Page 7

No one is here.

I’ll give him five more minutes and then I’ll call his mobile number that was included in the same email.

Normally, I’d have phoned my interview subject in advance or at least made contact with them over email, but he didn’t offer an email address and since I haven’t had long to prepare myself for the trip, I figured there wouldn’t be much point in introducing myself before I met him in person today.

I smooth out non-existent creases from my black jumpsuit, adjusting the high-waisted belt.

The quaint and charming cobbles threatened to fuck up my outfit choice again, but I decided to meet them in battle head on, donning a pair of black, open-toe, ankle-strap heels.

These shoes have never let me down and they are surprisingly comfortable.

They make me feel powerful and ready for any challenge that comes my way, and on the first day of an interview, I like to have that kind of confidence.

Of course, these shoes are not exactly ideal for the beach, but there’s a path of uneven, wooden slats leading from the road to the front of the beach bar, so I’m able to avoid sinking into the sand.

My phone vibrates and I check the screen hopefully, but it’s not him.

It’s a message from my mum wishing me luck today.

Before calling Leo, I decide to quickly scope out Marina’s Bar, just to make sure I’m not being stupid.

He might have been waiting inside for me all this time.

It looks closed, which isn’t surprising this early in the morning, but the sign does say it serves coffee, so maybe it opens its doors earlier for locals like Leo.

Careful not to topple over on the rickety, wooden pathway around the front of the bar, I knock on the door before stepping aside to gingerly peer through the windows.

As the door swings open, I jump back from the window, embarrassed to have been caught trying to see in.

A woman stands in the doorway watching me with a bemused expression.

At a guess I’d say she’s in her thirties with thick, curly, brown hair messily tied back, bright-brown eyes and flawless skin.

She’s wearing a white strap top and shorts over a bikini with small, gold, hoop earrings.

Her eyes travel briefly down to my heels and back up again, and I feel distinctly overdressed.

‘Hi,’ I begin, offering a warm smile. ‘ Olá . Do you—’

‘We’re closed,’ she says in perfect English, but not in a rude way, more just stating the obvious. ‘We don’t open for another hour.’

‘Oh no, that’s not— Thank you, I was actually looking for someone,’ I explain. ‘I’m meant to be meeting him here and I wanted to check he wasn’t inside.’

‘Who are you meeting?’

‘Leo Silva,’ I say, already typing his name into Google so I can show her a picture. ‘I don’t know if you know him, but he said he’d be here at this time. Unless I’ve made a mistake.’

‘Ah. No mistake.’

‘He’s here?’ I ask hopefully, glancing back through the window at the empty chairs and tables inside.

‘Not exactly.’ Looking past me, she smiles gently over my shoulder. ‘He’s out there.’

Following her eyeline, I turn around to look out to sea and spot a man in the distance, straddling a surfboard, bobbing on the water.

‘Oh. He’s surfing,’ I say stupidly, lowering my phone.

‘His natural state. He’s usually the first out there.’

‘I didn’t see him,’ I admit, as I notice a smattering of other surfers striding across the beach to join him in the waves. ‘You’d think I would check the sea for surfers since I came here to interview one, but I didn’t even think to look.’

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. ‘You’re interviewing Leo?’

‘Yes, I’m a journalist working for Studio magazine,’ I say, putting my hands on my hips as I look back out at the sea. ‘I’m writing a piece on him.’

‘He didn’t mention it.’

‘You know him well?’ I ask curiously, turning my attention back to her.

‘We’re friends.’ She nods, her brow furrowing as she keeps her eyes fixed on me, as though she’s trying to solve a puzzle. ‘I’m surprised he agreed to an interview. No offence, but I didn’t think he was fond of the press.’

‘Yeah, well, having read what people have written about him in the past, I’m not surprised that he might be… cautious. But this article isn’t showbiz gossip. It’s a profile piece; I’m writing about his big comeback.’

‘Bells Beach.’

‘Exactly.’ Glancing back over my shoulder at him paddling further out, I heave a sigh and shrug. ‘I guess I’ll… wait for him to come back in.’

‘It’s a good day for surfing. He might be out there a while.’ She grimaces. ‘He should have mentioned it to me if he was planning on talking to you here. I would have opened up early for you if so.’

