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

  They had come to the hotel for dinner in Waves restaurant one evening and because it was so busy had asked to share his table in the bar afterwards to watch the local cabaret show. He had sworn Rosemary to secrecy before revealing he was the author of Maman, a book she had wept buckets over. He had explained that he had come to Mauritius to research and gain inspiration for his second novel and that was when Rosemary had come up with the idea of renting the house they were staying in at Tamarina Bay and staying in Mauritus to write it.

  Philippe was unsure.

  ‘But what if you want to come back on holiday and I’m still here writing?’ he had asked.

  ‘No problem,’ she had assured him. ‘We usually stay here at the Plantation House but we’re thinking of buying the house at Tamarina Bay for our retirement and we wanted to try before we buy to see if we like it. In a way you would be doing us a favour. If you are renting it on a long-term lease it might put off other prospective purchasers.’

  ‘And do you like it?’ Philippe had asked.

  ‘No,’ Rosemary had answered, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘We absolutely LOVE it.’

  ‘So you will buy it?’ asked Philippe.

  She had looked at her husband and squeezed his hand. ‘I think so, we just have to sort out a few things in the UK first.’

  Less than a week later Philippe had signed a six-month rental agreement on the house at Tamarina Bay, with an option for a further six months. He had used part of his book advance money to pay the rent up front. He hadn’t even needed to fly home to sort out his flat in Pimlico. His friend Jason, a former colleague on the newspaper, had been sleeping on his couch for several weeks since splitting up with his girlfriend, and he was happy to cover the rent in return for sleeping in a decent bed. It had fallen into place like clockwork. There was just one problem: no matter how hard he tried, Philippe had an almighty case of writer’s block.

  The tinkling sound of a piano being played brought Philippe back to the moment. It was his computer going into sleep mode which it did if there had been a lack of activity for ten minutes. He now knew the tune by heart as he had heard it so often over the last nine months.

  He swiped the touch pad to stop the music. The twelve-month deadline to deliver the finished manuscript of his book, so that the editing could begin, was getting perilously close. He searched the horizon, now bathed in the pink and orange of a glorious sunset, desperate for inspiration.

  Chapter 4

  Holly ran a hairbrush through her freshly washed hair knowing that it should really have been a comb. She had spotted one or two grey hairs in her dark mane lately but nothing that a pair of tweezers couldn’t deal with. That was something else she knew she shouldn’t be doing, tweezing out grey hairs. She furrowed her brow trying to remember who had told her the old wives’ tale about each grey hair you plucked out being replaced by two? It certainly wasn’t her mum. For a brief moment she wondered what her mum looked like now.

  The last time Holly had seen her was at the funeral eighteen years ago and, even taking the circumstances into consideration, she had looked considerably older than her thirty-eight years. Looking at her own reflection it was hard to believe that she was now the same age as her mum had been then. Holly was fortunate that she had inherited her dad’s dark hair and olive skin tone, which was on the oily side, so she had almost no sign of any ageing lines, even though she spent quite a lot of her time nowadays in sunspots around the world.

  She leant closer into the mirror to inspect her ‘elevenses’, the two lines between her eyebrows. They had always been quite pronounced, even as a teenager, when her skin, that she was now so thankful for, was spotty and the bane of her life. No wonder she hadn’t had a boyfriend throughout the entirety of her secondary school education. No one wanted to get up close and personal with the ‘pimply princess’ as her school mates had so unkindly nicknamed her.

  She deftly twisted her damp hair into a scrunchie while she applied her eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss and a touch of blusher, and then released it again to dry naturally in the warm evening air. She opened the Venetian blind in her bathroom, which she had closed to protect her modesty while she was showering, although she doubted that anyone could see in now that she was occupying a first floor room.

  The reception staff had been very helpful in assisting her move to a sea view room, even though she hadn’t requested one when she had made her reservation. It had allowed her to sit on the balcony watching the sun disappear into the ocean before getting ready to go to dinner.

  Holly looked across at her suitcase and decided she would unpack that in the morning, she had everything she needed for tonight in her hand luggage. She always carried all her skin-care and make-up, a day outfit and an evening outfit, a change of underwear and a bikini in her hand luggage after the incident in the Bahamas when her luggage had gone missing for twenty-four hours.

  Holly didn’t usually make the same mistake twice.

  The main restaurant at the Plantation House hotel had double-height vaulted ceilings with ceiling fans and was open to the terrace that bordered the freeform swimming pool. Dining was either under the stars or in the slightly cooler interior. There were two other choices of restaurant, Waves, which as the name suggested was on the beach, or the Italian restaurant, Roberto’s.

  Holly had chosen the main restaurant as it was buffet-style so there would be no waiting around to give her order and then more waiting for her food to be prepared and served. She was suddenly ravenously hungry which was not surprising really as she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the previous day, apart from fruit salad for breakfast on the plane.

  She could only have been standing at the entrance for ten seconds before a waiter appeared and asked her whether she would like to sit inside or out.

