Chapter 4
Chapter Four
T he thing about having bad handwriting himself was that Gib could easily read the chicken scrawl of others…
He was also a speed reader, so he’d managed to read a couple of lines of Bea’s notes before she snatched the book away. What did she do that required her to send out a newsletter? And what did the initials GMC mean?
Gib picked up his phone and plugged the acronym into his search engine, not surprised when it came up with about a billion responses, most of them referencing the car brand. Someone who couldn’t change a tyre wouldn’t make notes about a car brand. He sent a quick message to Navy. Hopefully he’d still be awake.
If you saw GMC and a newsletter in someone’s notebook, what would you think? Don’t think cars.
Navy’s reply was instantaneous.
Goal, motivation, conflict. Writer or wannabe writer. Why?
Gib didn’t reply because Bea was back and shoving a cup of coffee into his hand. It was hot and smelled delicious. He took a sip and felt his brain cells perk up. ‘Thanks. Good coffee.’
‘Life is too short for bad coffee,’ Bea told him. She joined him and leaned against the railing. ‘I’m going to either buy a blow-up mattress or sleep on the divan tonight.’
Disappointment ran through him, as sharp as a knife blade. What the hell was that about? It was what he wanted, right?
‘Why?’ he asked her. ‘I slept really well last night.’
‘Well, I didn’t, and I need to,’ Bea snapped. There were dark smudges under her amazing eyes, and she looked a little pale. Funny that he’d had the best sleep in a long time, yet she hadn’t.
Had she been scared of him? Worried that he’d make an unwelcome move, cop a feel?
Bea met his eyes and after a few Ice Ages had passed, she spoke again. ‘I haven’t shared a bed, or my space, with anyone for a long time. It feels … strange.’
Funny that, to him, sharing a bed with her felt completely … well, he didn’t want to say right, or natural … but it hadn’t been a big deal.
Bea waved her words away. ‘I’m not leaving the cottage, but you can have the bed. If I don’t manage to get into Fira today, I’ll sleep on the divan.’
Gib looked into the cottage and saw the butt-ugly couch-with-no-back. It looked like a medieval torture rack. He walked over to it and sat. It creaked ominously as the wood shifted. Seriously? He lifted his eyebrows and lay down on it, his feet dangling off the end and his shoulders nearly as wide as it was.
Don’t do it, Caddell, don’t…
‘It’s damn uncomfortable.’ Using his core muscles, and hoping Bea wouldn’t notice, he lifted his body an inch and slammed it back down under the pretence of shifting his weight as he tried to get comfortable. As he expected, and just as Bea walked back into the cottage, a sharp crack ricocheted through the cottage and his butt fell into a deep dip in the divan.
‘Crap,’ he said, looking up at her. Had he really gone out of his way to sabotage a piece of furniture so that she would have no option but to share the bed with him? Had the little time he spent in the Greek sun fried his brain? This wasn’t who he was, what he did. What was next? Was he going to sabotage her rental so she couldn’t drive anywhere?
It would be easy enough to remove a spark plug… Jesus, he was losing his shit.
When he’d seen her standing next to her car talking to Golly and Reena two days ago, her wavy hair blowing in the wind, his heart had bounced off his ribcage. Looking at her, something unfurled within him, a recognition he never expected to experience. He could bullshit and tell himself he remembered her from his childhood, but that wasn’t the source of what he was feeling. It went deeper than that, and wasn’t wanted or welcomed. Something he’d never experienced before.
He'd only ever indulged in surface-skimming relationships. They suited him, and he didn’t have to worry about how many hours he worked a week or checking in with someone when he abruptly left for a business trip. He loved his slam-the-door-closed-and-leave life, and how it didn’t matter if he spent six weeks in New York when he’d only intended to stay a week. The only people he checked in with were Hugh and Navy.
He was a free agent, and he liked his life.
But Bea… Jesus, there was something about her. She intrigued him. Her fabulous blue-grey eyes, the colour of mist reflecting off the sea, held a thousand secrets and he wanted to know each and every one. How did she come to be Golly’s goddaughter? Where did she go to school? Was she a morning person or a night owl? Did she sob or scream when she came?
