Life's a Beach and Then... (The Liberty Sands Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

Harry clattered down the stairs and flung his bag on the hall
floor ready for his return journey to Bath before heading into the kitchen to
make some breakfast for himself and his mum. He was elated since meeting Robert
Forrester and being asked for his ideas on a couple of Robert’s projects. It
really felt as though he might have a future in his chosen career that would
amount to more than designing boring council buildings. Robert had more or less
promised him a job once he had finished his degree and had even suggested that
he should write his dissertation about hotel architecture around the world,
featuring Robert Forrester. Talk about inside information, Harry thought, I’ll
be able to ask Robert first hand about inspiration and technical problems
without having to rely on misinformation on the Internet.

He was grinning from ear to ear when Holly walked into the
kitchen in her dressing gown looking pale and tired.

‘Kettle’s on, Mum,’ he said. ‘Do you want tea, coffee or hot
flavoured water?’ He was referring to her penchant for fruit infusions which he
thought were disgusting.

The thought of tea or coffee turned Holly’s already fragile
stomach. ‘Camomile and Honey for me please.’

Harry pulled a face. ‘Is that what I’ll start drinking in
middle age?’

‘Less of your cheek, young man,’ Holly countered, not really
feeling up to his playful banter but not wanting to ruin his ebullient mood.
She was aware that she had been quiet on the journey home from Woldingham and
over supper last evening but she had a lot on her mind. They had been caught in
heavy traffic on the way home so had arrived back in Reading too late for Holly
to nip out to the chemist for a pregnancy test. There was no rush really. She
already knew that she was pregnant, the test would simply confirm it, and she
had decided that she wasn’t going to tell Harry until he had finished his term
at Bath University in a few weeks’ time.

And then there was Rosemary. When she had hugged her
yesterday she had been shocked to discover that she was little more than a bag
of bones. Clever dressing disguised it but surely Robert couldn’t be blind to
the fact that his wife was simply wasting away.

‘Toast or cereal?’ asked Harry, spreading a thick layer of
butter on his own charred bread that had just popped out of the toaster.

‘Just one piece for me, with no butter thanks.’

‘You’re not watching your weight, are you, Mum? Cos you didn’t
have much for supper last night either. Don’t go all skinny, you look better
with curves.’

Just as well, thought Holly, as I’m going to have one great
big curve around my middle soon enough.

‘Is that a compliment?’

‘Just an observation,’ he replied. ‘You’ve got a better
figure than half the girls in my year. They eat a load of junk, drink too much
and then wonder why their waist measures the same as their bum!’

‘Is that your way of telling me that you haven’t got a
girlfriend yet?’

‘No time at the moment, Mum, and no one I fancy to be
honest, so don’t go getting any ideas about being a grandma anytime soon.’

Holly was sure she had coloured up so she kept her back to
her son. What an awful thought that she could potentially have a grandchild
that would be older than the baby she was carrying.

‘There you go, one delicious piece of dry toast,’ Harry said
pushing a plate across the work surface towards her.

She nibbled the corner of her toast and sipped at her drink,
trying to keep the feelings of nausea at bay.

Robert was sitting in his car which was illegally parked on a
single yellow line, keeping an eye out for traffic wardens in his rear-view
mirror. He had driven round the block in Caterham several times looking for a
parking space but none had become available, so he pulled up outside Renato’s
Hair and Beauty in the hope that his wife would soon be finished. He had been
surprised the previous afternoon, after Harry and Holly had left, when Rosemary
had asked him to pop in to the beauty salon and book an appointment for her to
have a manicure and her hair coloured and blow-dried. He was pleased. It was
obviously a sign that she was feeling much better if she was taking such an
interest in her appearance again.

Maybe this trip to Switzerland wasn’t such a bad idea after
all, although why she was in such an almighty rush he couldn’t imagine.

Holly was making all the travel and accommodation
arrangements, all he needed to do was drive. He had even put Holly on his car
insurance, at her suggestion, in case he got tired and needed a break. What a
lovely young woman she is, he thought, and what a shame it didn’t work out for
her and Philippe. She had asked him not to pass on any of her contact details
should Philippe try to get in touch with her through them, but there had been
no word from the Frenchman, which, both surprised and disappointed Robert.

