by Shari Low
He seemed pained by that. ‘You were.’
‘No, I wasn’t, Drew. And now I don’t think you’re enough for me. I want to have a family. You already have yours, but I want that, too.’
Say yes. The optimist inside her drummed up a whole scenario that took them straight to a happy ending. He would say yes. She would have a baby, maybe twins, since they obviously ran in the family. He would cut back on work, perhaps even take an early retirement and write the book he’d been talking about for years. Or even semi-retirement, taking a more consultative role at the paper.
Just say yes.
‘Tess, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m fifty years old. I’m too old to go back to changing nappies, and parents’ nights.’
‘Other guys do it. Ronnie Wood has just had twins and he’s a hundred and six.’
Drew smiled, then reached over and took her hand, winding his fingers around hers like it was the first time they had ever touched.
‘I don’t know if I can do that, Tess.’
Their eyes locked again, a hundred different emotions and thoughts passing between them, layered with sadness and uncertainty.
‘It’s really simple, Drew. Think about it. I don’t expect an answer right now. But if you love me enough, then you will.’
Mona
Bored. Mona was so bored she was close to calling her assistant, Rupert, for a gossip. How sad was that? Or perhaps she’d give that gorgeous model, Adrian, a call. God knows he’d left about twenty messages on her answering machine this week. Ah, the young. They were always so keen. And yet here she was, sitting in the Ocean View bar on her own, with not even a random stranger to flirt with for her own amusement. Blane would probably be an adequate distraction but she had no idea where he was.
They’d had dinner in the suite tonight, and then Mona had left Piers and Max watching some Italian football game on the television. It was an aversion tactic, really. She had to leave before Max headed to his circuit class, otherwise Piers might want to have sex and lavish her with love and affection. What was it he’d said to Emily? That was it – ‘I’ve finally realized what I want and I just hope it’s not too late to get it.’
Well, it was too late, but she wasn’t going to tell him that until they were back on dry land and she’d made the preparations she needed to make to leave. A new home for her and Drew, and a lawyer to make sure that both break-ups were as painless as possible.
Two very tall, athletic guys came through the door and passed by where she was sitting with an appreciative glance. As they went on to the bar, she realized from their conversation that they were French. Très bon. She hadn’t been with a French guy since Paris Fashion Week last year. Jean Baptiste had been both highly skilled and highly addicted to coke – a combination that made for long energetic nights and keeping as big a distance as possible during the days.
OK, enough of sitting here looking like an advert for (admittedly beautiful) desperation. She slipped her iPhone out of her silk Fendi clutch, then jumped as it rang in her hand. Caller ID informed her that it was the office. Rupert’s claims of having psychic gifts he inherited from his granny might not be too off the mark after all.
‘Darling, you read my mind. What are you still doing at the office so late?’
There was a momentary silence at the other end. ‘Mona? It’s Guy.’
‘Oh, sorry, Guy! I thought it was Rupert. What can I do for you? Are you looking for Drew? I can get him to call you back in just a few minutes.’
Yes! A chance to go interrupt whatever cosy little tête-à-tête Drew and Tess were having, and remind him once again how indispensable his favourite ex-wife was to him.
‘Actually, Mona, it’s you I’m looking for. We’ve got a bit of a situation here.’
‘Oh, God, what now? If Kate Moss has decided to sue because I said she looked like a haggard old bint last week, I swear I’ll…’
‘No, it’s not Kate.’
‘Oh.’
‘You know a guy called Adrian Meadows.’
It was more of a statement than a question. ‘Yes, he’s one of my regular models.’ If her brow wasn’t Botoxed into an immovable state, it would have furrowed in confusion. ‘Is he checking on last month’s payments? I’m sure I passed them. If not, Rupert could sort it out in the morning.’
Bloody hell, what a farce. Calling her on holiday because some idiot in accounts had fucked up the payments again. They were probably too busy slashing her budgets to actually do the jobs they were supposed to be doing.
‘Mona, it’s nothing to do with payments.’
This time she registered the tone of Guy’s voice. It sounded like the tone you would use to notify someone of a death.
‘So what is it?’
‘Adrian Meadows has gone to the Sunday News. Offered them a story and pictures. Said you were shagging him in return for jobs. He’s accusing you of sexual harassment, blackmail, bribery – fuck, Mona, he’s accusing you of everything short of being responsible for the breakdown of world peace. It’s not good, I’m afraid.’
In an instant, her blood ran cold and she had to fight the urge to throw up on the table in front of her. That conniving, evil, blood-sucking, fame-hungry little bastard. A million thoughts collided in her head, before sorting themselves into a logical order:
This would ruin her.
There were enough people who would relish the opportunity to gloat about it and she would become a laughing stock.
Her career, everything she had worked for, would be over.
No one would employ her again with this kind of stigma attached to her name.
A lifetime of work, reputation and sheer talent destroyed because of that little fucker.
The humiliation. She could almost feel it searing her skin.
