Page 11 of Meet Me at Sunset

The pretty little town of Valldemossa was picture-perfect and felt like stepping back in time.

It was situated on top of a hill, its honey-coloured stone buildings clustered higgledy-piggledy on the side of the slopes, surrounded by the spectacular Tramuntana mountains.

Isobel and Stuart were strolling through the picturesque old town, winding their way through narrow, cobbled streets where bougainvillea ran riot across the walls of the ancient houses, the buildings adorned with wrought-iron balconies and emerald-green shutters.

Isobel was in her element browsing the artisan shops, looking at the trinkets and the jewellery, unable to resist buying some of the beautiful textiles for inspiration. Stuart seemed on edge, showing little interest in the hand-painted vases his wife had fallen in love with.

‘Darling, I know shopping isn’t your favourite activity in the world, but do try to be a little more enthusiastic. Oh, look at those stunning candles, wouldn’t they look perfect in the dining room?’

‘Mmm,’ Stuart replied distractedly. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Isobel watched him and frowned.

‘Are you expecting a call?’

‘What? Oh no, just checking I haven’t missed anything important.’

‘We’re on holiday. Try to switch off a little. I’m sure your colleagues can cope if anything happens. Ooh, have you seen those batik dresses?’

Isobel raced off, as Stuart lagged behind like a sulky schoolboy.

Isobel could feel herself growing increasingly irritated.

Why was her husband determined to be in a bad mood?

They were on vacation, and there was nothing more taxing to do than laze by the pool, order delicious cocktails, and have the occasional trip out to a nearby village.

It felt like heaven to Isobel, but Stuart was acting as though it was torture.

It was as though they’d never left Scotland, Isobel thought in frustration.

Stuart was here in body, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

She might as well be on her own – she’d probably have more fun, she thought resentfully.

Take last night, for example: they’d both been on a high after their meal at Il Paradiso, where they’d dined with two bona fide movie stars – not to mention Stephanie Moon, who’d been very sweet, and Isobel hoped she’d make good on her promise to let her design a gown for her.

Isobel and Stuart had returned to the hotel, had a nightcap at the bar, then gone back to their room and made love.

It was a sultry night, and Isobel had taken a shower afterwards, the water cooling her skin, but when she’d stepped out she’d found Stuart still awake and working on his laptop.

It had been the same thing that morning after breakfast – Stuart had jumped straight on his laptop, muttering unhappily about the hotel’s Wi-Fi connection.

Isobel had practically had to drag him out of their room when their car arrived, and now he was being sulky and distant.

She browsed the rails in the boutique with a practised eye, taking in the styles and shapes. This shop was full of beautiful beach dresses, light and flowing, in bright colours and exquisite prints. Isobel pulled one out admiringly, holding it up against her body.

‘Would you like to try?’ the saleswoman asked in English.

‘Yes please,’ Isobel nodded, selecting a couple more items and calling out, ‘Stuart, I’ll be a few minutes, I’m just going to try these.’

Stuart sighed, looking bored. ‘OK.’

Isobel stepped into the cubicle and began to undress, wondering what was going on with her husband.

In truth, it felt as though things hadn’t been great in their marriage for a while now.

When they were at home, it was easy to paper over the cracks, falling back on the excuse that they both led busy lives.

They’d become like ships that passed in the night, due to Stuart’s high-pressure career and Isobel’s boutique, as though justifying why they spent so little time with each other.

Now that they were together twenty-four seven, it showed just how far apart they’d drifted, and how little they had in common any more.

Conversation was sometimes stilted, and they rarely had fun; Isobel couldn’t remember the last time Stuart had made her laugh.

She smoothed the material of a blue-and-white porcelain print dress over her hips then stood back to admire her reflection. She was pleased with what she saw, and she pulled back the curtain, emerging into the shop.

‘ ?Qué bonita! ’ the saleswoman said, and Isobel smiled. She spoke a little Spanish from the time she’d spent as an intern in Madrid, and her holidays with Stuart to Barcelona, Ibiza and Seville.

Isobel glanced around, eager to show Stuart how good she looked in the dress, but he was no longer in the shop.

Her searching gaze found him through the window.

