God, this red wine was completely delicious. Really mustn’t have any more after this one, though. The good thing was, the hunger pangs had disappeared—those slices of orange and cucumber had definitely done the trick.
“We should probably head back soon,” said Josh. “You said you’re working the early shift tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine.” Tula beamed at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you down. Shall we have another drink?”
“Better not. It’s getting late.”
“But it’s only ten thirty. That’s not late at all.” She didn’t want the date to be over. “I know. Let’s go for a walk along the beach!”
Josh nodded and smiled in that heart-melting way of his. “Okay, good idea. Let’s do that.”
Whoops, sitting down had been easy; walking across soft sand was way trickier. And her head was spinning a bit more too, but never mind. The good thing was that after a couple stumbles, she now had Josh’s arm around her waist to steady her. Oh yes, this definitely counted as a blissful experience…
“So you wouldn’t say any of them had broken your heart.”
She’d been telling him some more about the boyfriends she’d had in Birmingham. Josh, bless him, was sounding concerned.
“No, not broken.” Picking her way over some complicated pebbles, Tula shook her head. “A few dents and bruises maybe, but nothing permanent. Nothing I couldn’t get over. These things happen, don’t they? You just keep on looking till you find the one who’s perfect for you.” Glancing up at him with a bewitching smile, she said, “And then one day it just happens. There he is. And you know it’s meant to be.”
“And everyone lives happily ever after.” Josh carefully steered her past a clump of gleaming brown seaweed, its frilly fronds sprawled like octopus tentacles across the sand.
“Well, we hope they do. Except it doesn’t always work out that way. Look at Dot and Lawrence,” said Tula. “Look at Sophie.”
After a moment, Josh said, “Sophie needs to let go of the past. She shouldn’t let what happened affect her life the way it does.”
“I know,” Tula nodded vigorously, “but she just can’t. I’ve tried telling her that so many times, but it’s like she’s made up her mind and there’s no going back. Once you’ve been married to someone and they do that to you… Well, it’s not something you get over in a hurry.”
“I know, but she has to, for her own good.”
“I didn’t know she’d told you.” Oops. Tula nearly stumbled again. “She never tells anyone about Theo. Honestly, though, what a nightmare. First his mother, then the whole suicide thing… I mean, God, no wonder she’s so messed up.”
Silence from Josh. Finally, in a voice that was overly casual, he said, “No, no wonder. So…how long ago did he die?”
Tula stopped walking and peered up at him, her brain swirling with alcohol. But she wasn’t so far gone that she didn’t realize he’d been bluffing. Honestly, why couldn’t he just relax and enjoy the evening without veering off on other subjects that weren’t anything to do with him?
“Let’s not talk about Sophie.” Entranced by the way he was looking at her and the sensation of his arm firmly encircling her waist, Tula breathed in the intoxicating smell of him. “Why don’t we talk about us? You’re so beautiful, do you know that? The first time I saw you, I could just feel it, you know? You seemed so right. And now we’re here on this beach and it’s all so…romantic. Do you know what I’m thinking?”
“Hang on, could you just stand upright a minute? Before we both fall over.” Not that she would have minded falling over with him, but Tula found herself being firmly rebalanced on her own two feet. Taking a step back from her, Josh said, “No, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but—”
“The last time I did this, it all went horribly wrong,” Tula babbled. “There was this guy I really liked at work, and when I tried to kiss him, he told me he was gay. But I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen again, because you’re definitely not… Oof…”
This time she lunged toward him and Josh was forced to catch her. Taking advantage of the gathered momentum, Tula puckered up, aimed her mouth at his, and managed to get his jaw. Not perfect, but better than nothing. Plus she was now plastered against his front, which had to be good.
Sadly Josh didn’t seem to think so. Once more she found herself being peeled off.
“Oh, come on,” Tula protested; it was so frustrating, being thwarted at every turn. “You know you aren’t gay.”
“I’m not gay,” Josh agreed, “but it still isn’t going to happen.”
“God.” She huffed out her cheeks in disappointment as he began to march her back in the direction of the hotel. “You’re such a spoilsport.”
