Page 27 of The Honeymoon Affair

Feck off

I grin and send another, this time of my mojito.

Feck right off

I send a thumbs-up.

I hope you’re having a fabulous time

I am. How’re things there?

Intercepted some coke yesterday. Very happy

Yay! Well done you

All down to Fish and Chips

Chips is one of the sniffer dogs. He’s a gorgeous, playful English springer spaniel. His handler, Brad Flisch, is naturally known to us all as Fish. Between them, they have a great detection rate.

Give Chips a hug from me. Tell Fish I’ll see him next week

Will do

I put my phone in my tiny handbag, which actually only has space for it and the card key for the room. Charles has his back to me while he keeps talking on his mobile. Celeste is chatting to the widow who plays golf. She’s a lovely woman, I’ve discovered, really strong and determined to live her life to the fullest even without her husband.

‘He wouldn’t want me moping about the place,’ she told me as we swam in the sea this morning. ‘Besides, I was never the moping sort.’

‘But you miss him?’

‘Every minute of every day,’ she replies. ‘All the same, it is what it is. I can’t change the fact that he’s gone and I’m here. He’d want me to make the most of life.’

I admired her fortitude and resolved to be more like her myself. As a result, I haven’t checked on Steve’s location all day. In fact I’ve decided never to do it again. I’m giving myself a pass on wanting to know where he was on our wedding day, but I don’t want to turn into an actual stalker.

I move away from the main group and head back towards the beach. There are a few couples strolling hand in hand along the water’s edge, and I make a determined effort not to imagine me and Steve doing the same. I glance back towards the party and see that Charles has finished his phone call and is now in conversation with one of the male golfers. I turn away again and walk to a small outcrop of rocks at one end of the beach. I sit there and watch the waves lapping against them.

It’s about ten minutes later when Charles joins me. He has a cocktail in each hand.

‘All alone?’ he asks as he offers me another mojito.

‘Happily.’ I accept it from him.

‘Am I interrupting?’

‘Not at all.’

He perches gingerly on an adjoining rock.

‘I wrote about people doing this,’ he says with a grimace. ‘I made it seem romantic. I didn’t realise how bloody uncomfortable sitting on a rock is.’

I laugh.

‘Seriously.’ He grunts as he tries to find a more comfortable position. ‘I have a new respect for models who make it look easy when they’re showing off swimsuits.’

‘Especially as those photo shoots are usually in the winter,’ I remark. ‘And anyone modelling a bikini in Dublin in the winter deserves a medal.’

He chuckles, and we sit in companionable silence for a while. I continue to look out to sea, not that there’s anything to look at except the silver-white light of the moon on the rippling water.

I’m not thinking of anything, simply enjoying the music that’s wafting on the night air, the warmth of the breeze on my shoulders and the proximity of Charles Miller, who doesn’t seem bothered by our lack of conversation. Then I’m aware of someone approaching us, and I see Celeste.

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