He had his back to her, but as he moved slightly from one foot to the other, she saw that he was on his phone once more.

Isobel watched him, frustration and annoyance coursing through her.

Couldn’t he leave work alone for one day?

‘I’m sorry, I’m not going to buy it,’ Isobel said to the saleswoman, whose face dropped at the prospect of losing a sale.

Isobel was too preoccupied to notice, as she went back into the cubicle and quickly changed, ignoring the other dresses she’d selected.

She headed outside, fury written across her face, just as Stuart was finishing his call.

‘Work?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Stuart had the good grace to look ashamed. ‘Isobel,’ he began, placing his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged them off.

‘What?’

Stuart took a deep breath, and Isobel knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to fly to the mainland for a couple of days.’

‘What do you mean?’ Isobel was aware that her voice was growing louder, that she was causing a scene in the quiet street. Passing tourists glanced at them curiously.

‘It’s an important client. I can’t say no.’

‘More important than me?’

‘Isobel—’

‘Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me! Two weeks, Stuart. That’s all I asked. Just one holiday where we could spend some time together. Start trying for a baby …’

Her husband pressed his hands to his temples in exasperation. ‘Isobel, you don’t understand the expectations that come with a high-profile career. I’m doing more than running up a few dresses for ladies who lunch.’

Isobel’s cheeks coloured. When she spoke, her voice was quiet yet dangerous. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m under a lot of stress right now. Look, think of it this way – if we were at home, it’d be a longer flight and I’d probably have to be away an extra night. It’s far closer if I fly from here.’

Isobel narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you plan this? When you booked this holiday, was it a convenient location to visit an important client?’

He hesitated just a micro-second too long. ‘No, of course not. Besides, you’re the one who suggested Majorca.’

Isobel stared at him for a long moment. She felt hurt, confused and angry. ‘I don’t know what to believe any more.’

‘Isobel, I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you …’

‘I wanted you here, Stuart. It’s more important to me than you know.’

He stepped towards her, taking her hands in his, and she didn’t shake him off.

Encouraged, he brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them.

‘I won’t be gone for long. Here, take my credit card, buy yourself something nice whilst I’m away.

But let’s go find a taxi and get back to the hotel. My flight leaves in a few hours.’

As Stuart marched off, Isobel stared bleakly after him.

I don’t want to buy myself something nice , she thought sadly. I want my husband back.

That afternoon, after Stuart had left for his flight, Isobel decided to explore the hotel.

She was still shocked and upset, but had decided to do her best to enjoy her holiday and not let her husband’s unexpected absence ruin it.

After all, the Palacio del Sol Radiante had an extensive cocktail list, not to mention a small but well-stocked designer boutique, and Stuart’s credit card was burning a hole in her pocket.

Isobel strolled past the entrance to the spa, reminding herself to book a full body hot-stone massage before Stuart returned, when a door up ahead swung open and a woman rushed out. Isobel recognized her immediately, instinctively calling her name.

‘Camille!’

Camille Fontaine paused, then looked around her distractedly.

It seemed to take a moment for her to place Isobel, despite the fact that they’d had dinner together the previous evening.

Camille looked as chic as ever, in a printed silk shift dress, and Isobel felt a pang of envy at her easy, French style.

‘Isobel,’ Camille walked towards her with a smile. ‘I’m sorry, there’s so much going on, my mind is spinning.’

‘Anything I can help with? I find myself at a loose end suddenly …’ At Camille’s frown, Isobel explained, ‘My husband, Stuart, has been called away for work. I’ve been left by myself for a few days.’

‘Oh, poor you! But please don’t be too hard on him. It was a delight talking to him at dinner, and he does such wonderful work. He did a marvellous job with Lucas’s reconstructive surgery: the world needs him.’

‘Oh yes – your son’s car accident,’ Isobel said, feeling momentarily guilty. She saw a trace of confusion flicker across Camille’s face, and explained, ‘Stuart told me a little about what happened.’

‘Yes, that’s right. It was four years ago now, though sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday. But let’s not dwell on that. If you’re not busy, you must come to my launch. That’s why I’m here. Your husband said you were a Camille Andre fan.’

‘Oh, I am,’ Isobel said. ‘I’d be honoured!’