Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1)

by Roberts, Julia

  ‘Only right at the very start. We were sailing from Southampton through the Bay of Biscay and it lived up to its reputation. I wondered what I had let myself in for. The ship was crashing through mountainous waves and I sat wrapped in a blanket out on the promenade deck because I didn’t want to be trapped down in my cabin if the ship sank. I think I had just seen the original version of The Poseidon Adventure, which wasn’t very smart when you’re about to spend the next six months of your life at sea.’

  ‘Had you always wanted to work on a cruise ship?’ Holly asked.

  ‘It had never crossed my mind really until I was successful at the audition. I’ve always loved travelling abroad and in my opinion there is no better way of seeing lots of different countries and cultures than from the comfort of a ship.’

  ‘Can you believe this is the first boat I have ever been on?’ Holly said. ‘I’ve never even crossed the Thames on a ferry, or been on a pleasure boat on the River Trent.’

  ‘Really?’ exclaimed Robert. ‘Well what do you think of it so far?’

  ‘So far so good, but you don’t really get much sensation of movement from in here. I think I’ll go back on deck if you two don’t mind.’

  ‘You go, Holly. We’ll meet you back at the car when we’re coming into Calais.’

  Holly was feeling fragile but it was not morning sickness or sea sickness that was causing it. Her mind and heart were in turmoil. She hated deceiving Robert and wanted to avoid any questions about meeting up with her Italian friends for as long as possible. As she climbed the steep metal steps to the outside deck she wondered again if she was doing the right thing by helping Rosemary. She moved towards the front of the boat and was surprised to see the French coastline already coming into view across the smooth grey-blue expanse of water.

  La Manche, she thought randomly, wasn’t that what the French called the English Channel? She had learnt it in geography as a ten-year-old and it had always helped her remember the French word for sleeve. Fleetingly she thought of the evening she had spent with Philippe at his house in Tamarina Bay when he had asked her if she spoke French. She remembered the electricity between them and the excitement she felt at having finally met someone she thought was special enough to lay her past to rest. How could I have got it so wrong? she thought sadly.

  Salty sea spray splashed onto her face and mixed with the salty tears that were already there. I feel so emotional right now, she thought, how do I know I’m doing the right thing in helping Rosemary to take her own life? It’s not too late to change my mind. I can make an excuse that I don’t feel well and say I have to go home. Robert would believe me because he knows I was vomiting earlier in the week. Will I be able to live with a clear conscience if I go ahead with this? Will I be able to if I don’t? If only there was someone else I could ask for guidance. She lifted her gaze to the almost cloudless blue sky. Two fluffy white clouds merged momentarily to form a cloud that looked like a giant white feather. Holly gasped.

  This wasn’t about her, it was about helping a friend in desperate need. She had promised Rosemary and she wasn’t about to break that promise.

  ‘Thank you, Dad,’ she whispered. ‘I love you.’

  Chapter 70

  Jo had been waiting patiently in the hospital’s relatives room for Philippe to wake and be allowed visitors. The nurse had warned her that it might be a long wait as Dr Lamb had instructed that Philippe must be allowed to sleep until he woke naturally. Thank goodness it’s Saturday, she thought, at least I’m not missing work.

  She had spoken with Delphine about the brawl at the Dolphin Bar but the Mauritian woman hadn’t been present at the time so was only able to give her a bare bones account of what had happened, although Jo got the feeling that she was holding something back. When Jo asked if the police had been in to question Philippe she detected a look of panic in the other woman’s eyes before she replied that the incident hadn’t been reported to the police as the victim wasn’t pressing charges. That’s odd, Jo had thought, I know I would press charges if someone had tried to punch me without provocation.

  After their conversation she had suggested that Delphine go home for a rest as she looked shattered and there was no point them both hanging around in the visitor room. It wasn’t a totally kind and thoughtful gesture. She needed to spend time with Philippe alone and explain to him her view that maybe this was not the best time to reveal his true identity. There was no way of knowing if anyone had captured the attack on their mobile phone. If they had, and subsequently made the connection that the perpetrator was a famous author, it could adversely affect sales of the book. Worse, someone might even consider blackmail to keep the whole thing quiet. Again Jo wondered what on earth had caused Philippe to lunge at this local guy.

  These days it was completely out of character but when she had first met Philippe, when they were both working for the same newspaper, he frequently got drunk and could be quite aggressive if someone expressed an opinion that differed from his own.

  Jo was fresh out of university and had immediately fallen for his blond good looks and his charming French accent, which she later discovered he laid on more thickly when he was trying to impress a female. It had worked. They had dated for several months, but although they had fun and great sex – just the thought of which caused a stirring deep in her belly – there was never the feeling that theirs was a relationship that was going anywhere. Philippe had been the main reason she had eventually left the newspaper and moved into publishing and, considering her meteoric rise with Ripped, he had done her a massive favour professionally, despite breaking her heart.

