Page 23 of One Bed

‘Do we need a reason to drink champagne?’ Golly demanded, before shrugging. ‘Some friends are in town already and it seemed silly for us to be doing our own thing when they could be here with me, telling me how wonderful they think I am.’

Yep, she was going to milk this weekend for all it was worth. Gib leaned back and placed his ankle on his knee. ‘You really should work on your confidence and self-esteem, Golly,’ he said, lifting another sliver of peach into his mouth.

She cackled, enjoying him. ‘I know I’m a bit much, but if I don’t blow my own horn, then no one is going to do it for me.’ They laughed and Reena stood up to gather their now empty plates. ‘So, are you going to join us?’

Gib shook his head. ‘Don’t feel offended, Golly, but I’m going to sit this one out.’

Golly pouted. ‘Why?’ she demanded, as truculent as an overtired toddler.

‘I came to Santorini to get away from people.’

Golly leaned forward. ‘Again, why?’

Bea’s interest sharpened. Maybe he’d let something personal slip with Golly.

‘I’ll just stay in the cottage and read,’ he calmly replied.

Damn, no dice.

Golly cocked her head to the side. ‘You intrigue me, Gib Caddell. Still waters run deep.’

Gib placed his peach on his plate and reached for a slice of bread. ‘Did you say there are cold cuts in the fridge?’ he asked, adroitly changing the subject. He stood and walked over to the fridge. Before Golly could ask a follow-up question, or continue her interrogation, he spoke again. ‘So, Reena, have you ever killed someone with your chilli chicken? Or put them in hospital?’

Reena protested with a loud squawk and Bea met Golly’s inquisitive, slightly annoyed eyes. Her godmother was used to getting her own way, having her questions answered, her curiosity assuaged. Golly lifted her eyebrows and Bea knew what she was asking – what is he hiding? Bea shrugged. She had no idea, but she figured that in Gib, Golly’d met her match.

He wasn’t going to be charmed, hassled or manipulated into giving answers or information.

Pity.

* * *

Bea walked out of the bedroom of the cottage, her fingers at her right ear, trying to attach the butterfly to the back of the pin of the diamond earrings Golly had given her for her twenty-first birthday. She’d heard cars arriving, and the chatter of voices from the guests on the path as they walked up the esplanade.

Golly said she’d told people to arrive at six, but her concept of time was fluid, and Bea couldn’t guarantee Golly would be on hand to greet her guests. She was fond of making an entrance. Bea couldn’t rely on Reena to act as a host either, as she’d been known to answer the door in torn-at-the-seat jodhpurs, with straw in her hair and horse shit on her boots.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Bea muttered, holding onto the bedroom’s door frame to slide one black heel onto her foot. ‘Why am I always late?’

‘It’s only a quarter to, Bea, and you look…’

She lifted her head, looking around the room to find Gib. He stood at the half-open doors leading onto the small deck. His feet were bare, he smelt familiar – the bloody man had used her Creed shower gel again – and he held a glass of red wine in his hand. Her heart sighed, and her womb rolled over.

Seriously?

Bea swapped feet and teetered as she tried to hook her shoe over her toes. She waited for him to complete his sentence, and wished he’d hurry up. How did she look? Harried? Stressed? Annoyed with her godmother? Like she wished she was in her pyjamas and curled up on the couch with a romance novel?

‘Stunning,’ Gib stated, walking into the cottage. He stopped and gave her a long up-and-down look. ‘That’s a lovely dress, Bea.’

Oh, he had a good line in bullshit because this dress was off the rack and was on sale when she bought it. It had sheer, cap sleeves and a scalloped neckline, and its hemline was made more interesting by a black gauze insert, but it wasn’t anything special. It certainly wasn’t designer.

‘You don’t believe me,’ he stated, cocking his head to the side.

She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘I think you know the right thing to say at the appropriate time.’

His eyes darkened to pewter. ‘I don’t say things I don’t mean.’ His tone held a note of don’t-test-me-on-this and she blushed at her churlish response.

‘Then, thank you, I guess.’ She started to pull her lip between her teeth and remembered that she didn’t want to smudge her lipstick. She rarely wore the stuff and hated how it felt on her lips. She resisted the urge to ask him to kiss it off.Bad girl, Bea.

He reached for a light hoodie lying on the back of a wingback chair and pulled it over his head. ‘Don’t you need a wrap? There’s a cool breeze coming off the sea.’

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