Chapter 15
‘I am excessively diverted.’
By day four I couldn’t stomach another green curry from the tiny beach bar.
I set off, leaving the hut compound for the first time since I’d arrived.
Guidebook in hand, I headed to town, thickly-coated in mosquito repellent, wearing an old beach dress that I’d bought at a market in the time of Jamie and Marbella.
I followed a sandy path, which wove through a palm tree forest. While everyone else back home was battling the elements, I was bathing in a warm exotic soup.
Town might have been a bit of an overstatement. I arrived to find four sandy streets of lean-to stalls, thatched bars and cafés, set back from a crescent-shaped beach.
I stopped at a stall that was selling hand-woven bracelets and bought a couple.
The moment I’d handed over the cash I put them on, trying to fit in amongst the hip backpackers who were milling around.
My next stop was a bar. I picked the busiest one so that I wouldn’t look so solitary, or ‘Billy-no-mates’ as Dom liked to say.
Squeezing my way up to the counter, I looked down the menu.
No wine. If only I liked beer it’d be an easy choice.
The only other choice was Thai whisky. A bar stool freed up so I took up my perch and ordered one with a bottle of Coke to wash it down.
People all around were chatting and laughing. If only Dom or Alice could be here with me. I took out my guidebook to read and sipped the cold drink.
‘Hey, would you care to join us?’ It was a man’s voice, directly behind me, deep-toned and American.
I assumed it was aimed at someone else and kept reading.
‘I can guarantee we’re more interesting than that.’ The voice was now practically in my ear.
I turned and looked up into the grinning face of a man who seemed like he’d just stepped out of a glossy magazine. Hazel eyes, square jaw, and a self-assurance that bordered on performance art.
‘You’re trying to think of a good excuse, I can tell. But it would really help me if you said yes.’
I blinked. ‘Help you?’
He leaned an elbow on the bar, casually charismatic. ‘You’re English! We were guessing Swedish. The hair, the walk, so poised.’
So I had been noticed. As a solitary Swede.
‘Well, not all Swedes are blonde, and not all Brits live in kilts on windswept hills.’
He laughed, genuinely. ‘Touché. Listen, can I tempt you with another drink and an introduction to the crew?’
‘Crew?’
He tapped the logo on his T-shirt – a neat pen drawing of a double-masted sailboat with the name Serafine printed above it. He pointed towards a corner table where a cluster of tanned, white-shirted people were holding court with beers and the kind of teeth that glowed in the dark.
‘That’s Captain Ryan, Gabi our chef, and Brady and Nate, the deckhands. I’ve got a bet going. Twenty bucks says you’ll join us. I’m offering to split it with you.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I owe them twenty. But it’s win-win. You get a cocktail, ten bucks, and my undivided attention.’ His grin said he rarely got told no.
‘I don’t need the money or the company,’ I said, coolly.
He didn’t flinch. ‘I’ll throw in a tour of the island on Serafine tomorrow.’
‘I get seasick.’
There it was. The smallest shift in his shoulders. He recovered quickly, flicking open a pack of Camel cigarettes and offering one. I shook my head.
‘Wow,’ he said, exhaling smoke to the side. ‘I’m not used to striking out in every category.’
‘It’s the bet,’ I said, my eyes drifting back to the guidebook. ‘I don’t like being the entertainment.’
Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying me. ‘Forget the bet,’ he said. ‘Please just let me sit here and talk to you. You’re the most interesting part of my day so far.’
It wasn’t just the whisky warming my blood. I liked the way he recalibrated, pivoting from cocky to openly honest.
‘Florence Elliot,’ I said, shaking his hand.
‘Chase Fuller.’
He ordered us drinks and we swapped stories.
He was holidaying on a friend’s yacht, and the crew were sailing him around wherever the wind and whims took them.
He was confident, but not arrogant. Engaging, not pushy.
He asked questions, really listened. I didn’t mention Jamie.
I didn’t want to. The heady mix of whisky, the sultry tropical island and this mysterious man had me reinventing myself.
Florence: solo traveller, surprise flirt and adventurer.
As the night deepened, the bar thinned. Madonna’s ‘Like a Prayer’ trickled from a speaker. Wax pooled in candle jars. The heat softened everything.
Chase leaned in, voice lower now. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
There was a moment, a small, rational voice reminding me that I was sensible and made careful choices.
Then I let him take my hand.
We walked down a shadowy path into the jungle. The ground was warm underfoot, the sounds of the town were replaced by the buzz and whistle of night creatures.
Under the canopy of palms he stopped and drew me close. His kiss was urgent and unapologetic. The air around us seemed to combust. I was lightning fast, a comet in motion. I didn’t think. I felt.
We tumbled through the door of my hut, laughing and kissing. He stripped me bare with magician’s hands and whispered, ‘My first English rose,’ against my skin.
What followed defied description. It wasn’t careful, or even particularly romantic. It was fierce, unfiltered and totally wild. I was heat and skin and breath. The kind of woman who didn’t flinch in the moonlight. I wasn’t thinking about the past or negotiating the future. I was free.
The next day, his chest was my pillow. The fan circled slowly overhead.
We talked, and talked, and talked. His family was pure American mythology: gold rush pioneers, Hollywood connections, polo ponies.
Mine? A family of builders and Sunday roast. Still, he listened to every story like I was the most fascinating girl in the world.
A knock at the door interrupted us. Chase called out, ‘Come in!’ like he owned the place.
Brady, one of the deckhands, entered, grinning. ‘Took a while to track you down. Captain Ryan’s ready for the evening sail. You in too, Florence?’
Chase looked at me. ‘Slow ride, I promise. No seasickness.’
I nodded. ‘I’d like that.’
‘You’re so proper. I love that,’ he teased.
‘Properly English,’ Brady added with a wink, radioing in the launch.
Chase stood, naked and unhurried, pulling on his shorts.
‘What should I wear?’ I asked, rifling through my bag.
‘Something I can get you out of fast.’
I threw on a white silk shirt and shorts. The girl in the mirror was sun-kissed and glowing.