Page 5 of One Bed

By the end of that day, he had her bank account number and secured the cottage for two weeks. His paying to hire the place made it a business transaction and he didn’t feel obligated to attend her retirement/birthday bash. It was this coming Saturday, and he already knew wild horses nor gun-toting aliens would drag him there.

Gib was sorry that Navy couldn’t make Golly’s bash, where he assumed he’d have the opportunity to meet a few of Golly’s author clients.If you come away with nothing else, Gib, make sure you get me an introduction to Parker Kane.

Navy wanted Parker Kane, and if Gib could give his cousin and best friend what he wanted, he would. Navy had opened his life, home and heart to Gib in those horrible weeks after his folks died. Although Hugh’s house was a five-bedroomed mansion, Navy rearranged his bedroom so that they could fit another double bed into his room, so that Gib wouldn’t be alone at night. Navy quickly became his best friend and brother, and Gib was still grateful he didn’t have any issues about sharing his father, or his extensive group of friends, with him.

Gib pushed his hand through his hair and checked his satnav, realising he was almost at Golly Trent’s villa.The cottage he’d rented was, according to the pictures Golly sent him, a small, one-bedroomed guesthouse set in the olive grove behind the villa. It looked fine to him, he didn’t need anything luxurious.

The island wasn’t big, he had this hire car to get to the many beaches so he could kayak and swim, a rare treat. The sun was shining, the air was rich, fragrant and warm, and he was looking forward to his break, to being by himself, desperately needing some time to wind down. The only other thing he’d like was sex…

But unless he paid for it – something he wasn’t prepared to do – sex required some sort of interaction and he was too, excuse the pun, fucking tired to summon up the energy.

Gib gripped the wheel and kept his eyes on the road. It had been a while –too long. But as the new CEO of what Fortune called ‘one ofthe most exciting privately owned companies in the world’ work had been crazy and, after fourteen-hour days, he only had enough energy to go for a run or to the gym, eat and then pass out face down on his California King, whether it was in his apartment in New York, the company flat in London or his home in Nashville.

They said there was more to life than work. Maybe one day he’d figure out what that was.

* * *

As Bea turned off the road to Golly’s Folly, her shoulders dropped and the tension in her neck eased. She’d been coming to this island since she was a little girl, and the air always tasted sweeter here, the load on her back lighter and her lungs looser. It didn’t hurt that the house was surrounded by riotous swathes of multi-coloured bougainvillaea. Golly’s mini-estate, like the island, was a testament to tranquillity, a place where the world slowed down.

But Bea wouldn’t be able to enjoy the slow pace because she had so much to do to ensure Golly’s party was a success. Yet, now that she was here, the task didn’t seem as overwhelming. She ran through her mental checklist for the next few hours. She had a guy from Fira coming later to string the lights across the courtyard in preparation for the party on Saturday night. Or was that tomorrow? She needed to check. But sitting down with the event planner, Cassie, was imperative because she needed to check whether Golly had sabotaged any of their plans.

Bea’d come into the party planning process later than she’d liked –deadlines for copy edits for book eight meant she’d missed the first two meetings with Cassie –but listened in horror to Golly’s idea of how to entertain her guests. Because Golly had more money than God and morally dodgy taste, Bea had quickly vetoed her suggestions of nude girls mud wrestling and a pie-eating contest. Bea also nixed the naked trapeze artists and the male strippers. She would not have the weekend marred by tacky decorations, badly behaved guests or less than brilliant service. Golly was over the top and a free spirit, but she still deserved a classy event.

If Golly wanted to end her fifty-year career with a bang, then it would be a classy bang, dammit!

‘Actually, stepping into my new life with a bang would be the perfect transition, Bea-darling.’

But Golly had managed to talk her into having appropriately clad fire-eaters at the party, as well as belly dancers. Exhausted, Bea had agreed. They’d serve coffee and hot croissants at five in the morning and the party would end, officially, at sunrise. And Golly, and more than a few of her guests, would be there ’til the end. A few of Golly’s close friends would then spend the next week on Santorini recovering, lying on the beach and exploring.