He loathed personal questions, but he wanted to know everything about her.
Gib frowned. He wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t that fascinating, she couldn’t be. He’d dated female CEOs and catwalk models, ballerinas and professional athletes. Bea wasn’t his type…
He was overreacting, possibly because he hadn’t had sex for far too long. And this place, God, you couldn’t help noticing how fucking romantic it was. It was timeless. The buildings, the flowers, and the breath-stealing views of the aqua-blue-green water and the wild beaches, the rocks and the endless sky made one think of the romance of sunny days and long, balmy nights.
It was also the one place where he’d experienced true, soul-deep happiness. Uncomfortable with the direction of his thoughts, Gib pushed himself out of the broken divan and rolled to his feet. He eyed the couch. It really was a piece of shit. He lifted it with ease and peered at the fabric underneath. A piece of wood poked through the ratty fabric.
Gib lowered the couch to the floor. ‘Guess I’ll be buying your godmother another…’ He shrugged, then winced. ‘I don’t know what to call this?’
‘A hot mess?’ she suggested, shaking her head. ‘And there is no way I’ll let you replace it, it should’ve been tossed away fifty years ago. I can’t think why it hasn’t been, other than the fact that up until now, the cottage has always been a repository for furniture Golly didn’t know what else to do with. Besides, I think I can still sleep on it, I’m not as big as you.’
There was no way he was going to let her spend the night on it, but he’d argue about that later. He knew what battles to pick and crucially, when to pick them. So he changed the subject. ‘What are your plans for the day?’
She sent a longing look towards her computer before wrinkling her nose. ‘I need to sort out the lights for the cocktail party. And help Cassie with the set-up.’ She sipped her coffee and looked at him over the rim of the pottery mug. ‘Oh, there’s something I need to ask you. Last night at dinner Golly told me to invite you to lunch today. And be warned, she’s going to invite you to her cocktail party tonight, so have a good excuse ready.’
‘You’re assuming I wouldn’t want to go?’ He didn’t, but he was interested to find out why she thought he’d baulk.
‘You said you wanted privacy and quiet. I presumed that attending a cocktail party was the opposite of that.’
She’d presumed right.
‘Why are you craving solitude, Gib? Are you running away from an ex, did you have a breakdown, are you in trouble with the law?’
Personal questions, even when asked in a jokey tone, made him itchy – they were nails across his mental chalkboard – so he looked past her to the view of the bright sea behind her.
‘I didn’t ask you what your bank balance is or what your worst memory is,’ Bea prodded when he didn’t answer.
He opened his mouth to tell her he was overworked and peopled-out but snapped it shut, keeping the explanation behind his teeth. He wanted her, was attracted to her, he wanted to breach her wall of pillows. But he’d been attracted to a lot of other women, slept with many of them and he never felt the urge to open up. Why Bea?
Bea shifted on her feet and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Right. None of my business.’
She looked around, saw her flip flops by the front door and moved towards them. She slid her feet into them, and he eyed her legs, long and lovely below the band of the hem of her fitted, sky-blue cotton shorts. She’d loosely knotted a button-up shirt and her face was makeup free, showing off the light freckles on her nose and cheeks.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. Maybe he should go back to bed to reboot his brain, because it sure as hell was glitching.
‘Lunch is at one, in the kitchen at the villa. If you don’t pitch up, I’ll see you when I see you.’
He wouldn’t be going to lunch, or to the cocktail party. Until his brain was bug-free, he would avoid Bea as much as possible.
* * *
Later that morning, Bea, back from Fira, sans a blow-up mattress, left her car and smiled at Golly’s Folly, built in the mid 1930s by a wealthy Englishman as his summer home. With its incredible views, Bea understood why the original owner chose to build where he did. The house itself was two floors of perfection, immaculately decorated by Jack Farrow, with the art provided by his sister Jacqui.
Golly did, occasionally, rent the place out as a wedding venue, but only when she thought the couple highbrow, interesting, or influential enough for her to bother.
