by Karen Clarke
‘Que tous vos problèmes soient des enfants et que tous vos enfants soient sans problems,’ he said with a wink, which roughly translated as May all your troubles be little ones, and all your little ones be trouble-free – a saying I’d heard from my grandmother a long time ago.
‘It is an Irish wedding toast,’ he said, proudly. ‘My grandparents came from Dublin.’
I was reading too much into it, but his words felt like a good omen. Buoyed up, I strolled along the cobbled street and past parked bikes and cars, as the surrounding cafés and restaurants got busy for the evening. The atmosphere was jolly, music, chat and laughter drifting on the air, which was rich with mouth-watering smells. As I passed a table piled with crustaceans on an iced tray, my stomach grumbled with hunger, even though I wasn’t keen on crabs or lobster.
I was early, but didn’t linger, heading straight to the concrete jetty where the boats were moored, treading gingerly as I ascended the stone steps. The last thing I wanted was to take a tumble and end up being stretchered to hospital with a fracture.
There were several yachts of different shapes and sizes lined up, but it was easy to spot Moonlight, which reared above the rest, its name in sloping blue letters on the sleek white fibreglass side. I stood and admired it, trying to picture myself on board with Jay, sailing out on turquoise water to find a cove where we could drop anchor. We’d have a light supper on deck, and drink champagne while we talked, and we’d watch the sun go down, before making love in a comfortable cabin, and be lulled to sleep by the gently rocking boat.
Obviously, this cinematic scenario would depend on a couple of things: Jay turning up; his sailing skills (there were alternative versions, where the boat hit a rock and sank, or a terrible storm sprang up and one of us – probably me – dropped overboard and drowned) and whether we could put to rest the matter of who had talked to the press, which depended on someone else showing up.
I turned, looking back the way I’d come, praying she would keep her word. My phone vibrated and I pulled it out to see a message from Charlie.
Have fun tonight, hope it goes well. Give him a fist-bump from me. PS can he introduce me to Susie Houlihan? (just kidding. Not.) X
Even as I smiled, my nerves resurfaced. I checked the time. Jay would be here soon, but I couldn’t get on the yacht with him until… my head lifted. Thank God. She was trotting down the steps, her blonde hair flapping as a breeze sent a cloud scudding across the evening sun. I lifted a hand in greeting, but she didn’t wave back. I guessed she was nervous too and felt grateful she’d come at all. I didn’t have a backup plan.
‘Hi Giselle,’ I said, when she reached me. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘Hello.’ She plucked a strand of hair from her pale lips, her wide grey gaze briefly meeting mine, and gave a little shiver. She was wearing a flimsy T-shirt with her jeans and without the sun, the air felt cool. I was glad of Marie’s cardigan and drew it around me. ‘You look nice,’ she said, wrapping her arms around her waist. I was struck by how young she looked and how, with no Charlie to impress, she seemed less antagonistic. ‘He is here?’
‘Not yet,’ I said, glancing across the harbour to the hotel. A dark-clad figure emerged, and my heart jumped as he began the walk that would bring him around to where we were waiting. This time, even from a distance, there was no mistaking it was Jay. ‘He’s on his way.’
‘It is better like this,’ said Giselle, a determined set to her jaw. ‘I do the right thing.’
Better late than never. ‘Good.’
‘I read your blog,’ she said, casting her gaze to her black lace-up sneakers, her hair blowing across her face. ‘I’m sorry if I think you are into Charlie.’
‘Even if I was,’ I said, ‘you shouldn’t be mad at me.’
‘But you have to fight for your man.’
I thought of Mum, letting Dad slip away, even though she loved him. Would she have come over if Dad hadn’t called, worried about me? I had a feeling she’d have found an excuse, after I’d let slip that he was ‘dating’. ‘Charlie wasn’t your man,’ I said. ‘He told you he wasn’t interested in having a relationship with you.’
She looked up, pouting her lips. ‘Because of you.’
I shook my head, thrusting my hair back as the breeze grew stronger and pushed it across my face. ‘Because of him.’
Her brow puckered. ‘You mean, because of me?’
