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

by Belinda Jones

  ‘Yesterday,’ I told him. ‘I flew into Pisa then I drove straight here to Lucca, like I did the last time.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘I’ve got a top floor studio apartamento in the anfiteatro.’

  ‘Ooh, your Italian’s coming on,’ he teased, but gently and affectionately. He wasn’t mocking me. ‘What would you like to do today?’

  ‘Let’s go for a drive.’

  I rummaged in my bag, eventually tracking down the keys. I unlocked the passenger door then scrambled past the gear shift into the driver’s seat. Nick got in beside me, stretched his long legs out into the foot well, grinned at me, relaxed.

  ‘You’ll have to help me to get out,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, it’s going to be quite tricky. But don’t panic. Get the wheels into position first, then put her in reverse and go very gently on the gas.’

  We drove off through the hazy heat of the Tuscan countryside to Montecatini, a spa town where the rich and famous used to have wild parties in the past, but where anyone can bathe in sulphur springs today.

  We gave the plunge pools and the treatment rooms a miss and took the cable up the mountainside to the little village of Montecatini Alto. We explored its winding streets, its tiny hidden squares, its souvenir and curiosity shops.

  ‘I can see for miles.’ We stood in the hot sunshine on a ruined castle battlement and gazed across the undulating landscape, east towards the everlasting mountain ranges of the Appenines, north towards the snow-capped distant Alps, down on scattered villages with watchtowers and terracotta rooftops, down on countryside as it was changing from spring green to summer gold.

  I took a small step forward, leaned over the parapet. ‘What is it about being so high up that makes you feel as if you jumped, you’d fly?’

  ‘Please don’t try it, Rose.’ I felt Nick’s hand upon my arm. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do anything so stupid, honestly.’ I turned to smile at him. I gave his hand a squeeze. ‘I have a lot to do before I start to throw myself off castle battlements.’

  ‘What have you been doing since we met the last time?’

  ‘Studying hard, partying hard, checking out the multinationals, getting a little interest here and there, looking into internships in fascinating places.’

  ‘When do you finish uni?’

  ‘I’ve one more year to go. Then I’m going to get a job which will take me all over the world. I lost so much time. So now I’m making up for it, doing Europe in my holidays, making contacts in the USA, Australia and New Zealand. I want to go to Ethiopia next to see the lava fields and monasteries and castles and churches built into the rocks and – sorry, Nick, this must be very boring for you?’

  ‘No, it all sounds great! Go for it, eh?’

  Later, we sat in a café in the Piazza Giusti, where I drank Prosecco and also drank him in – his face with the high cheekbones, big grey eyes, wide, generous mouth, his light brown hair streaked fair by summer sun, wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist.

  I wished my friends could see me, sitting in this café in the sunshine with a handsome, charming man. I wondered – if I took a photograph, could it ever do him justice?

  ‘You must eat something, Rose,’ he told me softly, as I gazed and gazed.

  ‘Yes, you’re right, I must.’ I called the waiter over and ordered a risotto which was big enough for two, one with crayfish, rocket and shavings of gran padano cheese.

  It was delicious, the best risotto I had ever eaten.

  We strolled around the village in the sunshine, idling, dawdling.

  ‘D’you fancy a Pinocchio?’ he asked me, as we passed a storefront in which everything Pinocchio – puppets, biros, moneyboxes, t-shirts – was displayed. I remembered his creator had been born and raised in nearby Collodi, where there was a big Pinocchio theme park.

  ‘I think I’ll pass,’ I said. ‘But I must admit they’re very cute, those little wooden guys in the red hats.’

  ‘Go on, get one for your mother, eh? They’re fun and she could probably do with having something fun. She’s been through a lot, your mother.’

  ‘Yes, she has – okay, I’ll get her one.’

  ‘I’ll wait here for you.’

  ‘You mind you do. I’ll need you to navigate on the way back to Lucca. The GPS is rubbish.’

