'There you are!' Helen appears by my side, along with a worse-for-wear Zoë and Sasha. 'We thought you and Elliot might have snuck off for a snog – you were so melded together on the dance floor!'
Before my face can give the game away Zoë asks, 'Where is he, anyway?'
I wave my arm towards his room.
'Is he coming back?'
'I don't know.'
'Lara, you're looking weird, I think we'd better get you to bed,' Helen asserts.
'I've just been sick,' Zoë confides.
'I feel fine,' Sasha shrugs. 'I might stay for one more.' She goes to turn back but promptly trips down a ditch running alongside the paddock.
Helen hoiks her out, dusts her off and issues the following instruction: 'Bed. Now. All of you!'
'To sleep,' I mutter to myself as we mount the spiral staircase. 'Perchance to lie awake all night wondering whether the morning will bring a dream come true or just a near miss…
Chapter 35
The digital clock glows red numerals at me in the blackness: 4.30am.
Too early to get a verdict from Elliot. My thoughts flip to the B&B – 12.30pm in England right now. I wonder if Mum's signed anything yet. Not going to think about it. Go back to sleep.
Thirsty. Need a drink.
Returning from the bathroom, glass in one hand, I feel my way around the bed with the other.
'Sorry!' I whisper to Helen as I thwack my leg on the bed frame and then jiggle the wooden headboard as I climb in.
No reply.
I prop myself up, sipping my water and wondering how long it's going to take me get back to sleep. Gradually my eyes adjust to the darkness. I look over at Helen, or at least where Helen was when I last saw her. Unless she's been run over by a steamroller in the night, she's no longer in bed with me.
Feeling for the bedside lamp, I spike myself on the gold thorns twisting around its stem. And then there was light! Yup, definitely a vacancy in this bed. I throw back the covers and inspect every nook, drawer and balcony. She's nowhere to be found. I'm not quite sure what to do next – with all the spiral staircases and hidden rock corridors this is not the place to go sleepwalking. There must be some other explanation. I suppose she could have gone for a walk. Maybe she couldn't sleep. Maybe she's taken up smoking. Maybe this is all a dream? Perhaps if I turn off the light and close my eyes the universe will realign itself and she'll reappear.
I settle back down and switch off the light. The next thing I know it's 6.57am. Slowly I extend my leg and feel for Helen with my foot. When I reach the other edge of the mattress encountering no obstacles I know the situation hasn't changed. She's still gone. It's three hours until we're due to meet for breakfast but I know I'm not going to get back to sleep now. And then it dawns on me – she's probably gone surfing: 4.30am seems kind of early to set off but that's the kind of dedication you need, I presume.
Glugging back the remains of my water, I go for a refill. Until now, I hadn't noticed that the flowers on the bathroom wallpaper are actual embroidery. I run a finger along the stitching, then catch sight of myself in the mirror. My disheveled, black-eyed face is the last thing you'd expect to see framed by pretty pink enamel dog roses and lovebirds. Something must be done.
After a quick shower and spruce (including discovering that Helen's orange hooded top gives my skin a much-needed reflective glow) my stomach demands sustenance. I remind it that we're having a big pig-out with everyone at 10am but it's insistent, so we come to a compromise on a slice of peach pie and a cinnamon spice tea. See how I'm not freaking out about Elliot? I'm thirty now. A grown woman. If I just concentrate on the pie, I'll be fine. Besides, what harm can befall me in a place with Heidi waitresses?
The Copper Café is a-bustle with young girls in white puff sleeves pouring piping hot coffee. When they offer a splash of milk I have no doubt they're getting it from the cows with their own fair hands.
I take a seat at the horseshoe bar where Amoret takes my order and fills my glass goblet with iced water. I notice that every place-setting around me has a different colored goblet – amber, aquamarine, ruby, baby pink and what can only be described as urine yellow.
'These are beautiful,' I comment when Amoret returns with my pie.
'We sell 'em in the gift shop. My mom's got the whole set – says they look like jewels when the light shines through 'em.'
