Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1)

by Michelle J. Bennett

  The spell is broken when Isabel asks ‘so, what would you say if I decided to give it another go with Paul?’

  Rachel snaps out of her meditative mood and sits upright in her chair, ‘What?? Have you gone mad?? You could have killed yourself after what he did to you. No... no, Iz, please.’

  ‘But I think I still love him and, well, I’m twenty-seven. We’ve been together for five years. What if it was just a silly misunderstanding?’

  ‘Misunderstanding? There’s nothing to misunderstand Isabel. He... slept... with... another... woman. Several times as far as we understand. Why would you ever trust him again? And you’re beautiful, Iz. And twenty-seven is not old! No... no, please Isabel, I couldn’t bare it. He’s broken the rules big-time... and your heart.’ She struggles out of the low deck-chair and frowns down at her friend.

  Isabel is shocked at her friends genuinely angry reaction. For a moment she thinks that Rachel is actually about to leave.

  ‘I’m going to find the loo,’ she says, grabbing her handbag and disappearing inside.

  Whilst she is alone, Isabel takes out her mobile and begins to text quickly:

  Paul, it’s Isabel. I spoke to my parents. I’m in Spain. Needed a break. Maybe we can talk when I get back? X

  Pressing the send button and almost immediately regretting it, she zips the phone safely back into her handbag. The second secret from my best friend. First Marcos and now a secret text, which she knows deep down she shouldn’t have sent. ‘What is the matter with me?’ she says through clenched teeth, trying desperately to regain an expression of nonchalance before Rachel returns.

  ‘Rach, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to being alone, I suppose, and I don’t feel like there’s anyone else out there for me at the moment,’ says Isabel. Rachel stands beside her reclining chair, looking doubtfully down at her with her hands on her hips.

  ‘At the moment. Exactly Iz. It’s only been two weeks. Give it time. I promise you, a girl like you is never going to be left on the shelf. You just haven’t been single for a while that’s all.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Isabel mumbles with forced confidence, ‘come on, let’s go and check out the menu. If we drink any more today I’m going to need to line my stomach!’

  Inside, the candles have been lit. They glimmer in small, colourful glass holders and the music has mellowed. There are still a few couples lying together on the beds outside, enjoying the gentle breeze and sipping the last of their cocktails. She notices a girl with long, wavy blonde hair, about her own age, tanned and exotic looking, sitting crossed legged swaying slowly in her partners’ arms, gazing out at the horizon. The man looks at his girlfriend with such adoration, stroking his fingers gently up and down her thigh. Isabel averts her eyes, with renewed feelings of envy and loneliness. Rachel, as if reading her thoughts, pulls her gently by her hand towards a table in the corner of the restaurant and whispers cynically, ‘he’s probably shagging his secretary anyway!!’

  Isabel smiles painfully as she begins to regret sending the text message to Paul and, realising that she has betrayed her best friend, flips to the drinks menu in a lame attempt to block out her guilt.

  ‘I reckon a bottle of Viña Sol for starters! What do you reckon Rach?!’

  They order another bottle of crisp, cold white wine and dig into a large bowl of nachos with plenty of guacamole, salsa and cheese. Fighting over the last crispy morsel, they sit back and admire the huge salad, sautéed potatoes and fried fish that they have ordered to share.

  ‘Well, this will line your whole body Iz, let alone your stomach! I think a swim to Málaga and back is in order tomorrow to work off some of these calories!’

  Isabel laughs whilst she folds a crispy lettuce leaf coated in olive oil into her mouth, licking her glistening fingers, ‘Mmmmmmm, I’m sure that salad tastes better here than at home.’

  Rachel nods in agreement as she delves her spoon deeper into the salad bowl and serves herself a large helping of fresh tomatoes, sweetcorn and boiled egg.

  ‘Talking about home,’ says Isabel, arranging three delicious chunks of lightly battered fish onto her plate, ‘did you meet Claire’s girlfriend while I was at my parents?’

  ‘I did. Just once though. She was waiting for Claire in her apartment when I dropped her off the night you were taken into hospital. I forgot to tell you. She seems really lovely and was obviously worried about Claire.’

