Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1)

by Belinda Jones

  Emily was beginning to regret declining Sophie’s offer to accompany her today – she could really do with her best friend right now. Perhaps Sophie was right, nobody should have to come alone to the hearing of their parents’ will, but apart from Sophie, Emily was all alone. So she might as well get used to it. As if on autopilot, Emily sat on the gold high-backed chair in the waiting area of the Fredrick Nelson law offices on Chancery Lane, in London. She swallowed again; desperate to stifle the scream that had been threatening since the very moment their matching calfskin-bound coffins had been placed into the family shrine, set inside a caramel-coloured walled garden of delicately fragranced wild flowers within the Butters country estate in Surrey.

  ‘Emily, come in my dear.’ It was Freddie himself who came to escort her through to his oak-panelled office. He extended an arm around her young shoulders and immediately felt horrified at the fragility of her frame – her usually radiant and naturally tanned complexion now pale and drawn. Closing the door behind them, Freddie steered her towards a Chesterfield armchair and gestured to a tray of Earl Grey tea and miniature cupcakes that his personal assistant had prepared for her.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Freddie asked gently. Emily peered at him momentarily, before dropping her gaze to study the swirly green pattern on the carpet.

  ‘Well, I’ve had better days.’ Emily wished she could tell him the truth. That she felt wretched, like somebody had come along and ripped out all her vital organs with a meat hook. And that was just the physical pain. The emotional feeling was like a relentless tsunami that started every morning when the synapses of her brain kicked in. She was living day by day just for those exquisite first few seconds on waking (that’s if she managed to sleep at all) when everything was normal, her parents were still here and the three of them were happy together just as it had always been. Only, seconds later the feeling was cruelly snatched away. People told her time was a healer, but when did that time start? She wasn’t even sure she wanted to heal, not if it meant letting their memory fade. And she had stopped going out, unable to bear the scanning any longer, searching the crowds, just in case there had been a mistake and her parents were still alive after all.

  ‘Of course, Emily dear I’m so sorr—’ Freddie started.

  ‘Please,’ Emily held up a trembling hand. ‘I can’t... I just can’t do this if you’re kind to me,’ she told him.

  ‘As you wish, let’s make a start then,’ he replied, gently. Emily gripped the side of the chair and braced herself as Freddie pointed the remote control towards the 42-inch plasma television that hung neatly above the marble fireplace. But it was no use, the very second Lord and Lady Butters appeared on the screen looking radiant and happy, just as she remembered them, and just weeks before they’d boarded that fateful jet trip, Emily could contain herself no longer. A scream, feral and animalistic, emanated from deep within her, filling Freddie’s chambers.

  Two hours later and the recording ended. Of course, the entire Butters vast fortune was left to Emily, with Freddie as executor to help guide her until she reached her twenty-first birthday. But Freddie knew age was immaterial, he would always be here for her. He glanced over, wishing she’d let him comfort her. He had sat through more televised wills than he cared to remember, but this one was different. Lord and Lady Butters were his dear friends. He had known Henry since Sandhurst and was there when he first met Clare at a Polo event. He’d overseen all their legal requirements, both professional and personal, and had been Henry’s best man at the wedding.

  ‘There’s something else.’ Freddie stood up and made his way over to the chest-height safe secreted behind a Gainsborough, and after pulling the heavy door open he reached in and retrieved a black velvet jewellery box before turning back to face Emily. He placed it in her lap. Neither of them said a word. Carefully lifting the lid, Emily brought her eyes up to meet Freddie’s. He had been dreading this moment. They should have told her, their cherished, longed-for little girl. He’d advised them, pleaded even.

  ‘What is it?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Your birth certificate,’ Freddie told her, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. He looked away.

  ‘But why is it in this box? And what are these?’ Emily held the certificate in her left hand, carefully balancing the box on her knees as she held up a small silver key bearing the Coutts bank insignia, and a picture of herself as a child playing on the beach at Cayman Brac.

