‘Guess what happened today?’ he asks grinning cheekily making him look much more like a member of a boyband than a thirty-two-year-old Assistant Bank Manager of one of the biggest branches in the county.
‘I got a rise. One step closer to putting a deposit down on my TT,’ he winks.
‘Woah that’s great, but what TT?’ Isabel frowns, leaning back from his approaching lips.
‘The Audi TT, the black one I showed you in the showroom in Truro.’ He lifts her up and she wraps her legs around his waist.
‘I know you’re joking,’ she says, but eyes him suspiciously ‘Mortgage first Mr Banker, then we’ll see about the TT.’
‘Ohhhh so masterful Miss Marsh,’ he says, spinning her around, her legs gripping tighter. ‘Do you know how gorgeous you are? Especially when your hair begins to dry into those beautiful Spanish curls!’
She kisses him playfully on his neck. His dark brown eyes and thick lashes were one of the first things that attracted her to him almost five years ago. He accidently knocked a pile of books from her arms, running into her outside of Cardiff University Library, where she was a student. He was only a trainee bank clerk back then and his hair was longer. She smiles and admires his thick wavy dark hair, trimmed neatly into his tanned neck, accentuating his broad shoulders. At six-foot-two, he is an excellent football- and basketball-player, but no matter how much he tries to build himself up, he can’t seem to change his natural slim athletic build. Isabel is glad. She is not attracted to big, muscular men. As far as she is concerned, his physique is perfect.
Isabel undoes his top button revealing the wooden beaded necklace he always wears, hiding it beneath his shirt at work. He had bought it in Tarifa in Southern Spain when he went surfing with his two best mates. He was just eighteen. They also had matching tattoos done, a Celtic design with three simple swirls which symbolise “family”. I suppose the three of them saw themselves as brothers back then. That was before he came back and decided that, after a year of travelling, he should settle down and study for his A-levels. He passed them all with average grades in Law, Maths, and Economics. Afterwards, he decided that he’d had enough of studying so started work in a bank in Cardiff, where he later met Isabel.
She giggles as he lowers her down onto the bed, her legs still gripping tightly around his waist.
‘So, Miss Marsh,’ he teases, slipping her bra straps from her shoulders, ‘what have I done to deserve being welcomed home by my gorgeous girlfriend in nothing but her sexy black underwear? There isn’t another man hiding in the wardrobe is there?!’
He jumps up theatrically and begins pulling open cupboard doors. Isabel laughs as he leaps back onto the bed, pinning her wrists down with one hand and unclasping her bra from beneath her arched back with the other. He kisses her deeply as they begin to move rhythmically together, all thoughts about cars or money erased, both caught up in a blissful, overwhelming sea of sensations.
Chapter 4
‘Oh crap, I was supposed to meet Claire and Rachel half an hour ago,’ squeals Isabel as she jumps up from her slumber on the bed and retrieves her underwear entangled in the sheets. ‘I was actually trying to figure out what to wear when you came in and distracted me,’ she giggles.
Paul lies back in the bed, his arms behind his head, watching her with a big smile on his face.
‘Jeans,’ she says, ‘it’ll have to be jeans.’ She pulls out her old favourite Levi’s and a brown leather belt with a big decorative buckle. She slips them over her slender hips and chooses a flowery baggy gypsy blouse, wedge heeled brown sandals and a long beaded necklace to complete the look.
‘Hair!’ she screams, as she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, ‘oh well, no time to straighten it!’ Paul watches her proudly as she pulls her hair into a loose bun, adds the minimal amount of pink lip gloss and declares herself ‘ready to go!’
‘You are so low maintenance Miss Marsh,’ he laughs, ‘and that’s one of the many reasons why I love you so much.’
‘You do?!’ she poses provocatively, hands on her hips. He tries to grab her playfully as she leans down to kiss him, but she backs away from him, waving happily. ‘See you later sweetheart. There’s a pizza in the freezer.’
The Ploughman’s is busier than usual, even for a Friday. Isabel winds her way stealthily through the crowds, glancing at the queue, three rows deep, as she passes the bar searching for her friends. She hopes that Claire and Rachel have already got their orders in. It would take at least half an hour to get through the jostling throng of thirsty punters, especially at five-foot-three, unless she crawled through their legs. Definitely an option!
