One Bed

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

T he kitchen in the villa was, by far, Bea’s favourite room. A battered, well-scrubbed twelve-seater pine table with mismatched chairs tucked under it stood in the middle of the room, its sturdy legs resting on greeny-ochre limestone tiles. Herbs grew in pots on the windowsill. The granite counters mimicked the floor and bright colours in the splashback – Mediterranean reds, oranges and yellows added pops of colour. There were two copper sinks and a huge sea-blue fridge. Like so much in the house, the contrasting colours shouldn’t work, but they did.

Bea drained the glass of freshly squeezed lemonade Reena handed her, and after kicking off her sandals, she lifted the lid to the serving dish sitting on the table, wincing when the smell incinerated the inside of her nose. She could tell, from the colour and the aroma, that the fried chicken was way hotter than normal.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

Reena grimaced. ‘A slight measurement problem.’

Bea took the clean fork Reena held out to her and peeled back a sliver of chicken. It was barely warm and would be a perfect filling, if edible, for the thick slabs of freshly baked sourdough Nadia made earlier. Bea lifted the fork to her lips and took a cautious bite.

The heat rolled over her tongue and caught at the back of her throat. Hoo-boy! She waved her hand in front of her mouth, thinking that she might end up with blisters on her tongue.

Reena sent her an anxious look. ‘Too hot?’

‘Holy crap, Reen,’ Bea replied, still waving her mouth.

‘Can we serve it to Gib?’

Bea winced. ‘It’s a lot hotter than you usually make it.’ The guy annoyed, irritated, and attracted her in equal measure, but she wanted him to be able to walk and talk.

Golly breezed into the kitchen. ‘Hello, my babies,’ she sing-songed, heading straight for a cupboard and taking out four wine glasses. She sat them on the table and opened the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of white wine and squinted at the label. ‘Yes, a Chardonnay. Perfect . Where’s Gib?’

‘Washing his hands.’ Bea looked at the chicken and frowned. ‘I think he should stick to bread and salad.’

‘Pfft! It’s not that hot,’ Reena told her. ‘Do stop fussing, Bea!’

‘I just don’t want you to be sued for inflicting gross bodily harm,’ Bea shot back, sliding into her normal seat at the table.

‘You are so dramatic,’ Reena whipped back, as Golly poured a healthy amount of wine into her glass. Well, the chilli might affect Gib’s ability to walk and talk, but the wine, thanks to an already long day and not much sleep over the past few weeks, and barely any last night, would do the same to her.

At this rate, she might not even notice the six-foot-something man sharing her bed.

Talking about people sharing beds … there was something she needed to ask her godma.

‘Before Gib comes back, Golly … I need to know if you’re in any could-cause-you-trouble relationships at the moment?’

‘That’s hurtful,’ Golly replied, not looking, or sounding, the least bit wounded.

‘C’mon, Golly, you know what I’m asking…’ More than one event had ended with the other half realising that their partner was colouring outside of their relationship lines with Golly. ‘If I know, I can try and keep you separated. Though, you know, it might be a good policy if you don’t sleep with people who are in committed relationships.’

‘I’m not cheating, they are,’ Golly replied, as she always did. ‘It’s their karma, not mine.’

Bea was pretty sure karma didn’t work that way.

‘I am still, and always will be, gloriously single, Bea-darling,’ Golly replied, not in the least embarrassed.

‘And why did you mention your sex life to Gib? Dammit, Golly, you seriously need to stop with that shit!’

Golly drained some of her wine, and mischief jumped into her eyes. ‘With those looks, I bet he gets laid quite often. I wonder how many people he’s slept with. I think I’ll ask him.’

Bea barely knew the man, but understood she had more chance of falling pregnant by an alien than she had of Gib opening up and sharing something so personal. Or, frankly, anything at all. If she was a closed book, he was the human equivalent of the Swiss Fort Knox.

‘I will stab you with a fork,’ Bea warned her. She was ninety per cent sure Golly was winding her up, but she couldn’t take the chance.