  ‘My dear, why don’t you look at the birth certificate and then we can talk about the key.’ Freddie leant against his desk. He could feel his blood pulsing. Emily did as she was told and placed the picture and the key back in the box. Using both hands, she carefully unfolded the birth certificate. She hadn’t seen her long certificate before, only the short one Dad had kindly got for her when she’d run out of time before heading off to university. The now familiar knot of grief tightened again in the pit of her stomach. The memory of his lemony scent as he hugged her tightly, before closing the door on the new student loft apartment he had generously surprised her with. It was the last time she saw her father.

  Emily smoothed the certificate out across the top of the now closed box.

  ‘I think you’re mistaken, this belongs to somebody else.’ Emily went to hand the certificate back to him. Freddie cleared his throat.

  ‘I’m so truly sorry. But please... look again.’ He pushed a hand through his silver-dappled hair.

  ‘But why? See, look here, it says, “father unknown” it can’t be mine, I know who my father is,’ she tapped the piece of paper, her voice wobbling as she attempted a nervous laugh. Silence followed.

  Emily looked again, the date of birth was correct, even her name, Emilie, although she hated that way of spelling it, remembering the way she used to tease her parents, laughing at their mistake and telling them how everyone knows Emily is spelt with a Y. And the place of birth, yes, that was right, Istanbul, hence everything was in Turkish, a language she spoke fluently having spent her boarding school holidays there when the Butters’ shipping empire had operated out of Izmir. Then she flicked her eyes down further, Mother: Anna Tauber. The room swayed. It couldn’t be right. There had to be a mistake. Emily’s mother was Clare. Clare Butters. Who the hell is Anna Tauber?

  Emily felt the saliva drain from her mouth as she shot a look at Freddie. A solitary tear glistened at the corner of his right eye. He managed a nod before staring at a spot just above her head.

  ‘Please Emily, let me explain. Your parents loved you so very, very much,’ he pleaded, but it was too late. Emily sprang up from the chair, thrust the certificate back into the box and after shoving it under her arm, she ran from the room. The door bounced against the frame a few times, before slamming shut behind her. Freddie held his head in his hands, letting the hot tears trickle down his face and over the insides of his wrists. He’d feared this outcome. He’d warned Henry and Clare, begged them to tell Emily right from the start, and now it was too late. All that remained was the grim consolation that they weren’t here to witness the shocking repercussions of the decision they’d made all those years ago.

  *

  As she flung open the doors of her parents’ beach house, Emily could see that it was going to be a gloriously sunny day here on Cayman Brac. The rhythmic sway of the waves teasing the shore felt comforting, the delicate powder-pink sand soft between her toes as she made her way down towards the sea. A year had passed since that horrible day in Freddie’s office and Emily knew it was time to find the truth, which is why she had retreated here, arriving last night. Alone. With just a suitcase containing several bikinis, a selection of books chosen in a hurry at the airport, and a large notebook that she hoped to fill with clues as they came to her. She was sure that as soon as she managed to relax, properly, then the details would be revealed – a diary of her life, a biography, she would start at the beginning and write down everything she could remember, including the revelation that Freddie had already shared.

  Emil
y had called Freddie after the reading of the will to apologise profusely for her very abrupt exit, half-hoping he would reassure her that, in actual fact, there had been some terrible mistake and the birth certificate wasn’t hers after all. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d explained that it definitely belonged to her, and that she had only been a few days old when her parents collected her from a private clinic in Izmir, overjoyed, and already head over heels in love with the precious bundle they had waited so long for.

  Adopted.

  Emily said the word over and over inside her head as the shimmering seawater ebbed and flowed around her feet. She pushed her toes deeper in to the wet sand, relishing the soft sensation as she tilted her face towards the sun, letting the glorious heat bathe her. Soothe her. And like she had every day since opening that black box in Freddie’s office, she allowed herself to mentally trawl through the years, stretching as far back as she could remember. Sifting and searching. Anything. A reminder. Something. All she wanted was a clue to her true identity. It wasn’t that she felt any different, not really, but she couldn’t just ignore the fact. And she had tried. Tried so hard. And she had got angry. Why didn’t they tell me?