Bea sighed at the warm brown, stone building with its rectangular windows and terracotta roof. It looked rich, but not ostentatious, old but not ancient. Built in an H layout, with an amazing courtyard in the centre of the two wings, it was a perfect event location; in Golly’s case, her birthday and retirement party. From the courtyard, guests could walk through her garden – peppered with ceramic pots overflowing with flowers – and onto a lookout point, with its amazing view of the caldera. The esplanade was the perfect spot to watch the brilliant Santorini sunsets.
Golly’s Greek home was lovely and gracious … and bloody romantic.
Something she didn’t normally think about. And it was all Gib’s fault.
Dammit.
‘Bea!’
Bea spun around and saw Gib jogging towards her. She placed her hands above her eyes to block out the still-hot Greek sun. It was obvious he’d just come back from the beach, as his hair and board shorts were still damp.
She waited for him to reach her, and when he did, he lifted his eyebrows at the erotic stature of a maiden standing between them and the imposing front door, a hand between her legs and a blissful smile on her face. ‘I thought I’d join you for lunch.’
And wasn’t that a surprise?
Crap . She remembered Reena telling Nadia last night that she’d take care of lunch, and that meant a blow-your-head-off chilli dish. Spicy food was all Reena could make.
‘Maybe you should eat in Oia, there are some fantastic restaurants still open.’ Eating in Oia was a much safer option.
‘Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?’ he drawled. The breeze picked up the tails of his loose shirt and once again she caught a glimpse of his rock-hard, tanned stomach, and those sexy hip muscles that took hard gym workouts to attain. She could easily imagine her fingers dancing across his stomach, sliding lower.
‘ Bea-darling !’
Bea spun around, her heart sinking to see Golly walking from the direction of the swimming pool. She and Reena tended to spend most of the morning by the pool sunbathing, turning their already wrinkly and brown-as-leather skin darker in the process. She’d warned them about skin cancer, but her entreaties to wear a hat and sunblock fell on deaf-by-design ears.
‘I just went for a quick dip,’ Golly told them as she tucked her sarong over her chest. It reached her knobbly knees and was transparent enough to show she was wearing a bikini. Thank God, because Golly was fond of swimming naked.
Golly’s bright eyes fell on Gib. ‘I’m so happy you’re here, Gib. You look so much like your dad.’ Gib smiled at her, the first proper smile she’d see from him, and it almost stopped her heart. Golly let out a fluttery, ‘Oh, my’, and Bea understood her reaction and her dazed expression. It was a helluva smile, designed to stop air traffic and drop panties.
When he smiled like that, he could power the sun, create balls of light made from sunbeams and moondust, move mountains and drain seas. It made Bea want to know how his lips felt on hers, his tongue on her breasts, his fingers between her legs, whether the colour of his eyes changed when he slid into her…
She’d never had such an intense reaction to a man before and she didn’t like it. She wasn’t a fan of her world being rocked, her libido being prodded. She liked her uncomplicated life, and getting tangled up with Gib Caddell was the equivalent of prodding a semi-poisonous snake with her foot. She might not die from the bite, but life would, temporarily at least, change. And it would hurt.
No, she had enough on her plate without adding another element of confusion and complication. She had to make sure that, in the tumult of change, her identity as Parker Kane remained a secret, and find a way to get her writing mojo back. She needed to protect her creativity and her imaginary gang of five. Both were infinitely precious and had been, in many ways, a lifesaver after her relationship, and her world, collapsed.
Her life might, to some, seem boring, but she spent a great part of the day in another world, following Pip and the gang as they found hidden worlds in the gritty area of Edmonton Green. She went on adventures, fought ghosts and dragons, and laughed and cried with the gang. Because she had this rich inner world, she didn’t feel she was missing out on anything. OK, sometimes she thought sex would be nice, but her vibrator took care of those urges when she was desperate. In the real world, she had Golly and Reena, a few casual friends. Did she need anyone else? Up until today, she didn’t think so.
She’d met Gib the day before yesterday and he was already making her question her carefully planned life. Madness!
Golly’s snapping fingers brought her back to the present. In her bright eyes, Bea saw her curiosity and a healthy dose of amusement. She liked men, and she loved flirting with them. Maybe Golly could keep Gib entertained while she ran down to the pool to take a quick dip. She desperately needed a reset, and a swim would do the trick.
