Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

He pulls her up from the sofa with one hand and hands her wine with the other, inviting her to join him for a walk around the garden. The sun is not as strong now and the mountains stand out even more against the deep blue, flawless sky.

‘Do you think it’s over for good? I mean, will you forgive him?’ he asks her directly.

‘I don’t know, Marcos. I’m not the cheating type you know, and he hurt me badly. I can’t imagine doing something like that to someone you love. I’m not sure if I could trust him again,’ she says honestly, enjoying the cool prickly feeling of the grass on her toes as her feet sink into the lawn. ‘Do you trust Leanne?’

His answer is immediate and it takes her by surprise. ‘Completely. She’s had plenty of opportunities to see other men, but I trust her totally. I give her the time she needs with her friends. She goes partying with them, she’s young, you know?’

‘Only a year younger than me!’ she giggles as she stops and turns, feeling a little tipsy, ‘Can you walk up those mountains?’ she blurts out suddenly.

‘Absolutely,’ he answers, with a teasing note in his voice, enjoying seeing her relax. ‘I walk up there often, actually. There are tracks that lead right up to the summit, but you can’t make them out from here.’

‘They’re so beautiful,’ she whispers, swaying slightly and moving her feet further apart so that she can gaze up at them without losing her balance.

‘I could take you up there next weekend if you like?’ offers Marcos, standing close behind her, almost touching.

Isabel spins around excitably, nearly knocking his wine out of his hand, ‘Would you? Oh I’d love that!’

‘What else do you have planned whilst you’re here,’ he asks, placing the palm of his hand in the small of her back, guiding her back to the terrace.

‘Well... I actually got myself a part-time job!’ she smiles up at him, ‘I start tomorrow. A working holiday, so it seems,’ she giggles.

‘Really?’ Marcos stops. ‘Where?’

‘It was Rachel’s fault,’ she laughs at the memory, ‘she got talking to a man next to her on the plane, “Mr Window Seat”. He turns out to be the Manager of a Language School in Málaga. We met up with him a few days ago and he offered me a job!’ she suddenly finds the situation all very funny but when she looks up at Marcos, he is strangely serious.

 ‘And does he have a real name, this “Mr Window Seat”?!’

‘Rafael’ she answers, walking ahead to the terrace, feeling the need to sit down.

‘Rafael?’ he calls after her, following her back up to the house, smiling now. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he says, as he collapses back onto the sofa next to her, ‘that’s one of my schools. He told me he’d recruited someone but I obviously didn’t for a minute think it would be you!’ he laughs, ‘well, that’s excellent news. We’ll see more of each other then. I have meetings down there this week with Rafael. We’re oversubscribed this year so need to employ more teachers,’ he smiles, looking very pleased with himself.

‘Oh god,’ utters Isabel, muffling her face with a scatter cushion, ‘please don’t say you’ll have to observe me teaching?’ feeling suddenly embarrassed.

‘No, no need to worry about that. You’re more than qualified,’ he laughs, pulling the cushion away from her face.

They are both suddenly distracted by Marcos’s mobile phone vibrating on the glass coffee table in front of them. He picks it up and looks at the name before answering. ‘Leanne,’ he says, in a very matter-of-fact voice.

Isabel shrugs, leaving the decision up to him. She feels strangely disappointed and betrayed when he hovers his thumb over the green button, ‘one minute, I promise’ he says, and turns and walks over towards the pool. She watches as he paces the lawn, kicking at little tufts with his toe and rubbing the back of his neck.

Isabel decides to go inside and look for the bathroom to give him some privacy. Through the kitchen she finds a long, wide corridor with several doors. They are all closed apart from one, which is slightly ajar. She pushes it open and finds herself in, what she assumes, is Marcos’s bedroom. It is a very masculine room, dark grey and beige, no feminine touches or signs of “his and hers” bedside tables. The bed is made and everything is immaculate. She wonders if he has a maid.

Giving into temptation, she walks over to the large fitted wardrobe and slides open the door. There are rows of good quality suits at one end and, at the other end, casual Ralph Lauren shirts, designer rugby shirts and linen trousers. Her biggest surprise is the amount of shoes that he owns, ‘more than the average woman,’ she chuckles.

She thinks back to the pitiful contents of her own wardrobe and remembers how Paul had said that he had loved the fact that she was so “low maintenance”. She closes the doors, thinking how totally out of place her clothes would look in here. ‘A stupid dream,’ she says out loud to herself.

