‘No I haven’t. Most of my trips are to beach resorts,’ said Holly, phrasing it in a way that was truthful and didn’t mention holidays.
‘Maybe you would like to come and visit us in Geneva sometime?’ the Italian woman asked hopefully. ‘Giulietta has really taken to you and I would certainly welcome a familiar face.’
‘I would love that,’ said Holly.
After they had exchanged details, Mathilda excused herself saying she needed to check on her little girl.
Holly scribbled a few lines in her notebook for the blog she would be writing later. The resort had definitely passed the ‘happy parents’ test.
Chapter 19
Holly ordered room service that evening. She was impressed to find that you could order anything off the Waves restaurant menu. The items marked with a yellow tick were part of the all-inclusive package she was on and there was plenty to choose from, particularly for vegetarians, she thought wryly.
After replacing the telephone handset she only had time for a quick shower before there was a knock at her door.
Impressive, thought Holly, back home it takes longer than that for a pizza delivery, courtesy of a dodgy old moped.
She had decided to eat on her balcony, the perfect place for a bit of people-watching as she was only fifty yards from Roberto’s Italian restaurant, and she could also enjoy the soft breeze from the Indian ocean and the fragrant perfume of the frangipani carried on the balmy evening air.
As she tasted her first forkful of food she was surprised to see Umberto and Mathilda at the entrance to Roberto’s waiting to be seated, without Giulietta. They were shown to a table next to the entrance which would give them a perfect view of their room, the last one of the block closest to the restaurant. Holly leaned over her balcony and could just see the baby’s buggy fully reclined with netting over it to protect Giulietta from the night time bugs. Her parents would be able to hear her if she cried but Holly still felt uncomfortable that they had left her outside their room alone. That picture of Madeleine McCann and her huge haunting eyes flashed into her mind. It would be a very safe bet that her parents never got through a single day of their lives when they didn’t feel regret.
Holly had never left Harry unattended for a moment, even to pop into a shop to buy a loaf of bread or a postage stamp. She would either struggle in with the buggy, often disappointed that no one volunteered to help, or she would unclip Harry from his harness and carry him into the shop, leaving the buggy outside on the pavement. Although she was short of money a buggy was replaceable if it got stolen, not so her precious child.
Maybe it was different for her because she had no one else in her life. No husband, no father and a mother who had disowned her because of one mistake.
She remembered her mother’s words as if they had been spoken yesterday: ‘Have a termination Holly or you will regret it for the rest of your life.’
She had been shocked by her mother’s vehemence. Theirs had never been an easy relationship, with constant accusations that she was a ‘daddy’s girl’, but that was a savage thing to say to a frightened nineteen-year-old whose boyfriend had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. Holly admitted that there was a good deal of truth in her accusation. She had adored her dad, but it was her mother’s fault really. It was difficult to love someone who was so volatile particularly when she had been drinking. That was when she would become abusive towards Holly.
‘You ruined my life,’ she screamed at the terrified, cowering child on more than one occasion, along with, ‘I should have got rid of you.’ Holly swore that one time her mother had said in a drunken rage, ‘I should have got rid of you too.’ When she questioned her mother about it she was adamant that Holly had misheard, although she had sobered up pretty quickly that time.
Laughter below her balcony dragged Holly back to the present. A group of a dozen or so young people in very high spirits were heading for Roberto’s. Holly wanted to tell them to shush, as they might wake the baby, but she was too late as Giulietta let out a wail. Within a few seconds Umberto was next to his daughter’s pram, lifting her out to comfort her. Then he released the brake on the pushchair and wheeled it the few yards to their table in the restaurant. That was the end of his and his wife’s romantic dinner for two, but in a way Holly was pleased as now she could sit back, relax and enjoy her own dinner.
A different noise attracted her attention. This time it was the sound of the almost silent golf buggy steering along the path with another room service dinner delivery. It stopped outside Robert and Rosemary’s room. The waiter knocked on their door and moments later Robert appeared and took the laden tray from the waiter, rather than letting him take it into their room.
‘Great minds think alike,’ Holly said to herself, with a smile.
Chapter 20
It was Robert who had suggested dining in their room that evening. His wife looked exhausted after they had spent the day in Port Louis, the capital of Mauritius. Every trip they made to this island paradise they always went to Port Louis at least once and had lunch or dinner in the small restaurant where they had first met almost twenty years ago.
Meeting Rosemary had been the most amazing piece of good fortune. He had only returned to Mauritius to check on the progress of the building work at the Plantation House hotel the day before they met. After the initial construction period, he didn’t usually return to the site of a build until the project was finished and required his final seal of approval, but there had been a problem on site which the foreman feared could prevent them from making the contracted completion date. It could have cost the company he worked for several hundreds of thousands of pounds in fines so he was immediately dispatched to sort it out.
Fortunately it transpired that someone had missed off a zero when writing down the calculations of a load-bearing wall, so there was no problem to sort out after all. As a thank you for dropping everything on his latest project in Hong Kong to fly to Mauritius, his company had told him to take a few days’ holiday, all expenses paid. Not usually known for their generosity, this was too good an opportunity to miss.