  ‘I think I’ll stay inside tonight please,’ she replied, acutely aware of the beads of perspiration that had formed on her nose and upper lip in the short walk from her room to the restaurant.

  ‘Certainly madam, please come this way.’

  Holly was shown to a table for two near an open double door at the back of the restaurant, directly under a ceiling fan. Obviously the waiter has noticed how warm I am, Holly thought, flushing with embarrassment, as she sat on the chair he had pulled out for her, and allowed him to place a crisp white napkin across her lap.

  ‘What would you like to drink, madam?’

  Holly thought for a moment. She normally stuck to soft drinks, usually water, but she could murder a crisp white wine.

  ‘I’ll have a glass of the house white please and a bottle of still water.’

  As soon as the waiter had left to get her drinks she headed for the buffet, but instead of picking up a plate and piling it high with food she approached a member of staff in a smart cream linen suit who she presumed must be the restaurant manager.

  ‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance,’ she said, smiling up at the man whose name badge identified him as Rajesh. ‘I was just wondering if there is a special area of the buffet to cater for vegetarians?’

  Without a heartbeat of hesitation Rajesh accompanied her to the islands where all the pre-prepared salads were and pointed out the green labels signifying that the food was suitable for vegetarians. He then introduced her to the head chef, Soobis, who assured Holly that there would always be plenty of vegetarian options.

  ‘And if you ever want us to prepare something especially for you please let us know by 2 p.m. and we will make sure it is ready for you, madam.’

  Holly was impressed. She hadn’t told the hotel she was a vegetarian when she had booked and yet seemingly it was not a problem.

  She then helped herself to a selection of the salads, cut herself a slice of crusty bread and made her way back to her table where, in her absence, the waiting staff had discreetly removed the second place setting. Her bottle of water was already in an ice bucket at the side of her table and as she sat down the waiter reappeared with a bottle of white wine.

  ‘Would madam care to
taste it?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ replied Holly, ‘I’m sure it will be fine.’

  The waiter poured her a generous glass and left the remainder of the bottle in the ice bucket alongside the water. She took a sip of the wine, allowing the sharp fruitiness to burst on her tongue before swallowing and taking another sip. This was definitely the right decision, she thought, twisting the bottle round in the ice bucket so that she could read the label. She was not surprised to learn it was French, after all Mauritius had been a French colony until the British took over in 1810, and French was still widely spoken, albeit a creole version of the language.

  Being positioned towards the rear of the restaurant was perfect for Holly to indulge in a bit of people-watching while she tucked into her starter. There were plenty of people to watch but it was a large restaurant so it didn’t feel crowded.

  The table closest to hers was occupied by three generations of a Chinese family. The elderly parents were very traditional in manner and dress, but the couple who looked to be in their early thirties, and their two young children, a girl of around five and a very young baby, were much more modern in style. Holly wasn’t sure if the baby, who was dressed in a Burberry romper suit, was a boy or girl but there was a certain irony about it wearing the very British brand Burberry which had probably been made in China.

  She cast her gaze further afield to several tables whose occupants she guessed to be British. It was the clothes that were the giveaway, with the men flagrantly breaking the ‘no shorts to dinner’ rule and the women wearing just a little too much make-up and slightly too few clothes.

  Holly herself was wearing a simple coral-coloured shift dress, not too short and not too low-cut, showing off her curvy body to perfection without being too obvious. People often thought she was Italian with her dark looks and stylish clothes, mostly acquired from charity shops. That assumption occasionally came in handy when she wanted to pretend she didn’t understand English so that she could eavesdrop on conversations.

  Dragging her eyes away from the sparkly, six-inch stiletto-heel sandals one of the women was wearing, Holly noticed that the couple she had checked in with earlier were just arriving at the restaurant.

  A different kind of British, Holly thought, as she lowered her eyes back to her salad to avoid being caught out people-watching for the second time that day. The woman was blonde, but not in a brassy way, very slender and tall, almost as tall as her husband even though she was wearing flat shoes. The man had the look of an ageing rock star or trendy photographer from the 1960s. His grey hair was tied back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, something Holly normally hated but somehow it seemed right on this man, and although he was tall his shoulders were slightly rounded and he had a bit of a middle-aged paunch. Even so, he was a handsome man and they made a very attractive couple.

  At that moment the waiter, whose name she had noticed was Antish, arrived to refill her wine glass and remove her starter plate. Holly was shocked that she had finished her wine so quickly, it was most unlike her. I’d better go and select a main course to soak that up, she thought.

  As she made her way across the dining hall again, she saw the British couple were deep in conversation with another man in a cream linen suit. That’s a bit of overkill, she thought, two restaurant managers on duty on the same evening.

  Chapter 5

  Philippe would have liked to make eye contact with the stunning woman in the coral dress but he had his back half turned to her and she had only glanced in his direction for a moment before returning to her table. He wondered who she was dining with. How annoying that his view of the back of the restaurant, where she had been heading, was obscured. Maybe he would leave by the rear doors of the restaurant later in the hope that she would still be there. He dragged his attention back to his friends.