Drew. It would be over. There was no way in hell that they would have a future if this became public. Drew was Mr Clean, allergic to scandal, he deplored idiots who got themselves into messes like this. It didn’t matter that the story was grossly exaggerated - she’d put herself in a position to incur national ignominy and Drew would avoid at all costs being associated with a public figure of ridicule.
But Drew was also the only one who could stop this.
He was powerful enough to kill this story dead, but she had never, ever known him to use that kind of influence. His philosophy had always been that as someone who exposed the lives of others, he’d be hypocritical to shelter a public figure from the consequences of their actions. Over the years he’d had the opportunity to act to protect several acquaintances and at least two close friends, but he’d refused. Publish and be damned for your actions. No, Drew wouldn’t save a friend. But she would bet anything that he would act to preserve the reputation of his future wife.
‘Guy, who knows about this?’
‘Just Jay Lemming at the Sunday News, Adrian went directly to him. He called me out of professional courtesy and I’ve called you. That’s it. Don’t suppose you’ve got anything on Jay that will make this all go away?’
She racked her brain. ‘Nothing, unfortunately. Guy, have you told Drew yet?’
‘No.’
‘Then don’t.’
‘Mona…’
‘Guy, do not push me. You would be a foolish man to do so.’ They may have joked in the past about her knowing his secrets, but they both knew that Mona was well aware of many little escapades that his wife would probably rather not be aware of. ‘Speak to Jay, and I don’t care how you do it, but do not let them run the story in this week’s paper. Tell him you’ll get more details and he can run it next week. Pull in a favour. Hell, I don’t care if you screw him over his desk, just buy me time.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Mona knew that he’d come through – for his own sake.
‘And Guy, Drew had better not hear about this from anyone else but me.’
17.
Genoa
Sarah
Sarah clutched her morning coffee and watched as the ship s
lowly pulled into the dock at Genoa. Since she’d risen at 6 a.m. after a sleepless night, she’d gone for a walk, before eventually settling with a coffee on a thick padded reading chair at the front of deck fourteen to watch the sunrise and then the 7 a.m. arrival in Genoa. Glancing around now, her early morning companions were a few elderly gentlemen and a couple of young boys with binoculars who shouted, ‘Wow, look at that!’ every few seconds.
For the last half an hour she’d been deliberating whether to leave the ship today. The whole family was definitely going ashore in Monaco tomorrow for Drew’s birthday dinner, and the following day they would be back in Barcelona. The thought of one last, lazy, solo day appealed to her. The only problem was that her options for lazy locations were limited. Staying in the cabin held no appeal – it felt slightly claustrophobic after a few daylight hours. Lying up in the adults-only area would be bliss… if it wasn’t for the fact that there was every chance she would bump into Nate. On the other hand, she could find a sunlounger on one of the four relaxation decks, but she’d be on edge all day in case Piers walked by and spotted her.
Maybe going off the ship was a safer bet – less chance of male-induced anxiety. This was exactly the reason that it was better to stay in her kitchen making inappropriate sponge cakes for a living. No drama, and the only disaster was an incorrectly placed nipple.
‘Can I join you?’
So much for avoiding Piers. God, he looked rough. Really, really rough. He was dressed casually in jeans and a pale blue polo shirt, but tiredness was etched into every line on his face. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.
‘Are we going to have another argument that’ll end up with me storming off? Only I’ve got coffee here that I don’t want to spill,’ she asked, unwilling to drag the animosity on any longer. She’d been thinking about him a lot in her restless hours. He was such a lovely man and there was no escaping the reality that most of her happiest, hilarious moments on this holiday had been spent with him. In fact, right up until the day in Sorrento, she really thought that she’d met a wonderful new friend. Maybe they could still salvage some of that.
He sat down beside her and said nothing for a few tense moments. Eventually, he turned to look at her.
‘I just wanted to apologize to you. I’m really sorry I offended you and, trust me, that was the last thing I wanted to do.’
‘It’s OK. As I said, I think I probably overreacted a bit, too. This week has reinforced just exactly how crap I am at everything connected with male/female relationships. Honestly, if I was a horse, they’d shoot me.’
Piers laughed so loudly and with such relief that an old man nearby frowned and adjusted his hearing aid. ‘Well, we’d have to go down together then, because I’m just as bad.’
There was a prolonged pause as both of them adjusted to their relationship coming out of the deep freeze. Sarah was surprised at just how much this pleased her.
‘You know, I didn’t want to come on this holiday – it was Mona who made it impossible to say no – but being here has made things so much clearer. I want you to know that I’m not the kind of guy who goes around chatting up every bird I meet and getting up to no good behind my wife’s back. Actually that’s not true.’
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me, Piers,’ Sarah told him.
‘But I want to. Not to try and win you over, but because I just want you to know that I wasn’t pulling some cheap shot with what I said to you back there. Things between Mona and I haven’t been right for a long time. She sees other guys. I was seeing someone else too. Shit, how bloody embarrassing is that? In truth, we should have called a halt to it a long time ago. I just wanted you to know that. I’m sorry for coming on to you. I’ve loved every minute of getting to know you, Sarah, and whatever bloke is smart enough to land you will be a lucky man. I’m going to sort things out at my end and start living a more uncomplicated life. Bloody ridiculous to be in this mess at my age. I won’t bother you again, love.’
