Page 80 of One Bed

She missed him. So damn much.

A Santorini reunion without Gib was a ridiculous notion. It was like a puzzle with a gaping hole in the middle. Oh, wait, that washerlife.

‘Golly says that the press attention has died down, Bea-darling,’ Jack said, a whisky in his hand. He sat next to Reena, who was studying a racing form.

‘It was a bit mad when the press releases first went out.’ Bea leant against one of the pergola’s pillars. There’d been a few mentions of Lou and Gerry’s affair, but nothing dramatic.

Golly, and Gib, were right when they said her imagination would be worse than reality.

‘And you have a new agent?’ Cass asked. ‘Gib’s cousin? Is he as sexy as Gib?’

Nobody couldeverbe as sexy as Gib. ‘He’s not my type,’ Bea told Cass.

Cass snorted. ‘I looked him up online. Masculine and ripped is every heterosexual woman’s type.’

Not hers. ‘Why did you go with Navy Caddell, Bea?’ Jacqui quietly asked.

‘I had meetings with a few agents, but I didn’t gel with any of them,’ Bea explained. ‘Then Navy video-called me, told me nobody would be better for me than him, and I would be a fool not to sign with him.’

And he said it all in a lazy drawl, and with this twinkle in his eye.

Cass’s eyes widened. ‘And what did you say to that?’

‘I didn’t have a chance to say much. He told me he loved my books, and he has ideas for my spin-off series.’

She didn’t tell them that to get her to take his call he’d sent her a basket of luxury goods – champagne, expensive chocolates and high-end, including Creed, toiletries. In amongst the goodies was a printed list with the heading: A Writer’s Guide to Video Calls with Their Agent. There was just one bullet point on the list.

Are you suitably dressed?

On the back of the list, she found a jotted note from Navy.

Gib said I wasn’t to mention it, but I disagreed. We could wait until we’re wrinkled to laugh about it, or we could start now. Let’s talk.

And with that, her embarrassment faded away. She’d had a few calls with Navy since signing with him a week ago, but she’d yet to find the courage to ask how Gib was, where he was and, crucially, was he missing her?

And Navy, damn him, didn’t volunteer any information, either.

‘Bea-darling, I’m a bit chilly. I think I left my green silk pashmina in the cottage earlier, do you think you could run down and get it for me?’ Golly half turned to look at her.

She didn’t remember seeing a pashmina in the cottage, but she was so tired –physically, mentally, and emotionally –and the small things didn’t always register. She’d go look for it, as she could do with five minutes alone.

She walked towards the cottage, her movement sluggish. Her heart and head ached, and she wanted Gib’s arms around her, telling her it would be OK. Because as long as he wasn’t in her life, nothing was OK. All right, mildly dramatic, but she didn’t think she’d ever feel whole again. She’d thought she could do this, be without him. She’d taken the high ground, without realising how incredibly lonely it was. So what if he couldn’t open up, if she couldn’t mean as much to him as he did to her? He liked her, respected her, was thoughtful and considerate and so very good in bed. Maybe a little of something was better than a lot of nothing.

It had to be. She needed him and would take anything she could get, and her pride could go to hell. She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and dialled, holding her breath as she waited for him to answer.

‘Bea-baby.’

She closed her eyes, letting his voice roll over her and fill the empty spots inside her. But only being with him could fill the massive, Gib-sized hole in her heart.

‘We’re at Golly’s Folly and everyone important is here, but you’re not and—’ Should she say this? Why not? She was so damn sick of pretending that being apart wasn’t ripping her apart. ‘And I miss you. I wish you were here.’

He waited a beat, before speaking again. ‘Why do you want me there?’

He was going to make her explain? Well, OK, then. ‘Because I’m miserable without you.’

She stopped and rubbed her fingers across her forehead. Too much? Too soon? ‘Sorry,’ she said when he didn’t reply. ‘I didn’t mean to dump that on you, but it’s been a long day.’

Six weeks that felt like six thousand.

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