Thankfully, they were all helping themselves to salad, fried chicken and bread when Gib walked into the kitchen. Bea immediately noticed his hair was damp; he’d probably run wet hands through it. She, on the other hand, looked like she’d been dragged through a bush backwards. Her hair refused to stay in its ponytail and kept falling and sticking to her face. She was also red from a mixture of exasperation, excitement and stress.

And she was deeply, deeply worried about Gib’s reaction to Reena’s chilli.

Please, please, let him not be too emotionally attached to his tastebuds.

‘Something smells amazing,’ Gib said, taking the seat opposite her at the kitchen table. He took the glass of wine Golly pushed on him and thanked her. He lifted it. ‘Here’s hoping you have a marvellous weekend, Golly.’

God, he was smooth. No, that wasn’t fair, it was a nice toast. It was pitch perfect, he certainly knew what to say at the right time. But it was impossible to see below that urbane, corporate CEO surface. Golly grinned at him as they all clinked glasses.

Bea leaned forward and waited for Gib to look at her. When he did, she suggested, as serious as a torpedo strike, that he avoid Reena’s chicken. ‘I strongly advise you stick to bread and salad,’ she insisted.

Gib smiled at her and slid a piece of bread onto his plate. ‘I’m not missing out on the fried chicken. It smells amazing.’

‘Maybe, but it has the kick of a bionic superhero.’

Gib sipped his wine. ‘Bea, whenever I go to a new city, whether it’s Mumbai or Beijing, I always ask the locals where I should eat. Their food is always spicier than what they serve the tourists and I’ve never had a problem.’

Maybe, but he’d yet to taste Reena’s Chicken 65. While tasty, she was sure it measured about a trillion on the Scoville measurement scale. She was used to Reena’s spicy cooking, but she’d only managed a tiny sliver of chicken before throwing in the towel.

OK, well, if he was going to be stubborn about this. She sat back, folded her arms, and lifted her chin. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Bea watched as Gib picked up a chicken leg and bit into it. Three sets of eyes were on him as he chewed, then swallowed.

‘No big deal,’ he said. He took another bite, his teeth sinking into the red, crispy skin. Bea watched as he turned white, then red, then white again. And there it was…

‘Feeling the burn, Gib?’ she asked, her tone super sweet.

He looked down at his plate and droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead. ‘Holy hell,’ he croaked.

‘It gets better the more you eat,’ Reena told him, her mouth full. No. It didn’t. Eating more of it was like shoving the red-hot end of a poker into your eye after accidentally burning your leg with it.

Gib, because he was a man and had more pride than sense, went in for another bite. He chewed, swallowed, reached for his glass of wine, and downed it in one. ‘Shit,’ he rasped, staring at his plate, wild-eyed.

‘Good, right?’ Reena said, pleased. Bea considered telling her that it wasn’t a compliment, but stayed silent and spread butter on her bread.

Golly reached for a wing and took a small, delicate bite. ‘Jesus, Reena, you could sell that to a warlord as a chemical weapon!’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Reena protested.

‘I think I’m dying,’ Gib croaked. Bea filled up his wine glass and pushed it into his hand. He downed it and placed his head in his hands.

‘Are you OK, Gib?’ Bea asked, now a little anxious.

He was changing colours again, like an over-anxious chameleon. Red, then white, then a pastel-vomit colour, and back to white. She was fascinated and more than a little worried. That wasn’t normal, right?

Bea stood and walked over to the counter and pulled a teaspoon out of the cutlery drawer. Reaching for the honey, courtesy of a hive on a neighbour’s property, she opened the jar as she walked back to the table. She twisted honey around the spoon and handed it to Gib. His eyes now looked like the badly congested roads on a satnav map.

Oh, dear . Gib ate the honey and eventually nodded. Few people knew honey was one of the best remedies for chilli, one she’d discovered a few years ago when Reena put too many ghost peppers in a gumbo dish.

‘Do you know that the Caroline Reaper is no longer the hottest chilli?’ Reena asked, ignoring Gib’s reaction. ‘The new kid on the block is called Pepper X and it’s nearly five hundred thousand Scoville units hotter than the Carolina Reaper.’