She’s relieved to hear her name being shouted above the overly amplified tunes of Bonjovi “Livin’on a Prayer”. She spots them on a picnic bench out in the beer garden and after a few very near misses involving elbows and full pints of lager, she plonks herself gratefully down on a spare seat next to Claire.
‘I’m soooo sorry I’m late girls,’ she says, her face flushed and tendrils of loose dark curls framing her face.
‘We thought we’d have to come over and drag you out. Thought Paul might have held you hostage or something!’ says Rachel, winking ‘here have a drink.’ She splashes cold white wine from a frosted bottle of Chardonnay into a spare wine glass. ‘You need to catch up! We bought two bottles so we wouldn’t have to queue and lucky for you the kitchen is so busy that there’s a half an hour wait on food! We ordered the usual. Hope that’s ok?’
‘Yeah, great, I’ve been dreaming about it since I left work. Have you seen the mob in there tonight? What happened to our quiet local? I had to fight my way through. Bloody tourists I expect; I hardly recognise anyone!’
Claire, as always, is wearing skinny jeans and a slightly oversized, navy blue t-shirt with a sparkly union jack emblazoned across the front. She has always been slim and athletic, but never likes to draw attention to her boyish figure and small chest. She moved to Cornwall at the age of thirteen from Yorkshire. Claire, Rachel, and Isabel have been best friends ever since.
‘Anyone mind?’ she asks as she slips her mobile phone back into her bag and pulls out her pouch of tobacco and starts skilfully rolling a cigarette.
‘Go ahead,’ says Rachel, rubbing a perfectly manicured finger around the rim of her glass, ‘just make sure the wind isn’t in my direction. This dress just cost me sixty-five pounds, trade price.’ Rachel is wearing a gorgeous LK Bennett black, box-necked shift dress which flatters all her curves. ‘Check out the bling!’ she adds excitedly, leaning forward. ‘Present from Stephen today. Isn’t he just adorable?!’
Adorable isn’t the first word that springs to Isabel’s mind as she admires the Swarovski earrings. Rachel had met Stephen six years ago when he started working on the tills in the same shop as her. She was basically his boss then. He was a good natured, sweet man. Tall and gangly with shoulder-length wavy chestnut brown hair and a piercing through his nose. That was then of course. He has since graduated in Accounting and Economics and is working from home as a freelance financial advisor and doing very well by the sound of it. He got down on one knee, three years ago, on the pebbly shore of Cartheston beach after a romantic picnic of smoked salmon, strawberries and Frank and Audrey’s finest sparkling wine. He’d even remembered the cups!
‘Three scampi?’ Two waitresses arrive at their table and begin offloading knives, forks, serviettes, sauces, coleslaw and three steaming baskets full of delicious crispy scampi on chunky home-made chips.
‘Mmmm, proper pub grub,’ says Isabel, sprinkling her food liberally with a sachet of salt. ‘Jeeez, if ever I had to decide what my last meal was going to be, it’d be this. I’m sure I’d still have an appetite for it even if I was about to meet my maker!’
‘Mmmm, me too,’ says Rachel, blowing steam from her mouth as she struggles to cool a hot crispy chip on her tongue.
‘So when’s the big day Rach?!’ Claire asks, taking a big glug of wine and looking slightly uncomfortable. Jealousy
perhaps? Claire hasn’t had a boyfriend that anyone knows about since she was eighteen and that only lasted a few months.
‘We’re planning for august next year. You’ll both agree to be my bridesmaids of course, won’t you?’
‘Of course!’ Isabel jumps excitedly up and down on the bench, creating a small pool of wine that begins to drip through the slatted table onto her jeans. ‘But I think we’ll be more “Maids of Honour” at our age,’ she laughs, reaching over and gripping her friend’s hand happily.
‘Back in a mo,’ says Claire suddenly, ‘Loo.’
‘Don’t be too long, we need to get measurements. I’ve brought my tape measure!’ teases Rachel.
‘Hey, we’re running low. While she’s gone, I’ll go and get another bottle in. I’m the smallest, it’s easier for me to squeeze my way through to the bar,’ Isabel winks. ‘Save our seats and don’t get calling lover boy to join us while I’m gone. It’s a girl’s night, remember!’ she waves a pointed finger in her face, jokingly.