‘No, I don’t.’ I was hardly qualified to lecture on love and relationships, but felt somehow ancient and wise compared to Giselle – as though I’d lived many lives. ‘You’re not right for Charlie, but you will be for someone else,’ I said. ‘And when you meet him, you won’t need to fight.’
She looked at me for a moment, her big eyes very clear, in spite of her sobbing session earlier – the sort of sobbing that would have left me practically blind for days. ‘Maybe I like to fight,’ she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her face. ‘It can be fun.’
‘As long as you don’t mind losing,’ I said. ‘And as long as you know when to walk away.’
‘I think, now, maybe I will be a better person.’
‘Don’t take advice from your Auntie Fleur,’ I said, looking past her for Jay.
‘Auntie,’ she repeated, doing a good impression of my accent. ‘I like that.’
I almost felt bad now for extracting a promise from her to meet me here this evening, to tell Jay to his face that she was the one who’d talked to the press with the intention of ruining our interview, in exchange for a favour from Fleur.
‘Have you told her you’re doing this?’ I said.
She shook her head. ‘I do not want to speak to her for now.’ She looked pensive. ‘I need to go away for a while. Maybe to London. I know friends who are there.’
‘Did Dolly fire you?’ I said.
She frowned. ‘Fire?’
‘Have you lost your job?’
She hugged herself tightly as goosebumps pinged up on her arms. ‘Dolly, she heard our talk,’ she said. ‘Like I heard you and Charlie.’ Her mouth twisted, as if she got the irony. ‘She was not happy at all.’ She shook her head. ‘She said to me to go.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, because in spite of everything, I was, but Dolly was such an open and fair-minded person, I knew she wouldn’t ever trust Giselle again.
Giselle gave a little shrug. ‘It is best I start over,’ she said. ‘Be fresh.’
‘A clean slate,’ I said.
‘I like these words, they are funny.’ I’d never noticed she had a dimple when she smiled – probably because she’d never smiled at me. ‘A clean slate.’
As a figure appeared at the top of the steps, my pulse rate rose. ‘He’s here,’ I said, attempting to hold my hair down and smooth my dress at the same time. ‘Ready?’
She blew out a little sigh. ‘I am ready. And, Natalie…’ I tore my gaze from Jay’s approach, resisting the urge to run towards him. ‘I am sorry,’ she said.
Twenty-Five
Jay slowed as he reached us, as if suspecting an ambush, glancing from me to Giselle with a wary frown. I didn’t get a chance to explain why she was there as she cleared the distance between us and started talking fast, as if she was being timed.
‘I didn’t understand much of that.’ Jay looked to me for help when she paused for breath. ‘I’m afraid my French isn’t very good.’
‘She’s apologising,’ I said, my eyes taking in every detail before settling on his face. When he smiled, my stomach did a forward roll, and it was an effort to return my gaze to Giselle. ‘Say it more slowly, in English, if you can. I’ll help translate if you can’t.’
‘I cannot believe I am talking to Jay Merino.’ Her eyes were glossy with sudden, girlish excitement. ‘Maybe we can do a selfie?’ I gave her a hard stare. ‘Sorry, that is improper of me.’ She puffed out her cheeks and blew out a breath and Jay, who’d been watching me with an unreadable expression, refocused. As she began to talk again, it started raining softly. So much for stylin
g my hair. Within seconds it would go poofy, like Monica’s in Friends when they went to Barbados, but bigger.
‘Hang on.’ Jay’s expression was as dark as the raincloud overhead. He held up a hand, pausing Giselle’s halting explanation. ‘You leaked a private conversation between Natalie and her friend about me, to get a part in a film, and Fleur Dupont is your auntie?’
I’d almost giggled when Giselle had said it, but for Jay – hearing the truth for the first time – it must have been galling, to say the least. ‘Why did she think I’d speak to her, after I’d already talked to Natalie?’ He shot me a look and I wondered queasily whether he was angry that I’d repeated our private chat to Charlie – a fact I hadn’t even mentioned; I’d been so convinced the leak must have come from someone in Jay’s camp.