‘And I have every one of those units blistering my tongue right now,’ Gib croaked, laying his cheek on the cool table.

‘My chilli doesn’t even register on the Scoville scale,’ Reena cheerfully told him.

Oh, it most definitely did.

‘It tastes like pain , Reena,’ Gib told her. Bea was happy to see that his colour was stabilising. Now he was simply pale. And perspiration still dotted his forehead. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s given me brain damage.’

Reena rolled her eyes. ‘Stop being dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.’

It was that bad. Gib reached for the honey and took another spoonful. ‘I once heard a guy describing his experience with hot food as feeling like someone had put a grenade in his mouth and pulled the pin. That’s where I am right now.’

Reena patted him on the head. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’

‘I really won’t,’ Gib assured her. ‘Mostly because I’m pretty sure you destroyed every one of my tastebuds.’

Reena frowned at him. ‘But you said you could handle chilli, Gib.’

Gib frowned at her. ‘Normal chilli, not something that can burn holes through titanium!’ he protested.

Reena dished up another helping of chicken and tucked into her food. Now that she knew Gib wasn’t dying, Bea felt like she could finish her salad sandwich. She gestured to the fruit bowl, piled high with oranges, grenadillas, and ripe, round peaches. ‘There’s fruit if you’re still hungry,’ she told him as he pushed his plate away. ‘Or salad. Cold meats in the fridge.’

Gib helped himself to another teaspoon of honey. ‘Jesus, that was intense,’ he told them, while massaging his throat.

He reached for a peach from the bowl in the centre of the table, and looked at it, debating whether he was up to eating or not.

‘So, are you coming to my cocktail party tonight?’ Golly asked him.

He cut the peach with a sharp knife Reena handed him. After popping a piece into his mouth, he cocked his head, his face still pale. ‘What’s the occasion?’ he asked.

‘Do we need a reason to drink champagne?’ Golly demanded, before shrugging. ‘Some friends are in town already and it seemed silly for us to be doing our own thing when they could be here with me, telling me how wonderful they think I am.’

Yep, she was going to milk this weekend for all it was worth. Gib leaned back and placed his ankle on his knee. ‘You really should work on your confidence and self-esteem, Golly,’ he said, lifting another sliver of peach into his mouth.

She cackled, enjoying him. ‘I know I’m a bit much, but if I don’t blow my own horn, then no one is going to do it for me.’ They laughed and Reena stood up to gather their now empty plates. ‘So, are you going to join us?’

Gib shook his head. ‘Don’t feel offended, Golly, but I’m going to sit this one out.’

Golly pouted. ‘Why?’ she demanded, as truculent as an overtired toddler.

‘I came to Santorini to get away from people.’

Golly leaned forward. ‘Again, why?’

Bea’s interest sharpened. Maybe he’d let something personal slip with Golly.

‘I’ll just stay in the cottage and read,’ he calmly replied.

Damn, no dice.

Golly cocked her head to the side. ‘You intrigue me, Gib Caddell. Still waters run deep.’

Gib placed his peach on his plate and reached for a slice of bread. ‘Did you say there are cold cuts in the fridge?’ he asked, adroitly changing the subject. He stood and walked over to the fridge. Before Golly could ask a follow-up question, or continue her interrogation, he spoke again. ‘So, Reena, have you ever killed someone with your chilli chicken? Or put them in hospital?’

Reena protested with a loud squawk and Bea met Golly’s inquisitive, slightly annoyed eyes. Her godmother was used to getting her own way, having her questions answered, her curiosity assuaged. Golly lifted her eyebrows and Bea knew what she was asking – what is he hiding? Bea shrugged. She had no idea, but she figured that in Gib, Golly’d met her match.

He wasn’t going to be charmed, hassled or manipulated into giving answers or information.

Pity.

* * *

Bea walked out of the bedroom of the cottage, her fingers at her right ear, trying to attach the butterfly to the back of the pin of the diamond earrings Golly had given her for her twenty-first birthday. She’d heard cars arriving, and the chatter of voices from the guests on the path as they walked up the esplanade.

