Rebecca was relieved to see the boat as she approached the marina and gave a wan smile as the name of the vessel came into view. Paraíso de los tontos, Fool’s Paradise. Felicitous somehow.
Walking past the revelry towards the jetty she did her best to steady her breathing. She would board the boat as planned, maybe order a drink or two, some Champagne perhaps while she was waiting, already anticipating the pitying looks from the waiters as it became increasingly obvious her husband would not be joining her. Eventually she would make her apologetic leave, a look of concern etched on her face before returning to the hotel where she would raise the alarm.
‘Mrs Barrett?’ the white-shirted maître d’ greeted her expectantly, ‘Mrs Rebecca Barrett?’
‘Yes,’ she beamed, affording him her best smile. ‘My husband is expecting me.’
‘Please, this way.’
She duly followed him onto the boat, admiring the hundreds of tiny tea lights that illuminated the white leather and wood aesthetic, giving it a magical and timeless feel so indicative of the Island itself.
It was then she saw her.
‘Here she is!’ Em beamed, arms outstretched in expectant welcome, her beautiful face so familiar yet so displaced that she could not be entirely sure it really was her. Em was here, in Ibiza. How? Why?
‘The elephant is in the room!’ Em called out disjointedly behind her, forcibly pulling a bewildered Rebecca down the steps onto the lower deck. ‘I said the elephant is in the room!’ It sounded like some sort of code.
‘SURPRISE!’
As Em threw the doors to the lower deck open they were greeted by a cacophony of deafening cheers and exploding party poppers, a sea of familiar faces laughing, smiling; friends, family and, Jesus, was that her mum and dad?
From somewhere piped music began to play.
‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOOU….’
Rebecca was paralysed to the spot, her entire body fused in shock and confusion.
‘We were beginning to think you weren’t coming!’ Em grasped her elbow, shrieking animatedly in her ear above the din, pulling her further into the spotlight and awaiting chaos. ‘I’ve been trying to get that damn flaky husband of yours on the phone all day you know,’ she hissed crossly as camera flashes popped and exploded like fireworks around them. ‘Where the bloody hell is he, he’s supposed to be with you?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Well, he can’t blame me that he’s gone and bloody well missed the moment can he, he was the one who said 9pm… Anyway, your dad’s got it all on video and, God darling,’ she stopped for a second and gave her friend the once over, ‘you look fucking fabulous,’ she kissed her cheek warmly. ‘Happy Birthday, babes. You do realise we’ve been planning this for months,’ she was blathering excitedly, wild green eyes wide and shining like a child’s, ‘it was all Jed’s idea really, well mostly... he wanted to do something really special to mark your big four-oh – and your anniversary, of course, make up for being a total shit in the past,’ she added eyebrows lowering, voice dropping an octave, ‘so he flew the lot of us out to Ibiza for one hell of a party! A “new beginning” – his words…’ she glanced sideways at her, ‘swore me to absolute secrecy he did… You know, we’ve been meeting on the sly to get everything organised for the past twelve weeks. I swear I almost let it slip a few times…you know me, mouth of the south, never could keep a secret. I’ve practically combusted wanting to tell you, especially when you mentioned that time about him acting odd, you know, thinking he might be up to his ‘old tricks’ again. Anyway, you couldn’t have been further from the truth, I’m happy to say…’ she rolled her eyes and beamed, ‘and you just wait until you hear the speech he’s got planned! I said I wouldn’t say anything but oh,’ she clutched her chest dramatically, biting her lip, ‘it really is something, Bex! So romantic and, well, genuine… I swear there won’t be a dry eye in the house.’
Rebecca Barrett blinked at the throng in front of her, her mother’s lovely careworn face, red lipstick on, smiling at her proudly, her friends waving and cheering as they went into a deafening chorus of ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow.’ She saw the birthday banners, blown up photographs of herself throughout the ages adorning the walls of the exquisite boat, hundreds of white heart-filled balloons covering the ceiling and her favourite Jo Malone scented candles dotted on tables next to buckets of chilled Verve Cliquot. Images from her childhood, of their wedding day and other poignant memories were being projected onto a giant white screen on loop.