I smile. This place is so magical and cozy. I feel like I'm inside the Gingerbread house. This is how I want our breakfast room to feel. I close my eyes, say a little prayer and take out the mobile phone. Pressing each digit with care, I dial my mother and wait for her to answer, feeling as if I'm about to leap from a trapeze.
'Lara?'
'How did you know?' I gasp.
'I just got a feeling,' Mum says, obviously on edge herself. 'Now listen. I've spoken to the buyers and told them we need the weekend to decide —'
'And they agreed?’
‘Reluctantly. They think I'm playing them off against someone else.'
'You are – me!' I laugh, feeling giddy at the prospect of having more time to come up with a solution even if I have no idea what that solution might be. Hell, I'll even try the ancient Hawaiian art of problem-solving if that's what it takes.
'Darling, I've got to go – I'm getting a second opinion on the re-wiring cost – but call me at the weekend.'
'I will! Mum, I love you, thank you so much!'
'Anything for you, darling! Have a good day!'
I snap the phone closed. That's one bit of good news. I pray I'm on a roll. Still, if Elliot doesn't come through for me at least I'm going to be surrounded by counselors for the rest of the day.
'Anything else I can get you?' Amoret presents me with the bill.
'No thanks – actually, there is one thing… you haven't seen a girl about my height with wavy, streaked hair down to here, probably in a yellow hooded top…'
'Surfer girl?'
I nod.
‘If it's the one I think you mean, she left with the rest of them about twenty minutes ago.'
'The rest of…?
'The surfers,' she confirms.
Hmmm. If they're only just leaving for the beach now that doesn't account for Helen's disappearance from the room in the middle of the night – unless her surf buddies are staying here at the Madonna Inn and she knew that ahead of time and went to crash in with them. Funny she didn't mention it. And that she didn't leave a note. I wonder if it's secret California Club business they're up to?
'Do you know where they were going?' I ask. 'I mean, obviously the beach …'
'Most of them go to Pismo, there's good pier breaks there.'
'Is it far?'
‘Bout ten miles.'
I look at my watch. I've got plenty of time. It would be great to go for a paddle and exfoliate my feet on the sand. Maybe I could even try a few Surf Diva moves. I've got a sneaking suspicion that Helen's boyfriend will be among the pack and I'm extremely curious to meet him. I take one last sip of tea and go in search of a taxi.
Twenty minutes later I'm at the pier.
There they are, weaving dangerously close to the girders. I walk along the weathered beams of wood to the best vantage point and lean over the railing, spotting Helen almost straight away. Wow. She's amazing! Swimming back out to sea, she exchanges smiles and banter with various surfers and then blows a kiss to one. They make some kind of signal to each other and paddle like crazy, catch a wave, surfing exactly parallel then suddenly Helen jumps from her board on to his and they ride up to the shore with their arms around each other. Once he's retrieved her board, she grabs a towel and starts rumpling dry his hair. He leans down and kisses her. Even from this distance it looks a great kiss. I wonder if it was him she snuck out to in the night. But why wouldn't she say?
All at once I feel shifty, like I'm spying on one of my best friends, and decide to go over and say hello. After all, it's perfectly reasonable that I should come down to the pier like any good tourist.
As I clomp down the wooden steps and lollop across the sand towards them, I watch him peel off his wetsuit – there on his calf is a Maori tribal tattoo. A-ha! So the guy at La Jolla was indeed her boyfriend. As I get closer, something else looks familiar – his face. I stop mid-step. It's Alex, president of The California Club.
I don't get it. If Alex is her boyfriend, who's Reuben? Is she cheating on him? Or maybe he doesn't exist – it's funny that we've never met him. Huh. No wonder she could swing us temporary membership. A beach ball rolls across my feet. I kick it back to the kids playing nearby. Now I'm in a quandary. She obviously doesn't want us to know the truth: maybe she feared it would undermine his credibility or get us thinking she had been blinded by love into joining some cult. Either way, I feel I've seen something I shouldn't.
As they turn in my direction I drop down into the sand and lay as if I'm sunbathing, only fully clothed.
I sneak a peek in their direction. They're sitting down now, legs interlaced, swigging Snapples, obviously in no hurry to leave. I have to make my move before they do. I'm tempted to shuffle forward on my elbows like a soldier advancing on the enemy but instead decide to make full use of the hood on Helen's zippy top.
