The Little Clock House on the Green. Eve Devon

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       Chapter 1

       Accidental Selfie Hell

       Kate

      Jiminy Cricket! It was hotter than Hades in the shade. Kate didn’t think Tobago was ever supposed to get this hot. Arching her neck, she held the water bottle she’d been eking out for the last quarter of a mile to her skin and rolled it back and forth in the hope of teasing out the last condensation-filled cooling properties.

      Honestly, how couples even – you know – coupled in this heat she had no idea. Not that she was here for coupling, which was probably why she was attracting attention and almost certainly what was making her job reviewing the luxury resort’s facilities so difficult.

      Was there anywhere on earth more guaranteed to make you stick out like a sore thumb than at a couples-only resort when you weren’t part of a couple?

      If she’d still been seeing Marco, she could have invited him along. But she wasn’t. And besides, Marco would have hated it. He was more Rough Guide than Forbes list. Weirdly, all the time she was with him she would have sworn she was the same, enjoying reporting on some of the more out-of-the-way and definitely cheaper destinations for the holidaying masses. But now, despite the fact that she was a singleton in couple-land, she couldn’t help remembering how she’d used to subscribe to the notion that a little luxury in everyday life was no bad thing.

      ‘Are we nearly there, yet?’ her body whined at her brain as she walked back from the local markets. She’d had it in mind to write an article for a travel blog she freelanced for, but as the sun had beat down all she’d been able to think about was that thing about frogs being slowly boiled alive.

      When the road became familiar landscaped gardens and she realised main reception and more bottles of water, together with blissful air-conditioning wasn’t far away, she celebrated by opening the bottle she was carrying, peeling the neckline of her t-shirt away from her hot skin and chucking a generous amount of the liquid down inside her top.

      The water splashed down her front and had a cooling effect for about a nano-second. With her free hand she slipped her phone from her shorts pocket. At 2pm there was a cocktail-making lesson with her name on it. Squinting against the glare from the sun dancing merrily across the screen, Kate held the phone aloft, twisting and turning, trying to find the right angle to read the display, pouting with impatience when she couldn’t and splashing more water in the direction of her now transparent t-shirt.

      ‘Oh my goodness, Richard, look – I think that’s that Kardashian selfie-woman.’

      At the not-so-sotto-voce comment, Kate looked up, eager to catch a glimpse of her. Instead she found a couple in their sixties walking towards her, the man with a friendly grin on his face, the woman with the kind of disapproving frown that suggested she was the Kardashian in this little scenario.

      Kate followed the woman’s pointed stare at her chest. Oops! She lowered her phone back to her side at the realisation that she was doing a good impression of a selfie-obsessed wet t-shirt entry in a club 18–30 holiday instead of a guest at a seven-star complex. Timing never had been – probably never would be – her strong suit.

      Still. Kate felt herself bristle.

      Did the woman really have to look at her like she’d been put on this path to corrupt all men?

      She offered up a smile, yet more heat blooming across her décolletage, creeping blotchily up her neck and landing prominently on her cheeks when the woman didn’t appear interested in accepting it. Fabulous, Kate thought, feeling foolish under the disapproving regard.

      #SneeringWoman’s inability to give her the benefit of the doubt had Kate wanting to lean towards the man, drench the both of them with the rest of the water, and go all Pretty Woman on them with a, ‘Fifty bucks, Grandpa – for seventy-five, the wife can watch.’

      But by the power of Greyskull, she managed to rein herself in.

      Just.

      Because while she might have an impulsive streak running a mile wide through her, adding grist to the mill was almost certainly going to land her in even more hot water, and right now she was hot enough, thank you very much.

      Lifting the heavy swathe of mahogany hair off her shoulders, Kate twisted it up into a knot on top of her head, slightly worried someone from staff was going to pop out from behind a palm tree and accuse her of trying to make a mini-porn phone video. In public. On their premises.

      She stepped off the path in order to let the couple pass and when the woman protectively manoeuvred herself between them, Kate glanced down to double-check that her clothes hadn’t somehow magically melted away. Nope. Her cleavage might be rocking the Flashdance drenched look, but she was still wearing ninety per cent more than anyone on the beach… and had she mentioned how hot it was?

      As if those last words had formed on her lips instead of inside her head, the couple glanced back and Kate couldn’t help herself – she lowered her oversize shades, gave an exaggerated wink, and, yes, finished off with a bit of a shoulder-chest shimmie. The look she received from both of them as they left her – presumably on the highway to hell – was priceless and went a little way to restoring her sense of humour.

      She headed along the curving trail through the tropical gardens. Even the geckos were trying to avoid the direct heat of the sun, their little splayed feet barely seeming to touch the concrete as they scurried off the path, through the bougainvilleas, and straight for the shade of the palm trees.

      Kate squinted down at her phone. The time said that she was due at the largest of the resort’s five poolside bars in thirty minutes, which left her plenty of time to check for messages at reception, and then nip back to her room for a quick shower and a change into her bikini.

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