The Little Wedding Island: the perfect holiday beach read for 2018. Jaimie Admans

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СКАЧАТЬ laugh at the same things,’ he calls out when the adverts come on. ‘I don’t think we’re that opposite after all.’

      ‘Oh, we are,’ I say, but from the lifeless pile where they’ve landed like rocks in my stomach, one butterfly wing twitches.

Chapter Five

      When I wake up in the morning, there’s silence from Rohan’s room and I get the feeling he’s already gone out. And then I have to give myself a stern telling-off for my first thoughts being of him.

      He’s R.C. Art, for God’s sake. I’ve only seen bits and pieces of his columns, but I’ve heard enough about him over the years I’ve been working at Two Gold Rings, colleagues sniggering over his articles like kids passing a banned book around the school hallways, comments and discussions about how The Man Land can let him get away with it, and now this stupid competition between the magazines.

      I have to remember who he is. The funny, sweet guy from the boat yesterday is the same man. He is not someone who makes my knees go weak and butterfly wings beat in the pit of my stomach. He is a man who hates everything I love. My first thoughts in the morning can’t be of him. I’m going to lose my job if I don’t nail this article. All of my colleagues are going to lose their jobs. I have to think about all of the women who have turned to Two Gold Rings as they’ve planned their weddings, who will one day go to pick up a copy for their daughters as they plan their own weddings, and the magazine just won’t be there any more.

      It’s not just about me losing my job, it’s about losing the whole magazine. And keeping the awful, controversial men’s magazine who think that employing people who get their kicks out of insulting others is a good thing. That is what I have to concentrate on, not Rohan Carter, no matter how sexy his name is. And the rest of him.

      Why was he so nice to me though? Before he knew who I was, he was kind and sweet. And even after I threw my wine over him last night, he still seemed to care. He wanted me to talk to him afterwards. He even brought me cake. Why? What did he want? It’s not like he’s looking for love, is it? It’s not like he actually liked me. I get the impression that R.C. Art is not someone who likes people very much.

      I scrub my hands over my face. I have to stop thinking about it. He’s a jerk who can turn on a nice-guy act when it suits him. It’s probably how he gets most of his column topics – by pretending to be someone he isn’t. I can’t let him spoil my time here. What I saw of this island yesterday looked beautiful and I can’t wait to explore it.

      I owe Oliver a damn good article about this place, and I’m going to give him one, and it’s going to be better than Rohan’s. He’s obviously here to get the Edelweiss Island story and beat us, and I can’t let him. I have to do this better than him. And even if Two Gold Rings go out, we’re going to go out on a positive note, spreading love and happiness, unlike the kind of thing he’s used to spreading, which is generally more useful for fertilising farm crops.

      ***

      Clara is hovering as I sit in the dining room, pulling apart a Danish pastry and looking out over the spectacular view. She’s offered me at least ten coffee refills, six pieces of toast, three full Englishes, and she keeps coming back to check if I need anything. I know she’s itching to say something. She probably wants to know why I threw wine over Rohan last night and then went up to my room in tears. She probably wants to know why I was ‘feeling ill’ but somehow managed to demolish a huge slice of chocolate cake.

      ‘He’s been hurt, hasn’t he?’ Clara eventually blurts out.

      ‘Who?’ I say, feigning indifference.

      ‘Mr Carter. I can tell these things, you know.’

      ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ I take an uninterested sip of coffee. ‘And if he has then I’m sure he thoroughly deserved it.’

      ‘Oh, do you think so?’ She pulls out the opposite chair and plonks herself down. ‘He seems like a lovely chap to me, but he’s definitely had his heart broken. He hides behind that humour and endless sarcasm but he’s hurting really.’

      ‘It’s probably muscle strain from carrying his gigantic ego around.’

      She looks at me in surprise. ‘You too?’

      ‘Me? No, I’ve never been hurt.’ I glance down at my empty ring finger. ‘I’ve never had a chance to be hurt.’

      ‘People use humour as a barrier to protect themselves.’

      ‘Not me.’

      ‘I clocked him yesterday, you know. When he was reading my inspirational quotes about love on the walls, I saw him trying to laugh at them but I could tell they made him sad.’

      I give her a sombre smile. She really does see the best in him. ‘I think you’re overestimating him. He was probably just genuinely laughing at them. That’s what he does.’

      ‘That’s what a lot of people do until they meet the person who makes them make sense.’

      I think about the little plaques lining the walls of the hallway to the dining room. They’re sweet little quotes about love, well-known sayings written in pretty calligraphy on heart-shaped wooden boards. Some of them are a bit sappy even for me, but knowing what I know of R.C. Art, there was nothing false about his laughter at them. They’re all nice sentiments and something warms in my chest at the idea of one day meeting someone who makes me feel like that.

      ‘I’ve seen men like him so many times. They don’t know how to deal with their emotions so they just shut out their pain and make a joke of it. I’m sure he’s a lovely man underneath whatever it is he’s done to upset you.’

      Either Clara is a mind reader or she saw much more of what happened last night than I thought she did.

      ‘He hasn’t done anything to upset me. I don’t even know him. He’s a complete stranger to me.’

      ‘He likes you though.’

      ‘Oh, he really doesn’t, trust me on that.’

      ‘And I know you like him too.’

      ‘Oh, I really don’t,’ I say, wondering if she really is a mind reader. Maybe that’s why there’s nothing on the internet about The Little Wedding Island. Maybe it’s just sort of conducted via Jedi mind tricks.

      ‘I’ve owned this place for twenty-five years. I’ve met hundreds of young couples like yourselves, people who come to get married, people who come to honeymoon, people who return year after year for a little holiday. I’ve seen relationships begin and end. I’ve seen couples head over heels in love and couples who hate each other. Trust me when I say he likes you, and you know as well as I do that you like him too. There’s no point trying to deny it, it’s as clear as day every time you smile at him.’

      ‘I don’t know what gives you that idea,’ I mutter. ‘I don’t even know him, and what little I do know, I assure you I don’t like.’

      ‘He was really concerned about you last night. After you went off ill.’ She puts an emphasis on the word that leaves me with no doubt of how untrue she thinks it is. ‘He seemed really upset. And he comfort-ate masses of my chocolate cake. And so СКАЧАТЬ