‘Maybe he forgot.’

As I stare out at him, he looks in this direction. Then, he calmly turns to look the other way. Considering the empty beach and my non-beach-friendly outfit, I can’t imagine I’m difficult to spot. He saw me, I know it.

‘Or he didn’t forget at all, he just decided not to talk to me without letting me know,’ I mutter, feeling like an idiot. ‘Great.’

‘Leo never does give a great first impression,’ she says, giving me a sympathetic smile. ‘He grows on you.’

‘I hope so.’ I reach for my sunglasses in my bag. ‘Thank you for all your help.’

‘You want me to give him a message?’ she offers.

‘No, that’s okay. I’ll give it to him myself. I’ll wait until he’s done.’

‘Like I said, could be a while.’

‘I flew here from London solely to interview him and follow his training for the next couple of weeks, so I genuinely have nothing better to do. It’s fine; I’ll go get a coffee somewhere nearby and come back to check in a bit.’

She sighs, waggling her finger at me. ‘No, no, I’m not letting you risk missing him after all this. Come in, I’ll get you a coffee.’

‘But you’re not open yet; I’d hate for you to go to any trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble, come in. I’m Marina.’

I point up at the sign above the door. ‘You own this place?’

‘No, that’s another Marina.’

‘Really?’

‘No. I was being sarcastic.’ She grins, holding the door open for me.

‘Oh.’ I laugh, following her in. ‘I’m Iris.’

‘Nice to meet you. Take a seat out the front on the decking. You’ve got a great view there; you can keep an eye on him,’ she suggests, heading behind the bar to fire up the coffee machine.

‘Okay, will do,’ I say, hovering by the bar a little longer. ‘So, you seem like you know Leo pretty well. Have you been friends a long time?’

She glances suspiciously over her shoulder at me. ‘Is that a question for the article?’

‘I would tell you if I was asking you an official question,’ I assure her. ‘But it’s helpful to get some background and a feel of his life here: who he hangs out with, where he goes, that sort of thing.’

‘Aha. You want a particular type of coffee?’ she asks, distracted.

‘ Meia de leite, por favor ,’ I attempt. ‘Coffee with milk, right? Did I say it right?’

‘Very good,’ she smiles, selecting a mug and placing it at the machine.

‘It’s important to know how to order coffee in every language,’ I declare, while she nods in agreement. ‘So, you and Leo are close friends? Have you known him a long time?’

‘Since he moved here, yes,’ she tells me to the background hum of the coffee machine. ‘He’s very much a part of this community now.’ She smiles at me. ‘I’ll bring your coffee out to you.’

It’s polite and friendly, but it’s a direction rather than a suggestion.

I get it. It’s rare that anyone is forthcoming to a journalist and even rarer for someone to willingly give up information on a friend.

Appreciating that Marina has already done a lot for me to open up early in the first place, I take the hint without any push back.

Thanking her, I stroll outside to sit at a table right in the centre of the decking that overlooks the beach.

Sliding my sunglasses on, I notice an older gentleman on the beach with a shirt on and his hands in his short pockets, also watching Leo. At first, I think he’s observing all the surfers out there, but it soon becomes clear that he’s only interested in what Leo is doing.

Sipping on the delicious coffee Marina brings over, I watch the surfers doing their thing.

They’re making it look very easy. They casually straddle their boards, hanging out in the water, chatting to each other as they float, their legs dangling in the water.

Then one of them will decide that this wave is the one to surf, paddling with the swell of the water before popping up on their board and riding it towards the shore, gliding swiftly up into powerful turns, pumping their board if the wave slows. I can’t take my eyes off them.

The waves aren’t that big here today, definitely not as big as the ones I’ve seen Leo surf in old videos online, but no one seems to be out here determined to catch the biggest wave coming. It’s more of a relaxed vibe, I think.

Eventually, Leo looks to be finishing up and as he strides out of the water in his wetsuit carrying his board, I take the last gulp of my coffee and ask Marina if I can pay up.

‘It’s on the house,’ she insists, refusing to take my card.

‘I will be sure to mention Marina’s Bar in the feature as the coffee in Burgau with the best view,’ I promise her, standing up.