  That whole afternoon, we walked, we talked. We laughed, we even sang. I didn’t care when tourists and the locals stopped to stare at us and tap their heads and mutter.

  We had a lovely, lovely, lovely day.

  The light was fading fast.

  I wasn’t very keen on driving on Italian roads when it was getting dark. They were frightening enough in daytime. But Nick turned out to be a brilliant navigator. So I put my foot down hard and we got back to Lucca in record-breaking time. I drove in through the Porta Santa Maria and found a place to park.

  ‘Thank you for a great day out.’ Nick picked up his rucksack, shouldered it and clipped the webbing straps around his waist. ‘I enjoyed myself.’

  ‘I had a good time, too.’

  ‘Same time, same place next year, perhaps?’

  ‘Of course, and Nick – thank you again, for everything. You won’t forget me, will you?’

  ‘No.’ He stroked my hair back from my face and then he kissed me lightly on the forehead. ‘How could I forget you?’

  ‘You don’t regret the choice you made?’

  ‘No, it was the right one, definitely. It’s been great to see you, Rose.’

  ‘It’s been great to see you, too.’

  ‘I’m delighted it’s worked out. I mean it. Please don’t cry.’

  ‘I can’t help it!’ Now my tears were falling fast and I felt I’d do anything, risk anything, to keep him there with me.

  I felt him slide his arm around my shoulders and draw me close to him to hold me in a comforting embrace.

  ‘Rose, you know I have to go,’ he whispered.

  ‘I know, I know, I know.’

  ‘I’ll come back, I promise. While we’re apart, I’ll think of you. I’ll always be here for you and looking out for you, protecting my investment.’

  ‘Your investment, is that how you think of it?’

  ‘I’m so glad it was somebody like you. Come on, then – walk a little way with me?’

  So I walked hand in hand with him across the twilit city, petrified in time within its mediaeval walls, through the narrow streets and cobbled alleys, past Rinascimento and even older churches chequered black and white, past Tuscan towers with rooftop terraces and even rooftop gardens, past honey-coloured villas and green-shuttered palazzi, to the Porta San Pietro.

  ‘I hope you carry a card?’ he asked me.

  ‘Always,’ I assured him.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘So this is it – be well and happy, Rose.’

  I watched him stroll through the high archway out on to the road which ringed the city. I watched him turn and wave to me, waved back.

  I shut my eyes and tried to block it out.

  But I was forced to see it all again in terrible slow motion, replaying what they’d told me when I was in hospital in England after my operation.

  Now, I saw the big white tourist bus. I heard the squeal of brakes, the cries of horror as the people waiting for it realised it would hit him, saw him bounce into the air.

  I saw him fall.

  I saw his grey eyes open wide in shock, then close for ever.

  I felt his heart beating in me.

  About the Author

  Margaret James is a British writer of historical and contemporary fiction. She is also a journalist working for the UK’s Writing Magazine and teaches creative writing for the London School of Journalism. Born in Hereford, she now lives in Devon at the seaside, which is great because it means when she is stuck for a plot she can always go for a walk along the beach and be inspired. Her latest novel is called THE WEDDING DIARY.

  Facebook: Margaret James

>   Twitter: @majanovelist

  Blog: www.margaretjamesblog.blogspot.com

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/margaret-james

  We have everything you need to make this your Best Summer Ever!

  You can also chat with the authors on the Belinda Jones Travel Club Facebook page.

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  THE RUM DEAL

  ***

  Belinda Jones

  Destination: Puerto Rico

  Jennifer Lopez, Ricky Martin and that adorable hotel manager from Pretty Woman. That’s how my ex-best friend Ali would have summed up the appeal of Puerto Rico. For me, it’s all about the dinoflagellates.

  Those sensitive little marine plankton that glow bright bluish-white when agitated, creating the ethereal magic that is Bioluminescent Bay...