‘You seem far away, Bea-darling,’ Golly complained. ‘What on earth are you thinking about?’
Your party, Gib’s abs, the one-bed situation, your retirement, my new proposal, this weekend, the future, an unexpected cocktail party, lights in the courtyard, Gib's abs, Gib’s hands on my non-existent abs …
Should she explain the length of her to-do list? No, she wasn’t going to whine, she’d agreed to help Golly make this weekend amazing and she wasn’t going to bitch. Or if she did, she’d keep it to herself.
‘Just thinking about everything I have to do,’ Bea replied.
Golly tucked her hand into Gib’s elbow and Gib shortened his long stride to match hers. ‘What would you like to drink, Gib? A beer? A G waiting for his reaction when he clocked the ten-foot nude on the wall above the hall table. It was sexy and sinuous and a little erotic.
Instead of commenting on the subject, he stepped forward and peered at the signature in the corner of the painting. ‘It’s a Heppel, probably painted in the late sixties or early seventies. Something about it makes me want to link it to his famous Nudes of New York series, but it’s too abstract to fit in there. And his next six paintings were more realistic, and the subjects were easily identifiable.’
Bea stared at him, surprised by his knowledge. While well known to connoisseurs, Heppel wasn’t a name that sprang to everyone’s lips when they saw the painting. Gib looked from the painting to Golly and back to the painting. ‘How did you come to model for Heppel?’ he asked.
Golly laughed and clapped her hands, delighted. ‘How did you know it was me?’
‘The tilt of the subject’s head. It’s the way you look at people a lot taller than you, you did it to me outside.’
Golly patted his big bicep. ‘You clever man.’
Damn. It was bad enough that he was sexy, she didn’t need him to be intelligent, and interesting, too. If he turned out to be nice, she might have to ram a dagger into her heart and be done with it.
You’re not going to do this, Bea, you’re not.
‘I met Heppel in New York, when I first started work in a publishing house on Broadway, as an intern. Interns weren’t paid back then, and I was short of money. A friend of a friend told me he was looking for models, so I went along, and he hired me.’ Golly waved her hand at the painting. ‘Of course, he only painted that after we started sleeping together.’ She pulled a face. ‘He was a good artist, but a lousy lay. I forgave him when he realised he preferred men.’
Before any of them could respond to that, Golly spoke again. ‘Then the dick went to Vietnam and got injured over there. Stupid man.’
‘I don’t think he wanted to get hurt, Godma,’ Bea pointed out.
‘War is stupid,’ Golly said, placing her small fists on her jutting hips. ‘Women should run the world; we’d make a far better job of it than men.’
‘I’ve always said women are the smarter species,’ Gib smoothly replied.
Bea would bet her next quarter royalties he’d never said anything of the sort. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he smiled. She gripped the back of an elegant chair, next to which was a wooden wine barrel holding a collection of never-used walking sticks.
Gib gestured to Golly’s portrait. ‘I presume he gave you the painting as a gift?’
‘Jacqui Farrow bought it at auction a few years ago and harangued me to buy it from her. I didn’t want to, because I was still mad at him for going to Vietnam.’ Golly shrugged. ‘I don’t remember him painting it. Or me. There were lots of artists, lots of nude modelling, lots of dope, booze, and sex before, during and after those sessions… I was,’ she proudly admitted, ‘a bit of a slut!’
Bea rolled her eyes. ‘We don’t use that word anymore, Golly,’ she reminded her. Trying to get Golly to be more politically correct was an uphill struggle.
‘Well, I do! I was a loose woman, a bit of a nympho,’ she told Gib, with not a hint of embarrassment. ‘I love sex. Haven’t had much of it lately, though.’
Right, too much information. To his credit, Gib’s expression didn’t change, except that his silver-blue eyes brightened with mirth. Golly had no shame, and no filter, but she was never normally this forthcoming with strangers.
Before anyone could say anything more, Reena walked into the hall, wiping her wet hands on a tea towel. ‘Since Nadia and Cassie are trying to get things sorted for the cocktail party tonight, I made Chicken 65.’
