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

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СКАЧАТЬ really nice. He’s saved me from her undoubtedly endless questioning, but the other, more logical part of me thinks that if he’d told her the truth, he’d have had to tell her why I’d thrown my wine over him, and that would’ve led to having to admit to being a reporter.

      ‘Are you certain that you feel better this morning?’

      ‘Oh yes, fine, thank you. I’m sure it was just a bit of residual seasickness that didn’t hit me until later. A good night’s sleep has sorted me right out.’ I don’t know why I’m bothering to lie. She can see right through me. But whatever the reason is that Rohan didn’t tell her the truth, I’m interested to see where he’s going with it, because if I know one thing about R.C. Art, it’s that he’ll stop at nothing for a story. It makes me wonder what exactly he’s trying to get out of Edelweiss Island. Is it really as simple as a punishment for arguing with me online, or is he going to put his own – horrible – spin on the church of no-divorces?

      When I’ve finished my breakfast and left Clara disappointed at getting no gossip out of me, it’s way past time I started looking around this beautiful island. The sun is dazzling as I step out the door of the B&B and squint in the early April brightness. I close my eyes and breathe in the saltiness of sea air and the smell of flowers wafting on the breeze.

      ‘Good morning!’

      I open my eyes to see Rohan. He’s leaning on the gate of one of the cottages further down the path, chatting to the woman with long grey-highlighted hair down to her waist who was pottering around in her garden when we reached the top of the steps yesterday.

      I didn’t expect to see him so soon. I give him a tight smile and a nod, and he straightens up and looks like he’s excusing himself from talking to the woman. He’s going to come over and I don’t want to see him. I don’t know how to handle seeing him.

      I do the sensible, adult thing and pretend I haven’t noticed him making his way towards me. I duck my head and hurry around the back of the B&B away from him. I pass Clara’s neat rose garden and stop on the coastal path, standing in the shade of the building, trying to catch my breath. I didn’t realise I was walking that fast but something has taken my breath away, and it definitely wasn’t his blond hair blowing across his forehead in the gentle wind.

      I have to get a grip on myself. I’m bound to see him eventually. We’re in rooms next door to each other, unless by some miracle he’s leaving today, which he won’t be because I’d never get that lucky. He wants the same thing that I want, and I don’t think it’s a story that can be uncovered in the few hours before the next boat home.

      I have to be professional about it. Civilised. Nothing happened yesterday. Nothing that meant anything, anyway. He’s just another reporter here to report on the same thing. If I happen to see him in passing, I will remain polite, professional, aloof. I can do that. Not doing that has already got me into trouble.

      I keep expecting him to appear on the coastal path, and I’m not sure if I’m pleased or disappointed when he doesn’t. Did I make it obvious that I was running away from him? Good. R.C. Art should be used to being so offensive that women flee at the mere sight of him. I should be glad if he’s gotten the hint.

      When he doesn’t come round the side of the B&B, I try to calm myself. I brush my top down and pull my straight hair back. Professional. Aloof. I repeat the words in my head like a mantra. I’m here to write an article. I love my job and Two Gold Rings and I’m not about to lose either of them because of him. I get to come to gorgeous places like this and call it work, and without Two Gold Rings, I won’t get to do that any more. That is what I have to concentrate on.

      With that in mind, I straighten myself up and start following the sandy path that runs past the back of the B&B and continues around the edge of the island. Once I step back out of the shadow of the building, the sun is bright again and Rohan is nowhere to be seen. Good. Now I can concentrate on the island, not him.

      It’s quiet this morning, a world away from the constant noise of traffic at the office in London. There’s no one around and I wander along the meandering path, taking in the picture-postcard little cottages and the steep drop of the cliffs below me. There’s a sturdy metal safety barrier along the edges of the coastal path – the only thing that looks modern among the picturesque thatched roofs and perfect little gardens.

      I follow the path a bit further inland and crouch down to admire a patch of the white flowers that cover the space between paths. I don’t know what they are, but I run my fingers across silvery grass-like foliage and let them trail up to the furry white flowers. They smell beautiful too and I take a deep breath and inhale the scent that seems to waft across the island all the time.

      ‘Unusual, aren’t they?’

      I jump at the sound of his voice.

      Across the island, Rohan has popped up from behind a grassy hill with a white flower in his hand.

      ‘You’re probably not meant to pick them,’ I call over. ‘I’ve never seen them before, they might be a protected species or something.’

      He grins and holds his hands out in front of him, crossing them at the wrists. ‘Well, you’d better come and arrest me then. I bet Clara’s got some pink furry handcuffs you can borrow while we await the arrival of the police helicopter to whisk me off to prison for this terrible crime.’

      ‘You’re hilarious,’ I say without cracking my face, even though the idea of prim and proper Clara owning pink furry handcuffs makes me want to smile, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.

      ‘Actually I didn’t pick it. My new friend, Amabel, gave it to me from her garden.’ He points to the cottage across the island and the woman he was talking to earlier waves to him.

      ‘Been using your false charms to gain the islanders’ trust already then?’

      ‘If I choose to ignore certain parts of that sentence, you think I’m charming.’

      I do an exaggerated fake laugh. ‘Or just false.’

      ‘I like my version better.’ He grins like he’s waiting for me to reply.

      ‘You would,’ I snap, at a loss for what else to say. I can’t be standing here trying not to smile at R.C. Art. He’s the opposite of everything I love. I shouldn’t even be giving him the time of day. I flash a tight smile at him. ‘Have a nice day.’

      I try to pretend I didn’t see the look of hurt flash across his face as I shove my hands into my pockets and duck my head, wishing I had a hood I could pull up so I didn’t have to feel his eyes on me as I march towards the village, not willing to hang around for him to catch up with me. Or for me to go back and apologise because I did see that look of hurt, and I’m not sure which is worse – the fact R.C. Art might have actual human feelings or the fact that Rohan cares enough to let one sentence hurt him.

      Village isn’t the right term for the area I’m walking towards. As I get closer, the paths widen into a cobblestone street lined with old-fashioned black streetlamps, waist-high brick flower beds brimming with colourful buds, and a row of shops on either side.

      As I enter the street, I walk through an arch strung with white fairy lights and a sign hanging from it that reads, ‘Welcome to The Little Wedding Street, your one-stop-shop to make your big day as special as your love.’ They really don’t mind a bit of sappiness around here. I bet Rohan’s seen it and had a good laugh. The thought is enough СКАЧАТЬ