  ‘Wow, that’s so lovely of her. She’s obviously smitten’ she smiles, ‘I just can’t believe that we’ve never guessed,’ she sighs in disbelief, accidently flicking a crispy potato across the table, ‘whoops...! What’s she like?!’

  Rachel takes a large sip of wine, raising her glass and making a gesture of genuine appreciation to the waiter. She pops a deliciously seasoned potato wedge into her mouth before continuing.

  ‘Mmmmmmm de-lish! Oh Lisa’s a really pretty girl. About your height, auburn wavy hair, sporty. Really sweet.’

  ‘I can’t believe that I thought that Claire was having an affair with Paul. I feel so horrible now. It’s like you thinking I’d sleep with your Stephen,’ they both laugh and raise their glasses to “friendship” as the restaurant begins to fill up around them and the music is cranked up, attracting the young, carefree party-goers. Before they know it, their plates have been cleared away and they have become part of the writhing throng of bare footed dancers on the cool sand outside on the beach. All talk of men and relationships forgotten.

  Chapter 18

  Paul, it’s Isabel. I spoke to my parents. I’m in Spain. Needed a break. Maybe we can talk when I get back? X

  Paul re-reads the message several times and tries to analyse it. It’s quite formal and abrupt, he thinks. Not like the messages he’s used to getting from Isabel. Lots of punctuation. She sounds angry, distant. But there is a kiss at the end. That must mean something, surely. ‘I spoke to my parents,’ he reads aloud. Oh no, so she knows about my tantrum on their doorstep... but that could be good? She knows that I care. “Talk??” Just talk? Not make up or discuss plans for our future? Talk? ‘What does that mean?’ he asks himself rubbing his hands roughly across the top of his head. And when is she coming back? She doesn’t say.

  Paul grabs his jacket from the back of the sofa in Craig’s apartment and runs down the stairs of the apartment block to his car.

  The lights are on in Rachel’s house. ‘Rachel, it’s Paul,’ he shouts, banging on the front door, ‘I know you’re home so don’t even pretend you’re not.’ He rings the bell and tries to spy through the window. The door opens, but instead of Rachel, Stephen is standing there looking innocent and confused. Good old, peace-loving, sensible Stephen.

  ‘Steve, I mean, Stephen... sorry, I must seem like a lunatic hammering on your door at this time of night. It’s just that I need to speak to Rachel,’ he says, craning his neck to see into the hallway behind him.

  ‘She’s not here Paul,’ Stephen replies calmly. There’s something about the honest tone of Stephen’s voice that makes Paul realise that he is telling the truth. He steps back from the door, rubbing his three-day stubble with both hands.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’

  ‘Stephen, man, you’re the first person to even give me a chance to speak, let alone invite me into their home,’ Paul says, embarrassed, as he realises he has tears in his eyes.

  Stephen steps aside and Paul leads into the sitting room. He sits down heavily on a comfortable looking arm chair near the window.

  ‘Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, beer, wine?’

  ‘A beer would be great, thanks mate,’ he says, even though he suspects that Stephen doesn’t see him as any sort of friend at the moment.

  Stephen returns with two bottles of beer and sits down on a hard dining chair opposite, choosing it over the comfort of the sofa beside Paul. He bends one long leg and crosses it, as casually as he can, over the other and leans forward.

  ‘She texted me,’ says Paul, his head hung low, peeling the label
from the bottle of beer. ‘I’ve been trying to work it out for a few hours now. I know she’s in Spain. Is Rachel with her then?’

  Stephen nods slowly, ‘she was really upset Paul. I can’t understand why a man, who was so, presumably, in love with a woman, would do such a thing and then expect to be forgiven. There’s no way on earth that I would ever do anything to hurt my Rachel.’

  ‘Oh shit, I know! It was just lust, you know? A sizzling, sexy neighbour literally throwing herself at you. What man could resist that...’

  Stephen’s expression clearly shows that he doesn’t “know”. He is a good, honest man, a “wimp” Paul used to laugh. But look who’s laughing now!

  ‘Stephen, where are they? Look I’ll show you the text,’ continues Paul, as he pulls out his mobile, ‘she clearly wants to talk. Please mate,’ he begs.

  Stephen hesitates and sees the anguished look on Paul’s face.

  ‘They’re somewhere in Málaga. Back on Sunday.’

