Second Chance Summer, page 2
‘That’s not a long time and Cara’s accident would have floored anyone. Losing a sister is a huge shock and you practically carried on as normal.’
Normal. Tears stung the back of her eyes. What was a normal way to react when your beloved sister was killed in a car accident at the age of thirty-seven?
‘Don’t give me any clichés about me blotting out the pain with work and not dealing with it adequately,’ she said, painful memories giving her tone a sharp edge she hadn’t intended.
‘Dealing with it adequately?’ The way he flinched made her instantly regret her words. ‘“Adequately” is not a word I’d use to describe the way I felt about losing Cara.’
‘Étienne, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Maybe I am a bit tired …’
‘It’s up to you,’ he said briskly, choosing not to answer her or let her off the hook. ‘You’re smart – or at least I thought you were. Work it out for yourself – you clearly don’t need me or any medical professional. I have other patients who welcome my help. I came here on my way home from a particularly shitty shift in A&E.’
Lily noticed the slate-blue smudges under his eyes, the lines around his mouth, the exhaustion. ‘Oh, God, I am so sorry. Look, let me give you a cliché that we can both agree on. We all deal with that stuff in our own way and – maybe you’re right. I do need a break.’
He picked up his bag. ‘You do what you want. I’m going to take the girls home, stuff my face with pizza and watch Frozen. Again.’
‘The girls – the girls are here?’
‘Yes. They’re in the chill-out room downstairs watching your corporate video and eating their own weight in those mini biscuit packets you provide for the staff.’
‘What? Why? I––’ She let out a groan of horror. ‘Oh My God. I was supposed to pick them up from The Lion King, wasn’t I? And take them to meet the cast afterwards and for dinner?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, Étienne. I am so sorry. I must apologise to the girls. Oh, God. How did I forget?’
‘Because you had more important things on your mind?’
‘No. Yes. I am sorry.’
‘It’s an overused word.’
‘I mean it. I’ll make it up to them.’
‘No need. Their nanny took them. They still met the cast and she brought them here in a cab after I’d heard you were taken ill. They can do without dinner, but they did miss you.’
‘Please can I see them?’
‘Richie’s gone to fetch them.’
Before Lily could offer up another word, two six-year- olds hurtled into the office like an explosion in a Haribo factory. Amelie and Tania were dressed in frocks of pineapple yellow and peppermint green, their hair flying behind them. They were impossibly pretty, a combination of their father’s French Polynesian heritage and Cara’s English rose looks.
Amelie launched herself at Lily. ‘Auntie Lily! We missed you but Daddy said you weren’t feeling very well.’
Lily’s head throbbed afresh but she pulled her nieces to her. ‘All the better for seeing you. I’m so sorry I forgot to meet you.’
Tania looked at her solemnly. Lily swallowed a lump in her throat. She looked so much like Cara. ‘You aren’t going to die like Mummy, are you?’
Lily choked back tears. Her heart was so full, it felt as if it might burst. ‘No, poppet, I’m not. I’m not going anywhere, I promise you.’
She gathered the girls against her, for her own sake as much as theirs, because the world was shifting beneath her. In this moment, the only thing holding it together was them; their warmth, their life force, and through them, the memory of her late sister. Étienne was right. Cara would have wanted her to stay well; to stay alive – for the twins.
Over their shoulders, she saw Étienne and Richie looking at her. Her brother-in-law was tight-lipped. Richie was dabbing his eyes with a tissue.
‘I suppose a nice holiday would do me good,’ she said.
Richie jumped in. ‘Shall I book something?’
‘Yes,’ Lily said. ‘I think you ought to. Somewhere quiet and peaceful and restful, away from all of this for a couple of weeks.’
Richie was already on his way out of the office. ‘I’m on it now!’
‘Make sure it’s got decent WiFi though!’ Lily called after him.
The girls released her. Tania sat in Lily’s Herman Miller chair and started twirling round.
‘Can I play with your toy?’ Amelie said.