As she heads to the bar, unsteadily on her wedge heels, Isabel sees Claire through the window talking to a man on the pavement outside Joan’s front door. She seems in deep conversation. ‘Dark horse’ she mutters to herself as she struggles to make out his features. They look intense, as if arguing. She side-steps quickly away from the window as Claire tugs pleadingly one last time on the sleeve of this stranger’s shirt and strides off the kerb back towards the pub. As the door swings open, Isabel recoils into the crowd and Claire marches past her towards the toilets. Confused and concerned, Isabel looks through the window but the man has already gone. Obviously in as much of a hurry to get away as Claire was.
‘Drinks!’ Isabel announces loudly as she returns to the table, suspecting that Claire will probably be glad of one after what she had just witnessed. But, she is surprised to find quite the contrary...! Claire and Rachel are laughing hysterically about themed weddings and ridiculous ideas for the hen night. Rachel is laughing so much that tears of mascara are running down her cheeks and Claire is gripping the table with one hand and her stomach with the other as she struggles to breathe.
‘Have I missed something??’ asks Isabel with a note of confusion and seriousness in her voice.
The evening passes without any mention from Claire about her mysterious rendez-vous. Rachel seems totally oblivious to it all, so Isabel decides to say nothing and helps herself to another large glass of wine.
Chapter 5
‘Why did I drink so much? I never drink that much!’ Isabel groans to herself as she sits up in bed, muffling her face in Paul’s pillow. She opens her gritty eyes and exhales noisily, causing her to feel a bit light-headed and queasy. She can’t even remember getting home. She looks across at the digital alarm clock, being careful not to move her head too quickly. The blurry digits tell her that it is 9.30 a.m. The smell of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke emanate from her clothes. Her clothes?!! ‘Oh my god, I’m still wearing my clothes! I must have been about eighteen the last time I woke up fully dressed!’ she groans to herself, running her beaded necklace through her fingers. I could have choked myself on this in the night!! she thinks, as she starts to smile, remembering the ridiculous wedding ideas they had come up with last night.
As she starts to come around and think more logically, she wonders where Paul is. She can’t even remember seeing him when she got back last night. Maybe she had done something stupid? Maybe he’s angry with her?
‘Paul?’ she shouts, not yet risking to get off the bed. No answer. Damn!
She slowly hauls herself to her feet and stands for a few seconds to check how she feels. Once she is sure that she’s not going to fall over or be sick, she heads across the landing and down the stairs. No note on the kitchen table. No empty coffee cup. How strange. She picks up her handbag which she finds strewn across the living room floor and takes out her mobile. No messages or missed calls. She dials his number and collapses onto the soft musty sofa with her legs hanging over the arm.
‘Hey you!’ he answers, ‘Good night?’ So, he’s not angry! thinks Isabel, relieved.
‘Pffff... overdid it a tad. I’m sorry If I was a pain when I got in last night. I must have woken you?’ she croaks, rubbing her forehead.
‘Good job I decided to go out myself then,’ he laughs.
‘Oh? Were you at the pub? You should have popped over to say hello. I was in the garden with Claire and Rach,’ she says, suddenly remembering Claire’s strange behaviour last night.
‘No, I thought about it but it was so busy that I went over to Craig’s instead. I’m still with him now. Just finishing my coffee and I’ll be home, ok?’
‘No rush, I woke up in my clothes so may need a lazy day!!’
‘Christ Izzy, the kids in school must be really getting to you...! How was Claire by the way? Did she... did you all have a good chat?’ he asks.
‘Fine, Why? What do you mean? How do you...? I mean, we had a riot actually! Has Claire spoken to you?’
‘No, why would she? I just wondered if you all had a good night that’s all.’ Isabel notices that he sounds cagey all of a sudden. ‘Look, I’m going to finish my coffee and come straight home sweetie, ok? You just chill, take a paracetamol and maybe soak in the bath for a while?’
Isabel lies still on the sofa for a while feeling the first stirrings of an emotion she hasn’t felt for a long time. A vulnerability, uncertainty that gives rise to a faint feeling of panic deep in her stomach. But why? She’s not a self-doubter, not suspicious or jealous, so what is causing this unsettling unfamiliar feeling?
