Читать книгу The Holiday Swap: The perfect feel good romance for fans of the Christmas movie The Holiday - Zara Stoneley, Zara Stoneley - Страница 11

Florence Cortes liked Barcelona best when the fierce heat of the summer sun had mellowed and the crowds had thinned, not that you could ever call the city quiet. But in the autumn it was still warm enough to laze on the beach at weekends, and even the more popular tourist bars had the odd empty seat in the evening.

She was nursing a very nice glass of red wine, in her favourite El Born bar, when Oli bounced in. Late as usual.

‘Evening, gorgeous.’ Oli kissed her, a broad smile on his full lips. ‘Same for me, please.’ He signalled to the guy behind the bar for a glass of wine before settling down on the stool next to hers. He snuggled in closer, so that their knees touched.

It was like loving a Golden Retriever; hard to be cross when he looked so adorably happy to see you. No, she corrected herself, it was more like loving a cat. A very demanding cat. He might be asking for cuddles right now, but she seemed to be spending an increasingly large chunk of her life trying to please him; he was like a surgeon – he liked having his patients there in the waiting room ready so that he didn’t have to waste any of his own precious time. The fact that she could have written an article for their magazine, or done her nails, instead of sitting in a bar on her own waiting was irrelevant to him.

At times it niggled her, but it was silly to let his little bad habits annoy her – and as everybody was always telling her (including Oli himself), she had the perfect life. A lovely apartment, great job, and Oli. She shook off her irritation; he was the perfect man, even her parents seemed to think so.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ He hadn’t missed the way she’d glanced at her watch. ‘But I’ve been busy.’

‘You’re always busy,’ she tried not to sound cross, he was after all working hard for them, both of them, ‘what deal have you been sealing today, Oli?’

‘One just for you.’ He grinned. ‘You’re going to love this. Hang on, I need a leak but I’ll be back in a sec.’ He tapped his mobile phone. ‘No peeking. I’m expecting the confirmation any second now.’ He rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘The things I do for you.’

Flo was staring at his mobile, which for once wasn’t attached to him, and then it pinged. Just like that.

She wouldn’t normally dare touch his precious phone (in fact, as it was seldom out in the wild on its own, chance would have been a fine thing), but it was for her, wasn’t it? He’d just said so. She hesitated for a nanosecond – to give him time to get back from the toilet, which he didn’t – then grabbed it.

Oli had always been pretty spontaneous in the early days of their relationship. In the very early days he’d once knocked on her door with a rose between his teeth and tickets for a gig in his hand, and he’d surprised her with a brand new Vespa scooter when it wasn’t even her birthday, but things had got a bit more predictable lately. But that was what happened in relationships, wasn’t it?

Or maybe not.

She scanned the email. Then read it again slightly more carefully just to be sure. Then a third time (it was a very short email) and the bubble of excitement burst out just as Oli got back from his visit to the gents.

‘What are you doing with my phone?’

‘Oh My God,’ she laughed out loud, ignoring the edge to his voice, ‘Oli. Really?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that you’re looking at, Flo?’ He put a hand over hers to steady his phone – which she was waving about in front of his face as she jumped up and down – so he could read what was on the screen.

‘Christ, what are you doing?’ He paused. ‘Oh that.’ The nervous twitch and flat tone wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Nor was the way his grip tightened on her wrist as he tried to tug the phone from her grasp, while she was busy attempting to re-read the message. Just to make sure it really did say what she thought. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Florence, give me the bloody phone.’

Flo froze. Oh shit. Now he was cross (that cat thing again), she’d spoiled his surprise, and he so liked to do things his way. Or not at all. ‘Oh no, I’m sorry, you wanted to tell me your—’

He shrugged, pulled at the phone again in what was getting to be a bit of a tug of war. ‘This is you all over, isn’t it? Why do you always have to interfere and spoil things?’