Golly said she’d told people to arrive at six, but her concept of time was fluid, and Bea couldn’t guarantee Golly would be on hand to greet her guests. She was fond of making an entrance. Bea couldn’t rely on Reena to act as a host either, as she’d been known to answer the door in torn-at-the-seat jodhpurs, with straw in her hair and horse shit on her boots.

‘ Shit, shit, shit ,’ Bea muttered, holding onto the bedroom’s door frame to slide one black heel onto her foot. ‘Why am I always late?’

‘It’s only a quarter to, Bea, and you look…’

She lifted her head, looking around the room to find Gib. He stood at the half-open doors leading onto the small deck. His feet were bare, he smelt familiar – the bloody man had used her Creed shower gel again – and he held a glass of red wine in his hand. Her heart sighed, and her womb rolled over.

Seriously?

Bea swapped feet and teetered as she tried to hook her shoe over her toes. She waited for him to complete his sentence, and wished he’d hurry up. How did she look? Harried? Stressed? Annoyed with her godmother? Like she wished she was in her pyjamas and curled up on the couch with a romance novel?

‘Stunning,’ Gib stated, walking into the cottage. He stopped and gave her a long up-and-down look. ‘That’s a lovely dress, Bea.’

Oh, he had a good line in bullshit because this dress was off the rack and was on sale when she bought it. It had sheer, cap sleeves and a scalloped neckline, and its hemline was made more interesting by a black gauze insert, but it wasn’t anything special. It certainly wasn’t designer.

‘You don’t believe me,’ he stated, cocking his head to the side.

She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘I think you know the right thing to say at the appropriate time.’

His eyes darkened to pewter. ‘I don’t say things I don’t mean.’ His tone held a note of don’t-test-me-on-this and she blushed at her churlish response.

‘Then, thank you, I guess.’ She started to pull her lip between her teeth and remembered that she didn’t want to smudge her lipstick. She rarely wore the stuff and hated how it felt on her lips. She resisted the urge to ask him to kiss it off. Bad girl, Bea.

He reached for a light hoodie lying on the back of a wingback chair and pulled it over his head. ‘Don’t you need a wrap? There’s a cool breeze coming off the sea.’

‘If I start to get cold, I’ll run up to Golly’s room and steal one of her pashminas.’

‘If I was going, I would’ve loaned you my jacket.’

If he was going, his jacket would cover her dress, would smell of his light, citrus-and sea cologne, and would be warm from his body heat. Much nicer than a pashmina. Not helping, Bea .

Lifting his wrist, she pushed back the sleeve of his hoodie to look at his watch, which seemed like it had been worn a time or two. Its face said Rolex Oyster. Wasn’t that the same one she saw on Antiques Roadshow that was worth a few fortunes?

‘Nice watch,’ she told him. ‘It looks old.’

‘It was my father’s.’

There was a story there, one she was desperate to know. But he wouldn’t ever tell her. Gib wasn’t the talking type.

Bea finally took in the time and grimaced. ‘I need to get going.’

He nodded at her shoes. ‘You’re walking on rough paths in those?’

‘My godmother would have several kittens if I attended her cocktail party in anything but heels, Gib.’

He walked over to the door and picked up the flip flops she’d stepped out of earlier. ‘Wear these on the path and slip into your heels at the end of it.’ When she hesitated, he shook his head. ‘I think you have enough to do without having to deal with a sprained ankle.’

She looked at the flip flops in his big hand, unexpectedly touched. Gerry had never thought about her or considered her comfort. She’d always been the one ten steps ahead who remembered to put petrol in the car and slide an umbrella into her bag on overcast days. The one who’d locked up their flat and done the grocery shopping. Gerry was an ‘artist’, a ‘creative’ and couldn’t, shouldn’t, be expected to remember the mundane. Ironic that her stories sold, and his songs never did.

It felt weird, and lovely, to be the object of a man’s thoughtfulness. Using his arm to balance, she swapped shoes, surprised when Gib tugged her heels out of her hands and let them dangle from his fingers. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. It was such a little thing, but it meant so much.

