Never Too Late (56 page)

wasn’t clinging to some mini-skirted, perma-tanned blonde

but wrapped around her, Evie.

‘I’m sorry, we’re just kidding around. I know there’s

nothing worse than losing your luggage,’ he said gently, his

breath fanning her ear as he leaned close. ‘Mother hates it

normally, she’s just laid-back this time because she’s so

happy. The plane could have crashed and she’d be swimming

with the sharks in the Atlantic, saying, “So what? I’ve

got my overnight bag!”

Evie laughed, a hiccuping sort of laugh, and let herself

re,ax against Max’s comforting body. She loved the feel of him. Big and solid, like a bear, yet graceful with it. As if sensing that she’d let her defences down and was

relaxing, his arm wrapped itself around her, fingers tight

on her waist.

OmiGod! Her spare tyre! Evie sucked her stomach in

anxiously, wishing she could make her waist shrink. Why

hadn’t she stuck to the diet? And she must be hot and

sweaty. Could he smell her? She sniffed the air near herself

in horror, afraid she’d get a waft of BO. Why hadn’t she

brought any perfume with her - at least a quadruple blast

of Anais Anais would overpower him so that he couldn’t

smell armpits that hadn’t seen deodorant for hours.

‘Come on, let’s pick up the cars,’ Max said, oblivious to

her frantic sniffing and sucking in tactics. ‘There’s a guy

waiting around the front with them. We’ll stop off on the

way so you can buy some clothes and toiletries. I hate

borrowing other people’s stuff and I’m sure you do too.’

Evie nodded.

‘Lord, you smell great,’ he said, breathing in the scent of

her hair. ‘A sort of fresh, fruity smell.’

Evie flushed with pleasure and relief. ‘Apple shampoo,’

she volunteered.

‘Lovely,’ he sighed, kissing the top of her head. ‘I must

stink like a long-distance runner. Sorry. How about we all

have an hour in our rooms to beautify ourselves and then

meet up for dinner, my treat?’ He was walking her towards

the airport doors as he spoke, still with one arm around

Evie and the other steering his trolley as effortlessly as if he was steering a bowl of egg whites.

‘That sounds lovely,’ she said sincerely, and gazed up at

him. ‘Thank you, I was on the verge of screaming in there.

I don’t know why,’ she added.

‘Travelling makes people very, very strange,’ Max pronounced.

‘Look at that pair, for example.’

He raised his eyebrows in amusement as Vida and

Andrew ambled cut of the airport behind them, arms

locked, oblivious to the world around them. Max grinned

at the sight. ‘What are the odds that the sun has a

passionate effect on them and we don’t set eyes on either

of them until the end of the holiday?’

Evie giggled and realised she didn’t mind if her father

and Vida broke the wardrobe and the bed in their room

jumping passionately from one to the other.

‘That’s not a bet I’d win, so I won’t put any money on

it,’ she said primly.

‘Not a gambling woman, then?’ Max asked.

‘No, never could afford it,’ Evie admitted simply.

‘I’ll take you to the casino one night, you’ll love it. It’s

fun,’ Max promised. ‘And you can get dressed up to the

nines.’

‘If I have any clothes,’ she said mournfully, thinking of

her lost luggage.

‘If you don’t,’ he said, a wicked sparkle in his deep blue

eyes, ‘I’ll buy you something devastatingly sexy to wear.’

That was when Evie felt the electric shock vibrate

through her entire body. Something devastatingly sexy to

wear… And take off, she thought longingly. Now there

was a thought.

An hour later, she sat on the bed in her room, taking in

the details of its high ceiling, cool white walls, terracotta

tiled floor and creamy muslin curtains rippling in the

evening breeze. Richly carved Spanish wooden furniture

gave the room an opulent feel, while the cerulean blue

embroidered silken bedspread and soft cushions lent an air

of sheer luxury.