She hears a sound outside and turns to get out of the room as fast as possible before Marcos finds her there but, in her panic, she crashes headlong into him at the door.

‘Oh god, I’m so sorry’ she says, feeling her face burning with embarrassment, ‘I was looking for the loo.’

‘J
ust call him hun,’ says Lucy, brushing Leanne’s hair back from her face, ‘I’ve never seen you this miserable!’

‘He told me he didn’t want to see me Luce... but maybe phoning doesn’t count?’

‘Look, just try,’ she says, tilting her friend’s chin up so that she can look her directly in the eyes, ‘but tell me one thing. Are you doing this because you really love him? I know that girl really pissed you off at the party but this isn’t a game Lea,’ she adds seriously.

‘No, it’s not a game,’ she sniffs, ‘I will not have my man stolen from me by some boring, skinny, raven-haired
teacher,
’ she spits, brushing her friends hand away.

‘But do you
want
him Lea? I mean, really want him “til death us do part” and all that?’ Lucy stands up and looks down at her friend. ‘What about David? What the hell’s going on there? Tracy at the salon told me,’ she adds, her body language changing from sympathetic to challenging.

Leanne jumps to her feet, staring at her friend defensively, ‘Oh that was just a bit of fun, for goodness sake Luce, I’m not married
yet.
’

‘So you’re not seeing him anymore?’ Lucy asks.

‘Oh Jesus Lucy, who
are
you Mother bloody Teresa?? I’m sure Marcos has his fun behind my back when I’m out,’ she adds sulkily.

‘No Leanne, I don’t believe he does. He’s loyal and trusting and you know it. Come on!!’

‘Whose side are you
on
?!’ Leanne shouts, screwing her hands up into fists by her sides and striding over to the window. She leans her forehead against the cool glass in an effort to calm herself.

‘I’m not on anybody’s side,’ says Lucy, sympathetically, ‘I’m just saying that the way you’re acting, you’re going to push him right into the arms of another woman.’

‘So you
do
think there’s something between him and that Isabel?’ she says, spinning around to face her friend.

‘No Lea, I don’t. All I’m saying is, that if Marcos finds out that you’re running around with another man, this Isabel will be right there to comfort him. Come on, you’re being paranoid and jealousy does not suit you at all.’ Lucy stops to take in Leanne’s wild eyes and aggressive posture. ‘Seriously Lea, calm down. If I’m completely honest, the woman standing in front of me now is
not
the woman that Marcos fell in love with. I’m just telling you as a friend,’ she says, lifting her hands in defence.

For a split second, Lucy fears that Leanne is going to actually slap her, but instead she collapses back onto her bed and lets out a deep frustrated growl, pummelling the mattress with both fists. ‘I’ve been so stupid!’ she shouts.

Lucy sits tentatively on the bed beside her and waits patiently for her friend to speak.

‘Ok. I’m fine,’ Leanne says after a short pause, but with renewed determination, ‘pass me my phone. I’ll call him... but stay, please?’ she pleads.

Lucy settles herself in an armchair in the corner of the room as Leanne breathes deeply and dials Marcos’s number, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

She looks up at Lucy, shaking her head, ‘he’s not going to answer,’ she says sadly. She is about to hang up when she sits abruptly upright, her legs hanging over the edge of the bed. ‘Marcos?’ she gasps.

‘Just a moment,’ comes the formal reply.

‘Marcos, it’s me. Please talk to me, let me explain... I can’t bear to be apart from you. I know I was wrong...’ she gabbles, not giving him a chance to speak.

‘Leanne, I thought I made it clear that we needed time apart. I’m busy at the moment.’

‘Busy?’ she asks, trying desperately not to launch into accusations. She imagines him whispering into the phone in his bathroom after explaining to Isabel, who lies sprawled across his bed, that he has a business call that he can’t ignore.

‘Yes, Leanne. I’m having a drink with Isabel.’

Leanne tries so hard not to let the jealous rage take control. If he’s told her that he is with Isabel, then surely it must be innocent. Or not? She remains silent awaiting his next confession with her heart in her mouth. Is he leaving her? Is this it? Has she ruined everything?

‘Leanne? Are you there?’

‘Yes, yes, sorry, I’m here,’ she stammers.

