Stuck in Paradise with You

Chapter 4

4

CARRIE

Wow. Just wow .

Eric must be gutted he has stomach flu. No pun intended.

I’ve climbed the stone steps to Mr Hettich’s private resort, roasting under the heat of the afternoon sun. But nothing, not even the ever-present and lingering knowledge that Luke Chalmers is somewhere on this island, can destroy the view for me.

I turn three-sixty degrees on the spot at the top of the hillside while Mr Hettich’s staff come by me carrying my luggage.

Two large dogs – English pointers, I think – have followed us up from the beach, tails wagging.

The resort is centered around what I presume is the main house and residence of my client. Around it, I count ten individual holiday cottages, each with a pool and hot tub on its veranda. The main house is three tiered, like a beautiful white wedding cake – each layer round. The top floor has a white peaked roof, as opposed to figurines of a bride and groom, but it stands above a middle tier that has a pillared terrace set with multiple dining tables, then below that, steps lead down to a large infinity pool with a swim-up bar, sun loungers and tables with expensive-looking parasols.

This truly is how the other half live. Or, more like how the wealthiest 1 per cent of the population live.

Beyond the accommodation is lush greenery that covers most of the teardrop-shaped land, except for one area of what looks like much more modest accommodation, down the hillside. Presumably, the area that looks more like the kind of holiday accommodation I would fund myself, the staff digs. Incredible .

The land trails around its northern side into smooth, white-sand beaches, which dissolve into crystal-clear waters. Even from this high-up vantage point, I can see rocks beneath the flat surface. Fifteen or twenty yards into the water, a few boats – dinghies and speedboats – are anchored. Conversely, the southern side of the island seems to drop from rocks to water. There’s a boat house and dock on that side, too, and I can see the tip of a mast pole. I can only imagine the size of the boat it belongs to.

There’s not even a wispy cloud in the bluest of skies and the only sound I hear is the tweeting of birds. Until a clatter steals my attention, like something metal being dropped to the tiles around the main pool. I could swear there’s a flash of person moving behind a palm tree when I look but when I blink, it’s gone.

Before I locate the source of the sound, Jenny, one of the crew who drove me by boat from Tortola to Charithonia, asks, ‘Ms Briggs— Sorry, Carrie. Can I show you to your pod?’

‘I… Ah… I’m…’ Mind blown. ‘Yes, that would be super, thank you.’

She smiles in a way that’s sweet, obliging and knowing all at once. ‘This way.’

As sweet as she may be, with her words, she has unkindly brought me back from dreamland. I remember now why I was so eager to get off the airplane on the tarmac at JFK. To give up a first-class seat and all of this .

I search the landscape as we move, looking for Luke.

Could I be so lucky to have two men who should have been meeting this week come down with gastroenteritis?

Luke Chalmers would deserve worse. Much worse. I’m thinking about what that might look like – German measles, dengue, elephantiasis – as Jenny opens the door to my pod.

To describe my bedroom for the next four nights as a pod truly does it a disservice.

In the center of the round room is a circle-shaped bed that could sleep an entire family. Despite its shape, the crisp white bedding is tucked under the mattress without a crease. Some things defy logic. This entire trip being one such thing.

A bow has been tied across the diameter of the bed using gold silk, as if it’s a gift. I wonder if anyone would notice me sneaking it home with me as luggage?

Set perfectly in the middle of my would-be loot is a glimmering gold envelope, which I absolutely will open, but not before I’ve checked out the ensuite, which has a tub I could literally swim in, a flat-screen television that’s extended from the ceiling, and a glass door through to an outside shower.

This is nuts . Categorically nuts.

‘Is everything okay for you, Carrie?’ Jenny asks.

‘ Okay? Ha. For sure, thank you.’

Jenny must be twenty-three or four, maybe younger, yet she doesn’t seem fazed by the setting in the slightest.

I’ll bet this is a seasonal job. Looking after guests who’ll tip extremely well and playing around with Mr Hettich’s boats and toys in her spare time. Maybe frolicking with the other crew – one of whom, Henry, was young, tanned and buff beneath his fitted black polo and butt-hugging Bermuda shorts. I wasn’t intending to look but some things demand attention.

‘Great, then I’ll leave you to it. There are towels in the wardrobe and welcome drinks and snacks have just arrived on the veranda. If you need anything at all, there are numbers for the bar, the main kitchen and the water crew by the phone on the bedside table. Oh, and don’t forget to open the invitation on your bed.’

I thank Jenny, not knowing whether I’m supposed to tip her or not, and then make a snap decision to tip all the staff when I leave.

After waving her off, I take a rum punch, which comes with a delightful pinch of nutmeg on top, from the table on my personal veranda. Sipping the smooth but hard liquor, I relieve my hot feet of my toe-pinching, leather flats and take the gold envelope from the bed, setting down my glass to find out what awaits me.

Dear Carrie,

We would be delighted if you would join us for dinner at 8p.m. on the main terrace.

Beach-smart dress code.

Yours,

Luke Chalmers

(And the Hettich family)

Stomach flu was wishful thinking.

Is this a joke?

Luke. Luke? Inviting me?? To dinner???

I sit down onto the edge of the bed before I fall down. As I stare at the card in my hand, I remember the first note Luke ever left me.

I’d been his associate for more than a year, the two of us sharing an office. He was on the cusp of making partner at the accountancy firm we worked for then.

It had been months of crush, wanton and lust on my part but he’d had a wife. I knew things hadn’t been great between them for a long time and six weeks before he wrote the note, they’d separated.

In those six weeks, it seemed like everything I felt for him was amplified. There was a lingering tension in our office from the moment we both entered until the lights went out at night.

I wanted him so badly, I could barely concentrate on my work.

I could feel it ramping up for him too. The grazes and accidental touches, the looks that were held a moment too long.

Then one morning, I returned to the office from a meeting to find a handwritten note folded under the keyboard on my desk.

Room 210, The Old Court Hotel, 12p.m. Luke x

I felt a rush, a thrill, unlike anything I’d ever felt before when I held that piece of paper. But today’s note should have come with a trigger warning, or at least an apology.

I turn the card over in my hand to make sure there are no hidden words on the other side.

Nothing .

Instinctively, I pick up my phone and message Callum:

I can’t do this.

He fires back:

You can do this. He doesn’t have a hold over you anymore. Don’t throw away your career on him, again. Pull up those big girl panties! I love you, Cx

Almost simultaneously, my boss, the big boss, Eric’s boss, the head of the New York office who told me I was coming on this trip, sends me a message:

Good Luck. Hettich is eccentric but great. Enjoy the views! Rachel.

Oh God, I actually have to go through with this.