‘Piers, you’re not bothering me.’ Now that she understood what was happening it was almost a relief. He and Mona were having a rough patch and he’d been confused and hit on her because he was miserable. It made sense now. Sort of. She was glad he wasn’t just an old letch looking for a quick shag. ‘Let’s just forget Sorrento ever happened and move on. I’m sorry you’ve got problems with Mona. I’m sure you’ll work it out.’
Her attention was caught by a figure in gym clothes running towards them from the right and she shook her head. ‘Over three thousand folks on this ship and I keep bumping into the same people.’
Drew stopped in front of them, his running vest dark with sweat.
‘Right, I’m off,’ Piers announced, standing up and patting his slightly rotund abdominal area. ‘Nothing personal, mate, but life can be shite enough without standing next to you in that Lycra get-up.’
Off he went, leaving Drew and Sarah laughing behind him.
‘So what are you doing up here at this time in the morning?’ Drew asked her, as he took the seat Piers had just vacated.
‘Meeting everyone I know, apparently,’ Sarah replied. He gave her that look – the one that she knew so well, the one that said OK, so now tell me what you’re really thinking. He’d always been able to read her like that. She was sure it was why he’d got bored with her. Too predictable. Too easy. Too bland. Unlike the enigmatic and exciting Mona. Cow. ‘I’m just… thinking,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve loved this week, Drew. But without coming over all Oprah on you, it’s really made me re-evaluate what I’m doing and what I want out of life.’
‘I know that feeling,’ he concurred sadly. ‘Do you sometimes wish you’d done things differently?’
‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘But there’s no point in that, is there? It’s not as if you can ever go back and change things.’
‘I wish I could.’
He was staring so wistfully off into the middle distance that Sarah wondered if he was actually talking to her or to himself. She also realized that she was waiting for him to leave, to jump up and say he had another appointment, to suddenly remember he had to make a call, to just be typically Drew – with no time for her or anyone else. If only his priorities had been different they might have made it. But they weren’t and she realised now that she’d let him dent her self-confidence so much that for all these years she’d convinced herself she didn’t want another relationship. No more. Time to start living again.
‘What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?’ she asked him, snapping him out of the weird stare thing he had going on.
‘What?’
‘The other day – you said you wanted to talk to me.’
‘I did.’
Another silence. This was like pulling teeth. ‘Well?’
‘Good morning!’
Sarah didn’t even have to turn to check the originator of the voice. For the love of Jesus, what was going on up here? Was there a team of guys at all the lifts, directing every member of their party along to this meeting point?
Typical Mona, Sarah decided as the other woman came around the seats and into full view – Gucci sunglasses at 7 a.m., before the sun had even had a chance to get its act together. Below the neck was typically glam, too – black spandex running tights and a boob tube that, should it ever find its way into Sarah’s wardrobe, was so small it could be worn as an armband in time of bereavement.
‘Tess said I would find you up here,’ she told Drew.
‘Is something wrong?’ he replied.
‘Nope, just thought I’d join you for a run. Sorry, am I interrupting anything important?’
Sarah and Drew looked at each other before both shaking their heads. ‘No, not at all. Just gabbing,’ Sarah said.
Mona nodded as if that was exactly the explanation she’d been expecting. Sarah racked her memory to see if she’d mentally called Mona any derogatory names so far this morning, but she couldn’t be sure. Mangled old boot. There. That felt better.
‘OK, then! I’m ready to go if you are,’ she told Drew. He got up, but there was no hiding the fact that he looked weary.
As they jogged off, dodging elderly bystanders, Sarah felt a distinct sense of unease. It was absolutely none of her business, but perhaps it was time to have a word with Tess and give her a gentle hint. Whenever Mona was around her husband, Tess should really borrow a set of binoculars off those kids to keep an eye on her at all times.
Mona
The setting wasn’t ideal, the timing wasn’t great, but Mona had been pushed into a situation and the only thing she could do was go with the flow and aim for a win. Forty-eight hours. She had forty-eight hours to lock down a future with Drew and enlist his help with the Adrian situation. The very thought of that duplicitous prick made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. When this situation was closed down, she’d make sure he was modelling jock straps in Siberia for the rest of his life.
They ran for another half an hour, side by side, keeping pace, before calling it a day and heading to the coffee bar for a couple of takeaway skinny lattes. Steaming cups in hand, they sat down at a wicker table near the back end of the ship. Oh, OK, the aft. But Mona still thought that was a bloody stupid thing to call it.
They’d only been there a few moments when she realized that they mirrored each other perfectly. They sat the same way, held their shoulders the same way, drank their coffee the same way, in perfect synchronicity. If ever there were two people who were meant to be together, it was them.
‘Drew, do you ever wish you could go back in time and change the past?’