‘I wasn’t interfering, the message just came in, and I thought, you said you were expecting… Oli, I’m sorry, honest.’ She never normally got a chance to be remotely nosey, he was far too good at being in control. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil… it’s just such a wonderful surprise and now I’ve ruined it.’ Even for control-freak Oli it was a bit of an over-reaction. Flo stared at him, wondering if any moment now he was going to storm out and cancel the whole thing.

There was a moment when he just stood and stared at her, then his normal quirky grin reappeared. ‘It’s fine, never mind. I know you always wanted to go to Paris, so I thought what the hell.’

‘You remembered.’ She shrieked, then relinquished control of the phone, as he’d confirmed exactly what he’d done himself, and grabbed him. ‘You remembered, oh Oli, you are amazing. I am so lucky’

‘Of course I remembered.’ His expression was a mixture of satisfaction and slight annoyance that she’d doubted him. ‘I always remember important facts like that. You said it was one of the most romantic place on earth.’

‘No, well yes, but I meant you remembered our anniversary. Oh Oli, I do love you.’ And if she hadn’t been quite as excited, and convinced that he really, really did love her, she might have noticed there and then that he hadn’t reacted to the word ‘anniversary’ at all. ‘And going on the train; that is so romantic.’

He wriggled free of her grip and straightened his top. ‘I thought flying was overrated. This way we’re doing it in style, making it part of the trip. Flying first class would have been a bit of a cliché and you can pack your own hamper and bubbly. It’ll save us some cash too, no point throwing it away.’

Flo didn’t actually mind being clichéd, or being wined and dined in style, but she was being picky and ungrateful. And this was all fabulous, and SO romantic, and this way they’d have some spare money to go out on their actual anniversary. Oh God, maybe he had something special planned. Like a ring. For her third finger. She tried not to grin like a simpleton. One step at a time, she mustn’t just expect it – that would spoil the actual surprise.

Oli patted her stool, expecting her to behave and sit down again.

‘I’m sorry, I…’

‘Forget it.’ He pocketed his mobile. ‘But you know I don’t like people messing with my phone.’

She could have said she wasn’t just ‘people’, but that might have seemed churlish, and at least he seemed to have got over it now.

‘Blew the budget really a bit as it was, but we’re worth it.’ He grinned, his good humour fully restored. ‘Paris is bloody expensive you know.’

‘But so romantic.’ Flo sighed. She loved all of France, but Paris really was the most spectacular, romantic spot on earth. And this time she’d be with the man she loved, not her parents, or on a school trip with a bunch of teenage boys who thought culture was seeing who could spit their chewing gum out furthest.

She and Oli had been together five years; it was the anniversary of that first date, he was going to propose. She knew it. And where better?

***

Two days later, with a carefully prepared picnic, and a chilled bottle of bubbly, they caught the train out of Barcelona, heading towards ten days of bliss.

Packing had been pretty straightforward. A sexy going-out dress, for ‘the event’ because he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble just for a break, sexy underwear (there was a theme going on here, but after all, Paris was the city of love – and hopefully passion), high heels (more on the sexy theme), and some boots she knew she could walk in (for those romantic excursions on the Seine and the art galleries, where they would stroll hand in hand).

Flo didn’t care that the moment they’d sat down Oli fished out his headphones and disappeared into his own little world as he messed about with his phone (no doubt answering work messages), she was happy flicking through the pages of the guide book, gazing in awe at the photographs and working out just where she wanted to go (though Oli, no doubt, would have planned everything anyway – he was good like that – he liked an itinerary).

The next day, Friday, after croissants and coffee served in their room (no point in squandering money on a café, is there?), he spread out a city map on the bed and pointed out a route around the area that he’d carefully marked in red ink.

‘I thought we’d do this today. You don’t mind going on ahead though, do you, darling? Bit of a muzzy head, too much champagne yesterday.’ Oli grinned apologetically.

‘Oh no, do you need anything?’

‘I’ll be fine, honest,’ he glanced at his phone and gave an exaggerated sigh as yet another message came in, ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun.’ He tapped out a reply and Flo shook her head.

‘A few days’ break from work would do you good. It’s no wonder you’ve got a headache. Can’t you just let people leave a message, like you told me to do?’