The cab takes twenty minutes to arrive, by which time I'm panicking that I'm not going to beat them back to the Madonna Inn. I get the driver to take me up the driveway, right to the door (well, not up the spiral staircase, obviously) to save me vital minutes. I'm only just inside when I hear a key in the lock. Desperate to look like I've barely left the bed I grab my birthday book and flip to the section on ranching.
'Howdy!' Helen grins as she enters.
I don't want to ask her directly where she's been in case she lies and thus freaks me out so I settle for: 'You were up early!'
'Yeah, I went for a surf. It was beautiful out there this morning.'
'Did it rip?'
'Yeah!'
See anyone you know? I'm dying to ask. Instead I say, 'Were there many people in the water?'
'Yeah – total surfer soup but I still managed to get a few good breaks.’
‘Do they mind non-locals cluttering up their waves here?' I feel as if I'm interviewing her.
'No, it's cool.'
She's definitely not going to mention him. Or her other friends. What is going on?
'Is that my top?' she asks.
'Oh yeah!' I blush. I forgot about that.
'Keep it, it looks good on you.'
Thanks!' I watch Helen start packing her bag, then – trying to sound as casual as I can – ask: 'Have you spoken to Reuben today?'
She looks startled. 'No, why should I?'
'I don't know, yesterday you sounded a bit vague about where he was, I was just wondering if everything was okay.'
'Everything's fine. Really. He's great.'
'Oh good.'
'Has Alex got a girlfriend?'
'What?' Again she looks caught out.
'You know, Alex from The California Club.'
Keeping her eyes firmly on her bag she replies: 'Yeah, I think he has, actually. You don't fancy him, do you?’
There's no easy answer to that so instead I go straight to: 'What's she like, his girlfriend?'
'Oh, I don't really know her.'
'Pretty?'
'Nothing special. But he's more about the person than looks. Anyway, I'd better jump in the shower. Are you hungry?'
'Always,' I call after her then roll over on to my back to contemplate the pink-beamed ceiling one last time.
What the hell is going on?
Chapter 36
Copper Café – the sequel. Only this time we're in one of the booths featuring a mural of bearded fellas and wagons at harvest time. My girls are all present, if a little hunched and heavy-lidded, but Elliot and Elise have yet to arrive. I feel sick with anticipation. I wonder if he's breaking it to her now. And she's breaking down …
'I'm ravenous!' Zoë scans the breakfast menu. 'I think I'm going to have a starter and a main course.'
I'm way ahead of you, I think to myself.
'Are we going to wait to order?' Sasha asks our leader, Helen.
'I think we may as well go ahead – hold on! Here they are now!'
As the Es walk towards us, my eyes scrabble over them looking for clues. They both look rough, but then we all do. Elise's eyes are red-rim free. Bad sign. And she's still wearing her engagement ring. That says it all. My heart plummets. Nothing has changed. It was just a moment of drunken madness – a birthday kiss that went awry. As I sink into a dungeon of disappointment I'm aware that there's a waitress by my side but due to the rushing in my ears I can't hear what she's saying. I feel her hand on my shoulder and look up. It's Amoret.
'I was just asking: Did you find them all right?' she repeats, filling my coffee cup.
Uh-oh. 'Yes! Yes, I did! Thank you!' I gabble, praying she doesn't follow up with any giveaway surf comments. That's all I need.
'Oop, that's me done!' Her last trickle of coffee drips into Sasha's cup. 'Excuse me a moment while I get a refill.'
Please let that be the end of the conversation.
'What were you looking for?' Elise asks.
She would, wouldn't she?
'Um, I just wanted to get a couple of these goblets to take home.' I chink my glass with my ring. 'She directed me to the gift shop.'
'Oooh! Shopping!' Zoë perks up. 'I haven't been yet, what sort of things have they got?’
I dodge her question with a suggestion: 'Why don't we take a quick look now?' I have to get away from the table. Away from Elliot.
'Can you give her our order?' Zoë checks with Helen.
'Tell me what you want.' Helen is a mistress of efficiency even with sand between her toes. She whips out a pen.
