Page 7 of One Bed

Cass laughed. ‘Iamamazing and I’m going to hold you to that bonus. This assignment has been a … challenge.’

Diplomatic Cass. ‘It’s been a raging headache and a full-on pain in the arse!’ Bea corrected her, scowling at Golly. Golly didn’t even look remotely chastised.

‘By the way, I’ve arrived at the villa, and I’ll wander up to say hello later.’ Bea disconnected and pointed her phone at Golly. ‘Keep it to under forty guests.’

Golly blew her a kiss, not for a milli-second doubting that she’d get her way. Oh, to be that confident and assured. Bea rolled her head, trying to work the knots out of her neck. She’d wanted to spend a little time working this afternoon – if she could get the bare bones of the new series arc down she’d feel a little more in control – but now she had to help Cass prepare for Golly’s spur-of-the-moment soiree.

Not being at her laptop for a few days, even for a few weeks, wouldn’t stop the world from turning. She was always several weeks, sometimes months ahead of her deadline but she hated not working, taking time off. It made her feel like a slacker, like she wasn’t professional and that she wasn’t taking her job seriously.

She was and she did, but doubts hid in dark corners waiting to ambush her.

When would she feel like she’d made it, when would she stop feeling like a fraud? Was it at fifteen books? Twenty? Fifty? When would she feel like she wasn’t some imposter calling herself a writer? Would there ever come a time when she emailed off her first draft and didn’t immediately wish she hadn’t, that she’d taken the time to read it over once more, and make some changes? When would she feel confident in her talent? Would she ever stop second-guessing herself?

Bea rubbed the back of her neck and pushed her hair behind her ears. It was time to get her luggage into the cottage, so she opened the back passenger door and handed Reena her clothes bag and Golly her toiletry bag. She still had to ask about the owner of the Jeep and why he was here.

But first things first. ‘Have you had any more RSVPs for the weekend?’

A lot of people had replied to Golly directly instead of using the email on the invitation, and Bea knew the final count could be somewhere between 150 and 220 people.

‘No idea. Reen?’ Golly asked. Her glass wobbled, sloshing liquid over her hand. Golly sucked it up, leaving a bright red lipstick smudge behind.

Reena pulled Golly’s phone from the pocket of her godmother’s kaftan and peered at the screen. ‘Nothing so far today, but we’re still expecting a couple of twats to respond at the last minute.’

Reena didn’t suffer fools. If she thought you were a useless waste of space, then she had no problem telling you so. Hers and Golly’s friendship went back to their university days at Magdalen College, Oxford. They’d met on a march through central London in 1960 to protest against the massacre of sixty-nine unarmed South Africans atSharpeville. The following year, they were arrested at a Ban the Bomb demonstration and sharing a cell cemented their relationship.

Reena was as much a part of Bea’s life as Golly, and the only other person who knew Bea was Parker Kane. Reena was a vault, and anyway, Bea suspected she’d long ago forgotten her pseudonym. Reena wasn’t a reader, unless it wasHorse and Houndand horse-racing forms.

‘Fabio Rossi sent his regrets?—’

‘Had an affair with him, would absolutely recommend,’ Golly stated, holding Bea’s overfull toiletry bag to her chest. ‘Younger than me, such an amazing lay.’ She smiled. ‘Men love me, Bea-darling.’

God, she was a few sips off being properly pissed, and needed food to soak up some of the alcohol. ‘Lunch?’ Bea asked Reena.

Reena nodded. ‘Good plan. Dump your stuff in the cottage and come to the villa. Nadia’s made a Mediterranean salad.’

Awesome. One of the best things about the next week was that with Nadia cooking their meals, she’d be spared Reena’s kitchen experiments. Reena was addicted to hot food and everything she made had the kick of a stroppy mule. Golly had the domestic skills of a pot plant.

Bea hauled her suitcase out of the car – so heavy – and nodded at the Jeep. She had to ask, her curiosity was killing her. ‘Who does that belong to?’

Golly looked at Reena and Reena at Golly, and neither of them answered. Bea frowned at her godmother. ‘What’s going on, Golly?’

‘It’s not a big deal, darling.’

Oh,shit.

‘I just had a senior moment.’

Golly never had senior moments, she was the sharpest septuagenarian she knew. ‘What have you done?’ Bea asked through gritted teeth.

She’d barely finished her sentence when she saw her rescuer walking towards them from the direction of the cottage. His now unbuttoned shirt gave her tantalising glimpses of his tanned chest. Her eyes widened at his Jack Reacher body.

He slowed down as he approached them, his face unreadable. Bea managed to pull her eyes off his body onto his face and into his silver-blue-grey eyes. The dude from the Oppenheimer movie eyes,Pip’seyes…

Oh, God.

‘We meet again,’ he said, casually buttoning up his shirt. He didn’t seem overly excited to see her, damn him.

‘Gibson Caddell, meet Bea Williams, my goddaughter. Bea-darling, Gib is the CEO of Caddell International.’

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