Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

‘I doubt very much that he’d be interested in you anyway Rach,’ Isabel grins as she points to the flags flying next to the bar. Amongst the many nationalities, waving high in the breeze, is the Rainbow flag.

‘Surely you know what the Rainbow flag means?!’ asks Isabel, smiling.

‘No... what?!’ Rachel asks naively, as Isabel rests her forehead in her hand and shakes her head.

‘Gay pride, Rach!’

‘ooooohhhhhhh,’ says Rachel as the penny drops, ‘well, I suppose that explains it. They’re all gorgeous!’ she laughs.

The ice cold mojitos are delivered by the same waiter, grinning with his perfect white teeth. ‘Speciality of the house,’ he announces proudly as he positions the drinks gently on the little table in front of them and gives them a cheesy wink.

‘They look amazing, thank you,’ says Rachel, genuinely impressed as she takes the straw between her fingers and begins to stir the sugary residue that has settled in the bottom of the glass.

‘De nada, guapa,’
he says, as he brushes his hand across Rachel’s shoulder and spins happily on his heels back towards the bar.

‘Woooahhh, this is seriously strong!’ says Rachel. ‘Definitely not imperial measures!’

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the sweet, minty drinks and watching the windsurfers bouncing acrobatically over the waves. The bar is getting busy and the tables are quickly filling up with groups of people ordering all sorts of delicious looking wraps, seafood, and mountains of creative salads.

Rachel is the first to break the silence. ‘Maybe we should come here for lunch tomorrow? The food looks gorgeous,’ she says, her eyes fixed on the biggest smoked salmon platter that she has ever seen.

‘Paul’s been hammering on your door trying to find out where I am,’ says Isabel suddenly, in a flat voice. ‘He went to my mum and dad’s and cried apparently,’ she continues without expression, ‘and Marcos, the man I have dreamed about for the last thirteen years since my dad kicked him out of our house, is getting engaged...’

Rachel turns and stares at the side of her friends face. She holds the straw between her fingers, unsure of what to say or ask first. After a few seconds of silence, she raises her hand and holds up two fingers to the man at the bar, signalling for more drinks.

With fresh drinks in front of them, Isabel looks up at her friend and mutters sadly, ‘I don’t know what to do, Rach.’

‘The first question on the tip of my tongue honey is
who is Marcos and why have you never mentioned him before??’
Rachel asks gently, folding one leg up on the bench so that she can face her friend.

‘He’s the son of one of my dad’s friends,’ says Isabel quietly, gazing out to the horizon, ‘he was studying English in Plymouth so my dad asked him to give me Spanish lessons after school. I was twelve and he was sixteen. It was fun, I liked him. Then we grew up. I was fourteen and he was eighteen. I started to see him differently, I suppose.’ Rachel nods seriously, encouraging her to continue. ‘I suppose you could say that I developed my first crush,’ Isabel smiles fondly at the innocent memory.

‘What happened Iz? Your dad doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who kicks people out of his home for no reason,’ she asks, taking a noisy drink through her straw.

‘I thought that I was imagining things when he began to flirt with me, until one day his expression changed. At first I thought he was angry with me, but I mistook this for passion. I didn’t resist. His hands were all over me, exploring beneath my school shirt...’ she blushes, avoiding Rachel’s eyes, ‘I wasn’t afraid. He was so intense. His eyes, he had beautiful blue eyes...’

‘And..?’

‘And nothing. That was it. Nothing really happened, although it might have, if my father hadn’t come into the room. I just remember feeling totally mortified when I saw the shock on his face. The disgrace. I never saw Marcos again,’ Isabel recalls, as she drops her hands into her lap and starts to pick at her nail polish.

‘Did Paul know?’ Rachel asks, quietly.

‘No, for some reason this was a secret that was so precious that I wanted to keep it to myself. We know all about each other’s ex’s, but Marcos was different. I know I was only young, but I think I loved him. I swore I’d find him one day when I was old enough, but life goes on I suppose. I’ve never forgotten him though.’

‘So, hang on... he’s engaged?’

‘Yep, and we’re invited to the bloody party! Mum and dad are coming over in a few days and insist on taking us along. Marcos has no idea that I’m going to be there. Oh holy-shit, Rach!’

‘Crikey, this is real soap-opera stuff,’ Rachel slurps the remainder of her drink, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You’re full of surprises, you dark horse,’ she adds laughing, banging her empty glass down heavily on the table.