Bea’s eyes widened in horror. Chicken 65 was one of the spiciest dishes in India, an intensely spiced fried chicken that routinely made grown men cry. She’d been introduced to Reena’s spicy cooking when she was ten and had had twenty years for her taste buds to shrivel up and die. If Gib ate the Chicken 65, he wouldn’t be able to walk and talk for days.
‘I love fried chicken,’ Gib responded. ‘And hot food. I spent the morning on the water and I’m starving.’
Dear God . Bea closed her eyes in dismay. She could see a lawsuit in Reena’s immediate future.
Reena clapped her hands, delighted. ‘Good, give me ten minutes.’ Reena took two steps, turned and returned to grab Golly’s hand. ‘You need to help me.’
‘With what?’ Golly demanded. ‘You know I’m not domesticated, Reen!’
‘Yes, I know you were made to drink wine while you watch people cook for you. But come.’ Reena didn’t release her grip on her hand and Golly had no option but to start walking. Bea was reminded of a carthorse leading a Shetland pony.
When they were gone, she shook her head and looked at Gib. ‘How are you doing? Are you OK or do you want to run back to the cottage, desperate to get out of the madhouse? You can, it’s a perfectly reasonable response.’
‘Your godmother is…’ Gib stopped, looking for the word. He finally settled on ‘entertaining’.
‘She’s batshit eccentric,’ Bea retorted. ‘She has no filter, at all. I’m sorry about the sex talk. She doesn’t respect other people’s boundaries.’
Gib didn’t reply, thank God. ‘Can I take a look around?’ he asked. ‘Reacquaint myself?’
She appreciated him changing the subject. ‘Sure, I’ll give you a quick tour.’
Bea led him down the passage that ran at ninety degrees to the one Reena and Golly had disappeared down, except that this one had rooms to one side – the huge reception and dining rooms, and a study – and glass walls on the other. Beyond the glass wall was an extensive courtyard, large enough to seat all the guests for the party. Lemon trees in expensive pots lined the edge of the courtyard and Bea heard Gib whistle. He looked impressed.
As he should be, it was an extraordinary space.
Bea pushed open one of the many glass doors and walked outside, Gib on her heels. He stopped and slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
‘It was smaller, and darker when we were kids,’ he commented.
‘Golly did a huge renovation about fifteen years ago. She put in the glass doors and revamped the courtyard to make this enormous entertainment space.’
‘It’s amazing.’
Bea’d written the bulk of book number four here, the book she loved the most. ‘Isn’t it? Golly’s Folly is my happy place. I feel so inspired here.’
‘And what do you need inspiration for?’ Gib asked.
He was sharper than a spear and she had to watch her words around him. She couldn’t run her mouth and risk outing herself as Parker Kane. She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t everyone need inspiration occasionally?’
His piercing look cut through the layers of bullshit and pulled her apart, leaving her feeling exposed. Wanting to move on, she gestured to the arches and the shadowed veranda beyond them. She’d spent many afternoons lying on the couches and loungers, keeping her fair skin out of the strong Greek sun.
‘On Saturday night the bar will be on the left side, the food on the other,’ she said. ‘The starters will be finger food, the pudding as well. The main meal will be served, with guests sitting at long tables.’
She was gabbling because she was nervous, not because she thought Gib had any interest in Saturday night’s set-up.
‘Sometimes Golly hires this place out to friends and friends of friends for an event, sometimes for a ridiculous amount of money, sometimes for free.’
‘I can’t figure her out,’ he said. ‘She acts like she’s ditsy, but then she does or says something, and I think she’s as sharp as a scalpel blade. I think she’s deliberately outrageous because she gets a reaction that way. Or she does it to test boundaries.’
It had taken Bea years and therapy to work out that much, yet Gib already had Golly sussed. But she didn’t want him to think Golly was only self-absorbed and attention-seeking. Well, she was, but she could also be sweet, kind and funny.
‘Golly is complicated, a curious mix of wild and contemplative, funny and ferocious. She…’ Bea bit her lip, wondering if he’d get what she was about to say next, or whether he’d dismiss her words without thought.
