The Holiday (23 page)

And the longer the silence continued between them, the worse it became. He was well and truly caught between a rock and a hard place — creep away once more and look a fool, or brazen it out and look as big a fool. Then, luckily for him, the matter was taken out of his hands.

‘I’m sorry, I’m taking your place, aren’t I?’ Her voice was soft, lower than he had expected.

‘Sorry? Place?’

She swung her legs round and hopped down until she was level with him. ‘I’ve seen you sitting here most days. It’s where you like to come first thing in the morning when nobody’s about, isn’t it? I’ll leave you to it.’

Her words had been rushed, and her grey gaze slid over him, elusive as quicksilver. He detected within her a nervous energy that wasn’t dissimilar from what he was feeling. ‘No, don’t do that. Well, not unless you have to,’ he said.

Their roles reversed again and now it was she who hesitated. ‘I ... I ought to be getting back.’

‘To the Sinclairs’?’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘You know them?’

‘I know
of
them,’ he said. It was as good a way as any to break the ice. ‘I also know that your name is Izzy. I’m staying next door with Theo.’

‘Oh, so you
are
who I thought you were.’

‘And who might that be? Anyone I know?’

Her lips curved into a shy smile. ‘The phantom Mark St James. Max was beginning to think that Theo was only pretending to know you.’

‘Well, now you’ll be able to put him right.’ He inclined his head towards the rocks. ‘Won’t you stay a little longer? I’d hate to feel I’d chivvied you away.’

‘But then you won’t have your opportunity to sit here and enjoy the view.’

‘We could compromise, enjoy the view together. Then I wouldn’t feel guilty thinking that I’d cut short your enjoyment.’ He could see that his suggestion had surprised her. For that matter, he had surprised himself.

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘So long as you’re sure.’

Thinking that he would tell Theo not to mess with this girl, that she was far too sweet to be spoiled by him, he helped her back up on to the rock where she had been sitting. ‘At least this way we both get to ease our consciences,’ he said, when they were settled. Staring out over the stretch of water, they watched a ferry slide along the imperceptible line of the horizon. As its progress continued, a swell of water travelled across the narrow strait, until it finally broke into a series of noisy, crashing waves on the shore, churning up the sand, shifting the stones and pebbles. When the ship had passed, the water reverted to its former steady calm; a gently rippling swathe of silk. And for two people who had never met before, they sat in a curiously companionable silence, taking in the pale, golden sunlight and a translucent sky that hadn’t yet fully woken to its mantle of dazzling blue.

Only minutes before, Izzy had been cursing the appearance of somebody else on the beach, but now she was glad of the distraction he had brought with him, grateful that his presence alone had magically stemmed her tears: tears she had allowed to get the better of her.

Her earlier attempt at drifting off to sleep again had been futile, just as she had known it would be, so she had dressed and come down here. It had seemed the perfect place to lose her maudlin thoughts but, sadly, it had only added to them. The beauty and serenity of the secluded cove were supposed to have cleared her mind and coaxed her into a peaceful state of all’s-right-with-the-world, and to a degree it had worked, yet at the same time the perfection had caught her off guard. In the end, she had given in to her feelings: a good cry was what she needed, she told herself, as the tears gathered momentum and made her feel much worse. And if it hadn’t been for the man sitting next to her, she would probably still be bawling her eyes out. She felt she ought to thank him for rescuing her from herself, but she suspected it would embarrass him. She had witnessed all too plainly the expression on his face just before he had turned and walked away. But what else could he have done? She had been taken aback, though, when he had reappeared by her side. She wondered now what had changed his mind. Had it simply been his determination to have his fix of early-morning solitary space?

She winced at her unfortunate choice of words. Last night, and after Theo had left, Max had filled her in on part of the conversation she had missed while she had been in the kitchen with Corky and Olivia, and the reason why Theo’s friend had turned down their invitation to join them for a drink. She didn’t know anything about alcoholism or drugs, and couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live each day so thoroughly out of control. Or what might drive a person into such a hopeless situation. She thought of the day she had seen him here sitting on these very rocks, and how she had thought he had an interesting face, not knowing that, at some stage in his life, he must have been unutterably wretched.

