Page 28 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Hi.’

‘I came to say goodnight.’

‘Huh?’ I peer at my watch in the moonlight. ‘It’s early yet.’

‘Bit of a headache,’ she confesses. ‘I shouldn’t have had those vodka martinis. I don’t have your iron-clad constitution, Charles.’

‘Do you want me to come up with you?’ I ask.

‘No. Stay. Have fun. I just need to lie down.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Would you like me to walk you to your room?’ Charles stands up and brushes sand from his linen trousers. ‘Those pathways aren’t best lit, and I’d hate you to stumble in those fabulous heels.’

Celeste thanks him and slips her hand around his arm. ‘Don’t go away,’ he says to me as he walks with her.

I feel a little guilty for not leaving the party too, but I’m not tired and haven’t had as much to drink so am good for a while yet. Besides, the fire torches on the beach and the music of tonight’s calypso band are enticing. I sit on the edge of the jetty and allow my feet to dangle in the warm seawater.

It’s not long before Charles returns to join me.

‘Is Celeste all right?’ I ask.

‘Fine,’ he assures me. ‘She’s going to bed. She says she probably had one martini too many.’

‘I’m beginning to think they mix them stronger at night,’ I remark.

‘Oh well, it’s not a holiday until someone has a hangover. Thankfully, it’s not me.’

‘Because you’re not on holiday,’ I point out. ‘You were having a late-night conversation about work earlier. What do you mean by work? Writing your book? Or other stuff?’

‘Talking to my agent, mainly.’ He grimaces. ‘She’s agitating for a manuscript. Or at least a few chapters.’

‘Have you had the same agent all the time?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’

‘So she was also your significant other?’

‘Jesus.’ He looks at me with a touch of irritation. ‘You’re like the hairdresser in Janice Jermyn’s book. Investigating things that don’t need to be investigated.’

‘All I did was read your bio and a couple of news pieces online.’

‘Yes, I’ve had the same agent for ever. Yes, we were together for a while. We’re not any more but she’s still my agent. Does that satisfy your inner sleuth?’ His tone is mild, though I think he’s put out that I know so much about him. But honestly, does he really not google people himself?

‘I didn’t mean to sound like I was quizzing you,’ I say, although I’m itching to know if they got married and divorced, or if one of them broke off the engagement. In which case we’d have something in common. I ask him as casually as possible if there’s anyone else in his life.

‘For crying out loud! What’s this, the Spanish fecking Inquisition?’

I don’t say anything. I don’t want him to think I’m harbouring ideas about him, given that we’re sitting apart from the rest of the guests, dangling our feet in the moonlit water in what can only be described as a romantic setting. It’s not like I’m feeling romantic. About him or anyone. All the same . . .

‘Sorry.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m not good at answering questions about my life unless it’s an actual interview. Anyhow, it’s all about the work these days. She’s one of the best agents around. I like to work with the best.’

‘You must have loads of manuscript to give her,’ I say, thankful that we’ve moved on from the inquisition accusations. ‘Haven’t you been locked up in your room for the last few days writing?’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Twelve hours a day. I’m motoring along.’ He sounds both surprised and enthusiastic.

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