‘She has always got what she wants in the past.’ Giselle seemed oblivious to the lightly pattering rain and even with her hair reduced to rat-tails, she still looked stunning – like Rachel McAdams in The Notebook before she kisses Ryan Gosling. ‘But, I think, she did not even care, as long as Natalie did not do the interview for Magnifique.’
‘She didn’t want me getting my foot in the door,’ I said. ‘But it’s fine, because I don’t want my feet anywhere near the door now.’
Jay’s expression was tense with concentration. Rain glistened on his hair and the shoulders of his shirt were damp, but if he’d noticed he didn’t react. Overhead, a seagull gave a lethargic squawk, as though it couldn’t really be bothered. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ he said.
‘I am telling you so you know it was not her.’ Giselle inclined her head in my direction and Jay’s eyes followed. ‘Although, if she had not talked, there would be nothing for me to hear.’
His eyebrows lowered. ‘You’re really passing the blame?’
‘It’s true,’ I said wretchedly, the impact of Giselle’s words hitting home. ‘I shouldn’t have talked to anyone, but after our meeting, I was overwhelmed and had to tell somebody. I didn’t think for a moment it would go any further, Jay. I’m so, so sorry.’
He shook his head, but whether it was a rejection of my apology, or an attempt to shake raindrops from his hair was hard to tell. ‘How did you find out?’ he asked me.
‘It was my bad habit.’ Giselle took up the story again, keeping her arms folded. ‘She saw me smoking my cigarette from the room above the café, and then with Fleur at the hotel in Saint-Martin.’
‘I put two and two together,’ I said miserably.
‘Lucky, really.’ Jay’s face was stern as he looked at Giselle. ‘We’d never have known, otherwise.’
‘Lucky, yes.’ Giselle seemed to have run out of steam, her shoulders dropping. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started and the sky began to clear. ‘I will go now,’ she said, looking dejected. ‘Can you forgive me?’
I looked at Jay, who hesitated, then nodded. ‘What you did was… it was wrong,’ he said. ‘And it’s Natalie’s forgiveness you should be asking for really, but I appreciate you telling me the truth.’
‘I had to, or they talk to my tante and my family will find out.’ She gave one of her eloquent shrugs. ‘But, also, I am truly sorry.’
She looked for a moment as though she might try to hug Jay, her arms moving out from her sides, but instead she moved past him and walked quickly back the way she’d come without looking back, reminding me strongly of Fleur.
‘I… don’t know what to say.’ Jay ran a hand over his damp hair. ‘That wasn’t what I was expecting when I came out.’
The rain had lifted a warm scent from the ground that filled my senses. ‘I know,’ I said, gripping the edges of my cardigan across my chest. ‘I’m so sorry to spring it on you, but I couldn’t get on that boat with you until you’d heard what had happened directly from her.’
‘Just so you know, I do trust you.’ He held out a hand, then let it drop to his side. ‘I knew you wouldn’t have talked to the press, but I did wonder how else word could have got out.’
‘I really am sorry,’ I said quietly. ‘For not keeping my big mouth shut.’
‘You’ve every right to talk to your best friend,’ he said, emphatically. ‘There’s no way you could have known you were being listened to, or what she would do with the information.’
‘Even so…’
‘No.’ He held up both hands, cutting me off. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’
The sun pierced the clouds, spilling shafts of light onto the water behind him.
‘You didn’t suspect Simon?’
His head jerked. ‘Definitely not,’ he said, with absolute conviction.
‘Maybe you should tell him.’
He gave me a short, sharp look. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘He called me last night,’ I said. ‘He told me he thought you suspected him, because you’d been asking him questions.’
Jay shook his head, and briefly closed his eyes. ‘I asked if he recalled seeing anyone in the garden when you came to the hotel, that’s all. I didn’t for a moment think it was him.’
‘Well, he’s worried that you do.’
‘I thought he was in a funny mood today.’
‘And he’s not here tonight.’ I looked across the sparkling harbour, half-expecting to see him watching us through binoculars.
‘He took off somewhere,’ said Jay, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. ‘I thought maybe he wanted to spend the evening with Susie, but now I know why. He thinks I don’t trust him any more.’
‘Maybe you should go and talk to him.’