Taking a sideways glance at him, she decided that her original description still held good. Not quite what you’d call handsome, but definitely interesting. Close up, the angular lines of his face were a little more pronounced, his nose a touch longer and straighter, and his mouth firmer. But what she hadn’t been able to appreciate before was the colour of his eyes. They were a brilliant blue, which surprised her: for some reason she had expected brown. She was also surprised by the depth of sensitivity she saw within them. Recalling the charcoal sketch she had done of him from memory, and which was in her sketchpad in the bag at her feet, she realised she might have drawn him quite differently had she caught a glimpse of those eyes: they would have softened the harsh, dramatic features she had given him.

They had been silent for some minutes now and, worried that he might feel she was being rude and ignoring him again, she asked the first question that came into her head. ‘I bet you get asked this all the time, but is it very lonely being a writer?’

‘Not really. You have to take into account that when I’m working I’m surrounded by some of the weirdest, most absorbing people in the world. Take it from me, psychopaths are anything but dull.’

His voice was low and husky, nearly as compelling as his eyes. ‘What a strange life you must lead.’

‘Yeah, I know, I should get out more. But I enjoy what I do. It gives me the ideal excuse not to join in with the rest of the world. I can be an official observer without ever having to participate. So what do you do for a living?’

‘I’m a teacher.’

‘Ooh, now that’s what I call a scary job. What do you teach?’

‘Apart from idiots?’

He turned and beamed his extraordinary blue gaze on her. ‘Do I detect a schoolmarm with attitude?’

‘A frustrated art teacher, actually.’

‘Is there any other kind?’

‘Mm ... I think you’re right. It would be a reassuring thought if art teachers the world over were as frustrated as I was. I’d feel normal then.’

‘Normal is boring. Have no truck with it. So when you grow up, what will you do?’

‘What do you mean when I grow up?’

He smiled and caused her again to reconsider the anatomy of his face. The lifting of the corners of his mouth softened all those angles and lines.

‘Easy there, girl, I was paying you a compliment. Isn’t it every woman’s wish to be thought younger than she really is?’

‘Not if it puts her at a disadvantage.’

He pushed a hand through his fine collar-length blond hair, which was fairer at the tips than at the roots; she suspected he didn’t visit the hairdresser too often. ‘Bad experience with ageism?’ he said.

‘Regularly. Only last month I answered the door to a man collecting for some charity or other and he asked if my mother was at home.’

‘What did you do? Bludgeon him to death for his cheek?’

‘No, I put an extra fifty pence in his tin. He was collecting for the blind.’

He laughed. ‘So, given that you’re all grown-up, what would you rather be doing instead of teaching? Painting for a living, perhaps?’

She shook her head. ‘A nice dream, but not a viable one, I’m afraid. The truth is, I’m not good enough.’

‘Says who?’

‘Um ... says me.’

‘And you’d know, would you? You’re objective enough with your own creative endeavours, are you?’ His low, gravelly voice sounded sharp, almost querulous. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and in a more gentle tone, ‘I got carried away then. It just seemed as though you were being unnecessarily hard on yourself and, believe me, I know how that feels.’

Glancing up at his face and catching another glimpse of his eyes, she sensed that he meant what he was saying. It made her think how very different he was from his friend, Theo. And thinking now of Theo, she realised that she had been excessively hard on him last night. He hadn’t deserved the treatment she had given him. It wasn’t his fault that the words he had uttered about her father had cut her to the quick -
Were you very close?
How was he to know that closeness was the very thing she had never experienced with her father, that as a child it had been what she had craved above all else. Most daughters go through a period of idolising their fathers, but given the inflammatory atmosphere in which Izzy had grown up, she had needed hers as an ally. But he had never been there for her. He had turned a blind eye to what was going on. Until now, she had never wanted to think badly of him, but that was what her earlier outburst of tears had been about. The raw injustice of it all had finally pressed down on her, shocking her with its revelatory intensity. It was the sudden realisation that, after all these years, she had been harbouring a desperate need to tell him what she really thought of him. She wondered if the violent anger she had felt for Alan in that counsellor’s room when she had thrown her cold coffee at him had had nothing to do with his stupid infidelity, but had been her latent desire to hurt her father, to let him know what it felt like to be so completely betrayed.