‘He’ll be thirty-one now,’ continues Isabel, ‘let’s just hope that he’s aged badly and that he’s fat and bald with bad skin,’ she smirks, looking up at Rachel, ‘I doubt it though.’

‘This could be fate you know Iz,’ says Rachel, winking.

‘Rachel, he’s engaged!!! We’re going to celebrate the happy event with him for god’s sake!!!’

‘Ahhhh but he hasn’t seen you in your floor length Monsoon dress yet, has he...??! And his fiancée is probably a moose anyway,’ she laughs, feeling the effects of the two mojitos!

‘It’s a pool party, I hardly think an evening gown is in the dress code! You certainly know how to turn a crisis into a celebration, Rachel!!’

‘Too right! Let’s ask Mr Perfect for the cocktail list!’

After a gorgeously sophisticated Margarita each, with a couple of bowls of green olives, which Rachel decides that she actually likes, in spite of her initial urge to push them over to Isabel’s end of the bench, they start to get an attack of the giggles! As tears flood down their faces and they roll backwards on the seats, gripping the table in front of them, struggling to stop, Rachel has an idea. ‘Let’s make a night of it Iz! We’ll go back to the house, glam ourselves up a bit and go in search of a trendy beach-side restaurant with some good tunes.’

‘Plenty of those around,’ Isabel slurs and sweeps her arm out in front of her, indicating the many choices, knocking over an empty Margarita glass. This causes another uncontrollable fit of laughter!

They manage to swing their legs back onto the solid deck and make their way down to the toilets, gripping each other’s arms for balance. ‘Who needs a man anyway?’ says Isabel, blurting out the question much louder than she had expected.

 ‘Exactly...’ Rachel agrees, and then stops suddenly in her tracks ‘apart from my Stephen, of course!!’

‘Ok, ok... Iz, you lead the way!’ rhymes Rachel as she links arms with her friend. They’ve both sobered-up considerably and are ready for round two! They had spotted a popular bar and restaurant from the roof terrace earlier that looked ideal.

Rachel is wearing a flattering, knee-length black chiffon dress with a wide silver belt and silver, cork heeled sandals. Isabel, in contrast, has chosen a denim mini skirt with a red, halter-neck top, which covers her bruising, and diamante leather flip-flops. They had agreed that smart-casual was the way to go as they observed the diners coming and going from their chosen venue. It seemed to attract the under-thirties which meant the music was cranked-up with no complaints.

‘I can’t believe that you’ve literally only just
looked
at the sun for about two hours today and you’re already golden-brown,’ says Rachel, admiring Rachel’s toned, tanned legs. ‘My chest is a dodgy, blotchy pink, hence the high-necked dress tonight,’ she laughs, placing her palm delicately on her tender skin.

‘Don’t be daft Rach, you look gorgeous,’ says Isabel, stepping back to admire her friend’s floaty, romantic dress. ‘You should wear that style more often, it really suits you. I bet Stephen would love you in it.’ She pulls her friend close as they happily link arms again.

As they walk into the dark, almost empty, interior of the bar, they realise that they are probably a bit too early to be wearing quite so many clothes. The crowds they had seen earlier must have just finished a long lunch as far as they can work out.

Outside, the large white beds with the billowing voile curtains are still packed with groups of friends in swimwear, sunbathing and pouring lager from big glass jugs; some of them dancing around the loungers in sarongs to the deep House tunes, flirting confidently with glasses in their hands.

‘Crikey,’ says Rachel, ‘maybe we should have come straight here instead of going home to get changed. I feel a bit out of place!’

‘Nah, it’s fine. We’ll eat first, then by the time we’ve finished, this lot will be back again, showered and refreshed, ready to continue the party!’ smiles Isabel, enjoying the laid back atmosphere of the bar. ‘We’re still on English time. People don’t tend to come out for the evening here until about 10 p.m.,’ she glances at her watch, ‘and it’s only 7.30 p.m.,’ she laughs.

‘Let’s make the most of the last rays then and have a drink first out on the front lawn,’ says Rachel, ‘those deck chairs look really comfortable and the fake grass will be better on my heels,’ she sniggers.

An hour later, Rachel couldn’t care less if she were wearing an evening dress or a black bin liner. They are both so relaxed after a bottle, perhaps two, of chilled wine in the evening sun. The pulsing beat of the music continues to drift from the bar.

