Page 36 of The Honeymoon Affair

I can’t wait to read his book.

I need some good news this month.

Chapter 10

Iseult

I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me you’d better go.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

My house was like a fridge when I got home from the Caribbean, but now it’s warm and toasty and I can walk naked from the bathroom to my bedroom without feeling at all chilly. I put on my M&S Autograph bra and pants, then plug in the hairdryer. While we were away, I allowed my hair to dry naturally, and put gel in it for a carelessly spiky look, but today it’s minus five outside and I don’t fancy icicles on my head.

I’m excited to be going out. Ever since returning home, it’s been nothing but work, except for the occasional text from Charles Miller. Because my walking out of his room at the White Sands wasn’t the end of whatever there was – or is – between us. I was pissed off with him at that moment, for sure. After all, there was a definite spark and there was no reason we couldn’t have lit it, even for one night. We were on holiday, after all. It’s practically mandatory to have a no-strings relationship on holiday, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe he had rejected me for a plot twist.

He didn’t appear at breakfast the following morning. His table was free at lunch too.

‘Avoiding you, maybe?’ suggested Celeste.

‘If so, he’s an idiot,’ I said.

It wasn’t until after dinner that he showed up at the cocktail bar. He was talking to one of the golfers. I made it my business to ignore him. But after a while he came over and asked if he could join us.

Celeste gave me an enquiring look. I shrugged, so she nodded and he pulled one of the wicker chairs up to the table.

‘How was your day?’ he asked.

‘I finished the Janice Jermyn,’ I told him.

‘But I have the Janice Jermyn,’ he said. ‘And I finished it too.’

‘I got it from the library.’

The White Sands had a library of books left behind by guests. The Mystery of the Missing Mallet and The Mystery of the Drowning Fish (Janice’s previous book) were among them.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well . . . we had a bet about the murderer. I wrote down my guess. Did you?’

‘Actually, yes.’ I opened my glittery evening bag, took out a piece of paper and handed it to him.

‘Of course you could have written this after you’d finished the book,’ he pointed out as he unfolded the paper. ‘I won’t pretend I got it right myself. I thought it was Becca. He looked at the name I’d written. ‘Dammit. Maura. How did you know?’

‘I told you. I read a lot of murder mysteries. I’d guessed before I even gave you the book. Chapter Twenty-Five confirmed it for me.’

‘But there’s no mention of Maura in Chapter Twenty-Five,’ he said.

‘Exactly.’ I winked at him.

‘I underestimated you.’ He raised his glass to me.

‘Never underestimate Izzy,’ said Celeste. ‘She always comes out on top.’

I spluttered into my margarita as she nudged me in the ribs. Fortunately the reggae band struck up and the music saved us from talking. Celeste was the first to make a move. She said she was going to refresh her lipstick. Charles and I were left alone.

‘I really am sorry about last night,’ he said as soon as she was out of earshot. ‘I messed up.’

‘You didn’t mess up,’ I retorted. ‘You led me on.’

‘Seriously?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You think?’