Page 53 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

I check my phone—I’ve been sleeping for over an hour, and it’s nearly one p.m. Where has he gone? It’s still raining, although not quite so hard now, and the sky is lighter outside. Right then, I hear a knock on the door. I wrap my arms around my knees, listening, and hear him open the door, then speak to the person outside. “Thank you,” he says, “that looks amazing.” The person says something unintelligible, and Joel says, “Yes, please, over there.”

Food, maybe? My stomach rumbles in response. I’d better get up.

I’m surprised to find myself a little shaky when I get to my feet. Frowning, I go to the bathroom, and I’m startled when I look in the mirror and see how pale my face is. I pinch my cheeksa little, but I don’t have the energy to put on makeup. I feel tired, even though I’ve just had a snooze. This isn’t like me at all.

I head to the kitchen, wrapping my arms around myself in Joel’s thick hoodie, and discover him in the process of taking bowls and plates from a tray and setting up two place settings at the breakfast bar.

“Hey,” he says as he sees me. He frowns and comes over, stops before me, and bends to catch my eye. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

I hesitate. “I feel a bit shaky, and very tired still.”

“You’re white as a ghost. I think you need to get some food down you, and then it’s straight back to bed.”

I sniff. “What did you order?”

“Ham hock and split pea soup, with ham and cheese toasties.”

“Oh my God, it looks amazing.”

“Come on. Sit down before you fall down.” He guides me to a stool and waits for me to sit, then slides one of the bowls with the soup and toasted sandwich over.

The soup is thick and full of chunks of vegetables, and the toasties that are tucked into the side of the bowl ooze melted cheese. I extract a piece of ham from one of them and eat it; oh my God, it’s magnificent. Picking up my spoon, I tuck into the soup, sighing as it slides down inside me.

Joel gets me a bottle of water and opens it before handing it over. Then he takes two shot glasses from the cabinet and opens one of the cupboards. It contains a minibar like no other I’ve ever seen in a hotel—there are bottles of every kind of spirit you could want, along with cans of different tonics and spritzers, and various bottles of wines. He finds a bottle of brandy, says,“Hmm, nice,” opens it, and pours a generous amount into the two shot glasses. Then he brings them over.

“Brandy?” I ask doubtfully.

“You’ve had a shock, and I don’t want you to faint on me. Eat a bit, then drink it.”

“Yes, Dad.”

He gives me a wry look, sits on the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar, and picks up his glass. He downs the shot in one, then starts eating his soup.

Not to be outdone, I down my brandy, then immediately subside into a fit of coughing.

He watches me with amusement. “Don’t cough up a lung,” he says, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

“Jesus,” I squeak. “That was strong.”

“It’s brandy; it’s supposed to be.”

I have a few mouthfuls of water, cough again, then go back to my soup. “Wow. I’ll be asleep all afternoon at this rate.”

“It’ll do you good. “

“I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

He shrugs. “Diving is hard work anyway, without all the trauma. Even getting in and out of the scuba gear and the wetsuit takes energy. You’ll be fine tomorrow, don’t worry. Today, you just need rest.”

We eat in silence for a while. The rain continues to patter on the flagstones and the windows. It’s strangely calming.

“It’s a terrific villa,” I say, looking around. “I could live somewhere like this.”

“You think?”

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