Jay looked torn. ‘Later,’ he said finally, lowering his hand. ‘I’m here because I wanted to see you, and I don’t have long. I have to be at the airport at midnight.’ My heart clenched at the look in his eyes, and the thought of him leaving. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d even come.’
I struck a silly pose. ‘Well, here I am.’
His face cracked into a grin. ‘You look lovely, by the way.’
‘Hardly,’ I said, fingering a spiral of hair. ‘I don’t suit the rain.’
‘You do in that dress. It’s like…’ he drew back for a better look. ‘I don’t know what that colour is, but it makes me think of rainbows or mermaids, or unicorns… or something.’
I laughed. ‘I’ll tell Marie, she’ll love that.’
‘Who’s Marie?’
‘A friend.’ I realised we had so much to say; so many things we’d yet to discover about each other, and a few precious hours together to talk, before he left for Budapest. ‘So, what about this yacht?’ I said, swivelling to look at its shiny hull, which glittered with raindrops in a ray of sunshine. ‘I’ve never been on one before.’
‘In that case…’ Jay squared his shoulders and crooked his elbow and I slipped my arm through his. ‘You’re in for a treat, Mademoiselle.’
The sun deck was slippery with rain, but the interior of the yacht made me catch my breath with delight. Bathed in soft light, its cream leather sofas and velvety grey carpet exuded a quietly luxurious air, while art deco touches in black and silver added a retro feel. ‘It’s gorgeous,’ I breathed, feeling as if I’d stepped into another world.
‘I must admit, it’s fancier than I expected,’ said Jay, sitting on a large, deeply padded swivel chair like something from the Starship Enterprise. ‘The charter company have obviously laid on their very best vessel in our honour.’
‘In your honour,’ I said. ‘You are Jay Merino, after all.’ I ran my hand over a shiny, glass-fronted drinks cabinet, then quickly wiped off the smudges with the edge of my cardigan. ‘I expect Joe Bloggs would have had to make do with an old dinghy.’
‘Well, there are some perks to being Jay Merino,’ he acknowledged, a smile in his eyes. ‘Though, I doubt there are any old dinghies on the Île de Ré.’
‘Probably not,’ I conceded. ‘It doesn’t even feel like we’re on the water,’ I added. I’d expected the yacht to be pitching up and down.
‘That’s because we’re not really.
’ His smile was warm enough to make me forget I was cold and damp. ‘Are you ready to set sail?’
I felt a throb of excitement and ignored the sight of my curls, pinging in all directions in the reflective surface of the cabinet. ‘You really know how to drive this thing?’
‘Come and watch, if you don’t believe me,’ he said. ‘You do know it’s motor powered, not a sailing yacht with sails and keels and rigs?’
‘Of course,’ I fibbed. ‘Shame, though. I was looking forward to you shouting starboard, hoist the pulley and…’ I racked my brain for sailing terms. ‘Hopefully, not abandon ship.’
He laughed, engaging in some heavy-duty eye contact. ‘I do know how to sail, but I wanted us to relax and have something to eat, if that’s OK with you.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I joked, my heart pulsing hard in my chest. ‘What is there to eat?’ My eyes fixed on his lips.
‘There’s a fully stocked fridge, if you want to check it out,’ he said, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he rose from the swivel chair. ‘I’ll power her up and get us out on the water.’
‘Why are boats always referred to as “she”?’
‘I don’t know for certain, but a couple of theories are that men tend to name them after important women in their lives, or it’s an ancient custom derived from Old English texts, which referred to inanimate objects as “she”.’
‘Not just a pretty face,’ I said, impressed. I had the feeling again that, despite not having a clue about the little things, like how he took his coffee (did he even drink coffee?) or which side of the bed he preferred (I hoped it was the right), I’d known him a very long time. Watching him move towards me with a look of intent on his face, a pin-bright happiness welled up inside me and I knew I was going to savour every second of what happened next.
He looked as if he was thinking the same thing, lips shaping a sexy smile, but as he reached for me, a groan emerged from behind a glossy black door I’d assumed opened onto a cabin, containing a sizeable bed. ‘What was that?’