  And that’s why she had come to the beach house. She wanted answers. Needed answers. She had to know why they kept it from her. She’d already searched every inch of the family estate back home in Surrey, paying particular attention to her parents’ suite – on Freddie’s advice, she had even met with her father’s personal bank manager at the Coutts office on the Strand in London, but nothing. The key contained in the jewellery box, which she now wore on a platinum chain around her neck, didn’t even fit the safety deposit box that had belonged to her parents.

  ‘Hey.’ A deep voice called out from behind, breaking Emily’s reverie. She turned quickly to see a man with a surfboard under his arm striding around the side of the beach house and over the sand towards her. Emily stepped away from the water, wishing she’d thought to bring a towel – her bikini bottoms were miniscule, and she hadn’t even bothered with the top, figuring that nobody ever came here. The house and the beach were private. Emily folded her arms to cover her breasts as best she could. ‘What are you doing here?’ the guy asked in an accusatory voice as he reached her, seemingly unfazed by her near nakedness.

  ‘Well, I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?’ Emily took in his appearance – thick braided hair tied back in a ponytail, smooth skin the colour of creamy toffee and the most delicious chocolate-brown eyes she had ever seen, twinkling between long dark lashes. Wearing a tight black wetsuit, the top half of which was hanging casually around his slim hips, his honed athletic physique really was truly magnificent. Emily felt her cheeks flush as she glanced away, grateful for the oversized shades covering her eyes that were practically hanging out on stalks, he was that hot. And he smelled divine, of coconut and almonds.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, ignoring Emily’s question.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied, slipping her flip-flops on to protect her feet as she walked away across the hot sand, desperate to retrieve her towel from where she had left it on the hammock swaying between two lush banana trees. The same trees that she had tried to climb as a child, while Mum had urged her to be careful, it seemed like such a long time ago now – Emily had been about thirteen the last time she visited the island, preferring skiing holidays with Sophie’s family. How she regretted that decision now, realising she’d do absolutely anything to turn back time to enjoy another holiday here with her parents.

  ‘Where are you going? You need to leave.’ The guy was right behind her.

  ‘You’re the one who needs to leave. Right now,’ Emily stated, feeling braver as she grabbed the towel and flung it around her body. She made her way across the veranda, stepping over an iguana and stopping briefly to inhale the glorious perfume from the delicate pink frangipani as she went to pull open the door. The guy was older than her, mid-twenties perhaps, so she certainly didn’t want him thinking she was running away like a little girl. No. She’d take her time… breeziness was required. He was gorgeous after all, and she’d only ever had one proper boyfriend. She wondered if it might be time now to date someone new…

  ‘Hold on. You can’t go in there. That’s private property, the beach too. Please don’t make me call the police. Jesus, have you broken in?’ he asked, dumping his surfboard on the sand before following her inside.

  ‘No need. I used this…’ Emily said, in her best breezy voice as she picked up her handbag from the hall table and rummaged inside. ‘Ah, here it is.’ She held up the key to the beach house to show him. ‘Maybe I should call the police. You’re the one trespassing.’ Since her parents’ death, Emily had found herself becoming increasingly less bothered by what other people thought of her. The shy young girl, polite and eager to please, had grown up, and was fast becoming what Sophie would call sassy. Badass even. But then she’d had to be – fending for herself for the first time in her life, and she wasn’t even twenty yet.

  ‘Who are you?’ The man stood squarely in front of her.

  ‘Emily Butters. And who are you?’ She gave him a look.

  ‘Curtis Johnson.’ A short silence followed, as they looked each other up and down. ‘I don’t believe it…’ He let out a long whistle. ‘Wow. You sure have grown up…’ Curtis shook his head and smiled broadly.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Curtis,’ Emily said slowly, racking her brains to place him. He looked familiar and he obviously knew her, but she had no idea who he was. But instead of shaking Emily’s hand, Curtis stepped forward and hugged her tightly, making her tummy tingle.