Sounding suspiciously as if he might be laughing at her, Josh said, “I know.”
***
The alarm went off at ten past six and Tula wondered if it was possible to die from the sound of a too-loud alarm. Her head felt like an egg about to give birth to a full-grown dinosaur. Her heart was hammering with nausea. Which was now rising in a tidal wave up her body… Oh help…
Falling out of bed, she only just made it to the bathroom in time.
Jesus, was there anything worse in the world than feeling like this?
“Blimey.” Spike was making himself a coffee when she stumbled into the staff kitchen and filled a glass with cold water at the sink. “You look rough.”
“I’m a girl barely alive.” Tula swallowed; her legs were like jelly, her hands trembling. Even drinking water was fraught with risk.
“Good night, was it?”
“Not really.” Stay down, water, please.
He peered at her with interest. “You know when milk gets left out and it separates and goes that weird yellowy-green color? That’s the color of your face.”
“Don’t,” Tula murmured. Just the thought of sour milk could do it.
“Are you going to faint?”
“No.” It was a distinct possibility.
“You need to go back to bed,” said Spike.
“Can’t.”
“There’s no way you can work a shift.”
Tula wanted to cry; did he think she didn’t know that? Except there was no way she could not turn up for work. Her current state of near-death was self-inflicted, and she’d be out of a job faster than you could say super-strength ibuprofen.
Plus… Oh God, her brain had been quailing and veering away from even thinking about the goings-on of last night, but it was a situation she was going to have to address. Memory was patchy so far, but amid the gray blur was an all too vivid Technicolor recollection of her launching herself at Josh like a heat-seeking missile, doing her damnedest to kiss him—and missing—before being smartly fended off.
The shame, the terrible, terrible shame of it. Somehow she’d managed to misread the situation and make a complete fool of herself. Wild optimism had overcome common sense. In the cold, hungover light of day, it was mortifyingly obvious that he wasn’t the least bit interested in her. His number one priority was evidently still Sophie.
Who in turn wasn’t remotely interested in him. For goodness’ sake, couldn’t he see how futile his stupid crush on her was?
Anyway, at least she hadn’t been caught out by those sneaky questions he’d asked at the beginning of the evening. Sophie’s secrets were still safe.
Then the blanketing gray clouds of her memory parted just fractionally and a single word slipped out, causing the breath to catch in Tula’s throat. The word felt as if it might be suicide, but her brain had already skittered off in terror. Oh God, oh God, please don’t let her have said it out loud last night…
“Whoops.” Spike hastily pulled out a chair, grabbed her by the arms, and steered her toward it. “You’d better sit down. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
***
Somehow, by some miracle, Tula made it through her shift. Pale and shaky and feeling unbelievably ill, she nevertheless managed to stay upright, smile at the guests, serve breakfast, and generally behave as if she wasn’t teetering on the verge of death.
After lunch she went in search of Josh. “Could we have a private chat?”
Josh led the way into the empty office behind reception, eyeing her with interest. His tone dry, he said, “Well done. I didn’t think you’d manage it. Feeling any better yet?”
“No.”
“Sit down. Why not?”
As if he didn’t know.
“Okay, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” She may as well get all the humiliating bits out of the way first; let’s face it, having to apologize for trying to kiss him was less shaming than the actual attempt itself. Tula rubbed her forehead and said, “Sorry about everything, the grabbing you and stuff. I can’t believe I did that. It’ll never happen again.”
“You’ve said that before,” Josh pointed out.
“I know, but about something different. That was bunking off work. This was trying to kiss my boss. And I couldn’t be more embarrassed, but it’s not even the worst thing I did.” She stopped and took a deep, shuddery breath; during the course of the morning, the memories of last night had made their patchy, terrifying return. “I told you some stuff I shouldn’t have told you, about Sophie. I’m pretty sure I didn’t say too much, but…please don’t tell Sophie, okay? Please. I promised I’d never say anything, and she’ll be so upset if she finds out I’ve let her down.”
His expression was inscrutable. “Oh. That’s a shame. I was going to ask more questions.”
