Page 21 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘He said they didn’t sell as well,’ I tell her. ‘All the same, he doesn’t really have to worry if this one sold five million copies. Only thing is, I want to shake the male character. He’s completely self-obsessed.’

‘Sounds realistic.’ Celeste grins.

We gather up our things and head back to our room, where Celeste takes a shower and I sit on the balcony with a cup of mint tea. I’m tempted to check on Steve again, but I restrain myself. I’m aware my cyber-stalking is unhealthy. I’ll stop after today. I will. But in the meantime, it fills the unfillable hole in my heart.

We’re later than usual to dinner, and even as we’re led to our table, I can’t help glancing towards Charles Miller’s usual spot. There’s no sign of him. I wonder if he’s too engrossed in The Mystery of the Missing Mallet to eat. I bet he’s enjoying it, even though it’s so completely unlike his own book. It’s a great holiday read. I suppose the only problem for Charles is that he’s not on holiday. Honestly, though, what kind of world does he live in where he can afford to come to a luxury resort to write? The last payment I made for the White Sands took me to within ten euros of my credit card limit.

‘Earth to Iseult.’ Celeste clicks her fingers in front of my face. ‘You’re miles away.’

‘Sorry. Just daydreaming.’

‘What about?’

‘Random things. Not Steve,’ I add.

‘That’s progress.’

‘I guess so.’

The reggae band is playing in the bar after dinner – maybe it’s a double gig, the wedding earlier, the bar now – and quite a lot of people are dancing to the music, which, in fairness, makes me want to dance too. I don’t, because I have all the natural elegance of a herd of drunken hippos on the dance floor. Celeste and I sit at a table on the outside terrace, where we can see the moonlit sea as the waves break gently on the shore. It’s indescribably beautiful and I feel as though I’m on a movie set – perhaps one of those Agatha Christie mysteries where everyone is in evening dress and drinking cocktails and having a lovely time until someone is murdered.

‘Meeting Charles Miller has sent your imagination into overdrive.’ Celeste looks at me in amusement when I say this. ‘However, I do like the sound of cocktails. I’m going to the bathroom, so I’ll order on my way. What would you like?’

‘Strawberry daiquiri,’ I say, and she nods.

Sitting alone at the round table, I feel even more like someone in a movie set, although this time the lone female in the slinky dress who’s found face-down in the pool. I’m actually wearing a slinky dress tonight; it’s one of the outfits I bought in a swirl of wedding preparations, and it’s a gorgeous emerald green with silver sequins around the simple scoop neckline. It fits perfectly, thanks to my current slimline figure, and falls in a gentle swish of silk to just above my ankles. It was my night-after-the-wedding dress. The rest of my clothes are far more casual.

My hair is too short to style elegantly, but I’ve gelled it, and it shows off my lovely Pandora drop earrings, my ‘something new’ wedding gift to myself. Funnily enough, though lots of things make me emotional about my cancelled wedding, wearing the earrings doesn’t.

I sit and wait for Celeste to return, trying to look as though I’m thinking profound thoughts and not at all conscious of actually being on my own. Then I see Charles Miller walk through the dining room to the bar, where they already have a drink waiting for him, even though this is the first time I’ve seen him here since we arrived.

He takes the drink and walks past me. And not that I’m expecting him to join me for some more literary conversation or anything, but it’s as though he’s never seen me before. The words of greeting that had formed on my lips remain unsaid. I’m shocked by his rudeness.

Then, in one of those series of connected events that end in disaster, a couple who have been dancing slowly together to the reggae version of ‘Lady in Red’ decide to do a dramatic spin. The woman’s outstretched arm bangs into Charles’s drink, it sloshes onto my table and I leap out of my chair like a startled gazelle to avoid getting gin and tonic or whatever he’s ordered all over my beautiful dress.

‘I’m so sorry!’ the woman apologises to Charles, absolutely ignoring me. ‘I should’ve looked where I was going.’

‘My fault,’ says her partner. ‘We were trying a Strictly move and made a mess of it.’

‘It’s fine.’ Charles’s tone can’t quite disguise his irritation. ‘I’m fine.’

‘We’d better go,’ the woman says with a giggle. ‘I’ve clearly had too much already.’

She and her partner disappear into the night, leaving me watching the drink pool on the table. Which is when Celeste comes back with two strawberry daiquiris.

‘What happened?’ she asks.

‘Some idiot barged into me,’ says Charles, at the same time as I say that he’s spilled his drink on the table. He turns to look at me for the first time, and squints.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Sorry. I didn’t recognise you.’ He takes his glasses out of the pocket of the jacket he’s wearing and puts them on, just as a waiter appears and begins to mop up the drink from the table.

‘Lucky it didn’t get you, Izzy,’ says Celeste.

‘My cat-like reflexes,’ I tell her.

‘May I get you another drink, Mr Miller?’ asks the waiter. ‘A martini with an olive, yes?’

‘Yes, please,’ says Charles.