Chapter 6
My final destination was the famous North Island, a secluded and completely private island boasting one of the world’s most luxurious resorts, according to Condé Nast – Philly had put that article in the file too.
She’d also been kind enough to leave a little note for me insisting that I let my hair down.
Quite literally; I’d only ever worn it in a scraped-back ponytail.
Have some fun! she’d written. I scoffed. This was a business trip after all.
Because the Seychelles was a massive archipelago, made up of over a hundred islands, I would need to take a seaplane to the resort.
I stood on the dock with my bags and looked around, all the while feeling how the humidity had started to wreak havoc on my hair.
Just nature’s way of reminding me to keep it scraped back, because this was the kind of weather that made my natural curls explode.
I hated my curls. Not only did they tangle, but they also made me look like some whimsical storybook character – like I should be skipping through meadows of flowers, befriending squirrels and singing about the hills.
Besides, in my line of work it was better to have your hair tied back if you were crawling through a sewer.
A whole forty minutes later, we were still waiting for the pilot to arrive.
Nothing seemed to happen in a rush here.
Eventually a man strolled towards us wearing no shoes, Bermuda shorts with pink hibiscus on them and a questionable white vest that said Chill across the front.
I gave him the once-over. I wasn’t scared of being on a small plane, or any flying craft for that matter.
I’d jumped out of many a small flying contraption.
When I’d taken on a job in France once, I’d had to rappel out of a helicopter and jump into the back yard of a chateau in order to get a photo of a French aristocrat and his mistress.
So I wasn’t afraid of things that flew through the air.
But having a barefoot, Bermuda-short-wearing pilot who looked like he was about to light up on the beach was slightly concerning.
My only consolation was that if it seemed like we were about to crash, I knew how to fly the plane.
Despite all that, though, it did take off in the manner that it should.
And with only eight people on board, I noticed him immediately: the man with the blue eyes.
‘No babies,’ he said when he caught me looking at him. He had an accent I recognised immediately as Italian. I did love an Italian accent, and coupled with those blue eyes and what were clearly very defined biceps, this guy was my type.
‘Thankfully not!’ I replied.
‘So what brings you to this romantic paradise? Given that you’re single.’
‘How do you know I’m—’
‘Sorry.’ He held up his hand and cut me off.
‘So presumptuous and rude of me. Sometimes I just say what I think. I just noticed you sitting alone . . . no ring, and I assumed. Everyone here is paired off, so . . .’ He looked around the small plane and I followed his eyes.
People were indeed paired off, like birds that had found each other in mating season.
Newly-weds, oldly-weds celebrating anniversaries, and two people who were pawing each other and looked like they weren’t going to make it to bed.
‘I’m on my honeymoon. By myself. I was left at the altar.’ I tried to put on a sad face.
‘Oh no! Very sorry to hear that.’
I shrugged. ‘Nothing like standing in the aisle in a wedding dress with no groom to remind you how fun romance is.’ I forced a little laugh, the kind that someone would give if they were trying to bury painful feelings.
It clearly worked, because I could see he was trying to figure out what to say next.
‘And what brings you to the honeymoon destination of the world all alone?’ I asked, breaking the silence.
‘I’m here to say goodbye to someone. My wife passed away three years ago, and this is where she wanted her ashes scattered.’
‘Oh no, I’m sorry.’
He gave me a sad smile of his own, also trying to bury painful feelings. ‘It was her dying wish. But it’s taken me a long time to get around to doing it.’
I nodded as if I even vaguely understood what he was going through.
‘Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for on the island,’ he finally said.
‘You too,’ I replied, and couldn’t help but think of Lou and Philly.
Was love really worth it? Forty per cent of all marriages experienced some kind of infidelity – physical or emotional; thirty-five per cent ended in divorce and one hundred per cent ended in death.
So either way you looked at it, it all ended in heartbreak one way or the other.
I turned my attention back to the window and watched as we flew over lush green islands that looked more like emeralds sparkling in the sea, each one encircled in the whitest beaches I’d ever seen.
The plane finally touched down with a soft splash and stopped at a dock, where a line of staff was already waiting for us.
It was all very White Lotus, though hopefully without the murder.
The staff had the kind of smiles plastered across their faces that only resorts charging $5,000 per night would have.
It was probably a prerequisite for working there.
I disembarked and was just about to pick up my bag when a man scooped it up at lightning speed.
And then came the cool lemongrass-scented towels and freshly squeezed tropical drinks.
After that, I was escorted by one of the staff to a sleek black golf cart that looked fit for a member of the royal family.
Soon I was being driven down a small sandy path.
Tall palm trees rose up on either side, and within minutes I was completely surrounded by a thick, dense jungle.
It was all so green here, apart from the pops of tropical flowers.
I didn’t know their names, but I knew Philly would have.
And she would probably have been able to tell me something interesting about each one.
The smell of the ocean hung in the air, as did the aroma of wet rainforest plants, warm sand and the smell of coconuts.
I leaned back in the cart and closed my eyes momentarily, allowing the warm breeze to float over my skin and listening to the sounds around me: birdsong, rustling leaves and small waves.
If I wasn’t such a tightly wound human, I might actually be able to relax in a place like this.
A normal person would probably be lulled into relaxation in an instant, but I was already scanning my surroundings and taking a mental picture of it all.
The hotel finally came into view, tucked between massive palm trees next to a sparkling white beach.