Bea lifted her water bottle to her lips, gagging at the car-warm temperature of its contents. It was noon, but she had no doubt Golly would be onto her third G&T by now. When in Greece, daytime drinking became morning drinking, and sometimes it was simply carry-on-from-the-night-before drinking. Golly’s liver was indestructible. Bea wondered if they’d had any last-minute RSVPs. And if her mum would rock up. She hadn’t been invited, but Lou wouldn’t let a pesky detail like that stop her. God, Bea hoped her mother had something, or someone, better to do.

Lou’s hooking up with Gerry after he and Bea had split was, and always would be, unforgivable. Telling the world about it in her wildly popular, frequently salacious, weekly tabloid newspaper column was worse. What on earth had Bea done in her previous life to rate such crappy parents?

Dropping her window open, Bea waited for her first view of the house, with its many windows and intricate wrought-iron balconies. The style of the house was Spanish-adjacent, with a touch of English Victoriana, and had nothing in common with the blindingly white Cycladic architecture on the rest of the island. The roof of the double-storey mansion was laid with terracotta tiles, perfectly complementing the warm stone building below. A sculpture fountain, a twin to the one in the courtyard, sat in the middle of the circular driveway. Guests were expected to park on the gravel area to the side of the house. Being the first visitor here, she’d nab the spot under the branches of the old olive tree and keep the rental car in the shade. She swung left and frowned when she saw the yellow Jeep parked in her usual spot.

What the hell was the guy who fixed her puncture doing here? And, more importantly, who was he? The villa only had five bedrooms: Golly had one room, and Reena, Golly’s oldest friend, the other. The Farrow twins, Jack and Jacqui –she rolled her eyes, what were their parents thinking? – were old friends of Golly’s, and her favourite interior decorator and art dealer. They would use bedrooms three and four. The last room was allocated to Cassie and her wife. As event manager and caterer, they needed to be on-site.

And Bea’d called dibs on the one-bedroom guest cottage. It was where she always stayed when she was on the island, it was her bolthole and her refuge.

Of course, the kayaker could simply be visiting, but who was he here to see?

Bea parked, switched off the ignition and released her seatbelt. Leaving her bag and phone behind, she exited the car and slammed the door. Pushing her hand into her hair, she hit a snag. Grimacing, she ducked down to look in the side mirror and sighed. Yep, her hair definitely needed a brush. Admittedly, she looked a lot better than she usually did – she normally had the corpse-at-a-computer look nailed – but she’d never be as glamorous as Golly, as impeccably stylish as her mother or as hipster cool as Gerry. At her best, she was pretty, but more girl-next-door than gorgeous.

And, damn, she had mascara dots under her eyes, and she desperately needed some lipstick. And how was it that the freckles on her nose and cheeks seemed darker and denser in the few hours since she left London? Did they sense the Greek sun and decide to pop out for some superstrength Vitamin D?

‘Bea-darling!’

Bea stood up so fast she spun around and wobbled. She placed her hand on the roof of her hatchback, resting it there until the ground settled under her feet, and grinned at the sight of Golly and her oldest friend Reena hurrying towards her. Unsurprisingly, Golly had a cigarillo in one hand and a large, icy G&T in the other. Her hair was newly dyed, a shade Bea could only call bordello pink.

‘What the hell took you so long, Bea-darling?’ Golly demanded, in her thirty-a-day rasp.

‘I’m here! Finally!’

She flung her arms around Golly, placed her cheek against hers and rocked her from side to side while Golly patted her back with one hand and held her G&T steady with the other. Cigarillo smoke and Chanel No 5; it was the smell of Bea’s childhood, of safety, ofhome.

‘It’s so bloody lovely to see you, Bea-darling.’

Bea smiled. She’d last seen Golly ten days ago in London and had spoken to her several times a day since, but Golly always greeted her as if they’d been separated for months, if not years. Bea stepped back from her to greet Reena, who’d only tolerate a quick buzz on her wrinkled cheek.

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