‘He’s even managed to get Norman to DJ…’
Em was still talking but Rebecca could no longer hear what she was saying. Her throat felt restricted, her chest tight as she struggled to breathe, her peripheral vision gradually slipping away, tears in her eyes like pinpricks as she began to lose consciousness.
‘So,’ Em said, spotting her friend’s deathly pale expression and inwardly sympathising, personally she’d always hated surprises herself, ‘where has that husband of yours got to then?’
It was the last thing Rebecca Barrett heard as she hit the floor.
‘Bex?’ Em shrieked, looking on in horror as various friends and family rushed forward to assist, elated expressions dropping like stone. ‘Jesus, Bex, are you okay?’
About the Author
Anna-Lou Weatherley was born in Hampshire and grew up in London where she still lives with her partner and two children. An award-winning journalist and women's lifestyle writer for over sixteen years, she’s the former editor and acting editor of J-17 and Smash Hits respectively and has written for all the major glossies including Grazia, more!, Company, and Marie Claire. She is the author of two teen titles, IBIZA SUMMER and THE WRONG BOY (Piccadilly Press). Her debut adult novel, CHELSEA WIVES (Avon, Harper Collins), was released in 2012 to critical acclaim with Grazia endorsing it as 'The perfect poolside companion'. Her new novel, WICKED WIVES, is out in July 2013. When Anna-Lou is not writing (which isn't often) she spends her time teaching pole fitness classes and adding to her ever-burgeoning collection of vintage bikinis.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/annalou.weatherley
Twitter: @annaloulondon
Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/anna-lou-weatherley
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MEET YOU AT EPHESUS
***
Julia Williams
Destination: Turkey
Was this the right thing to do? Ella Sanders wondered, as she boarded the Turkish tourist bus heading for the ancient city of Side where she was to spend the next two luxurious weeks. Everyone had told her she was mad: her mum, her sister, her best friend Jackie.
The heat was overwhelming, so she was glad of the air conditioning in the bus as she went to find a seat, trying to focus on the fact that finally she had some me time to take her mind off this being her first holiday without Ben. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, to come by herself. Now she wasn’t so sure. Two weeks alone in a luxury hotel hadn’t been part of the game plan when she’d booked this fortnight over six months ago. In her head, she’d been thinking Turkish baths, spa treatments, long lazy days on the beach or by the pool, with the odd bit of culture thrown in. Who was it who had told her that Turkey had more Greek ruins then Greece, and Roman ruins then Italy?
That sounded like her kind of holiday destination. The thought of stumbling around romantic ruins with Ben had whetted her appetite. His lack of enthusiasm should have been a sign. She still winced as she recalled the speed with which he’d wanted to get out of Knossos on their last trip to Crete. She could have stayed there all day. He couldn’t wait to get out fast enough, nor hide his boredom. That should have told her something.
And now, here she was, alone. Ella could have brought a friend she supposed. But if she was going to spend the holiday which should have been her honeymoon in a perio
d of undignified mourning, she’d rather do it alone.
As the bus pulled out of the airport and made its way down the coastal road, Ella felt her spine tingle a little. The sea sparkled an azure blue, there were mountains in the distance and dolmuses full to the brim with locals zipped past them on hairy mountain bends. She felt a shiver of excitement. Maybe it would be all right after all.
‘Is anyone sitting here?’ the voice was polite and foreign – Italian sounding she thought – and accompanied by a face which could only be described as beautiful. Deep brown eyes with ridiculously long eyelashes for a man, dark hair, aquiline features, soft dark curls on his head. In another frame of mind she might have taken more note of those sensuous lips. But today, Ella was fed up. She hated being on her own when she went sightseeing and had ended up staying by the pool more then she’d intended.,She was deeply regretting her decision to come. It was hot and frantic by the pool. It had taken her three attempts to find a spot, and now she’d managed to wangle two free sunbeds in a little secluded zone of her own, she was in no mind to give them up to anyone. Even an Italian Adonis.