‘Of course,’ Lily said, smiling as her niece took the retro stress-relieving pendulum off the desk and started crashing the metal spheres into each other.
Étienne gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘The first step is always the hardest.’
‘Well, I’m not as stubborn as I look,’ Lily said to a raised eyebrow from her brother-in-law. ‘Shall we get out of here? I could join you for pizza at your place?’
‘That sounds like a very good idea. You can watch Frozen again while I fall asleep.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Lily said, adding earnestly, ‘really. It will be wonderful to spend the whole evening with you all. It’s been too long …’
Étienne touched her arm. ‘I know. Come on, let’s all go home.’
With a farewell to Richie, Lily shrugged on her suit jacket and, for the first time in months, left the office before it was dark. Today had been a wake-up call – one that she needed to heed for the sake of the company’s future.
A week or two of pampering at a nice spa resort would soon set her to rights and then, refreshed and revived, she could get straight back to the office. Even better, she might be able to carry on catching up with emails and keeping her potential new client in the loop in between massages and cocktails.
It was such a brilliant idea, she was amazed she hadn’t thought of it before.
CHAPTER TWO
Three days later
This has got to be one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made in my entire life.
Lily didn’t say the words out loud because there was no point. No one could hear her, and she couldn’t even hear herself. Even though the helicopter crew had supplied ear defenders, the noise was like lying with your ear pressed to a washing machine.
So far, it had taken almost eleven hours to reach this point. A cab from her flat to Paddington, a train journey to Penzance during which she’d planned to do some work but felt too tired and travel sick, and a short taxi ride to the heliport. Now she was on the flight to Tresco, one of the Isles of Scilly.
The helicopter crossing was only supposed to take fifteen minutes but Lily already felt as if she’d been on it for a lifetime – and she still had a short boat journey from Tresco to Bryher to contend with, followed by a speedboat to Stark. Several times, she reflected that she could have been enjoying a cocktail in a New York bar by now. New York, however, would not have been a restful break from the mayhem, whereas Stark definitely should be.
‘The view will be amazing when we come in to land on the islands,’ the woman in the seat beside her had said as they boarded. ‘The colours look like the Caribbean.’
When Lily had first started her business, she couldn’t have dreamed of visiting the Caribbean. Now she could afford it, she didn’t have the time. She’d never been in a helicopter either, though she’d thought it looked glamorous in a James Bond kind of way.
It wasn’t.
She’d had her eyes tightly closed since the moment the pilot had said they were ready for take-off, but she’d still felt the sickening feeling of the ground dropping away as the machine rose, improbably, into the sky. Only once had she glanced out of the window to find grey churning waves seemingly inches below.
‘Quick, look!’
At a prod on her arm, Lily’s eyes flew open. The woman beside her must literally be screaming because, by reading her lips and following her extravagant gestures, Lily could just about follow what she was saying. ‘There’s the Eastern Isles! And the trees in Tresco Abbey Gardens! I always know I’m here when I see those!’
She heaved a rapturous sigh as if she’d sighted the end of the rainbow. ‘What a shame it’s a grotty day. To be honest, I didn’t think we’d even take off. I heard the check-in guys say we were at the absolute limit for safe travel.’
‘They said what?’ Lily shouted back, hoping she’d misheard the last part.
The woman laughed but her next words were inaudible. She poked a finger at the window. ‘Oh, that’s Stark.’
‘Where? What? Which one?’
‘You missed it,’ she said, laughing again.
Five minutes later, a jolt signified that today, at least, Lily would spend another day on Planet Earth. The noise ended abruptly and she was climbing down the steps into a rough field with a shed at one side.
Her fellow passengers forged ahead like spaniels let off the lead, chattering excitedly. They all seemed to know exactly where they were heading. Dressed in walking gear and trainers, they made Lily feel slightly self-conscious in her blazer, skinny jeans and loafers. It was her weekend uniform in London, perfect for casual brunch in a café – not that she had time for many brunches, casual or otherwise – but much too smart for hanging around a wild and windy airfield.
