Page 37 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Charles, we were naked in your bedroom,’ I reminded him. ‘I had reasonable expectations of what would happen next.’

‘I suppose you did.’

‘But I also think it’s sweet that you were thinking of our sexual health,’ I told him. ‘And possibly even my reputation.’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘Actually, it was your book,’ I reminded him. ‘A plot twist. I do hope it was worth it.’

‘I wrote two chapters after you left. Good chapters.’

‘Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I’d inspire a great romantic novelist to write crime by not sleeping with him,’ I said.

‘Are you being sarky with me?’

‘A bit.’

‘You’re very confident.’ Charles frowned. ‘Why do I always go for confident women?’

‘Your agent-slash-ex was confident too? Well, she must have been if she had her own business.’

‘I used to call her Annie-Get-Your-Gun,’ he said. ‘She’d shoot anyone down if they deserved it.’

‘And me? What would you call me?’

‘My muse,’ he said, very seriously, as he folded my hand in his.

By the time Celeste returned, we were gazing into each other’s eyes.

‘I’m in the way,’ she said. ‘I’m going back to the room.’

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s fine.’

‘I came on this holiday to be emotional support, not a gooseberry,’ she told me.

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Get whatever emotional support you need from Charles. I’m off to read a book. Not one of yours,’ she added, looking at Charles as she picked up her drink. ‘I’m going to bed with John le Carré.’

Charles and I remained at the table.

‘I should go up too,’ I said.

‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘But I’d much rather you came to my room first.’

So I did.

This time he had protection. I wonder if he’d visited the resort pharmacy or made a trip into town. Either way, I was happy. He was so much better in bed than Steve. He asked me exactly what I most enjoyed and wanted, and his touch was gentle but confident.

I had a great time.

It was a pity Celeste and I were going home the next day.

But he’s texted me a few times. At first his messages were quite formal, but now he’s getting into emojis and GIFs and is calling it a new way of expressing yourself. I told him it’s the way I’ve always expressed myself, and he sent back a string of emojis, some of which I had to explain to him later. I think it was an eye-opener for him. All the same, I’m not sure what he expects from me, or indeed, what I expect from him. It was great, but it was only a fling. Yet every time a text arrives, I feel a thrill. But will meeting up again in a cold, snowy Dublin put a freeze on the tropical heat that’s smouldering below the surface?

I pick up the dryer and switch it on, blasting my hair with hot air. Then I pause. Because I think I’ve heard a noise downstairs. Which is impossible, especially over the noise of the hairdryer, but you know how it is when you’re on your own. You’re sensitive to unexpected sounds. It’s probably someone outside, but I switch off the hairdryer nonetheless and stand silently in the bedroom. And then I hear it again, the muted thud of a door being being opened and closed.

I’m so still I’m almost a statue – I can’t believe someone has broken into my home. I’ve always felt very safe here, sandwiched between the O’Reillys on one side and the Castles on the other. Mr and Mrs O’Reilly are contemporaries of Mum and Dad; they’ve been my next-door neighbours all my life. The Castles are blow-ins, as they’ve only lived here for ten years. They’re a young family, mum, dad and two small children. Both couples look out for me, and I look out for them.

---