  ‘It’s me... Curtis. We used to play together. Here, on the sand. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten…’ Curtis dropped his arms and looked into her eyes.

  ‘I’m so sorry...’ Emily ventured.

  ‘No worries. It was a long time ago, ten years or more. We were kids. So what brings you here?’ he shrugged and smiled kindly.

  Emily took another swig of water before offering the bottle to Curtis, having told him everything – sitting side-by-side on the veranda for what felt like the whole day. It turned out that Curtis’s father worked at the US embassy in Kingston, Jamaica, and his family had holidayed here on Cayman Brac when he was a child. Then, when he returned from college, he spent time on the island with Emily’s parents, teaching her Dad how to surf. Emily never knew… Dad surfing? How come she’d missed that?

  ‘I’m so sorry Emily. I had no idea about the accident. Henry said I could use the beach when they weren’t…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘It’s okay. And I’m sorry for not recognising you,’ Emily said, trickling sun cream on her warm skin.

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I’m hoping this place will tell me – there must be something here, why else was the picture in the black box? And there has to be a clue to the significance of this key.’ Emily glanced down at the chain around her neck, before blending in the cream.

  ‘I’ll help you. With the cream too… if you’ll let me.’ Curtis grinned, placed the empty water bottle on the veranda and took the tube of sun cream from Emily’s hand. ‘Turn around.’ Curtis gently swept her long hair aside, and began rubbing the delicious melon-fragranced lotion into Emily’s back, making her pulse skyrocket. ‘And I know just where to start…’

  ‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ the Coutts bank employee said, before leaving the room. Emily’s palms were drenched in sweat. In front of her on the desk was a metal container, the size of a large shoebox. She hadn’t even known that Coutts had an office in Grand Cayman, just a short flight from Cayman Brac. Curtis had brought her here this morning, on the off-chance that the key would match one of the safety deposit boxes, and after giving her name and producing her passport, they had been led to this room.

  ‘Curtis, can you open it for me please?’ Emily asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she stared at the box. She unclasped the chain from around her neck
and handed it to him, hesitating for just a moment as the key slipped from her grasp – the key that could potentially open the box and unlock the secret that had been kept from her since birth.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Curtis’s eyes searched hers. Emily nodded. Curtis gave her hand a quick squeeze and put the key in the lock. She held her breath.

  After what felt like an eternity, Curtis eventually managed to open the box – the lock was stiff, rusty, from years of inactivity Emily presumed. Lifting the lid, she inhaled sharply before letting out a long breath.

  Inside were a brown file, a letter and a tiny faded yellow sundress. Emily lifted the dress out first and ran her index finger over the ribbon before bringing the fabric up to her nose. It smelt musty, a faint linger of patchouli oil too – Emily knew it well from her time in Turkey. She placed the dress on the table next to the box.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Curtis asked quietly, touching her arm momentarily.

  ‘I think so.’ Emily tentatively opened the cover of the file; her hands were shaking and she felt dizzy. On realising that she’d been holding her breath, she exhaled and quickly closed the folder.

  ‘Take your time.’ Curtis whispered, placing a soothing hand on her back. ‘I’m right here.’ Emily turned to face him. He nodded and smiled reassuringly. She felt so grateful having him beside her. Last night, they had sat up talking, swapping stories from their shared memories of childhood holidays, and Curtis had spoken about his time with Dad. Emily loved that she now had someone to talk to, someone who had known her parents – had grown up with them too, a shared history. She felt that was important, especially as there wasn’t anyone else. Sophie had moved on, relocating to Sydney with a marine biologist.

  ‘Not here.’

  Later, at the beach house, Emily sat on her parents’ bed, where she felt closest to them, and opened the box again. She took out the letter. A warm breeze soothed her as it flowed through the window, gently rippling the white chiffon curtains. She could hear the sea surging and ebbing like a now familiar friend, comforting as she started reading.