It was constructed almost completely of wooden beams, a thatched roof sitting atop it, and it blended seamlessly into the environment around.
North Island was definitely the ultimate luxury getaway; no wonder it was frequented by royals and other celebrities.
Philly had also popped in an article about a particularly scandalous celebrity meltdown that had happened right here only a year ago.
After I’d checked in at the main reception, I was back in the golf cart, this time being driven in a different direction, away from reception, along a wooden path that wound its way past the front of the villas.
Each was completely private, boasting its own private plunge pool, and all faced the sea.
When we pulled up to my villa, which was located at the very end, the concierge jumped out and carried my bag inside.
‘Thank you,’ I said, pulling out a fat tip for the man. I’d been given spending money for while I was here, and I’d found that giving big tips to staff could sometimes come in handy if you happened to need a favour or some information from them.
I looked around the room. Seriously! I would not have been able to conjure this villa in my wildest dreams. It was so opulent I needed to show it to Philly immediately.
I video-called her and she answered on the first ring.
I’d had to teach her to video-call, not to mention use a smartphone, and now she was a pro.
‘You will not believe this place. I wish you could have come with me. I should have told Sharaz I needed my trusty sidekick.’
‘I wish. Give me the grand tour.’
I decided to start with the view, and turned the camera so she could see the wooden deck that protruded towards the beach. I showed her the pool and sunloungers and the jacuzzi in the corner, all of it met with loud appreciative sounds.
‘Okay, now the bedroom,’ I said, swinging the phone around and walking back inside.
The room was dominated by a massive four-poster that looked like it was made of driftwood.
I lowered my hand to the bed and found myself running my fingers over the crispest white linen I’d ever felt.
It was the kind of linen you wanted to dive into.
To make a little nest with and hibernate in.
There was also a seating area in the far corner of the room, and a massive bathroom that screamed opulence, with an outside shower situated in a private garden.
‘That bed is huge,’ Philly said.
‘I know.’ I threw myself onto it. It was so soft that I bounced a few times before coming to a stop. ‘This mattress,’ I moaned. ‘And these pillows! I wish my bed at home was like this.’
‘For your bed to be like that, you would need to do this very strange thing called “make it” and “laundry”,’ Philly quipped.
‘Ha ha. Maybe I just need to get rich enough that I can live in a place like this and someone else can make my bed and do my laundry.’
‘I do your laundry sometimes!’ Philly said.
‘And I’m very grateful,’ I said, and meant it.
‘The bed is very big, though. Reminds me of the one Lou and I had on our honeymoon. In fact, that is the perfect honeymoon bed. It’s such a pity that it’s going to waste.’
‘That happens when you’re left at the altar in front of five hundred guests.’
‘You were mortified,’ she said, playing along.
‘Devastated. I don’t know how I’m going to survive.’
‘Perhaps a roll around in that bed will help,’ she said teasingly.
‘I’m here for a job, not island sex. Besides, even if I wanted to, there are no single men on this island – well, apart from one, and he’s a widower who’s come here to scatter his wife’s ashes.’
‘Oh no.’ Philly sounded genuinely heartbroken for this stranger. ‘Well, don’t have sex with him, whatever you do.’
‘Trust me, no sex. Anyway, it kind of sounds like you’re the one who actually needs to have sex.’
‘Me! Oh God, no. Lou was my very first and he’ll definitely be my very last too.
Besides, sex is way too complicated these days.
You know, in my day we just did it missionary position.
Now there are all these new ways of having sex, new positions and blindfolds and people actually wanting to whip each other.
In my day we didn’t even have a G-spot, let me tell you.
That is some new discovery that you lot made.
And now there’s another spot apparently – God, you can’t keep up with this alphabet of spots! ’
I laughed. ‘I think you should put all that yoga you do to good use.’
‘The yoga is to quieten the mind.’
‘I’ll tell you what else quietens the mind .
. . sex!’ I said playfully. ‘Anyway, got to go, I’ll keep you in the loop, and remember to feed Sid, please.
Don’t forget he likes the flakes separated out, the red ones in the morning and the green ones at night.
And there are blood worms in the freezer, and I cut up those tiny bits of lettuce for him, but don’t give him a worm and lettuce on the same day or he’ll get constipated. ’
Philly laughed.
‘What?’
‘The way you care for that goldfish, one would almost think you had a soft, squishy side to you.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Hardly.’
‘Mmm, I see you, Lizzy Brown. I see you hiding behind your prickly exterior and pretending you’re not a secret romantic.’
‘Romantic! That’s pushing it. Now I really to have to go,’ I said, climbing off the bed.
‘Okay. Good luck.’
‘Thanks, and don’t forget to—’
‘I know! Sid. I’ve got it,’ she said and hung up.
I looked around the room again. And that was when I spotted it.
A bathtub. Probably the biggest one I’d ever seen.
When was the last time I’d actually submerged myself in water that wasn’t a swamp or a mosquito-infested dam?
When did I last have a bubble bath? Relax, read a book, maybe light some candles, pour a glass of wine . . .
I burst out laughing. Oh right, never. The idea of relaxing always made me feel anxious.
Just thinking about doing nothing filled me with dread.
No, I would rather be out and about doing something constructive, like catching cheating husbands who were also potential art thieves and maybe even money launderers too.
Which was exactly what I intended to do.