‘Go on,’ he said, curious.
Oh, well. If he dismissed her, it would be so much easier to dismiss him . If he didn’t, then she’d sink deeper into…
Into whatever madness this was.
‘Golly is glamorous, self-involved, and selfish, but she’s also generous and interested and concerned. She frequently does things and gives things – advice, time and money, her interest – with no expectation of repayment. She runs into a situation, sprinkles her magic, and retreats again.’ Bea looked at him, suddenly serious. ‘That Heppel painting? What Golly didn’t tell you is that she spent a month at Heppel’s bedside when he was dying of AIDS in the eighties. He left her that painting in his will, but Golly sold it and donated the money to AIDS research. She then bought it again when it came back on the market. And when Reena was in danger of losing her house and, more importantly, her stables, Golly stepped in and paid off her mortgage.’
‘My Uncle Hugh and cousin Navy are the same. They’re both quietly involved in foundations and philanthropic work,’ he replied softly, and Bea was surprised he’d said that much.
‘And you?’
He looked at her. ‘What about me?’
‘Are you open and accepting, or suspicious and cynical?’ He didn’t need to answer her question, it was written all over his face. ‘Don’t bother to answer that. You have a layer of charm, but you don’t give anything away. Also, there’s lots happening under the surface.’
‘I could say the same for you.’
Shock at his words glued her feet to the courtyard’s large cobblestones. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.
‘You’re hiding something,’ he said, in a voice so bland he could’ve been ordering coffee. ‘You watch your words, as if you’re scared to let something slip.’
How…? How did he know that? Did he suspect she was Parker Kane? But how could he? They’d only recently met! Was he just super perceptive or did every emotion skitter across her face? She suspected it was a combination of the two, a little of the first, and a lot of the second.
‘I’m not interesting enough to have secrets,’ she told him.
‘Oh, I disagree,’ he drawled. His gaze drifted over her face, making her feel hot and cold and her heart rate accelerated. Why did he have such an effect on her and how was she going to get herself under control?
Bea blushed. Suddenly she was standing on the edge of a bubbling volcano, both mesmerised and terrified. She stepped back and whipped her eyes away. She desperately needed to put some distance, mental and physical, between her and Gib.
‘You’re a lot spikier than you were when you were six.’
‘There’s this new concept, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, it’s called growing up.’
He almost smiled. ‘More sarcastic, too. And you’re still a neat freak. I remember you making your bed every day and stacking your books in perfect piles.’
‘And you barely remembered to brush your teeth,’ she shot back. ‘Did you shower once during those six weeks?’
He smiled. ‘I was swimming so much, I didn’t see the point. Dad and I had a few arguments about that. And about me coming home way after curfew.’
‘I know, dinner was delayed night after night,’ she grumbled.
He didn’t seem to hear her. ‘God, that summer … it was amazing.’
‘Life is easier when you’re young. Ten or eleven is the perfect age. Not old enough for hormones to have kicked in, young enough not to care what people think about you. Insanely curious, deeply loyal. Energetic and interested in the world around you.’
‘You must’ve had a hell of a year when you were ten,’ he said.
Actually, no. Ten was when she’d segued into becoming a mini adult, when she realised that other kids didn’t know how to make scrambled eggs and macaroni cheese, or how to order food and household necessities online using their father’s credit card. It was the year she’d realised she lived in a different world from her peers, an adult world, and started to pull back from her friends, to create her own world on paper. Shortly after her tenth birthday, Bea started writing letters to Pip, her imaginary penpal. Describing the adventures they could have was her steam valve, a means of escape. It was from those lonely letters that the Urban Explorers were born
She now clearly remembered Gib back then, his hair lightened by the sun, his light eyes a perfect contrast to his nut-brown body. He must have been lurking in her subconscious for years, manifesting as her beloved Pip down the line.
And, yes, that freaked her out. She’d think about that later, (possibly never), it was too much to take in, to work through, now. She crossed her arms over her chest and rocked on her heels. ‘We should go in, Golly is a stickler for punctuality.’
And because life kept throwing shade at her, she still had to eat Reena’s fiery Chicken 65.
Joy.