‘One of us has to keep things ticking over, darling, and I want you to enjoy the break. I promise not to do much.’ He smiled, then pressed a hand to his temple and grimaced. ‘You go and explore, I’ll meet you for lunch. Look,’ he pointed at the map, where he’d put a star, ‘the guy at reception said this place is excellent value.’

Flo was not happy. She’d only got a short way down the street when the first spots of rain fell from the sky, and she realised she’d left her umbrella in the hotel room. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been at home, but no way did she want to look a bedraggled rat when she met Oli for lunch. He’d obviously asked the hotel for a recommendation, which meant the restaurant could be somewhere special, which meant… Well, she really didn’t want to count her chickens, but it was their anniversary, and what if he was leading up to…? Flo grinned and a man walking the other way grinned back, but she didn’t care. She was in Paris, the city of romance, and her boyfriend was about to propose, and she needed an umbrella because she wanted to look sleek and sophisticated, not frizzy beach-babe.

She ran up the stairs rather than take the lift; she might as well make an early start on being trim. I mean, Oli had probably already planned the wedding, had a date in mind. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past him to have booked a place.

As she opened the door of their room, a gentle waft of air blew through from doors they’d left ajar, bringing with it the hustle and bustle of the Paris streets below, and Flo took a deep breath and smiled. What did they say? Heaven on earth? This place really was blissful. Oh God, maybe he’d brought her here because he wanted to hold the actual wedding ceremony in Paris?

‘You’re fucking gorgeous you know, darling.’

Her grin broadened as she stepped further into the room. ‘So are—’ The words died on her lips as she glanced at the empty bed. She frowned. It was Oli’s voice, but he wasn’t there. She peered in the bathroom, he wasn’t there either. Sticking her head out of the doors that led to the balcony, she risked getting her hair wet as a very feminine (and definitely not Oli) giggle reached her ears.

His voice was clearer out here, as were the muffled oo’s and ahh’s.

Flo leaned out further, desperately trying to see into the next room. Then she froze.

‘You bastard.’ The words choked in her throat. ‘You total utter bastard.’ This time they came out full throttle.

Marching back through their room and out of the door, Flo careered into the corridor, just as Oli popped out of the next room like a rabbit out of a bloody magician’s hat.

‘That’s Sarah, and she’s—’

‘Hang on, Flo, let me explain.’

‘She’s naked, on a bed, and you,’ Flo glared pointedly at his crotch, which was now encased in underwear, ‘were fucking naked with her.’

He winced. ‘Keep your voice down. Do you have to talk like that, you know I don’t—’

‘Do I have to talk like that?’ For a moment she was speechless, but it didn’t last more than a couple of seconds. There were so many words trying to burst out of her it was just a case of getting them in a straight line, and the right order. ‘Do you have to fuck another woman like that?’

‘I wasn’t actually fu—’

‘You, Oliver, are the only man I know who could split straws over whether you were actually doing it or not. You were naked. You were flesh on flesh. Like this.’ She flapped the palms of her hands together, ‘I’m surprised you’ve not got friction burns.’

‘If you’d let me explain, instead of flying off the handle.’

‘Explain? Explain? What is Sarah bloody Rogers doing here, in Paris, in the next fucking room? You, you, you fuckwit.’

Oli raised an eyebrow. ‘Look, you don’t normally swear.’

‘You don’t normally sleep around, or at least I didn’t think you did.’

He didn’t say anything, just made a move towards their room, so Flo reversed and planted herself firmly in the doorway. ‘Did you ask for adjoining doors so you could just pop between us naked and not waste a precious second of your time?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t bloody know they’d put her in the next room, did I? Be reasonable.’

Flo stared. ‘Did you really just say that?’

‘It was pure coincidence, if I’d have known…’

That was when she slammed the door and emptied every bottle she could find in the mini-fridge into his underwear drawer, and gave it a good jiggle. Shaken not stirred.