Tula’s neck prickled with panic. “Well, don’t! And there’s no point anyway, because I’m not saying another word. Promise me you won’t tell her,” she begged. “She’s my best friend. Please.”
“Fine. You didn’t say much.” Josh shrugged. “But okay, I promise. She won’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you.” The relief was overwhelming; her eyes unexpectedly smarted and she covered her mouth. “Really, thanks.”
“Are you going to be sick?” He reached for the trash can under the desk.
“No.” Tula took her hand away and wondered how it would feel to hear him say it with genuine concern for her, rather than for the office carpet. She was just going to have to accept that as far as Josh Strachan was concerned, she wasn’t The One.
Oh well. Maybe in time Josh would come to terms with the realization that as far as Sophie was concerned, he wasn’t hers either.
***
When Tula had left, Josh remained in the office, lost in thought. Sophie had been married. And her husband had committed suicide. This information had been ricocheting around inside his head since last night.
Well, he’d known there had to be some reason for her being the way she was, but he hadn’t been expecting that.
Talk about a bolt from the blue. He had no idea what had happened or the circumstances leading up to it, but he certainly understood now why she was so determined to protect herself from further pain.
Feeling responsible for another person’s death—even if you hadn’t been responsible for it—had to be one of the worst experiences in the world.
No wonder Sophie preferred to keep it to herself.
And now, thanks to Tula’s impassioned plea not to ask her any further questions, he wasn’t likely to find out more.
Before going off duty, Josh checked his watch. Sophie would be here any minute. It had been Dot’s idea; upon being told by a party of guests yesterday evening that before booking into any new hotel they liked to check out the photos of the people who ran the place, she had exclaimed, “Oh no, I can’t believe we haven’t done it; there aren’t any pictures of Josh on the website—we need to sort that out at once!”
And while he’d been out at the Mermaid with an increasingly inebriated Tula, Dot had been calling Sophie to get her up here this evening for a short notice photo shoot.
The next moment, prompt as always, there was a knock at the office door.
“Hi.” Sophie was smiling, and the sight of her—coupled with the knowledge of what he’d discovered last night—caused something in his chest to tighten. She was wearing a purple shirt and faded jeans, and looked happy and utterly relaxed. Except he knew now that she wasn’t. There was a carefully constructed guard there that never came down.
Okay, just act normally. If she can do it, so can you.
“Hi. Just so you know,” he warned her, “this is worse than the dentist for me. I hate having my photo taken.”
Sophie laughed. “So do lots of people. Don’t worry; I’ll make it quick and painless.”
“Shall we go outside to get it done?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I want you…sitting at your desk.”
It had been one of those accidental, meaningless pauses while she considered the options, but just for a millisecond it had sounded as if she were saying: I want you.
Ha, if only.
Mildly curious, he said, “Why?”
“I have my reasons. Sit,” Sophie instructed, pointing to the chair and already reorganizing the items on the desk. “I need you looking all businesslike and efficient and grown-up.”
Something was going on; her eyes were sparkling as she moved the computer a fraction to the left. Josh sat down and said again, “Why?”
“For contrast.” Grinning, she pulled a folder from her bag and opened it, taking out a photograph. “It’s Dot’s idea. She wants to show everyone how you are now, compared with how you used to be.”
He saw the photo and groaned. “Oh God.”
“Don’t be like that. It’s a fabulous idea.”
“Easy to say that,” Josh said drily, “when you’re not the one being publicly humiliated.”
It was a photo he hadn’t seen in years, taken by Lawrence during a trip to the beach. In it, Dot was sitting on a rock in a stripy dress, looking glamorous as always and laughing at his antics. And there he was, about nine or ten years old, skinny and tanned and wearing bright blue shorts and a yellow snorkeling mask pushed to the top of his head. There were lime-green flippers on his feet and his dark hair was dripping wet. In his left hand he held a shrimping net and in his right he was brandishing a live crab as, beaming with pride, he showed it off to the camera.
“It’s a gorgeous photo,” said Sophie. “I love that expression on your face. Look at you, so pleased with yourself.” Mischievously she added, “All smug and scrawny.”
“Hey. Less of the scrawny. I was…athletic.”