Suddenly, she is jolted from her slumber by a scratching at the kitchen door. She realises that she has accidently shut Sasha in there. ‘Come here, you poor little girl. Mummy’s just having a strange few days my gorgeous,’ she says as she opens the patio door and the little dog scampers out onto the tiny patch of lawn, all forgiven!
‘Right! Tea, shower, clothes and then I’ll go next door to check whether Joan has any post that needs collecting... in that order!’ she says aloud to herself in an effort to pull herself together. She flicks the kettle on and glances over at the keyring holder on the wall under the cupboards where she had hung her neighbour’s key yesterday. She remembers hanging it there. The little embroidered rose... she opens the cupboards checking between the pots of herbs and packets of pasta, but she can’t see it.
‘Oh great, just to top it all, I’ve lost Joan’s key as well,’ she moans desperately, dropping her head into her arms on the kitchen surface, feeling totally defeated.
Then the front door bangs shut. Isabel simply lifts up her arms and staggers into a welcome hug from Paul. ‘That was quick,’ she mumbles gratefully. After a few minutes of blissful comfort in his arms she looks up at him, ‘would you do me the biggest favour? Could you bring me up a cup of tea? I’m going to take your advice and get into the bath. I think I’m going mad!’ she says as she slips from his arms and pads over to the stairs.
‘Oh sweetheart,’ he laughs softly, shaking his head lovingly as if consoling a small child. ‘I’ll be up in a few minutes.’
Chapter 6
Claire sits cross-legged holding her mobile in her hands, staring at the blank screen, occasionally pressing the small button on the side causing the screen to illuminate for a few seconds. It reveals the photo of her, with her two best friends in the world, on a night out in Plymouth a few months ago. All laughing, holding up glasses of sparkling wine, leaning against the bar with the brightly coloured bottles of spirits lined-up on the shelves behind them. Rachel looks glam, as always, in her tight red dress with a plunging neckline. Isabel, demure but exotic with her dark hair tumbling over her bare tanned shoulders, in a sleeveless chiffon turquoise top over skinny jeans. But then she focuses on herself, in her black jeans, UGG boots and her favourite Rolling Stones t-shirt. Why would anyone find me attractive? she thinks.
She throws her phone onto the sofa next to her and, as it bounces off a black and white union jack scatter cus
hion, it lands screen-up and begins to ring. Isabel’s name is flashing as the old-fashioned drilling ring tone fills her silent apartment. She doesn’t want to press the ‘ignore’ button in case Isabel suspects that she is avoiding her. Maybe she suspects something anyway? ‘Shit. I can’t talk to her now,’ she says aloud to Frank, her ginger cat, as he stares at her with his unblinking feline eyes. A non-committal, aloof stare, but still, not uncaring. The phone stops ringing. I’ll have to face her at some point, she thinks, biting her bottom lip as tears of guilt begin to blur her vision and Frank the cat slips stealthily from the room to the comfort of Claire’s bed.
Chapter 7
Isabel looks at the time on her phone: 11.30. Surely Claire must be up by now? She drops her mobile on the bed and heads back to the bathroom to dry her hair. The smell of smoke from last night has gone but, just in case, she sprays herself liberally with the light musky scent of Giorgio, Beverley Hills. It instantly lifts her mood. Her legs still ache from yesterday’s run, but that makes her feel slightly less guilty about not feeling up to training with Paul this afternoon. She usually enjoys the challenge of trying to keep pace with him along the cliff paths, Sasha always covering twice the distance, running backwards and forwards in-between them, confidently leading the way.
Paul trains twice a week with the local football team and Sunday is usually match day. She might not even be able to go and watch him play tomorrow, if she can’t get her school work done today.
‘Paul?’ she shouts from the landing, ‘I might just drive over to Claire’s in a bit. You’ve probably already guessed that I’m not up for running today!’
He appears at the bottom of the stairs in his jeans and a black and grey striped rugby shirt holding a spatula.
‘I’ve made your favourite though Iz. Fried eggs and mushrooms on toast,’ he smiles, waving the spatula around, ‘then I thought we could go for a walk with Sasha instead. Its beautiful out there’ he indicates with the utensil, leaving the window speckled with butter. ‘Oops!’ he laughs, as he runs back to the kitchen.
Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) Page 2