Page 32 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Drifting,’ she says. ‘That must be the latest a party has ever gone on in this hotel. Usually everyone’s tucked up before midnight.’

I glance at my watch. It’s nearly one.

‘I was talking to Charles Miller,’ I say.

‘Only talking?’

‘He’s an interesting man.’

‘Only talking?’ she repeats.

And kissing. Talking and kissing. But not anything else. Because even as we were lying on the super-king-sized bed in his gorgeous villa and I was wrapping my legs around his body, he suddenly swore and muttered about not having condoms and really not wanting either of us to suffer unforeseen consequences of what was happening.

‘I’m on the pill,’ I murmured. Which was enough for Steve when I first went to bed with him. He confessed that he hated condoms and never enjoyed sex wearing one.

‘You may well be.’ Charles Miller disentangled himself from me. ‘And I trust you completely on that score. But I’ve got to this point in my life without being responsible for an unplanned pregnancy and I’m not going to start now. I like to be part of the protection plan.’

‘Oh.’

‘We don’t know each other,’ he says.

‘Well, no. But—’

‘I’m sorry, Iseult.’ He sat up and pulled on the shirt and shorts he’d been wearing earlier. ‘I didn’t mean for us to have this conversation. I didn’t expect this to happen at all.’

‘They don’t make male authors like they used to,’ I said as nonchalantly as any woman who’s been pushed away twice by a man can possibly be. ‘I thought all you guys were like Hemingway and . . . and . . .’ I stopped there, as Hemingway was the only author I remembered from school who was portrayed as a womaniser.

‘I’d be pleased to be compared to him as far as success with my books goes,’ said Charles. ‘It’s just that . . . well, I’m not really the kind of man who’d meet someone and sleep with them straight away. I know that probably sounds daft to you. My niece once told me that hopping into bed with someone isn’t any greater deal than a kiss these days, but I grew up with the Catholic guilt, you see, so I’m not quite as good at it.’

‘OK . . .’

‘That aside, though, I don’t want to have a one-night stand with a beautiful young woman who’s about half my age. You realise that turns me into a trope. Middle-aged man runs off to tropical island and falls for younger woman.’

‘If you’ve fallen for me, it’s not a one-night stand. What about your ex-significant-other who’s your agent?’ I asked. ‘You said it was all about the work these days, but is it?’

He hesitated, and I felt my heart sink.

‘It’s a very long time since we loved each other,’ he replied. ‘We don’t have a personal relationship any more.’

‘So if there’s nothing between you and I’m OK with it, it’s no big deal.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I need a bit of time to process this. And . . .’ he looked at me sheepishly, ‘as I was kissing you, I thought of a great plot twist.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ I clambered off the bed and started to get dressed. ‘I’d better get back. Celeste will be wondering what’s happened to me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Charles. ‘I . . . You’re a lovely person.’

‘Thanks for letting me down gently. Twice,’ I added for good measure as I picked up my bag and walked to the door.

‘Iseult.’ He stopped me opening it. ‘It’s not that I wouldn’t . . . it’s . . .’

‘It’s fine.’

Our eyes locked and we gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity. I could feel the electricity surge all over again.

And then I opened the door and walked out.

‘Crikey,’ says Celeste, when I tell her this. ‘You would’ve had sex with him?’

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