“And you weren’t afraid to have your photo taken. Okay, let’s do this, shall we? Roll up your shirtsleeves and sit forward a bit. Rest your elbows on the table. Give your head a shake. More than that.”
“Why do I have to shake my head?”
“Because your neck and shoulders are tense. You need to loosen up, channel your inner ten-year-old.” Sophie pointed to the photograph on the desk. “You were relaxed back then. Look at that brilliant smile.”
Was it any wonder he wasn’t relaxed now? Josh watched as she adjusted the settings on the camera, took a few test shots and moved around the office searching for the best angles.
“How’s your back?” She was still carrying herself carefully, limping a bit.
“Mending, thanks. Pretty spectacular bruise, but it’s getting better. Okay, look at me and smile.”
Easier said than done. Sophie was behind the camera now, taking photos, issuing gentle suggestions, and being persuasive, doing her best to get the shot she wanted.
Oh, but just the fact that he knew she was studying him intently through the camera lens made it almost impossible. Maybe if it wasn’t Sophie taking the photos he’d be able to relax more.
She stopped to change the lens and said good-naturedly, “You really aren’t enjoying this, are you?”
“I know. Sorry. I once broke up with a girlfriend because of it.”
“You’re kidding. How?”
“It was a girl in LA.” Maybe if he talked about his past relationships, it might encourage her to do the same. “Her name was Janine and she was an actress. We got on pretty well, but she was just obsessed with taking photos of herself and anyone she happened to be with. I mean, all the time. Wherever we went, whatever we were doing.” Josh shook his head at the memory. “She’d just whip out her phone, hold it at arm’s length, strike a pose with her other arm around me, and, God, do this pouty sultry smile into the camera. Exactly the same smile every time.”
“And that was it; you were mentally scarred for life.”
“Well, no, I hated it before that. But it didn’t help. And after a few weeks I couldn’t stand it anymore. Had to break up with her. She even took a picture of herself then,” Josh marveled, remembering the occasion. “Seriously. While she was crying.” He shook his head. “You can’t tell me that’s not a weird thing to do.”
“It’s pretty weird.” Sophie sounded entertained. “Maybe it’s an LA kind of thing.”
“Well, I went out with a few girls while I was living there. None of the rest of them were like that.”
“But they didn’t last either. So what was wrong with them?”
“I don’t know. They were nice enough, just not…completely right.” He grimaced. “Some of them took themselves too seriously. Some were self-obsessed. Some were a bit overkeen on lettuce and yoga…”
“Can you pick up that pen? That’s it, and write something on this.” Sophie pushed a blank sheet of paper toward him.
“Write what?”
“Anything you like.”
What should he write? Maybe: Talk to me about your husband; tell me how he died…
“Okay, hang on a sec.” Evidently thinking better of it, Sophie took the pen back, quickly scrawled something on the sheet of paper, and put it into his hands, with the writing facing away from him. “Now hold it up, show it to the camera.”
Josh did as he was told, then peered over to see what she’d written.
It said: I hate having my photo taken.
He sat back, burst out laughing, and Sophie fired off another series of shots.
“There it is.” Having paused to scroll though and examine them on the screen, she pointed to show him. “That’s the one.”
Josh looked. She’d done it, captured the perfect moment. Against all the odds she’d relaxed him and caught him off guard. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m better than good. I’m brilliant.” Sophie checked her watch. “There you go, the seven-minute photo shoot. Told you I’d be fast.”
He nodded and smiled. What was more, Dot had been right; the before and after photos would look great on the website. A family-run hotel needed a couple of family photos to entertain the clients. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Sophie was putting her camera away in its case; in another minute she’d be gone.
“What about your ex-boyfriends?” Josh kept his tone light. “Any unusual reasons for having to finish with them?”
She snapped the case shut, not fooled for a second. “Only if they asked too many questions.”
Ouch. Touché.
“Fine.” Josh raised his hands in defeat.
“No problem.” Sophie broke into a dazzling smile, swung the camera case over her shoulder, and pulled open the office door. “I’ll email the photos through later,” she said cheerfully. “Bye!”