The blue and white tiled bathroom was bigger than her

kitchen at home and you could fit two people in the bath,

if you felt inclined to. That wasn’t even mentioning the balcony, which looked over an incredible vista, including a series of the prettiest white stucco villas set amid groves of

orange trees, before your eyes reached the gleaming waters

of the Mediterranean.

The balcony contained a sun lounger and a small white

painted iron table with two chairs which meant she could

practically live in her bedroom, drinking in the sun that

obviously bathed the balcony most of the day. It was a

glorious room, in keeping with the glorious white villa, the

most elegantly luxurious place Evie had ever stayed in her

life. From the moment she’d stepped out of the car and

breathed in the scent of the luscious crimson flowers that

covered the entire walled courtyard at the front, Evie had

felt as if she was living in a fairy tale.

She still felt slightly dazed by the whole trip, as if the

sparkling, vivacious woman who’d sat in the front of the

white Seat Toledo with Max had been a stranger. She

hadn’t been anything like the normal Evie Fraser, that was

for certain. She’d been relaxed, happy and confident. It

was like a drug running through her veins making her into

a different person. Or maybe Max was the drug. Then, to

arrive at this beautiful house set in the hills behind the

Puerto Banus bull ring. Enclosed behind a high wall and

with wooden gates, the villa looked like something from

the Hollywood Homes of the Famous tour she’d seen on

documentaries about Los Angeles.

Inside the gates, it was just as incredible: a verandah that

stretched around the whole building, loungers and tali urns

overflowing with succulent plants dotted at intervals

around it; a pool and blossom-filled garden not a million

miles away from the ones in Evie’s fantasies; and a giant

airy open-plan room that took up the entire lower storey

of the villa containing a raised dining area, a marble

miracle of a kitchen and a sunken seating area with huge

floral sofas, wooden coffee tables and a giant stone fireplace should you feel cold.

‘As if.’ Rosie had said with delight when she’d seen it.

‘Imagine being cold in Spain!’ she enthused.

Oil paintings hung on the walls, pottery and silver

treasures decorated each occasional table and the entire

place reeked of being loved and lived in. Remembering the

cramped one-bedroomed apartment she, Rosie and Cara

had shared many years ago, with its consignment of

cockroaches and a kitchen equipped for only the most

basic cooking, Evie stared around the Villa Lucia in awe.

This place must have cost Max a fortune. How could she

repay him?

She’d thought they were going to some squashed little

cottage where she, Rosie and probably Cara would have to

share a twin room with somebody sleeping on a camp bed.

This place was a bloody palace!

She stripped off her travel-stained clothes and stood

under the shower until she’d washed away what felt like a ton of grime. In fact, the opalescent pink soap she’d picked up in the local supermarket had a subtle musky smell that

she almost preferred to her grapefruit gel. And even

though she didn’t have her favourite apple shampoo, the

almond-scented one she’d bought was just as good.

Wrapped in a giant creamy towel, Evie sat on her

balcony and let the dying rays of the sun envelop her. She

loved the sensation of the sun on her face and sat, eyes

closed, face turned up skywards, for ages before suddenly

realising she only had fifteen minutes to get ready. As if on

cue, Cara marched into the room clutching several items of

clothing that all seriously needed ironing.

‘This is the best I can do,’ she said apologetically, sinking

on to the bed with her crumpled offerings.

Rejecting the peasant blouse in crimson because it was too bright, Evie held a sea green silk shirt up to her face and grimaced.

‘Makes me look hungover,’ she groaned.

Cara laughed. ‘Then I’d better not wear it tomorrow

when I plan to be really hungover. I’d look as if I was on

the critical list.’

Cara’s taste in tops was almost puritanical - lots of

high-necked things that didn’t cling. Her trousers were the

same, baggy and unrevealing in the extreme. As Evie was

so much shorter and of a totally different build, there was

no way most of Cara’s clothes would fit her. She’d look like

a child after an hour in an adult’s wardrobe because the

sleeves and hems were all way too long.

