Alice thought she could cause trouble, did she? ‘Actually she—’
Marvyn cut in furiously. ‘Don’t make excuses, Winston. You might think you’ve got a new family but they’re mine. Don’t ever forget it.’ There was a nasty laugh at the other end. ‘Melissa’s still in love with me, you know. You’ll find that out one day. You might think you’re a big shot, Winston King. But if I were you, I’d watch your back.’
Then the line went dead. The bastard had rung off.
TRUE HONEYMOON STORY
‘I didn’t see my husband during our honeymoon. It was 1962 and he was watching the World Cup on telly.’
Margaret, still a ‘football widow’
Chapter Fifteen
ROSIE
He still hadn’t recognised her! Somehow, Rosie thought he would have done by now. It was the day after she’d got back from Athens; time enough surely for him to have observed her more fully.
To have twigged.
She might be a Rosie rather than a Rosemary; her hair was shorter; she’d lost her West Country accent; and she was skinnier (ironically) after Jack than she had been before – but she wasn’t that different, was she?
Besides, there was no doubt now that Winston really was Charlie. After that shock encounter outside the villa, she’d raced to the office and shakily looked up the photocopy of the passport that
Jack had made when the Kings had arrived (at least her son had managed to do that right).
And there it was. Charles Winston King. Clearly he was using his middle name for some reason. Just in case there was any doubt, his date of birth matched. She’d remembered it because it was the same as her mother’s: 17 March.
Get real, she tried to tell herself while making up the beds in the annexe. He was twenty-three when you knew him. How many other girls do you think he’s had since then? Is it surprising he doesn’t remember you?
In fact, she reprimanded herself fiercely while tucking in the crisp cotton sheet corners the way Cara had taught her, she ought to count her lucky stars that he hadn’t.
Just think of the trouble it would cause! Her skin began to crawl with the implications. If Winston knew Jack was his child, he might try and get custody; might attempt to take her son back to England with him. Oh God. What a thought. Maybe she ought to see a lawyer. But there was only one on the island, and although Rosie had never needed to see him, she wasn’t sure how discreet he was. Discretion wasn’t considered a great virtue around here, where gossip was an integral part of day-to-day living. True, she could go to the mainland for legal advice, but that would mean leaving everyone again so soon after getting back; it was both impractical and risky. Winston might work out the relationship himself while she was away.
Anyway, she couldn’t abandon Jack again. Look at what had happened during just three days! She was lucky that the girl’s mother hadn’t caused more trouble about that motorbike. Jack knew he wasn’t allowed to date guests; it was why she’d had to get rid of a former waiter when he’d made off with a married woman who was staying with her husband. (They’d actually got married themselves later on, although that was another story.)
What a mess! Rosie smoothed down the white broderie anglaise duvet cover – what an irony that Winston and his bride were in her bed – and glanced in the mirror at her tousled blonde layers. She couldn’t help smiling wistfully at the memory of Charlie running his hands through her (then) long hair.
After the Honeymoon Page 14