  ‘Do you have an address?’ Paul asks, feeling a buzz of excitement as he imagines jumping on the next flight to bring Isabel home. He realises sadly that this probably only really happens in the movies though.

  ‘No, I don’t. She’s staying in some apartment but they’ve only gone for a week. Don’t be ridiculous man! If I were you I’d use this time to work out how you’re going to make it up to her when she does get back. Think hard Paul, she’s a lovely girl that one... and a good friend to my Rach. Loyal, you know what I mean?’ Stephen nods encouragingly at the man opposite him. He can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He looks dishevelled and unshaven. He looks like a man who knows that he’s made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Chapter 19

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been out so late in my life,’ laughs Rachel, as they sit in the hot tub the next afternoon, with plastic cups of orange juice balanced on the wall behind them.

  ‘Me neither, but strangely enough, I feel fine! I think it was switching to water at about 4 a.m. that helped!’ smiles Isabel, remembering the way that they had danced in the sand with no inhibitions, no worries, everybody just moving to the chilled-out beats, smiling at each other as if they were all a part of something very special.

  ‘What a place though! It was magical,’ says Rachel, relaxing her head against the cushion behind her.

  ‘Do you know what I fancy now?’ asks Isabel, with her eyes closed.

  ‘Dare I ask?’ answers Rachel, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘A fry up!’

  ‘Iz, we’re in Spain, I doubt they do that sort of thing here!’

  ‘Of course they do,’ replies Isabel, ‘this is the Costa del Sol. It’s full of ex-pats and English cafés. We just have to walk a bit further up the promenade. Stray away from the comfort of our little house,’ she grins, feeling strangely at home already.

  Isabel turns out to be right. About a twenty minutes’ walk away, they find an English café, called “The Mermaid”, with a blackboard outside, leaning against one of the pretty tables covered with flowery table cloths. It advertises their special “All-Day Full-English Breakfast: €4.50. Including tea or coffee.”

  They are welcomed by a stout English lady in her fifties, wearing a short-sleeved summer dress with a stiff collar and an immaculate white apron. She introduces herself as Betty from Yorkshire and pulls out her little notepad and pen from her pocket. ‘What can I get you girls?’ she asks.

  ‘Two Full-English’s and two teas please, Betty!’

  As the cheerful waitress brings an assortment of sauces and two mugs of steaming tea to their table under the shade of the parasol, Rachel’s phone starts to ring in her handbag.

  ‘Excuse me a minute babe, it’s Stephen,’ she apologises, as she holds the phone to her ear with a big grin on her face. ‘Hi gorgeous, do you miss me? What? When...? But you didn’t say...? For god’s sake love... no of course I didn’t.’

  Isabel meets Rachel’s worried gaze as her friend starts to chew the skin around her thumb nail.

  ‘What??’ Isabel mouths, in a whisper.

  ‘Look, I’ll call you back ok? No, don’t worry, you weren’t to know. Speak to you soon sweetie. Love you.’ She hangs up. ‘Oh god Iz.’

  ‘What’s happened? What?? Tell me...’ Isabel asks in a ragged whisper.

  ‘Did you get in touch with Paul?’

  Isabel fidgets uncomfortably in her seat. ‘No, well, not really. I think I sent him a text last night but just saying that maybe we could talk when I get back. Nothing specific. Why? Rach...? What’s happened?’

  ‘Jesus, Isabel. Paul knows you are in Spain. He convinced Stephen last night that you wanted to make it up with him!’

  ‘What?? I never said that,’ squeals Isabel, gripping the edge of the table and looking around her, as if she is about run away.

  ‘Well, I don’t know what you said Iz, but they’re both pretty damn convinced that that’s what you want. Shit!!’ Rachel stares at her mobile, slamming it face- down on the table.

  ‘So, he knows that we’re here?’ asks Isabel, scrunching up the paper napkin in her sweaty palm and looking around her nervously.

  ‘Bloody hell Isabel, I thought you agreed with me last night?’ Rachel watches as her friend’s eyes fill with tears as she sits back in the wicker chair and bangs her fist on the table. ‘Shit! Damn that bloody wine... he doesn’t know the address of where we’re staying though, does he?’