‘ If there is a feature,’ she says, joining me in watching Leo as he stops to talk to the older man waiting on the sand. ‘I hope you haven’t come all this way for nothing.’

‘This is a minor hiccup,’ I say, trying to convince myself as much as her. ‘He approached us about writing the feature in the first place.’

She looks at me, baffled. ‘Really? He did?’

‘Sort of. His mum did.’ I grab my bag from under the table. ‘I’ll see you soon. Thanks so much for the coffee.’

Without risking any more delay, I rush out of the bar and totter back down the pathway that meets the road, waiting at the car park and making sure that he cannot miss me.

I watch him like a hawk, observing the older man pat him on the shoulder and leave him, going towards Marina’s.

Leo, on the other hand, heads straight for the car park, his head bowed, his eyes on the sand ahead of each of his steps.

When he finally looks up long enough to see me waiting for him, his frown deepens but he doesn’t stop to acknowledge me.

In person, he’s even more gorgeous than the photos. Tall, tanned, sharp jaw, tousled, dark hair that’s still wet from the salty water, he walks across the beach as though he should be in slow motion and have his own theme tune. But his expression is not inviting.

If anything, I would call it hostile.

Still, I’m unperturbed. It’s not like I haven’t cracked through hostility before.

‘Hi, Leo,’ I say with a winning smile, waiting until he’s close enough to hear me. ‘I’m Iris Gray, the journalist from Studio magazine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I hope you…’ I hesitate as I consider the correct expression ‘…had a good surf?’

He doesn’t respond, instead marching right by me. I’m stunned at being blanked, but not put off. He’s on concrete now and, although the threat of cobbles looms, it’s better than sand. Here, I can chase him down, hurrying to fall into step with him as he approaches his pickup truck.

‘As I said, I’m here from Studio magazine; we were due to meet this morning for our first interview?

It would be great to talk to you about how this is all going to work,’ I say brightly as he puts his board in the back.

‘I’m really looking forward to the next couple of weeks and learning as much as possible about your world. ’

‘I have to say,’ he says in an Australian accent, turning round to look down at me, tall enough to tower over me despite the extra height of my heels, ‘I’m surprised you hung about as long as you did, Iris Gray.

I thought you’d leave as soon as you saw me out there surfing.

Takes dedication to hang around this long. ’

‘I—’

My words disappear as he starts peeling off his wetsuit right there in front of me, revealing his perfectly sculpted torso, the water beads on his skin glistening.

I swallow and determine to keep my eyes up , firmly focused on his face, refusing to let them linger on the way his arms are flexing and his abs are tightening as he reaches down to pull the wetsuit off completely.

He straightens, standing in front of me in only his blue board shorts.

Fuck me . His shoulders are so muscled and broad.

I want to reach out and dig my fingernails into them.

I won’t, obviously.

‘I… um…’ Stop thinking about his shoulders, Iris; focus on the job .

‘I am excited to start work on this feature; of course I waited.’ I clear my throat, ignoring the way the corner of his lips twitch as though he knows why I’m stumbling over my words.

‘Look, if you forgot about our meeting this morning or if you’re a bit nervous, that’s fine.

We can take this at a pace that’s comfortable for you.

How about we go for a coffee now you’re done surfing? ’

He throws his wetsuit in the back of his truck. ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t work for me. I’m busy. I have to go home and take a shower before work.’

He opens the driver’s door and jumps in, slamming it shut behind him. The window is wound down so I make a bid to continue our conversation as he starts the engine.

‘If you’re worried about the feature, that’s normal,’ I assure him quickly. ‘It’s daunting to let someone in, but you can trust me. All I want to do is tell your story.’

He puts on his sunglasses, resting one hand on the wheel. ‘No offence, Iris, but you’re a journalist. I know you.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You don’t want to tell stories; you want to sell copies by whatever means possible.’

‘That’s not—’

‘Plus, I don’t want anyone to tell my story. All I want to do is surf.’ He puts the truck into gear before turning to look at me through the window. ‘And how come you didn’t learn your lesson from last night?’

I frown, confused. ‘What?’

‘Next time, don’t wear heels to the beach.’

With that, he reverses out and drives off up the road, leaving me staring after him.