  It had come as a big surprise when, having not heard from him in twelve years, he sent her the manuscript of his first book for an opinion before he started approaching literary agents. It was so good that Jo had instantly negotiated a three-book deal for him, negating the need for an agent, something of a rarity in modern publishing. He had never claimed that Maman was written about his own young life but Jo had her suspicions and realised, after reading it, that was probably why he found committing to a relationship so difficult. He hadn’t found a woman he felt he could trust.

  Philippe had been afraid that some of his newspaper colleagues would ridicule the subject matter of Maman, so together they had come up with the idea to write under the pen name of Veronica Phillips and keep the author’s identity a secret. The mystery surrounding the author had added to the success of his book and Jo was confident that revealing ‘she’ was actually a ‘he’ would be a great future publicity stunt. Now this scrape Philippe had got himself into had ruined the planned revelation for the Tiffany book launch. Fortunately, this new book is so good it will sell itself, she thought. We’ll save the reveal for his next book which, if this one is anything to go by, won’t be for at least another eighteen months, by which time this entire incident will be long forgotten.

  Jo yawned. She was really tired from the flight and the jet lag but this conversation with Philippe needed to be face to face so there would be no argument. Her flight back to London was booked for the following morning but, if necessary, she could take the evening flight and still be back at her desk on Monday morning. The sacrifice for being successful in my career, she thought. I have no life apart from chasing wayward authors halfway round the world. Even as she thought it Jo knew that she wouldn’t have done it for anyone else and that in truth she hoped that Philippe had sought her out when he had written his first book not just because Ripped was such a great publishing house, but because he still had feelings for her too.

  There was a quiet tap on the door and Grace popped her head round. ‘You can go back in now, he’s just woken up.’

  Jo picked up her overnight bag and followed the nurse back along the corridor to Philippe’s room. He was propped up on his pillows looking better than when she had seen him a few hours previously.

  He was obviously feeling a little better too as he winked and greeted her with, ‘Hello, sis.’

  ‘I’ll give
you fifteen minutes and then come back and see how he’s doing,’ said Grace, closing the door behind her.

  Although she was relieved to see him looking so much better Jo had already decided that she needed to be quite stern with him.

  ‘What the hell were you doing punching someone in a bar?’ she demanded.

  ‘Trying to punch someone,’ he corrected. ‘I’m obviously out of practice.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Phil. We’re already right up to the deadline on your book and I was seriously considering the possibility of having to delay its publication.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘The red mist just descended. I suppose you could call it a crime of passion.’

  He went on to explain the circumstances that had led up to the altercation with Jacques in the Dolphin Bar. ‘I was so stupid,’ he said. ‘I found the perfect woman and then I lost her again through a drunken mistake.’

  I’m the stupid one, thought Jo, chasing halfway round the world in the hope that since they had come back into each other’s lives, Philippe might realise that she was the one.

  Barely able to conceal her dreadful disappointment she asked, ‘So is Tiffany her real name?’

  ‘No. It’s Holly.’

  That’s an odd coincidence, Jo thought. I had my friend Holly lined up to copy edit Philippe’s book. ‘Has anyone told her you’re in hospital?’

  ‘Delphine tried but she has blocked me from emailing her.’

  ‘But you must have a phone number for her?’

  ‘No. She works for a charity so she doesn’t earn much money and she didn’t want to be tempted to call me long distance. We were supposed to be reunited on Thursday and then I went and cocked it up.’

  Philippe was starting to get upset, and Jo knew she didn’t have much more time with him before Grace came back to check his stats. At which point I will probably be told to leave, she thought.

  ‘It’s okay, Phil,’ she said, trying to calm him. ‘I’ll try and find her and tell her what has happened, although you haven’t given me much to go on. Which charity does she work for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said despairingly. ‘We didn’t really talk about work.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do what I can. Holly isn’t a common name but I’ll need her last name. You do have it?’

  ‘No, but the Plantation House hotel will know.’

  ‘Good thinking, I’ll email them when I get home. Now listen,’ she said. ‘About the book. I think it’s strong enough without the big “Veronica Phillips is a man” reveal and in the circumstances we don’t want to risk any adverse publicity. I suggest we continue to keep your identity secret until your next book is done. What do you think?’

  The effort of all the talking had tired Philippe and his eyes were starting to close as he nestled back into his pillows.

  ‘Do what ever you think is best, Jo, but promise me you’ll try and find Holly.’

  ‘You need to rest now,’ Jo said, as she stood and leaned over to kiss his forehead, before turning away abruptly, tears prickling the back of her eyes. Why couldn’t he love me the way he loves this Holly woman? she thought, her hopes for rekindling their relationship totally crushed.

  Weariness enveloped her as she trudged to the front of the hospital and fell into the back of a waiting cab to go to her hotel. At least I’ll be on the morning flight, she thought, now I know there is no point me hanging around here.

  Jo was not a vindictive person so she would try and find Philippe’s new love, but she didn’t see any need to rush.

  Chapter 71

  The journey through France was proving easier than Robert had anticipated. The French roads, clogged by tourist traffic later in the summer, were relatively free-moving so they had arrived in Reims for their planned lunch stop just before 1 p.m.