  ‘No, thankfully Stephen doesn’t have it and I doubt Joan or your parents would be dense enough to hand it over. Oh Iz...’ sighs Rachel, as she moves around the table and hugs her friend sympathetically, ‘the demon drink eh??! Never send texts when you’re drunk. Surely you know that?!!’ She smiles, remembering some of the ridiculous situations she’d got herself into over the years because of some stupid, drunken text.

  ‘Hmmmm,’ agrees Isabel, feeling very small and foolish all of a sudden, ‘he’ll know that we’re back on Sunday then?’

  ‘Stephen told him that we are, yes. Hopefully that means that he’s not planning to jump on the next flight out here. He’s more likely planning the big reunion! You have an open ticket, though. Remember Iz, you don’t have to come back with me.’

  ‘I can’t stay here alone, Rach,’ says Isabel, as if someone had just condemned her to life imprisonment, rather than an extended holiday in the sun.

  ‘You don’t have to make any decisions now, Iz. It’s just that you have options, that’s all,’ says Rachel, calmly.

  The breakfast arrives and it is just as delicious as Betty had promised. ‘British bacon, sausage, Heinz beans...’ she announces proudly, placing the large plates in front of them. ‘Any more tea?’

  ‘That would be lovely. Thank you, this is just what the doctor ordered,’ says Rachel.

  ‘Looks like you’ve had your experience with doctors recently, love?’ Betty replies, collecting the empty mugs and nodding towards Isabel’s fingers.

  ‘Oh, that! Yes, no real damage done though, thank goodness,’ she smiles at the motherly concern on the woman’s face.

  ‘Boyfriend was it? My husband used to beat the living daylights out of me before I had the sense to leave him and come out here. I hope you’ll not take him back?’ she asks with a worried look.

  ‘No, he didn’t do this to me. Not directly, it was my own fault,’ Isabel replies, feeling annoyed that this total stranger could make such an assumption about Paul. He may be a lying, cheating bastard, but he’d never raise a hand to her, she knows that.

  ‘That’s what we all say, love,’ says the woman, turning away with the empty mugs, not giving Isabel a chance to defend Paul or herself.

  Rachel raises her eyebrows and places a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Not worth it Iz. We’ll never see her again after today anyway. Let her believe what she likes... interfering old bag!’ she adds, making Isabel smile, diffusing her anger.

  ‘So, let’s forget about Paul for now and start planning for this party then,’ she says, jiggling happily in her chair
as Isabel groans and stabs a mushroom with her fork.

  ‘When do your parent’s get here?’ Rachel asks, spreading butter onto her toast.

  ‘Day after tomorrow, I think. They’ll check into their hotel in Málaga and come and pick us up about half past eight, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘So we’ve got two days to top-up the tans... and eat nothing but salad! At this rate none of my clothes will fit me and I’ll be forced to go wrapped in a beach towel!!’ Rachel laughs. ‘For you, I’m thinking, the sparkly bandana style bikini, semi-transparent beach dress with the sleeves... and heels, to show off your amazing legs!’

  Isabel laughs, nearly choking on her bacon ‘this isn’t “Dallas” you know Rach!!’

  ‘But if this man is as hot as you remember him to be, you can’t turn up in your shorts and vest top, oh no! We’re going to make the most of that figure of yours, so he can see what he’s been missing out on all these years.’

  ‘And his fiancée can slap me in the face and push me in the pool for flirting with her husband-to-be!!!’ laughs Isabel, nodding a “thank you” at Betty as she sets two fresh mugs of tea down on the table and bustles back inside.

  They both glance casually up from their plates as they hear the chairs being pulled out behind them. Betty is out again in a flash, not wanting to miss any trade in the, usually quiet, afternoons. A young couple. They look English, thinks Isabel as she turns her gaze towards to sea, pretending not to be staring at them. The girl is wearing a thin white summer dress with spaghetti straps, without a bra, she notices. She gently pokes Rachel with her fork and nods her head subtly in the direction of the couple.

  ‘That’s the girl from last night,’ she whispers.

  Rachel leans forward over the remainder of her breakfast, ‘Yeah, I think you’re right... and the bloke that’s sleeping with his secretary!!’ she giggles as she remembers Isabel’s envy over their intimacy last night.