The door to Renato’s opened and Rosemary emerged looking
beautiful, followed by a small portly Italian man who was planting air kisses
either side of her face and saying, ‘Ciao, Bella.’

She looked happy and relaxed as she climbed into the waiting
car. ‘Have you been waiting long?’

‘Just a couple of minutes. I didn’t want you hanging around
in case someone else whisked you away.’

‘Bobby, you’re such a charmer. Do you fancy going to the
Harrow for a pub lunch, like we used to before I got ill, instead of going
straight home?’

‘Great idea, gives me a chance to show you off.’

Incident? What type of bloody incident, thought Jo, as she
reread the email from Delphine for the umpteenth time. She had emailed back
after first reading the message three hours ago but there was still no
response.

The phone call to the Dr AG Jeetoo Hospital in Port Louis
had told her nothing except that Philippe was indeed a patient there and that
he was in Intensive Care.

She tapped her long gel-manicured fingernails on the desk
trying to decide what to do next. The publicity machine was ready and waiting
for the big reveal. She had managed to pull a few favours with the features
editor of the biggest circulating Sunday supplement magazine, in which there
was supposed to be a four-page spread, revealing the identity of Veronica
Phillips, followed by excerpts from the new book,
Tiffany
,
that weekend. In fact, at that very moment, a photographer was waiting in a
studio in Holborn for the ‘mystery lady’ to appear.

She couldn’t delay any longer.

‘Alice,’ she called to her PA, ‘get Mike Rowbotham on the
phone please, and then Susie at the magazine.’ The phone connected almost
immediately. ‘Mike, I’m really sorry but the shoot is off. Of course we’ll pay
for your time and the hire of the studio. I’ll make sure I put a nice juicy
autobiography cover your way and you can invoice double on it. Sorry, Mike.’

The next call was much trickier, but in the end Jo was able
to persuade Susie, the magazine features editor, that the book was so good, the
excerpts alone would leave the readers wanting more without the added bonus of
the author reveal. Not a pleasant phone call but at this late stage Susie
didn’t really have any other option and Jo knew that as a consequence she would
have favours to repay at a later date.

‘Alice,’ she called again, ‘call the airlines and get me on
the next flight to Mauritius.’

Delphine arrived back at the hospital a little after 2 p.m.
She was hot and bothered, not only because of the soaring midday temperatures
in Mauritius in May, but also because of the grid-locked traffic which meant
she had spent the last two hours cooped up in her little car without the
benefit of air-conditioning. The fresh clothes, which she had changed into when
she called briefly at her home on her way back from Philippe’s, were now
sticking to her in large damp patches.

Throughout the drive back she had been trying to establish a
link between Holly’s email, her brother Jacques, and Philippe’s accusations,
but she couldn’t piece things together. She hoped Candice would still be at the
hospital as she wanted to ask her a couple of questions, including whether or
not Philippe had his phone with him when he had left her in the upstairs room
of the Dolphin on Wednesday lunchtime.

She walked briskly along the corridor towards Philippe’s
room, grateful for the blast of cool air from the air-conditioning units, and
pushed open the door to his room. Candice was sat at Philippe’s bedside
stroking his hand. Although Delphine didn’t necessarily approve of Candice’s
chosen profession she liked the girl and had introduced her to Philippe because
she had thought he would treat her kindly.

‘How has he been?’ Delphine asked anxiously.

‘He has been sleeping mostly but he did open his eyes at one
point and was talking about holly? I called the nurse and she said it was a
plant used to decorate at Christmas time in England and that he was obviously
still delirious.’

Delphine decided nothing would be gained by mentioning that
Holly was actually the name of his girlfriend, or rather his former girlfriend.
She saw no reason to upset Candice who clearly had a soft spot for him.

‘What happened, Delphine? Why would Philippe attack your
brother? He always seemed such a gentleman to me.’

‘I was hoping you may have the answer. Was he angry when he
left you on Wednesday lunchtime?’