He had walked into the Chez André restaurant intending only to have a glass of fruity new season Beaujolais with the owner, a friend he had made during the six months he had lived there. He was sitting at the bar looking at his own image in the mirror behind the spirit optics when a beautiful tall blonde woman appeared behind him in the reflection. She glanced around as though she was looking for someone and, on finding the place almost empty, seemed about to leave, when Robert did something completely out of character.
He swung round on his bar stool and said, ‘No one here but me I’m afraid. Would you care to join me in a glass of red while you’re waiting for your friends, or maybe it’s just a friend, to arrive?’ For a moment Robert thought he’d blown it as the slender blonde hesitated, so he quickly added, ‘On the house of course, the owner’s a friend of mine.’
Even to Robert’s ears it had sounded crass so he was amazed when a slow smile spread across her face and she said, ‘Just one then and if my friends are still a no show I’m heading back to the ship.’
That had been at 7 p.m. and it was midnight when Robert finally said goodbye to Rosemary at the gangplank of the SS Venus, having shared two bottles of wine, an exceptionally tasty coq au vin and an abridged version of each other’s life story.
Robert knew he had met the woman he wanted to be with for the rest of his life and he had the feeling that she felt the same way.
During the course of the evening it emerged that their paths had crossed some fifteen years earlier at an engagement party in Clapham, south London. Robert had asked Rosemary what she did for a living and when she had said she was a dancer he had commented that he only knew one other dancer, his best friend’s sister, Melody.
Rosemary had paused mid sip.
‘What’s her last name?’ she asked.
‘Well she’s been married for fourteen years so she’s Melody Brown now
, but she was Melody Martin,’ he replied.
‘You’re joking,’ Rosemary exclaimed. ‘We did our first dancing job together in Paris and kept in touch for years. What an amazing coincidence that you know her too.’
It turned out that they had both been at Melody’s engagement party but hadn’t been introduced to each other.
‘Were you at the wedding?’ Robert asked, surprised that he had missed noticing this stunning woman not once but twice.
‘No, I was away working,’ she replied. ‘I had just signed my first six-month contract for the cruise line I’m still working for so I couldn’t get the time off. The wedding couldn’t be delayed because Mel was already pregnant with Sam. She was really upset because she wanted me to be her Maid of Honour.’
‘I was Pete’s Best Man,’ Robert revealed. ‘So we would definitely have met that day.’
They had looked deep into each other’s eyes. Maybe they were meant to meet at the wedding and now fate was giving them a second chance?
Six months later they were married, with Pete as Best Man, Melody as Matron of Honour and their four children as pages and bridesmaids.
Robert looked at his beautiful, brave wife delicately picking her way through a plate of steamed vegetables and wished, as he had so many times since their meeting in Mauritius, that she had been able to go to the wedding. All those wasted years and now so little time left.
Not for the first time Robert had to swallow hard to hold back tears as he wondered what on earth he was going to do when the love of his life had gone.
Chapter 21
There was a message waiting for Holly at the hotel reception when she went to collect the picnic lunch she had ordered for her day out. She opened the envelope with dread, thinking that Philippe had decided to cancel, and feeling ridiculously disappointed.
The message wasn’t from Philippe, it was from Rosemary.
Dear Holly (and Philippe)
Have a wonderful day out together. We would love you to join us for dinner in Roberto’s this evening at 8 p.m... or for Philippe’s benefit 7.45 p.m.
Love
Rosemary x
Holly didn’t understand the last comment. Why would they want Philippe to get to the restaurant before her? Were they going to discuss the events of the day with him? she wondered. How very odd.
The receptionist indicated a row of cool boxes, each with a guest’s name taped to it, and said the driver would lift it into the car for her when he arrived. Holly glanced at her watch. As usual she was a few minutes early so she relaxed onto a rattan sofa opposite the reception desk, waiting for the two men to arrive. She knew which one she was most looking forward to see.
The sofa was comfy and well worn and her imagination ran riot as she imagined all the various posteriors that had rested there over the years. The Plantation House was a very luxurious resort and it was rumoured that celebrities and even minor royals had stayed there since the rebuild. It had featured in the pages of glossy magazines as the backdrop for swimwear shoots and in the occasional music video, and Holly had read that it was one of the locations used in a recent Bond movie.
Who knows, she thought, maybe Daniel Craig had sat in this very spot.
‘What’s so funny?’
She looked up to see Philippe looking down at her with a quizzical expression on his face.
‘Funny?’ she repeated, jumping to her feet blushing.
‘You had a big grin on your face, I thought maybe you didn’t appreciate my dress sense?’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I didn’t even see you come in,’ she continued in a fluster. ‘I was daydreaming. You’re early,’ she stammered.
‘I know,’ acknowledged Philippe. ‘You should feel very honoured, I am usually at least five minutes late.’
The penny dropped.