‘Oh yes!’ screams Rachel suddenly, ‘Café del Mar!! I
love
this one!’ She settles back into the canvas chair, closes her eyes and winds her wrists delicately in the air above her head, like a very slow Flamenco dancer!

The spell is broken when Isabel asks ‘so, what would you say if I decided to give it another go with Paul?’

Rachel snaps out of her meditative mood and sits upright in her chair, ‘What?? Have you gone
mad
?? You could have killed yourself after what he did to you. No... no, Iz, please.’

‘But I think I still love him and, well, I’m twenty-seven. We’ve been together for five years. What if it was just a silly misunderstanding?’

‘
Misunderstanding
? There’s nothing to misunderstand Isabel. He... slept... with... another... woman. Several times as far as we understand. Why would you ever trust him again? And you’re beautiful, Iz. And twenty-seven is
not
old! No... no, please Isabel, I couldn’t bare it. He’s broken the rules big-time... and your heart.’ She struggles out of the low deck-chair and frowns down at her friend.

Isabel is shocked at her friends genuinely angry reaction. For a moment she thinks that Rachel is actually about to leave.

 ‘I’m going to find the loo,’ she says, grabbing her handbag and disappearing inside.

Whilst she is alone, Isabel takes out her mobile and begins to text quickly:

Paul, it’s Isabel. I spoke to my parents. I’m in Spain. Needed a break. Maybe we can talk when I get back? X

Pressing the send button and almost immediately regretting it, she zips the phone safely back into her handbag.
The second secret from my best friend
. First Marcos and now a secret text, which she knows deep down she shouldn’t have sent. ‘What is the matter with me?’ she says through clenched teeth, trying desperately to regain an expression of nonchalance before Rachel returns.

‘Rach, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to being alone, I suppose, and I don’t feel like there’s anyone else out there for me at the moment,’ says Isabel. Rachel stands beside her reclining chair, looking doubtfully down at her with her hands on her hips.

‘At the
moment
. Exactly Iz. It’s only been two weeks. Give it time. I promise you, a girl like you is never going to be left on the shelf. You just haven’t been single for a while that’s all.’

‘You’re right,’ Isabel mumbles with forced confidence, ‘come on, let’s go and check out the menu. If we drink any more today I’m going to need to line my stomach!’

Inside, the candles have been lit. They glimmer in small, colourful glass holders and the music has mellowed. There are still a few couples lying together on the beds outside, enjoying the gentle breeze and sipping the last of their cocktails. She notices a girl with long, wavy blonde hair, about her own age, tanned and exotic looking, sitting crossed legged swaying slowly in her partners’ arms, gazing out at the horizon. The man looks at his girlfriend with such adoration, stroking his fingers gently up and down her thigh. Isabel averts her eyes, with renewed feelings of envy and loneliness. Rachel, as if reading her thoughts, pulls her gently by her hand towards a table in the corner of the restaurant and whispers cynically, ‘he’s probably shagging his secretary anyway!!’

Isabel smiles painfully as she begins to regret sending the text message to Paul and, realising that she has betrayed her best friend, flips to the drinks menu in a lame attempt to block out her guilt.

‘I reckon a bottle of Viña Sol for starters! What do you reckon Rach?!’

They order another bottle of crisp, cold white wine and dig into a large bowl of nachos with plenty of guacamole, salsa and cheese. Fighting over the last crispy morsel, they sit back and admire the huge salad, sautéed potatoes and fried fish that they have ordered to share.

‘Well, this will line your whole body Iz, let alone your stomach! I think a swim to Málaga and back is in order tomorrow to work off some of these calories!’

Isabel laughs whilst she folds a crispy lettuce leaf coated in olive oil into her mouth, licking her glistening fingers, ‘Mmmmmmm, I’m sure that salad tastes better here than at home.’

Rachel nods in agreement as she delves her spoon deeper into the salad bowl and serves herself a large helping of fresh tomatoes, sweetcorn and boiled egg.

‘Talking about home,’ says Isabel, arranging three delicious chunks of lightly battered fish onto her plate, ‘did you meet Claire’s girlfriend while I was at my parents?’

‘I did. Just once though. She was waiting for Claire in her apartment when I dropped her off the night you were taken into hospital. I forgot to tell you. She seems really lovely and was obviously worried about Claire.’

‘Wow, that’s so lovely of her. She’s obviously smitten’ she smiles, ‘I just can’t believe that we’ve never guessed,’ she sighs in disbelief, accidently flicking a crispy potato across the table, ‘whoops...! What’s she like?!’