Ella just wanted to be alone, so she could wrap herself up in her book, enjoy the occasional dip in the pool and forget everything. Her first attempt to go to the beach had been a disaster, leered at by men, who most definitely were not the ‘new friends’ they claimed to be, and she’d retreated back to the hotel in haste and mortification, cursing Ben for putting her in this position. Her attempts to see the sights had been equally disastrous. Side was an amazing place, with buildings cut out of ancient ruins, but she’d been harassed by men wherever she went, and her one foolish attempt to dine alone in a restaurant built in the ruins of a temple had just made her feel sad and pathetic. That had been two days ago, and since then she’d been keeping her head down and herself to herself. And now, just as she’d found a couple of minutes peace, here was another – no doubt flirtatious and arrogant – male invading his way into her space. Why couldn’t any of them get the hint?
‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ he’d said. Oh yes. That old chestnut. Nothing if not predictable, our Ben. ‘It’s all a bit soon,’ he whined, conveniently forgetting he’d asked her to marry him. But that fact had been conveniently lost in a welter of accusation, counter accusation and guilt. In the end, despite her heartbreak, Ella had had enough of his excuses and told him to piss off and crawl back under the stone he came out from. She had felt slightly guilty about being so vehement, but not for long; she thought he’d hang out with his new mate Danny and be back before the end of the week. She’d been so sure… till she discovered that Danny was in fact Dani, and she’d been played for a fool. In the height of her fury, the only revenge Ella could think of that was adequate was to still go on the honeymoon Ben had already paid for – knowing how much it would hurt him to lose money on a deal. To be fair to him, he didn’t ask for her share, when she dumped his possessions – and ring – on Dani’s drive. She’d felt so foolish, so humiliated, so hurt. No man was ever going to make her feel that way again…
And that definitely included gorgeous specimens of humanity, like the one in front of her. A real heartbreaker if ever she saw one.
‘I'm afraid that spot’s taken,’ said Ella, smiling sweetly up at him. ‘My friend will be along soon.’
Why she felt the need to say that, she didn’t know. The stupidity of the lie would be found out so easily. Everyone in the hotel could have told him she was on her own. But he seemed to take it at face value, smiling politely, and saying, ‘Pity,’ in a deep melodic voice which would have thrilled her to the core on any other occasion.
He wandered back to the other side of the pool, where he managed to squeeze onto a sunbed between two very loud and noisy families. Ella felt so embarrassed about what she’d done, she only lasted five minutes longer, before fleeing to the sanctum of the spa for another Turkish massage. All inclusive. Who could beat it?
‘Your friend eez not with you today?’ his voice was lilting and only the slightest trace of an accent gave away his heritage. He was there again, as they boarded the coach for Ephesus, with his annoyingly brooding good looks and those devastating brown eyes. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? And why when she’d foresworn men – possibly forever – did such a tantalisingly fascinating specimen of manhood have to come her way? She felt sure he was teasing her; certain he knew her friend didn’t exist. What an idiot she was. Why had she made up an imaginary friend? Why instead of being polite had she not simply said that she wanted to be alone? Stupid English tourist.
‘No,’ she blushed, wishing she could tell him the truth, but even now being unable to. How to fess up to not only having lost the love of her life, but in a sad reflection of her single status also clinging pathetically to the last thing Ben had bought her – this holiday. For some reason, she didn’t know why, she didn’t want to let this handsome stranger know what a fool she’d been.
As it turned out, she’d been wrong about his flirtatious habits. He introduced himself as Marco. Marco was the perfect gentleman: charming, sweet – an archaeological PHD student on a trip round the sites of Turkey. She found straight away they shared a passion for ancient history, which Ben had never been interested in. They chatted amicably away throughout the long trip to Ephesus; they laughed ruefully as they were taken to yet another factory to be sold clothes, jewels, take your pick, before eventually parking up at Ephesus as the sun started to peak high in the sky. She had to admit, Marco was a fascinating companion, and she felt quite lost when he got off the coach and immediately found some compatriots and started to talk animatedly in Italian to them.