Lily trudged behind them, taking in the grey sky and the shed that served as the heliport on Tresco Island, her ‘gateway to Stark’ according to the website.
Inside the shed, the other passengers were already collecting their bags and climbing into a fleet of green golf buggies. Richie had told her that the Stark Island Retreat reception team would be waiting for her at the heliport ready for her onward transfer to the resort.
One by one, the other passengers whizzed off in their electric buggies until only Lily stood in the shed, with her bag for company. She whipped out her compact mirror, a quirky hand-made one that had been produced by a talented Lily Loves client and was part of a new collection of make-up accessories recently added to the portfolio. Her face was shockingly pale but a quick application of a lip and cheek tint helped to make her look and feel more human and ready to meet the retreat welcome team who’d doubtless turn up at any moment with apologies and warm smiles.
Five minutes later a weather-beaten man carrying a spade strolled into the shack and stared at Lily as if she was an alien.
‘Hello there. Are you all on your own? Where are you staying, love?’
‘Stark Island,’ Lily said tightly.
After a moment of incredulity, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘I don’t think that’s likely, m’dear. No one’s stayed on Stark for nigh on two centuries.’
‘Ah, but I’m at the brand-new retreat,’ Lily said, trying not to let her exhaustion and travel sickness get the better of her politeness.
‘New retreat?’ The man scrunched up his face. ‘I dunno––’ Suddenly, he nodded and grinned. ‘You must mean Sam Teague’s place. Is that what he’s calling it? Hmm. Last thing I heard, he was still trying to finish it. Well, I’m sure he’ll be along in a minute. I must get on, I only came up here from the gardens to fill in some rabbit holes on the landing pad. Enjoy your stay. I hope you don’t mind the odd ghost.’
He gazed up at the sky. ‘Looks like the fog’s on its way. Shame, you should have been here yesterday.’
With that, he sauntered off towards the helipad, whistling to himself.
Lily stared into the gloom of the airfield. Minutes before, she’d been able to make out the grey sea. Now, all that was visible was low cloud that seemed to be creeping towards her menacingly. Moisture was already clinging to her clothes and hair. How could it possibly be June?
Still trying to finish it … I hope you don’t mind the odd ghost. Lily pushed aside a feeling of unease. This guy must be winding her up. She didn’t believe in ghosts and, in fact, they were now the least of her concerns about Stark Island Retreat.
OK, Richie had admitted the retreat was having a ‘soft opening’ prior to its official launch later in the summer, but that had made it sound even more exclusive and quiet. The fact it wasn’t officially open also meant they’d been able to fit her in at short notice – and at a price so low Richie found it hard to believe.
‘The view looks incredible on the website,’ he had enthused after he’d booked her a two-week stay in an ocean-view suite. ‘Your cottage is called Cowrie. How cute is that?’
Lily had had to agree. Stark Island Retreat did indeed look beautiful, with its stone-and-wood cottages, a mix of Old and New England that seemed to blend in perfectly with the dunes and low grassy hills of the island. There were photos of shells and translucent water, of driftwood and footprints on bone-white sand.
It looked almost too good to be true.
And what was Lily’s first rule of business success? If it looks too good to be true, it almost certainly is.
Fifteen minutes later, she checked her watch, standing in the porch of the helicopter hut. She was the only person left, fog had enveloped the whole field and she felt alone and abandoned. Several times, she’d seemed to be on the verge of tears, which was absolutely shameful.
She had to get a grip on herself. She’d had many setbacks in her life and she’d overcome those. The fact some resort manager wasn’t ready with flower leis and hot towels at the airport was a minor glitch.
Still, leaving a client waiting for twenty-five minutes without a call wasn’t a good start, especially when they’d – she’d – had such a long and tiring journey.
‘Ah. There you are. I suppose you’re the guest.’
Lily glanced up at the gruff voice.
Its owner was wearing cargo shorts, a Henri Lloyd waterproof and muddy construction boots.