‘No, but he did seem very anxious to leave. I think he was
surprised to wake up at the Dolphin. He was very very drunk the night before,
we didn’t even... you know. Maybe he doesn’t like me any more,’ she said,
looking sadly at Philippe.

There was a little piece of Delphine that was relieved that
Philippe hadn’t had sex with Candice at the Dolphin, even though he had slept
with her on several previous occasions. Although Holly’s email was breaking off
their relationship, it could just be a lover’s tiff that would all be sorted
when Philippe got back to England. Delphine was pretty sure he would have
resisted Jacques’ suggestion of Candice spending the night with him had he not
been almost comatose from drink. Was that what this was all about? she
wondered. Had he attacked Jacques because he had set him up with a prostitute for
the night?

Candice was looking up at her with tears starting to form in
her huge brown eyes. ‘He likes you just fine,’ reassured Delphine, ‘although
you do know he is leaving to go back to England soon so you probably won’t see
him again.’

‘I know. I wish he had liked me enough to take me with him
away from the life I lead here.’

‘I don’t suppose you noticed if he had his mobile phone with
him at the Dolphin?’

Candice furrowed her brow. ‘I remember him picking up his
keys and leaving me some money but I don’t think I saw his phone. I paid Dennis
for the room and I’ve brought the rest of the money back,’ she said, indicating
a pile of notes on Philippe’s bedside table. ‘It didn’t seem right to take
money for doing nothing.’

‘Take the money,’ Delphine said, acutely aware of how
difficult it was for girls like Candice to make ends meet. ‘Philippe gave it to
you because he wanted you to have it.’

Candice looked doubtful but she picked up the money anyway
as she rose to leave. ‘Please let me know how he is doing.’

‘I will, don’t you worry, and thank you for coming to sit
with him. You’re a good girl.’

Candice turned away but not before Delphine saw tears
rolling down her beautiful young face.

Holly stared down at the word written in blue on the white
pregnancy test stick she was holding. Not only did it say ‘pregnant’ it also
confirmed that she was three-plus weeks, which she already knew, as the only
opportunity for her to have become pregnant were the two days she had spent
with Philippe in Mauritius. She couldn’t believe that her body was still so
fertile at her age.

Memories came flooding back from the only other time, almost
twenty years ago, that she had experienced what she was feeling now. Her
boyfriend, Gareth, had left for America two weeks previously and she had heard
no word from him. Initially she had thought the feelings of nausea were because
she was afraid he had dumped her until, after checking her diary, she realised
her period was late. She could still remember the cold fear that crept through
her body as, sitting on the edge of the bath, she waited a couple of minutes
for the test to develop. She had sat staring at the thin blue line that
confirmed she was pregnant until her mother had banged on the bathroom door
telling her to hurry up because other people needed to use the toilet.

She had kept the pregnancy to herself for the whole of the
summer believing, or simply hoping, that it would all be all right when Gareth
came back from America, but he hadn’t come back. There had been no
long-distance phone call, no letter sent via airmail, in fact, no contact at
all. Two days before she was due back at university, and with her bags already
packed in readiness, she had finally told her parents and things had turned
ugly.

Holly shuddered. At least this time there was no one she
needed to ask for help, and although she was unsure how Harry would take the
news she knew in her heart that he would eventually accept it and give her the
emotional support she was going to need. She rested her hands protectively on
her tummy and allowed herself to wonder whether the baby would be a little
brother or sister for Harry.

Once again there was never a moment when she considered a
termination. True, she was furious with Philippe for the total disregard he had
shown for her feelings when writing about their most intimate moments but the
tiny person growing inside her was not responsible for the shortcomings of its
father.

There was of course the question as to whether or not she
should tell Philippe about the baby. Part of her believed he had a right to
know but the other part of her decided that someone who could thoughtlessly
reveal to the world the very act that had led to the conception, deserved no
consideration from her at all.

At least she had been through all this before, and at a time
when she was not financially self-sufficient, so she knew how lonely but
rewarding being a single mum could be. Holly smiled. Although she would never
have planned to have another baby under the same circumstances, she loved being
a mum and had always yearned for more children. Maybe it was simply the cosmos
granting her unspoken request.