Never mind. She’d managed the rest of her holiday alone, she could do this too. Just tag along with the group and listen to the overenthusiastic guide proclaim that the goddess Nike was the reason the trainers were given that name.
Ephesus was everything she’d ever dreamed of. As she walked down the main thoroughfare with its many shops, tiles cut out of the street where people had once played backgammon and other board games, she felt she could almost touch history. She could picture these streets, thronged with people on their way to the forum or to worship at the Temple of Diana. It was awesome.
Having laughed her way through the Roman baths, where everyone felt obliged to sit on a Roman toilet, Ella came out to the most wonderful sight of all: the incredible façade of what had once been the library at Ephesus.
‘It is said that opposite the library was a brothel,’ intoned the guide, ‘and a secret passage lay between them. It is said that many a scholar found his way there, late at night, when no one was watching…’
‘A likely tale,’ said Marco, suddenly appearing back at her side.
Ella blushed, she didn’t know why. But she suddenly had a vision of him in a toga, hurrying underground to the brothel across the road.
‘It is wonderful though, isn’t it?’ she said, turning to look at him. As she did so, she slipped on the flagstone, and came down with a sickening crunch.
‘Oh shit,’ she said, ‘my ankle.’
‘Here, let me,’ Marco helped her up in a very solicitous manner.
She hobbled to the steps of the library, and he sat her down in a shady corner.
‘Let me go to the archaeological area, and see if someone can get us a bandage. You need to rest that,’ he said. ‘It’s a long walk back to the coach.’
She quite enjoyed the masterful way he took over, and leaning against the cool stone, she shut her eyes, trying to mask out the pain…
She woke up, feeling shivery. And looked around. What – where was she? Minutes ago she’d been sitting in the shadow of the façade of the library, now she was in the corner of a dark room, where she’d clearly been asleep for some time
‘That one,’ an oily voice said. ‘I'll have that one.’
‘Her?’ a woman’s voice replied, light and fluty, like a reed. ‘She’s new. I don’t think she’d be to your taste. I'm breaking her in. I think this one will be more to
your satisfaction.’
A young woman who had been lying next to her was unceremoniously hauled to her feet, and Ella watched horrified as she was led before the owner of the male voice – an unctuous, fat man, wearing – wait a minute, a toga? – who looked her up and down as if apprising a race horse.
Ella looked down in surprise at what she was wearing: a simple cotton toga with a belt and leather sandals. And, oh, her hair... Her hair was coiled up on her head, ringlets artfully arranged down her back. When had she ever worn her hair like that? Ella pinched herself. She must be dreaming. And yet. It felt so real… What on earth was going on?
‘Light the candles, Elena. It is too dark here, we need light.’ The woman seemed more authoritative now and Ella suddenly realised she was talking to her.
‘Oh yes,’ she said, stumbling to her feet and finding that she instinctively knew how to light the tapers properly and that the woman who had commanded her to do so – her mistress – was called Drusilla. She was tall and glamorous, her hair piled up high on her head in curls of a similar fashion to Ella’s, but her gown was clearly more expensive and she was bedecked with jewels.
What the hell? She was called Elena. She appeared to be a slave to a woman called Drusilla. Who was quite probably a madam. And was she…could she possibly be in a brothel? Was she even still in Ephesus? This was one very weird dream. She had to get out of here and fast, before Drusilla decided she was suitable for some old ugly man.
Suddenly there was a commotion and voices shouted, ‘By the auspices of Diana, can you let us in!’ The doors burst open and a bunch of boisterous, possibly drunk, young men tumbled in.
They were chattering nineteen to the dozen, and clearly were rather nervous. Perhaps they’d never been here before; they were very young. Ella would have felt sorry for them if she’d not been so appalled at what they were here for. But they were all wine and bravado, and one of them eventually pushed his way forward and, looking her up and down, said, ‘This one’s pretty and no mistake.’
Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1) Page 61