Lily almost burst out laughing. If you could have conjured up a ruggedly handsome outdoorsy type, this man lived up to every expectation. He was tall, tanned and clearly hadn’t had time for a shave that morning – or to change his clothes, judging by the splashes of cream paint on his shorts.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘I was on my way but there was a rope caught around Rory’s propellor. He asked me to help and I thought it’d be a five-minute job but it took longer. Hoped you’d be OK for a few minutes.’
‘You must be Mr Teague,’ Lily said coolly when he didn’t introduce himself.
He laughed. ‘Oh, call me Sam. Everyone’s on first-name terms here. You must be Lily.’
‘That’s me,’ she said, thinking he could at least have checked if she minded being addressed by her first name – especially as he was running a high-end resort.
‘Well, I do apologise again for keeping you waiting,’ he said, though the words came out tersely. ‘I did message you.’
‘Unfortunately, I didn’t get it.’
‘Bugger.’ Sam raked his hands through curly black hair that had clearly fought a losing battle with the sea air and damp. ‘No, well, the phone signal on the islands can be patchy to say the least.’
‘I do understand,’ Lily said, trying not to live up to the stereotypical image of a city grockle or emmet or whatever derogatory name tourists were probably known by in these parts. Then again, she was supposed to be a valued client. Perhaps Sam would benefit from some guest–relations tips. ‘Let’s just hope the signal will be better at the retreat!’
Sam rubbed his stubbled chin. ‘To be honest, we tend to communicate by radio with the main island.’
‘The main island?’ she echoed.
He pointed into the mist where Lily could – if she tried very, very hard – make out the vague outline of twin low hills across sand flats. ‘Bryher. That’s the island just over the channel from here. There are five settled islands in Scilly and lots of little uninhabited ones, including Stark. There’s a signal on Bryher, of course. Think of it as Australia to Stark’s Tasmania.’
‘Ha,’ Lily muttered, unsure if he was being serious or not.
Sam led the way to a golf buggy parked by the shed. ‘OK, time and tide wait for no one. Jump in and I’ll take you to the Bryher quay, then it’s a quick scoot over to Stark in the jetboat.’
Exhaustion washed over her. ‘Can’t we go straight to Stark? It’s been a tiring journey and I can’t wait for a nice bath and a chill out before dinner.’
‘I need to collect supplies from Bryher first. I promise I won’t be more than fifteen minutes, then we’ll be on our way.’ He picked up her suitcase and dumped it in the back of the buggy.
Lily couldn’t resist. ‘Are we likely to be there before darkness falls?’
‘I should think we might just make it, if we’re lucky,’ he said, leaving her unsure if he was joking or not.
Ten minutes later, they were indeed in the jetboat – a speedboat called the Hydra, which at least had a cabin to huddle in away from the mizzle and sea spray.
She waited in there while Sam nipped onto the stone quay of Bryher. A few people waited, trussed up in Gore-tex from head to toe, yet seeming very happy about standing outside in the drizzle.
A weather-beaten man in yellow oilskins greeted Sam cheerfully. ‘Hello! You picked your weather, mate!’
‘Yeah. Everything OK with the boat now?’
‘Fingers crossed. Thanks for helping me out. Hope it didn’t make you late for anything important.’
‘Naw, mate, it was fine.’
Lily shrank back inside the cabin, astonished to hear herself dismissed as not important. This must be Rory the fisherman whose propellor she’d been abandoned for earlier.
‘Left you a thank you present in that cool box there,’ Rory said. ‘Need a hand? In this fog, you’ll be wanting to get over to Stark before low tide.’
‘Thanks. There’s a couple of crates in the shed.’
Lily found a spot in the cabin where she could peer through the window without being seen. More people started to arrive on the quay.
A minute later, Rory returned with two more boxes, followed by Sam with two large cans of what Lily assumed to be fuel. One more trip for further open boxes of stuff and Sam jumped on board, poking his head into the cabin. ‘Won’t be long now.’
‘Oh, I’ve got all day,’ Lily muttered though her sarcasm was lost on her host, who was busy taking supplies from Rory and stowing them under the canopy.