‘I thought that I should apologise to Isabel for your behaviour last night. She’s an old friend, you know? Maybe you could come over one evening and meet her properly. I’m sure you’d love her once you get to know her.’

‘Meet her??’ asks Leanne, not recognising her own voice.

‘Well yes. We’re getting married, you and I, and Isabel is a part of my past. We’re good friends,’ he says, innocently.

‘Good friends?’ she asks with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

‘Yes, Leanne, good friends. You have plenty of male friends yourself. Is that so hard to comprehend?’ he argues, irritated.

Leanne remembers suddenly the advice that Lucy had given her and laughs lightly. ‘Of course, sweetheart. I’m sorry,’ she sighs, ‘It’s just not good for me to be away from you. I love you, Marcos. Of course I’ll meet her,’ she adds, cringing physically at the mere idea of being in the same room as that woman.

‘Thank you darling. I hate it when we argue. Shall we say Tuesday at six o’clock at my place?’ he suggests, sounding more upbeat.

‘Great, look forward to it... and I
am
sorry Marcos. Do you forgive me?’

‘Let’s talk on Tuesday Lea.
Te quiero, adiós guapa.
’

Leanne is left holding the silent phone next to her ear.

‘She’s there... she’s fucking
there
, at his house... and you tell me I have nothing to worry about??
Shit!’
she shouts, throwing herself face down onto her bed, covering her head with her pillow and kicking her legs like a child in a tantrum.

‘He wants me to meet her,’ she says eventually, removing the pillow from her tear-stained face and staring at Lucy with a frantic look in her eyes. ‘I don’t get it. I feel like an outsider...,’ she cries.

‘Leanne, if they were sleeping together, do you honestly think that he’d invite you over to meet her? Think about it for god’s sake!’ she insists, trying to convince her distraught friend.

‘Ok... I suppose. So how do I play this? Cool, right? Act like the perfect fiancée?’ She slams her hands down on the bed in frustration, ‘this is going to be the most horrendous night of my life. I so wish you could be there, to stop me from slapping her for a start!’ she laughs, as tears of frustration run down her cheeks.

F
ollowing the directions on her phone, Isabel arrives at the glass-fronted building of the Language School twenty minutes early. She could have caught a slightly later bus, but she had to take into account that she didn’t exactly know where she was going or when the rush hour was. She considers hanging around outside until her appointment time, but the sun is already beating down on her navy blue dress, causing her to perspire uncomfortably.

She pulls the door open and steps into the blissfully cool reception area where she is greeted by a very pretty, young Spanish receptionist who phones immediately through to Rafael’s office. She brings her a plastic cup of ice-cold water and tells her that Rafael will be out to greet her in a few minutes. She glances up at the various posters advertising Flamenco shows, local Ferias and reasonably priced coach trips to places like Ronda, the caves of Nerja and Gibraltar. She feels quite excited that she is going to be a part of all this and the opportunity to meet people will be most welcome since Rachel left. She accepts sadly, that once Marcos is reunited with Leanne there will be very few opportunities for them to get together.

She finishes her water and stands to look closer at the Málaga Feria poster. Flamenco shows, stalls lining the streets selling food and drinks, the locals dressed in traditional Spanish costume, men on horseback, an evening fairground. She feels quite excited. She reminds herself that she really must brush up on her Spanish though, if she is to feel completely integrated.

‘Isabel,’ booms Rafael from the far side of the reception area, ‘you’re early. How lovely to see you again,’ he grins, holding out his hand to shake hers, formally.

‘Good morning. Sorry about being early, I just didn’t want to be late on my first day. I wasn’t sure how reliable the buses are,’ she smiles.

‘Oh very! More punctual than in the UK,’ he laughs, ‘not everything here is
mañana, mañana
you know!’

He leads her through to his office where she signs a contract for four hours a day, five days a week, which suits her perfectly. She will start at 10 a.m. and finish by lunchtime. He provides her with a mountain of materials, books and websites to peruse before her first classes the following day. All of her classes are elementary level and all adults. She can’t hide her surprise when he tells her that the maximum class size will be twelve. She is used to over thirty students back home, generally unruly adolescents who constantly question the reason for learning a foreign language. She feels a twinge of excitement as she thanks Rafael and heads back through the Reception with a cotton “Málaga Language School” bag, bursting at the seams with books. As she reaches the door, she suddenly sees Marcos striding towards the building in a beige suit and white shirt, open at the neck, carrying a brown leather briefcase.