  Robert must have made some kind of joke or amusing comment because Rosemary was laughing.

  ‘The suit, Philippe,’ repeated Robert. ‘Had you forgotten that cream linen is what the restaurant managers here wear?’

  ‘Actually I had,’ replied Philippe, joining in the laughter. ‘But I have no choice, I only have one suit and I like to make an effort to dress well when I am dining with you two. I haven’t been here since your last visit, this place isn’t the same when I don’t have you for company.’

  Rosemary shot a warning look at Robert as he opened his mouth to speak, and quickly jumped in with, ‘It’s nice to be missed. Let’s eat outside on the terrace tonight and enjoy the warm air.’

  ‘Wherever you like, my beautiful English rose,’ he said, linking his arm through hers and guiding her towards a waiter so they could be seated.

  Robert followed, delighted to see his wife happy and smiling.

  Chapter 6

  Holly gazed up at the night sky, full of bright twinkling stars, and tried to spot the constellations. She could see the plough and Orion’s belt but she was struggling to find Venus. Her dad always said that when Venus was bright he knew she was happy.

  Am I happy? she wondered. Well, I’m not unhappy so I guess my glass is half full at the moment which is how my wine glass has been all evening, she thought.

  Holly didn’t usually drink alone. She had seen the devastating effect that taking a step onto that particular slippery slope could have. She shuddered and decided there would be no more solo drinking on this trip, which meant she wouldn’t be tasting the colourful cocktails currently being delivered by waiters to others who had come to sit by the moonlit beach, until she began to socialise.

  She looked around at the couples and groups of friends. Holly was the only person on her own. She decided to head back to her room before anyone took pity on her and invited her to join them. Normally that was exactly what she wanted, but not tonight, the drink had made her slightly lightheaded and it wouldn’t do to be caught off guard and say something that would blow her cover.

  Holly had fully intended to do some work but as she put her key in the lock tiredness engulfed her and a mere five minutes later she was fast asleep.

  The hum of the air-conditioning unit, churning out freezing cold air, woke Holly. She shivered and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She was used to sleeping in air-conditioned hotel rooms however, when she went to bed in her slightly inebriated state the previous evening she had forgotten to adjust the dial and had thrown her blanket to the foot of the bed, sleeping with only the sheet for cover. No wonder the slight noise of the air-con had disturbed her. She was too cold so deep sleep had evaded her. She glanced at the luminous hands of her travel clock. It was only ten past six, which meant it was just past two in the morning back home. It was a good job she had such a long sleep on the plane otherwise she wouldn’t be able to think straight today and she needed her wits about her.

  As a thoroughly honest person, Holly struggled with the little white lies that were a necessary part of her job, but at least she would probably make a better poker player now than she had at university. She had never played the game before she met her then boyfriend Gareth, but he and his rugby-playing mates used to play late into the evening after their Saturday matches and if she wanted to spend time with him she had to join in. Although they were all downing pints of beer like it was lemonade, and she was actually drinking lemonade, they were still able to read her like a book when she was bluffing.

  ‘It’s like taking candy from a baby,’ they would joke, as she watched the pittance she had earned from working long hours behind the student’s union bar dwindle to nothing. Gareth would always sub her, even though she would protest that she wouldn’t be able to pay it back.

  ‘You’ll pay it back in kind,’ he would tease, not unkindly, winking at his mates.

  Holly wasn’t so fond of this side of Gareth, showing off in front of his friends, but whenever she confronted him about it he would say, ‘It wouldn’t do for them to see my softer side. I’m the captain of the rugby team. They need to believe I’m hard and ruthless, so that they will trust me on the
field.’

  Lying in his arms Holly would always accept this explanation because she trusted him completely. It didn’t matter what other people thought, she knew the real Gareth, at least she had thought she had.

  Holly shivered again, unsure whether it was the overactive air-conditioning unit or the memory of her first true love that caused this involuntary action.

  First true love, she thought, only true love would be more accurate. She felt the familiar weight in the middle of her chest and swallowed hard, blinking her eyes to stop herself from crying. It amazed her that even after all these years merely thinking about Gareth could provoke such a strong reaction.

  Suddenly she kicked off the bed covers, slipped on her robe, crossed to the French doors and flung open the curtains. She unlocked the door and stepped outside breathing in huge gulps of warm damp air to calm herself.

  Why can’t I accept that he left me because he didn’t love me as much as I loved him? she thought. Why can’t I just let it go?

  It was barely light outside, but there was already some activity in the hotel gardens. The ground staff were raking the sandy paths and collecting fallen coconuts. The Italian restaurant to her right didn’t serve breakfast so the shutters were firmly closed, but she could hear the sounds of cutlery being laid on the tables of the main restaurant, even though the breakfast service didn’t start for almost an hour.

  An hour, thought Holly, wondering how best to fill the time. Shall I work or walk?

  Moments later the decision was made. She threw on a pair of frayed denim shorts over a bikini, twisted her unruly dark curls under her red Yankees baseball cap, slipped her feet into her Havaianas and headed for the beach.