And, in a very small way, she had done the same thing to Theo last night. She decided to be bold and ask Mark if he would pass on her apologies to Theo. ‘Would you do me a favour?’ she asked.

‘Depends what it is. If it involves gun running, I’m not your man.’

She smiled. ‘No, this is quite legal. It’s just that I’ve been very rude to Theo and, well, I think he deserves an apology. Do you think you could tell him that I’m sorry for being so short with him?’

He took a moment to consider her words, then said, ‘You know, apologies are always best delivered in person. Why don’t you come back to the villa now and tell him yourself?’

She hesitated. ‘It’s still quite early. Will he be awake?’

‘Let’s go and find out, shall we?’

All the way up to Villa Anna Izzy tried to work out how best to apologise to Theo. Too much of an apology and he would probably take it as a come-on, and he was in no need of encouragement. But too little and it would appear insincere. She wondered, too, why she had let herself be persuaded into this out-of-character act of spontaneity, and by someone she had only just met.

But all thoughts of what she would say were pushed aside when Mark opened a small wooden gate, and led her through a garden that was a sumptuous paradise of colour and scent. They found Theo floating on his back in the pool. His eyes were closed, and his body was a picture of relaxed pleasure. It was also naked.

‘Theo,’ Mark said, ‘you might want to put something on, I’ve brought someone to see you.’

It was clear, from the expression on Theo’s face as he opened his eyes and saw Izzy staring down at him, that he was shocked. Without a word, he swam to the shallow end where Mark was waiting for him with a towelling robe that had been hanging on the back of a chair. Izzy was surprised by his manner. She would have expected him to brazen it out, which would have been more in keeping with his behaviour to date. Was he genuinely embarrassed? Or was he just being a gentleman and saving her blushes? Either way, she found it rather endearing.

‘I met Izzy down on the beach,’ said Mark. ‘We got chatting and I invited her to join us for breakfast. That all right with you?’

This was news to Izzy. She thought she was here to apologise and then go home. She didn’t hear Theo’s muttered answer but Mark simply laughed and said, ‘I’ll go and throw some breakfast together, leave you two to chat.’

‘Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea,’ Izzy said, when they were alone and she watched Theo tighten the belt on his robe. ‘I shouldn’t have accepted Mark’s invitation.’

Theo’s unshaven face, which until now had been clouded with what she had taken to be annoyance, suddenly cleared with one of his familiar smiles, his usual equanimity shining through. ‘I’m glad that you did. I’m just sorry that you have found me in such a state of disrepair. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I have a hangover. A little too much Metaxá last night.’ He raised a hand and touched his head lightly. ‘Which was why you found me in the pool as you did. In my weakened state, the sea did not appeal. Please, sit down. Or perhaps you would like a look round. My garden is very beautiful at this time of day. The scent from the roses is quite magnificent.’

‘Thank you, I’d like that.’

He slipped on a pair of smooth leather sandals and led the way. They followed a gravel path, lined at either side with stone urns containing luxuriant ferns and the occasional lemon and kumquat tree, until they came to a lower level that was a pretty oasis of green and cream. ‘This is one of my favourite areas,’ he said. Behind them was a towering Scots pine and the ground they stood on was soft and cushiony, where needles had dropped from the tree. The still morning air was heavy with the scent of pine, but a headier, more exotic and luscious fragrance came from the creamy blooms of a curved bed of exquisite roses. ‘It may seem a little grand, but I call this my rose garden,’ he said, fingering a petal that looked as perfect as it smelt. ‘Some of these are very old — they came from my grandmother’s garden. I would hate to lose a single one of them. It would be a great loss. Angelos is under strict orders to take good care of them. Especially when I’m not here.’