‘Ah, that would explain Rosemary’s note,’ she said. ‘They’ve invited us to have dinner with them tonight at Roberto’s, but they gave two different times and I thought... well I’m not sure what I thought actually. Anyway you’ll probably be tired of my company by then so don’t feel you have to come,’ she blundered on.
She felt like a schoolgirl on a first date, except that she didn’t have that particular experience to draw on as she had never dated when she was in school.
It was Philippe’s turn to grin. ‘You’re not nervous to spend the day alone with me are you?’ he teased.
‘Of course not,’ she lied. ‘Anyway we won’t be alone,’ she said, indicating the driver who had picked her up from the airport, who she had spotted over Philippe’s shoulder.
‘More is the pity,’ Philippe said under his breath as he watched her move towards the driver, Sachin, hand outstretched.
Holly was explaining to him that Philippe would be joining her for the sightseeing trip, and asking if she needed to pay any extra.
‘No, madam,’ Sachin said. ‘The price is for the car and the driver, not per person. But do you have enough picnic for two people?’
Holly unclipped the lid of the cool box and looked inside. There was fruit and salads, sandwiches and cakes, and cans of soft drink.
‘There’s plenty,’ Holly said out loud, adding in her head, particularly as I have totally lost my appetite since setting eyes on Philippe again.
Usually when Holly was working, going on the sightseeing tour was a necessary chore so that she could write about the experience on her blog. Not so today. She couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed herself when it didn’t revolve around her son. From the moment she had climbed into the back seat of the limo that morning, with Philippe at her side, she had felt like Holly the woman, rather than Holly the mother. Her initial nervousness at being in his company had disappeared by the time they had reached the other side of Flic en Flac. She was enjoying his proximity.
To start with Sachin had been the one answering all of Holly’s many and varied questions: What was that mountain called? Who were the first inhabitants? What is the name of that tree? Is it safe to buy the fruit and coconut milk from the roadside shacks? Philippe just sat back listening and observing. His first input was when Holly asked Sachin about the colours of the Mauritian national flag.
Sachin had answered, ‘The red is for the flame-flower tree. The blue is the ocean. The yellow represents the sun and the green is the wealth of vegetation on the island.’
Holly would have been quite satisfied with this explanation but Philippe interjected, ‘That’s the first time I have heard the red stripe described that way. I thought it represented the bloodshed during the years of slavery and more recently the fight for independence?’
Sachin regarded Philippe in his rear-view mirror. ‘That is true, sir,’ he confirmed, ‘but peaceful Mauritians prefer to forget the past and nurture the future.’
‘A good attitude,’ Philippe said. ‘However people usually like to know the truth.’
Holly said nothing.
‘Have you also heard the interpretation regarding the four cultures who live harmoniously on the island,’ Sachin asked.
Philippe nodded, but Holly, anxious to steer the conversation away from truth-telling, said, ‘I haven’t.’
‘The red represents Hindus, the blue Creoles, yellow is the Chinese and green is Muslims,’ Sachin said. ‘Each has its own community but they exist happily side by side.’
The first stop on their island tour was to see the famed coloured earth at Chamarel. It could only be reached by driving along bumpy roads that were more suited to a four-wheel drive than a limo. It had rained overnight and the still-wet ground had steam rising from it as the hot sun beat down, so it was very difficult to determine the various shades of colour with the naked eye. Satisfaction rating, considering the journey and the entrance fee, was only really a five, but in Philippe’s company it rose to a six.
They stopped to take some pictures of the Black River Falls. Holly had presumed the river had taken its name from the volcanic nature of the island but was corrected by Sachin who told he
r it was named after the African slaves who escaped and would hide out in the heavily forested area in the south of the island. Following Philippe’s admonishment he had clearly decided that truth was the best policy with this tourist couple.
They drove past the huge reservoir that provided drinking water, although tourists were always advised to drink the bottled variety, to the dormant volcano called Trou au Cerfs.
Knowing Philippe’s French heritage Holly turned to him and asked, ‘What does Trou au Cerfs mean?’
‘It’s the hole of the deer,’ he answered. ‘There is a story that English noblemen would chase the deer for their meat, and the deer would jump into the volcano never to be seen again.’
‘But it’s been dormant since the island formed, hasn’t it?’ Holly asked.
‘Someone has been doing their research,’ Philippe conceded.
Funny choice of word, thought Holly, maybe he is on to me? She needn’t have worried though as his next sentence confirmed.
‘Or maybe you remember it from when you came here on your honeymoon?’ Philippe added, his voice softening. ‘Rosemary told me about your husband. It’s all right Holly,’ he whispered. ‘You’re allowed to have a life.’
She could feel the solitary tear form and then roll down the side of her nose. What precisely am I crying for? she thought. That someone has given me permission to live after all these years of self-inflicted solitude, or that I’m forced to lie to that same someone and I don’t want to?
For a brief moment she toyed with the idea of telling Philippe the truth but she had only just met him and she had no idea how he would react. No doubt he would tell Robert and Rosemary and they might reveal who she was to the hotel management. She could lose her job.
Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1) Page 7