  Robert was glad of the break. He had felt isolated in the driver’s seat, unable to hear much of the conversation between Holly and Rosemary due to the road noise when they were travelling at speed on the motorway.

  It had been a pleasant lunch in an ancient French inn, although he had to restrict himself to one glass of wine as he was driving. He was a little disappointed that Holly hadn’t volunteered to take the wheel for an hour or two so that he could have had a second glass, particularly as she had stuck to water with her meal. She had suggested that it would be better to take over the driving further into the journey when he would be starting to feel weary.

  She was probably right, he thought, glancing in his rear-view mirror at the two women. Rosemary had fallen asleep again, this time with her head rested on a travel blanket on Holly’s lap which the younger woman had thoughtfully folded to create a pillow. Considering they had known each other for such a comparatively short time there was an incredible intimacy between them. Earlier, when Rosemary was dozing, leaning against Holly’s shoulder, he noticed she was resting her hand almost protectively across Holly’s midsection.

  Holly was looking out of the window barely seeing the scenery as it rushed by at speed. She had been sitting in the same position for the past two hours, not wanting to move in case she disturbed Rosemary and, as a consequence, her right leg was starting to feel tingly as though she was about to get pins and needles. It will soon be time to wake her so that I can swap places with Robert and take a turn at driving, Holly thought.

  That morning they had discussed in voices low enough that Robert wouldn’t be able to hear over the noise of the engine and the road, how best to broach the subject of a change of destination from Geneva, where Robert thought they were headed, to Zurich. Holly had come up with the plan of taking over the driving in Dijon in the hope that Robert’s attentiveness to his wife’s comfort and conversation would distract him from noticing that they had turned east instead of continuing south.

  Rosemary had whispered to her, ‘You are so good at finding solutions to other people’s problems but loath to ask advice on how to deal with your own.’

  ‘The baby isn’t a problem, Rosemary,’ she had answered defensively. ‘It will be loved and cherished as much as any child on this planet.’

  That was when Rosemary had rested her hand on Holly’s tummy. ‘I know, but don’t you deserve to be loved too?’

  ‘Apparently not by the people I fall in love with. But I’ve got Harry, and now you two, of course.’

  They both fell silent momentarily, realising that the number of people who loved Holly would very soon be minus one.

  ‘Have you told Harry yet?’

  ‘No, I hadn’t done the test to confirm the pregnancy before he went back to Bath and it’s not the sort of thing I can tell him on the phone.’

  ‘How do you think he will react?’

  Holly thought for a moment. ‘Honestly, I don’t really know. He may be cross that I had unprotected sex, particularly when I’m always nagging him about it. He might be a bit jealous that he’ll have to share me with someone else, even though he’s not living at home anymore. He might even be secretly pleased that he is going to have a sibling. One thing is for sure, he will know exactly the experience this baby will have being brought up by an unmarried single mother because he has already lived it.’

  ‘So does that mean you’re not going to tell Philippe about the baby?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps he has a right to know as the baby’s biological father but I don’t think I want someone who clearly has so little regard for my feelings to have an influence on the way my child views me.’

  Rosemary was troubled. She had known Philippe for almost a year and she knew he was a kind and caring person with a troubled past of his own that he had only really come to terms with by writing about it in his novel Maman. Rosemary felt sure that he had deep and true feelings for Holly and he clearly didn’t think he had done anything wrong by using their intimacy as a basis for the character in his latest book. Maybe he thought Holly would never find out about it, after all he was unaware of her work as both a travel blogger and a copy editor, and he hadn’t told her that he wrot
e under the pseudonym Veronica Phillips.

  It was all so complicated and there was so much the two of them had kept secret from each other for various reasons. Perhaps he had intended to tell Holly when he returned to England that she had been the inspiration that brought his book to life. What an unfortunate coincidence that his manuscript had landed on Holly’s desk to copy edit and that she had put two and two together and come up with her own conclusion without hearing what he had to say.

  If only there was something I could do to reunite the two of them or at the very least get them to talk things through, she thought. If only I wasn’t so tired and sick. If only I had more time.

  As her eyes had started to close she thought she heard Holly say, ‘If it’s a little girl I will call her Rose.’

  Holly shifted her weight slightly to try and relieve the numbness in her right thigh. The last road sign said they were only fifty kilometres from Dijon so it would soon be time to wake Rosemary but she was anxious that her friend should rest as much as she needed, particularly if she was to stop her husband noticing the change of destination for as long as possible. She thought back to lunchtime. Rosemary seemed really refreshed and full of energy after her morning nap, laughing about Robert’s appalling chat-up technique when they had first met in Mauritius. At his crestfallen expression she had reached for his hand across the table and given it a squeeze, and then left her hand resting lightly on his for the remainder of the meal. Holly was ashamed to admit to herself that she had felt a hint of jealousy at the relaxed intimacy of that simple action between two people still so in love with each other.

  She glanced down at Rosemary’s elegant hand which she had been holding for the past two hours. It was starting to feel a little cold. Maybe it would have been better to use my jacket as a pillow for her so that I could have wrapped the blanket around her, she thought, reaching for the jacket to lay it across Rosemary’s shoulders.