Page 6 of Stuck in Paradise with You

But my lightness is fleeting because sixty yards away from us, Carrie has made it to the top of the beach steps, where she rotates on the spot, taking in the view from the highest point of the island.

I dart behind the nearest palm tree, knocking over a silver wine bucket in a stand as I go, and lean my shoulders back against the firm trunk as I try not to hyperventilate.

I’m going for that run.

4

CARRIE

Wow. Justwow.

Eric must be gutted he has stomach flu. No pun intended.

I’ve climbed the stone steps to Mr Hettich’s private resort, roasting under the heat of the afternoon sun. But nothing, not even the ever-present and lingering knowledge that Luke Chalmers is somewhere on this island, can destroy the view for me.

I turn three-sixty degrees on the spot at the top of the hillside while Mr Hettich’s staff come by me carrying my luggage.

Two large dogs – English pointers, I think – have followed us up from the beach, tails wagging.

The resort is centered around what I presume is the main house and residence of my client. Around it, I count ten individual holiday cottages, each with a pool and hot tub on its veranda. The main house is three tiered, like a beautiful white wedding cake – each layer round. The top floor has a white peaked roof, as opposed to figurines of a bride and groom, but it stands above a middle tier that has a pillared terrace set with multiple dining tables, then below that, steps lead down to alarge infinity pool with a swim-up bar, sun loungers and tables with expensive-looking parasols.

This truly is how the other half live.Or, more like how the wealthiest 1 per cent of the population live.

Beyond the accommodation is lush greenery that covers most of the teardrop-shaped land, except for one area of what looks like much more modest accommodation, down the hillside. Presumably, the area that looks more like the kind of holiday accommodation I would fund myself, the staff digs.Incredible.

The land trails around its northern side into smooth, white-sand beaches, which dissolve into crystal-clear waters. Even from this high-up vantage point, I can see rocks beneath the flat surface. Fifteen or twenty yards into the water, a few boats – dinghies and speedboats – are anchored. Conversely, the southern side of the island seems to drop from rocks to water. There’s a boat house and dock on that side, too, and I can see the tip of a mast pole. I can only imagine the size of the boat it belongs to.

There’s not even a wispy cloud in the bluest of skies and the only sound I hear is the tweeting of birds. Until a clatter steals my attention, like something metal being dropped to the tiles around the main pool. I could swear there’s a flash of person moving behind a palm tree when I look but when I blink, it’s gone.

Before I locate the source of the sound, Jenny, one of the crew who drove me by boat from Tortola to Charithonia, asks, ‘Ms Briggs— Sorry, Carrie. Can I show you to your pod?’

‘I… Ah… I’m…’Mindblown. ‘Yes, that would be super, thank you.’

She smiles in a way that’s sweet, obliging and knowing all at once. ‘This way.’

As sweet as she may be, with her words, she has unkindly brought me back from dreamland. I remember now why I was so eager to get off the airplane on the tarmac at JFK. To give up a first-class seat and all ofthis.

I search the landscape as we move, looking for Luke.

Could I be so lucky to havetwomen who should have been meeting this week come down with gastroenteritis?

Luke Chalmers would deserve worse. Much worse. I’m thinking about what that might look like – German measles, dengue, elephantiasis – as Jenny opens the door to my pod.

To describe my bedroom for the next four nights as a pod truly does it a disservice.

In the center of the round room is a circle-shaped bed that could sleep an entire family. Despite its shape, the crisp white bedding is tucked under the mattress without a crease. Some things defy logic. This entire trip being one such thing.

A bow has been tied across the diameter of the bed using gold silk, as if it’s a gift. I wonder if anyone would notice me sneaking it home with me as luggage?

Set perfectly in the middle of my would-be loot is a glimmering gold envelope, which I absolutely will open, but not before I’ve checked out the ensuite, which has a tub I could literally swim in, a flat-screen television that’s extended from the ceiling, and a glass door through to an outside shower.

This isnuts. Categorically nuts.

‘Is everything okay for you, Carrie?’ Jenny asks.

‘Okay?Ha. For sure, thank you.’

Jenny must be twenty-three or four, maybe younger, yet she doesn’t seem fazed by the setting in the slightest.

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