  When you find yourself disillusioned in life I think it’s important to go in search of something to fill you with wonder. That is why I am sitting in a small rowboat on a moonless Caribbean night under the dustiest of starry skies. I was supposed to be in a kayak but the guide said he had never encountered anyone quite so ‘off-balance’, so he placed me in something sturdier and less tip-up-able. While the other excursionists slunk through the water like sleek darts – swish-swish-glide – I brought up the rear with a clumsy sploshing and creaking. I was also facing the wrong way, which meant I was constantly having to twist around to make sure I wasn’t about to collide with hard plastic or lose sight of the purple tracking light. I did both.

  I blame Orion. He’s such an expansive constellation – I was spellbound, trying to pick out his hunting dogs but more easily locating his infamous belt. That got me thinking about the reversible Italian leather number I bought for Adrian’s last birthday, back when he was my boyfriend. But is that accurate? Perhaps I should say ‘our’ boyfriend – mine and Ali’s. Though of course I didn’t know I was sharing him at the time. I still don’t know how long it was going on. They didn’t show any remorse when they sat me down and told me. It was one of those knees-aligned, hands-clasped-together confessions, ‘We just couldn’t fight it! It was meant to be!’ All that remained was for me to gracefully step aside and give them my blessing.

  In theory.

  I didn’t even look at Adrian – I mean you expect this kind of behavior from a man. My mum’s been telling me since I was a little girl that men will cheat and leave you and, to a degree, I think I always picked boyfriends who wouldn’t be too much of a loss if they did go. But Ali… Ali and I had been friends for twenty-two years. That’s not so easy to shrug off. Or replace. Or accept. I’m still in a daze about the depth of the betrayal and find myself swinging between hot anger, nausea and disbelief. Can it really be true? She was my go-to-girl for everything. We were always so close, just one look and we knew exactly what the other was thinking. Or so I thought.

  I shudder imagining her and Adrian in cahoots behind my back. How could she?

  Dumfff. I hear an earthy thud and realize I have drifted over to the mangrove-tangled trim of the bay. The waters may be serene but this mass of roots and snatchy-snatchy branches is just plain eerie. Apparently by day you can see iguanas in the trees. At night you can just imagine them watching you – all skittish eyes, pudgy legs and spiky crests. I already witnessed a local man walking around with one of the scaly green fellows on his head, black-striped tail dangling all the way to his denim-clad waist. I don’t fancy having the same experience myself. I take one of the oars and push away from the vines. That’s when I hear the second thud. Before I can identify its source the boat starts to rock and drag down to side.

  ‘Oh my god, oh my god!’ I panic.

  Am I capsizing? Is some Latin equivalent of the Loch Ness Monster going to drag me down to the murky depths, deaf to my insistence that he’d be much better off with a yam?

  I squeal as a distinctly human limb comes into view, first an arm and then a leg, hauling himself on board, tumbling exhaustedly into the base of the boat, pushing my bag from under his soaking body. His soaking Olympic-swimmer of a body. He is ridiculously honed, toned and tanned in a way that you just don’t find in High Wycombe. I watch as he rubs the water from his face and then, hand on heaving chest, he blinks over at me.

  ‘Where’s Dwight?’

  I frown at him, thrown by his casual demeanour. ‘Um, I think you might have the wrong boat?’

  He looks around him. ‘Damn!’ And then he laughs. ‘I’ve been out there for hours. I thought he was right behind me…’ He scooches up and peers into the blackness.

  Nothing. No Dwight. No kayaks. No purple light.

  I should be more concerned that its just me and some aquatic Adonis but I’ve never seen anyone this good looking up close before. It’s quite fascinating. Not that I want to let him know that.

  ‘I thought it was illegal to swim in these waters?’

  He shrugs. ‘They just fine you.’

  ‘Isn’t it like $500 dollars?’

  Again with the shrug. ‘I always factor in a couple of tickets when we come here.’

  ‘Riiight.’

  ‘So, I hate to be a bore but you’re going to have to row me back to shore.’

  My eyebrows raise. ‘I’m going to have to row you?’ The cheek of the man!

