Page 32 of The Weekend Getaway

“How about you wear your blazer over the dress? And wear the shoes you travelled in.”

“The blazer has Coke on it, not that it goes with the dress anyway. And the shoes are white pumps. They don’t go with a black dress. Plus, the dress is too long if I don’t wear heels. I’m going to have to confess my confusion over the location. At least it should give everyone a good laugh.”

“Don’t do that,” Mel said.

“What else do you suggest? I’m on a tiny island in the Atlantic. I can’t imagine there’s such a thing as a one-hour delivery, and I guess there aren’t a whole load of clothes shops.”

“Wear the dress,” Mel said. “Wear the stilettos. And wear them with so much confidence that no one will dare raise an eyebrow at you being overdressed.”

“You might have forgotten who you’re talking to.”

“You can totally pull it off. Own the look – act as though it’s the sort of thing you always wear. I swear if you act as though you’re comfortable no one will say anything.”

“You really think I can get into a golf buggy dressed up to the nines and make it seem as though that’s normal?”

“Are you going to play golf? Because the stilettos might be an issue for that.”

“No. It’s instead of a car. There aren’t a lot of cars here.”

“That’s so cool. But I still think you can pull off the dress.”

“No. I’m going to go down the self-deprecating humour route. Everyone can have a laugh at my expense. It’ll be fine.”

“I swear to you, if you act as though everything’s normal you can pull it off. You just have to be confident. Don’t even hint that anything’s wrong.”

“There’s also the matter of me freezing to death since the weather on Scilly isn’t quite the same as what I’d expected in Sicily.”

“How far away is the pub?” Mel didn’t wait for an answer but blundered on. “It can’t be that far if it’s such a small island. Brave it out on the way there and drink enough wine at dinner that you won’t feel it on the way home.”

“I don’t know. I really think being honest is the best plan.” Keira slumped against the window sill. “God, that’s embarrassing though … I thought I was getting a private jet to Italy! Why didn’t I go back and double check the message?”

“To be fair, it was an easy mistake to make. Scilly and Sicily look very similar written down.”

“Yeah, but how did we ever think that Noah was whisking me off on a private jet?”

“That seems pretty absurd now. But I still think you can pull off the dress.”

“I need to get ready.” She checked her watch and realised she should hurry up. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck! Just go out and show the people of Scilly how to wear a sexy black dress.”

“Scillonians,” she said blandly.

“What?”

“Never mind!” She ended the call and made a dash for the shower.

Fifteen minutes later she was wrestling with a balcony bra and the neckline of the dress,, which was far too low to be described as aneckline. Once she’d managed to get everything tucked away, she shifted the clinging material at her hips and moved to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. The dress fell to the floor, but a slit up one side reached to the middle of her thigh.

She’d opted to leave her hair down, for once not worrying about her wavy locks. There was no chance anyone would be looking that far north.

With a sense of dread, she perched on the bed to push her feet into the black patent stilettos, then picked up her clutch and took a deep breath before walking tentatively to the stairs.

Gripping the bannister, she slowly made her way down, hoping she didn’t slip and break her neck. She’d almost made it when she stopped and took a deep breath. It was going to take all of her acting skills to make out this was a completely normal outfit for her to go to the pub in. There was no sign of Noah when she arrived safely in the kitchen, so she wandered to the living room.

“Did you find everything you need?” he asked without looking up from his phone.

“Yes,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. “I’m all ready.”