The only garment that wouldn’t make her look like a

precocious child was Cara’s new dress: a remarkably

revealing mid-length sleeveless brown shift in crinkly viscose, the sort of thing that wasn’t supposed to wrinkle,

which was fortunate given Cara’s packing technique of

cramming everything in higgledypiggledy and to hell with

the creases.

‘This new?’ asked Evie, thinking it was years since she’d

seen her sister wear anything with such a low-cut neck.

She’d bet it looked stunning on Cara.

‘Yeah,’ Cara replied, ‘I got it for the holiday, thought I’d

break out and wear something a bit different. I’m not sure

now. You’d be able to see my tonsils down the front.’

‘Don’t be daft. It’d be gorgeous on you, Cara. You should

flaunt yourself a bit more. I’m glad to see Ewan is having a

positive effect on you. I hate those bloody combats.’

Cara did not want to be drawn into a conversation about

Ewan. ‘Try it on,’ she urged. ‘It’s a weird length on me so

it’s probably perfect for you.’

The dress wasn’t the most flattering colour Evie had

ever worn, as the combination of brown hair and brown

dress was a bit overpoweringly chocolatey, unless you wanted to look like an eclair. But it fitted and certainly clung in all the right places, undulating around her small

waist and flaring out over her hips to end in a swirl around

her ankles.

‘Sorted,’ Cara said. ‘I can’t lend you shoes, I’m afraid.’

She held up one bare size eight foot ruefully.

Fifteen minutes later, Evie was tottering along in a pair

of what Cara had described as ‘Rosie’s fuck me sandals’

when she’d seen them.

‘She’s only kidding, Mum,’ a white-faced Rosie had

hastened to point out, before shooting her aunt a killer

look. ‘They’re fashionable, everyone’s wearing them.’

Everyone must have bunions then, Evie decided, after a

mere five minutes strapped into the shoes. It was like

wearing shoe boxes attached to your feet with chicken

wire. Still, they looked dressy and were about ten times

more suitable than the cream loafers she’d worn on the

plane. With lots of Olivia’s precious Lancome eyeshadow

in place and her hair shining after a quick blast from

Rosie’s hairdryer, Evie felt ready for anything.

However, any confidence she’d been injected with on

the trip from Malaga to Puerto Banus disappeared as if by

magic when she stepped into Ristorante Regina. The style,

glamour and effortless chic of the other female diners hit

her like a Force Nine hurricane. Tanned, beautifully made

up and looking as if they’d all just climbed out of Versace’s

window with a detour via Bulgari for jewellery, they made

her feel instantly out of place.

The men were just as bad, all elegant and exquisitely

dressed. Max blended in perfectly, handsome in grey

trousers and a cream polo shirt that showed off his golden

skin. Rosie looked glorious in a crimson mini dress, Cara

was bolshie as usual in black combats and the striking sea green shirt with her hair rippling down her back like a Pre-Raphaelite maiden, and Evie - well, Evie felt as drab as

a mallard’s wife in her dowdy brown dress. It had looked

OK in her bedroom; not marvellous, but not hideous

either.

Now, she wanted to rush into the nearest boutique,

throw her Visa card at the assistant and screech: ‘Find me

something suitable to wear! I don’t care about the cost’.’

And dump Cara’s dress in the nearest bin.

To make matters worse, their table wasn’t in some

gloomy corner where Evie could hide behind a potted

plant or at least blend into the background. No. Their party

was escorted to a table in the middle of the restaurant,

where all the other glamorous diners could watch them.

Feeling as if she had headlice and everyone could tell,

Evie slid into her seat and immediately pulled the peach

linen napkin on to her lap. She wished she could pull it

over her head so nobody could see her.

Max immediately sat beside her, smiling broadly. ‘You’ll

love this place,’ he said. ‘The food is exquisite and the

people who run it are so friendly.’

If she hadn’t been feeling so underdressed and out of place, Evie knew she would have loved it. The restaurant was so pretty, the walls a melange of peach and

terracotta, with flowers, flourishing plants, beautiful

glassware and sepia-toned movie-star photographs adding

to the effect. As it was, she hid behind her huge menu