Page 26 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘I’m writing like a madman and I hope you’ll be happy with the result,’ he tells me.

‘I hope so too. I’m sure Graham’s fingers are crossed. I’m at the party tonight.’

‘What party?’

‘For heaven’s sake, Chas! His dad’s ninetieth. The one you recorded the message for.’

‘Oh, right. I’d forgotten.’

How could he forget? It’s on our shared diary. It’s been there for months.

‘Penny and Avery are here too.’

‘Of course they are. How is dear Avery?’

‘Looking well.’

‘Still reminding you of a pipe cleaner?’

‘A liquorice strip,’ I say. ‘I’m too young to know what a pipe cleaner looks like.’

Charles chuckles. It’s nice to hear. He’s sounded despairing for so long that I’ve worried about him. And then I hear voices in the background, and a female voice telling him that his random order was a mojito, and I ask if he’s at a party himself.

‘The manager’s cocktail party,’ he says. He adds that it’s nice to think we’re both having a good time and drinking cocktails, even if we are about seven thousand kilometres apart.

‘I’d better get back to mine,’ I tell him. ‘Obviously I want to make sure that people know you’re Xerxes’ most important author and that you’re devastated not to be here tonight but you’re being driven by the muse.’

‘Or the mojitos.’

‘You really are writing your book?’

‘I really am.’

He says that quite seriously, so I decide to believe him. Because if he’s not writing the book, if he’s just living it up on Paradise Island . . . well, I don’t even want to contemplate that disaster.

‘Talk soon,’ I say. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

‘You too. Tell George I wish him all the best. Tell Graham he’ll have the new manuscript soon.’

‘I will.’

‘Goodnight, Ariel.’

He ends the call before I have time to say goodnight in return.

Chapter 8

Iseult

What I like in a good author is not what he says but what he whispers.

Logan Pearsall Smith

The manager’s cocktail party is great fun. I’d imagined a stiff reception with people standing around being polite, but it turns into a beach barbecue with music and dancing and everyone having a good time. We’ve all had way too much to drink, but Celeste and I agree that the cocktails aren’t very heavy on alcohol so it’s OK to mix and match. Although two hours in, I’m not entirely sure about that.

‘Your random order is a mojito, sir.’ I approach Charles Miller with a frosted glass only to see that he’s on the phone. He smiles at me and nods towards one of the small tables on the wooden decking overlooking the sea. Then he mouths the word ‘work’ and makes a face before telling whoever he’s talking to that he’s at a cocktail party. I glance at my watch as I move away to give him a bit of privacy and calculate that it’s nearly midnight back in Ireland so a bit late for him to be having a work conversation. Though I suppose a writer is a writer 24/7. I think, suddenly, of my own workmates, who’ll be on the night shift now, and I take a photo of the hotel, looking pretty with the coloured lights strung around it, and send it to Natasha, who I know is the team leader tonight.

Her reply is instant.

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