‘Flo, Flo, be reasonable.’ Oli banged on the door, hissing through the keyhole. ‘Calm down, you’re over-reacting and making a fool of yourself.’

‘I’m making a fool of myself? I’m not the one in my pants in a hotel corridor. I should have known you were up to something. That’s what all those late sessions working have been about, isn’t it? All the editorial work you’ve been doing.’ She’d been stupid. Accepted all his excuses at face value, trying to keep the status quo when deep down she’d known it wasn’t acceptable.

‘Flo, open this door, I’m standing here in my underwear.’

She added the olives and peanuts to the mix in the drawer, and hoped his gritty and oily extremities would cause him and the lovely Sarah a fair bit of discomfort for days to come. ‘I’ll give you friction!’

‘Flo, I didn’t even know she’d be in the same hotel.’

‘Oh, so that makes everything better. Tons better. How considerate.’

He’d urged her to shop that morning, which had seemed perfectly acceptable. Oli wasn’t really one to window shop, the odd breaks that they had enjoyed together had been ‘activity’ or ‘visiting ancient monuments’ but this holiday had, he’d said tucking her hair behind her ear, been for her.

How sweet. How considerate. What a load of bollocks.

Flo went back to the knicker drawer, pulled it out and emptied the entire contents into the one that held his t-shirts. The bastard. How could he do it?

He’d even bought her a red rose last night. The one she’d thought might be accompanied by a little jewellery box and a bent knee.

‘Flo, be fair, just let me talk to you.’

She opened the door a crack, aware that she now looked like a complete mad woman, her hair all over the place and her face, no doubt, bright pink.

‘What?’

‘It’s been all work and no play lately, I thought a break in your favourite place would be nice.’

‘Did you mean you remembered it was my favourite place, or hers?’ She paused as the realisation hit. ‘I’m not even supposed to be here, am I? That train ticket was for her.’

‘Flo, it was you that grabbed my phone.’

‘So all this is my fault? You’re blaming me for being here.’ Flo narrowed her eyes. ‘So,’ she put one hand on her hip, ‘what was it you’d organised for me?’

He looked blank.

‘When we were in the bar you said you’d arranged something,’ she paused, ‘something for me, that I’d love.’

‘Well, I arranged for you to talk to a guy who’s opening a new trendy fusion bar in Barcelona, so you could do a piece for the magazine. The guy is a genius, he—’

‘You bastard.’

Oli had a pained expression on his face. ‘It’s going to be an in-place, you’ve no idea how hard it was to get that interview.’

‘You’ve no idea how hard I want to hit you right now.’

He ignored her, put a hand on the door jamb, confident he’d be able to talk his way back inside.

‘Look it’s not you, it’s me.’

‘You loser.’ She stared open-mouthed. ‘That is the crappiest line ever, but you’re right. It is you. You really are the biggest dick on earth, aren’t you?’ Throwing all her weight at the door, Flo managed to slam it shut. There really was nothing else she could do. Then she threw all of her clothes into her case, and half of his out of the window. The half that hadn’t been caught up in the pre-dinner drinks-and-snacks saga.

It was quite a spectacular sight. A Parisian street, she decided had probably never seen so many Calvin Klein knickers, Armani shirts and designer jeans hooked in trees. The best bit, she decided, was seeing his pretentious Panama hat land in what he’d termed ‘cat-shit alley’ after treading in something unsavoury just after they’d arrived.

She stared for a moment, out of breath from all her exertions, then clutched the balcony rail and closed her eyes. She needed a drink, but she’d gone and thrown every last bit of alcohol in with his remaining clothes, and she wasn’t quite desperate enough to suck it out. Yet. Even her chocolate fix was in there.

Ringing reception, she very calmly reported a fire in room 406, and then waited until she heard Oli loudly declaring there was no such thing, and a member of staff insisting they had to check, before slipping out of room 405 and running down the stairs. She was out of the hotel, up the street, past the underwear-festooned trees, and round the corner before she stopped to draw breath.

It was when she realised she’d left the umbrella behind that she started to cry.