'I'd like the Roman beauty apple, the Swiss sausage frittata and a hot cocoa.'
'Flavor?'
Zoë checks her options. 'Chocolate mint. With cream.'
A collective. 'Ewwww!'
'What?' Zoë is indignant.
'Lara?' Helen's pen is poised.
I can't possibly eat a thing – my stomach is in knots but I don't want to cause a scene by saying 'nothing, thanks!' so I mutter, 'I'll have the breakfast sundae—'
'What's that?' Elise barks, obviously concerned I might be getting something better than her.
'Fruit, yogurt and granola,' I read, aware that Elliot is trying to catch my eye. I just can't look at him. 'And a glass of buttermilk!' I blurt, as if coming over all Little House on the Prairie will make everything all right.
'Got it!' Helen nods.
Once outside the restaurant I quickly divert Zoë to the front door and gasp at the fresh air.
'Lara, you all right?'
‘I'm just having a wave,' I clutch my throat.
'Bastard hangovers. You know we'll soon be at that age where you daren't drink for fear of the morning after. Take another breath.'
I wish I could tell Zoë what's really going on but I can't risk her storming in and punching Elliot. She'd be so mad at him for not following through. Maybe he's discovered Elise is dying. Or maybe he decided to hold off until The California Club week is complete. I get a sudden surge of hope. It's possible, isn't it? If he'd terminated their engagement this morning she surely would have stormed off, maybe even flown straight back to Manchester and that would have blown it for everyone … Maybe he's just biding his time.
'Feeling any better?' Zoë asks.
‘Much.' I nod. 'Let's go in.'
I'm not giving up on him yet. I've come this far. Gotta have faith.
'Appliquéd jumpers!' Zoë coos as we enter the gift shop/boutique. 'Oh, look at this one with the dachshunds on!'
I join her fondling of the chenille.
'I like this one with the satin ballet shoes!' Oddly I really do. It's so easy to mock people that wear these themed, seasonal sweaters but I can't help thinking that someone who can wear a jumper decorated with sequined reindeer probably has a better sense of humor than
we realize.
We move on to the T-shirts, where a design featuring a gold lamé bucket and spade puts me in mind of this morning's beach mystery … I decide to casually throw a question Zoë's way.
'You know before we got here, did Helen tell you much about her fella?'
Zoë thinks for a moment. 'Not really. I think it was a case of "You'll see for yourself soon enough!'''
'So nothing about his job, for example?’
'I'm sure she said he was a bit of an entrepreneur but I don't remember her saying anything specific.' Zoë moves on to the blouses and two-pieces. 'Little Sofia from the dance floor would feel right at home here, it's like the wardrobe from The Golden Girls!' she chuckles at the shoulder pads and drapey co-ordinates.
'Have you ever seen a picture of him?' I continue.
'Reuben? No. I imagine he's pretty sexy. And lean. Surfers don't tend to be blubbery, do they? Oh look here's the glasses!' She leads me round the corner. 'Which ones are you getting?'
I opt for the amber and a periwinkle blue.
'How can you not get pink?' Zoë tuts, picking the pale rose and one with an oil-slick shimmer effect.
We clink over to the till, where I add a pack of pink golfballs for my Mum. While they wrap our wares, Zoë flicks through the counter copy of my Madonna Inn book, pausing on the wedding page.
'Would you get married here?' she asks.
'In a heartbeat.'
'It looks like it would be worth it for the cake alone,' Zoë coos. 'I'm so hungry!'
'Do you think Helen's going to marry her guy?' I try to bring up the subject one last time.
'I wouldn't be surprised. She does sound head-over-heels.'
'Don't you think it's funny that we haven't been introduced to him yet?'
'Not really,' Zoë shrugs. 'We were only in San Diego for one night. I'm sure when we get back there we'll meet him.'
I'm dying to tell Zoë that I think we already have, and reveal what I saw at Pismo, but don't want to go causing trouble or unsettling anyone until I find out a bit more about what is going on. But how am I going to do that from Big Sur? I heave a sigh. I'll burst if I have to keep one more secret!
The California Club: LoveTravel Series - USA Page 31