‘I’ll walk you up.’ Gib went over to the front door, pulling it open and using her shoes to gesture to her to go before him. Manners, too. He flipped off the light switch and pulled the door closed behind him and they walked out into the kind of magical light that could only be found at the end of a still-hot Greek day.

Gib placed his hand on her back and guided her onto the path that led to the pergola and the outdoor entertainment area overlooking the caldera. It was a spectacular place to hold a cocktail party and the perfect place to watch God paint the sky with blues and purples, oranges, reds and pinks. Bea shook her head at her romantic thoughts— this is not a romcom, Beatrice!

‘Who will be at that party tonight?’ Gib asked her, dropping his hand. She immediately missed it.

She had to think. ‘God knows. A few of Golly’s friends, the ones who are in Santorini already. Some of Golly’s local friends, too, I imagine. She’s been coming here for a long time, and she’s well-known on the island.’

He was quiet and Bea inhaled deeply, the air tinged with lavender and oregano and the sea, mixed with Gib’s delicious scent. The breeze was cool – she kept forgetting it was autumn! – but it would die down when the sun sank below the horizon. She saw hints of purples and pinks in the sky and knew Golly’s guests would be treated to a spectacular sunset. Of course they would, Golly wouldn’t stand for anything less.

‘Are you looking forward to the party this weekend?’ Gib asked, his deep voice rumbling over her skin. ‘Will you know a lot of the people coming?’

‘Yes, I’ve met many of them through Golly.’

‘I keep meaning to ask you what you do for a living.’

Shit. Shit. She thought she’d dodged that question. So she trotted out her bog-standard answer, hating, for some reason, the need to lie to him. ‘I inherited some money from my father when he died, and I work part-time as Golly’s assistant,’ she told him. Inheriting money wasn’t a lie, but Golly had an assistant back in London who was brutally efficient and practically ran her agency.

There was something about Gib that made her want to confide in him, to tell him who she was. And that was so strange, because she was very used to keeping everything tightly controlled, locked away in its separate compartments. But here he was strolling through her mind and picking open those locked chambers, trying to peep inside.

And she wanted him to.

God, she was in a world of trouble here. And she’d only met this guy forty-eight hours ago!

‘It looks like the path smooths out here,’ he said. ‘Do you want to swap shoes?’

Just around the corner was the esplanade, pergola and outdoor bar. The happy sounds of people talking and laughing rose and fell, and a violinist played modern classics on her hauntingly beautiful instrument. Finding someone to provide music, as Golly demanded, had been difficult, but the young girl Cass had hired was talented.

‘Did I ask Cass to pay her?’ Bea mused out aloud.

Gib didn’t miss a beat. ‘Remind her when you see her. You need to put on your heels, Bea.’

She nodded, held onto his arm again, and swapped out her shoes. She left her flip flops on the side of the path for the return trip later and stepped onto the smooth concrete path that wound up the slight incline to the top of the hill. She looked at Gib, his face in the shadows.

‘I wish you’d said yes to coming,’ she impulsively told him. When was the last time she’d attended a party with a gorgeous guy on her arm? Gerry and Golly had hated each other, so she’d kept them apart, which meant going to Golly’s parties alone.

And Gerry’s idea of a good time was a pot smoke-filled pub with music either sad enough to make you weep, or screechy enough to make your ears bleed.

Gib gave her that half smile she was coming to love. ‘I’ll see you later, Bea.’

She was on her own again. Situation normal. Gib melted into the shadows and Bea walked up to Golly’s esplanade. Below them, the fairy lights created a pretty wave over the villa’s courtyard, and the lamps in the garden threw light up the walls of the villa and it glowed. Lovely, classy … sophisticated. Tonight was a dry run for the party on Saturday night.

So far, so good.

‘Line ’em up, bub, because I plan on starting this weekend off right by getting shitfaced!’

Bea braked and tipped her head back to look at the streaked pink and purple sky. Trust her godmother, and woman of the hour, to bring her back to earth with a thump.