  ‘I think it’s that way…’ he points off to his left.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I hesitate. ‘I haven’t been out here long. I’ve yet to see the full effects—’

  ‘Well you can come straight back once you’ve dropped me off.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be time,’ I explain. ‘I have to get the bus back to San Juan tonight.’

  He rolls his eyes. ‘So that’s it? You’re just going to turf me out into the inky blackness?’

  ‘Can’t you call your friend?’

  ‘From my James Bond underwater phone?’ He scoffs. And then his eye falls on my bag. ‘Of course I could use yours?’

  ‘I didn’t bring one,’ I lie.

  His eyes narrow. ‘Afraid I might throw it in the water?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I concede.

  ‘That’s not the first thought I have when I find a pretty girl floating under the stars.’

  ‘What’s pretty got to do with it?’

  He laughs. ‘Oh sorry, I meant prickly.’

  I bite back my amusement. Maybe I am being a little harsh, a little uncharitable. ‘Alright,’ I sigh. ‘I’ll do it.’

  I’m about three wonky strokes in when he decides that his fatigue-leadened arms will be more effective after all.

  ‘Come on, switch places with me!’ He gets to his feet.

  ‘No, no!’ I protest as the boat rocks unevenly. ‘Sit down, please!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, just step over here as I step there—’

  ‘No, no, no!’ I reach to pull him down. ‘We’ll have to crawl across.’

  ‘I am not crawling anywhere!’

  ‘Then we’re not moving.’

  His head rocks back in exasperation. And then he switches to crisis negotiator mode. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Kelly.’

  ‘Okay Kelly, here’s what’s going to happen: I am going to take your hands and together we are going to get to our feet – slowly, calmly – and when we’re steady, we are going to switch places.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Come on, take my hands…’

  My stomach flips as his hands meet mine; they feel so masterful compared to Adrian’s limp grip, so assured. Against my better judgment I find myself raising up. Maybe I’m not so unbalanced after all. It’s all going according to plan, until I come level with his face. How can one man have so many stunning features? Look at his eyes! Even in this light I can see their emerald-green translucence. I always wondered what it must be like to have eyes like jewels, to be able to beguile anyone with just one look – it’s as good as a superpower, surely? Dare I look down at his mouth—

  ‘Woah!’ I cry as my knees buckle.

  Two seconds later I’m in t
he water, creating a fizz of whirling, ghostly, gleaming white with my flailing, just to draw extra attention to my illegal activity. I half expect to be fished out by a giant hook and left to dangle while the local law enforcement agent writes me a ticket, but instead it’s the Olympian hauling me back on to the boat.

  ‘Well hello…’

  ‘What?’ I sputter as I try to regain my composure.

  ‘Nothing!’ His eyes roam all too freely over me. ‘You just look very different when you’re wet.’

  There’s a lasciviousness to his tone that makes me feel all too vulnerable. And tingly. I wish there was something I could throw around me – an old boat tarp, a cloak of invisibility – but I don’t even have a towel. All I can do is hunch up in my water-suctioned outfit and watch him row.

  ‘Did you know that each plankton glows for less than a second and then its powers are depleted until the next night?’

  I look overboard, feeling bad for the exhaustion we are leaving in our wake. ‘Does it hurt—’

  ‘Land ahoy!’ he cuts me off.

  Apparently we were a lot closer than I realized.

  I watch him jump ashore then reach back for me saying, quite matter-of-factly, ‘Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.’

  Before I can launch into any: ‘If you think…’ he adds, ‘Willow will find you something dry to wear.’

  I want to tell him that I very much doubt anyone named Willow will have anything to fit me but instead I just say, ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I think you mean fined,’ he retorts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re taking the Bio Bay tour bus back to town, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re going to rock up to it soaking wet? I hope you’ve got plenty of cash on you.’

  ‘But I wasn’t swimming.’

  ‘Swimming, floundering, it’s all the same to them. You don’t think they’ve heard, “It was an accident” before?’