Chapter 34 #2
His English is flawless, apart from the merest hint of an accent.
I’m embarrassed by the fact the entire world seems to speak my language, yet I tap out after four words of theirs.
I reel off a few essentials and explore the shop while he gathers my things together.
When I return to pay, I spot a card propped up against the till.
The top line is written in Spanish, but underneath there’s an English translation.
Help wanted. Four hours a day.
I’ve no idea how long I’m going to be here, but knowing me, the lazing around doing nothing all day will wear thin pretty soon.
I pick up the card. “Do I need to be able to speak Spanish to apply?”
He shakes his head. “Most people who come here are American or English.” He jerks his chin. “You interested?”
“I am. Do you have an application form I can fill out?”
He guffaws. “Don’t even have a computer.” He gives me the once over. “You look honest enough. If you want the job, it’s yours.”
I wince at his assessment. Christian would vehemently disagree. “I’m not sure how long I plan to be here.”
He brandishes his hand dismissively. “Card’s been there for weeks. Not a sniff. I get you for a week, two, a month, it’s more than I have now. You start tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”
I grin. “You don’t even know my name, and I don’t know yours.”
“Samuel.”
I consider giving him a false name, but my own is common enough. If Christian has alerts out for anyone called Grace showing up around the world, he’ll be inundated with responses. “I’m Grace.”
He grunts and hands me the shopping bag. “Nine o’clock, Grace.”
“I’ll be here.”
The next morning, I stroll the ten minutes from the hotel to the shop, arriving at five to nine.
Samuel’s outside, rearranging stands filled with tourist trinkets and sunscreen.
It doesn’t take long for him to show me the ropes, and soon I’m into the swing of it.
We’re far busier than I thought we’d be.
According to Samuel, a number of day trippers travel from nearby islands to soak up the beauty of this place. Can’t say I blame them.
My first week whizzes by, and already, I feel like a local. The weight of guilt sitting on my chest eases the busier I am, but after the sun goes down, and the island quietens as the day trippers leave, I’m filled with remorse.
My nights are spent staring at the ceiling, wondering what Christian’s doing and whether he’s still brimming with anger, or if he’s had time to think about things and see what I did from my perspective.
I miss him.
I miss us.
I miss Arron and Juliet, Imogen and Vicky.
Hell, I even miss England, though it’ll be freezing there right now, whereas here, the temperatures are wonderful, and the sun never stops shining.
But the hollowness in the pit of my stomach won’t go away.
At the start of my second week at work, Samuel announces he’s traveling to one of the nearby islands for supplies.
Most of his goods arrive by ferry, but on occasion, he likes to source a few new lines.
After he’s gone, there’s a moment of panic, but once I’ve served the first couple of customers, I’m in to the swing of things.
At four o’clock, the constant stream of people dies down, giving me free time to restock some of the shelves. I’m in the back grabbing another box of tinned fruit when the bell dings over the door.
“Won’t be a minute,” I call out.
Hoisting the box into my arms, I return to the shop and plonk it on the counter. A dark-haired woman has her back to me as she peruses a stand of locally made jewelry, and a little farther along, a broad-shouldered man with salt and pepper hair is loading a basket with produce.
“Can I help you?”
She turns toward me and smiles. “You must be Grace. Samuel mentioned you’d started working here when he dropped off a few items we’d forgotten last week.”
I squint. She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m pretty certain we’ve never met. Maybe she reminds me of an actor or something.
“I am.”
She replaces the bracelet she’d been looking at on the stand. “It’s a beautiful island.”
“Have you lived here long?”
“I wouldn’t say lived. We’ve been here a couple of weeks, give or take. My husband and I are… traveling the world. Isn’t that right, dear?”
Her husband pivots, a generous smile crinkling the skin around his dark brown eyes. Recognition punches me in the stomach. My pulse hammers in my throat. It… it can’t be. Shock must register on my face, because both the people on the other side of the counter frown, their heads tilted to one side.
“Are you all right, dear?” the woman asks. “You’ve gone a little pale.”
I clutch the edge of the counter as my legs wobble, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine. I went a little lightheaded there for a second. I haven’t drank much water today. Still getting used to the heat.”
“Here, take a seat.” Christian’s uncle darts behind the counter and drags a stool over, his hand pressing on my shoulder to urge me to sit. “There, is that better?”
“Yes, thank you.” I’ve only seen these people once, and briefly, in a photograph in Christian’s office. If the uncle wasn’t the spitting image of Christian’s father, I probably wouldn’t have remembered. That’s why she only looks vaguely familiar.
God, it’s unbelievable. What are the chances of me fleeing Christian’s wrath and ending up on the very island where they, too, are running from the De Vils?
Albeit extremely different circumstances.
Still, we’re both guilty of betraying that family, but at least what I did wasn’t a vile, violent act.
Nausea crawls up my throat. I take the glass of water that appears in front of me and gulp half of it.
I have to tell Christian. It no longer matters whether he hates me or that by calling him, I’ll expose my hiding place.
None of that is important anymore. This man violated Christian’s mother.
The family has been searching for him for months.
I’ll happily pay the price if it means they get the justice they deserve, and this man suffers for his crimes.
The two of them are still looking at me oddly. The last thing I need is for them to get suspicious and flee before I can rat them out. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt. He deserves what’s coming to him.
Ugh, I let him put his hand on my shoulder.
A shudder runs through me. I cover it up by drinking more water.
Does his wife know what he did, or has he made up some cock and bull story to explain why they’re on the run?
Perhaps she believes they’re traveling the world.
Some people are overly trusting, gullible, or a mixture of both.
If that’s the case, I feel sorry for her because she’s got a hell of a shock coming her way.
The initial shock recedes, replaced with an overwhelming need to get these people out of here so I can call Christian. Except… my phone is in the safe at the hotel, and I don’t know where they’re staying.
Relax. Breathe. Play the game.
I force a friendly smile. “You people are so nice. Thank you. I feel much better now.”
“You’re welcome,” George says. “Isn’t she, Beatrice?”
I frown. I’m sure Christian told me her name was Alice. Could I have got it wrong, and these aren’t the people I think they are? No, surely not. The likeness is too stark for me to have made a mistake.
“Absolutely.” She peers into the basket, then takes it from him and sets it on the counter. “I think that’s all for today.”
I ring up their things, pack them into two bags and, proud that my hands aren’t shaking, hand them over.
“Again, thank you for your kindness.”
She pats my hand. “Anytime. Come along, Arthur. We should let Grace get on. It was lovely to meet you, dear.”
Arthur?
“And you,” I murmur.
Leaving him to pick up the bags, she sweeps from the store with him trailing behind her. The second the door closes behind him, I sink back onto the stool and take several deep breaths.
As soon as Samuel returns, I’ll pretend they left behind one of their bags and use it as an excuse to ask where they’re staying, with a promise I’ll take it to them.
And then… I’ll call Christian and take whatever consequences come my way. It’s better to do the right thing, even if it causes personal suffering, than the wrong thing and live with the guilt.
I’m living with more than enough of that already.