The California Club (39 page)

'Ever since you told us at La Valencia it's been playing on my mind. I haven't said anything because I know you didn't want to talk about it but you can't let it go, you just can't. We have to find a way.'

We. He said we. There is hope!

Elliot pulls me back against his chest and gently rests his chin a-top my head, laying a comforting hand around the back of my neck. And then I feel him kiss my hair, just once in that, 'It's going to be okay, I'll make it okay' way.

I close my eyes and surrender to the moment. I don't want to worry about the B&B now. I just want to dance.

For two more songs I remain pressed to his body, moving in perfect unison, feeling closer than ever. Wanting him more than ever. From my fingertips to my toes I tell him so, without saying a word. He pulls me closer still. He can hear me. At last he can hear me, I just know it.

Suddenly I feel the floorboards give way to carpet, then paving, then gravel.

Tentatively I open my eyes and look around me. We're outside, sheltering under a magnolia tree. At first I think the waxy blooms have been laced with fairy lights but then I realize it's the stars peeking through. We've entered our own magic kingdom.

'You danced us right off the dance floor!' I smile, inhaling the sweet perfume.

'Yes I did,' Elliot says solemnly.

I take in the new look on his face. 'Why?' I say huskily.

He looks straight into my eyes. 'I wanted to see how it would feel if it was just you and me.'

My heart pounds and I feel light-headed.

'And how does it feel?' I venture.

He answers with a kiss – his mouth meeting mine in the most tender, rapturous, generous caress. As I respond he clasps me to him with such a passion I'm catapulted to a place of blissful abandon. I want to kiss him forever. My fingers tangle with his hair and he emits the gentlest murmur of pleasure, sending me spiraling in a whirlpool of desire and adoration.

And yet something pulls me back, gulping for air. 'What about Elise?' I gasp, summoning all my restraint to lean away from his beautiful mouth.

Elliot freezes for a moment. 'Elise?' he repeats, as if he doesn't know who I mean. Then he hangs his head and pinches his brow, expelling a desperate moan.

‘I can't do this while she … if you're …' I stumble.

Where are these words coming from? Why is it me summoning her up? Me, spoiling the most exquisite interplay?

Elliot lifts his head. 'You're right.'

Am I? I feel sick, suddenly terrified that I've cut short the kiss too soon, before he could really feel all that he could feel for me.

'Okay,’ he puffs, straightening up and seemingly steeling himself. 'Here I go!'

Then he turns and runs up the hill, on a direct path for Jungle Rock.

I blink in disbelief. Here I go? I look around me wondering, what just happened. Here I go back to my fiancée or Here I go to break off the engagement so I can be with you? Which is it?

'Elliot!' I call into the night but there's no reply.

Why did I speak and ruin the moment?

Because I don't want to be a kiss on the side. Because with me it's all or nothing. Because just me is enough. That's why.

I listen for sounds of Elise hurling artifacts around. Nothing. I can't see her getting dumped quietly. This doesn't bode well. Maybe he can't wake her up. Maybe he's just pressing a pillow over her face.

'There you are!' Helen appears by my side, along with a worse-for-wear Zoë and Sasha. 'We thought you and Elliot might have snuck off for a snog – you were so melded together on the dance floor!'

Before my face can give the game away Zoë asks, 'Where is he, anyway?'

I wave my arm towards his room.

'Is he coming back?'

'I don't know.'

'Lara, you're looking weird, I think we'd better get you to bed,' Helen asserts.

'I've just been sick,' Zoë confides.

'I feel fine,' Sasha shrugs. 'I might stay for one more.' She goes to turn back but promptly trips down a ditch running alongside the paddock.

Helen hoiks her out, dusts her off and issues the following instruction: 'Bed. Now. All of you!'

'To sleep,' I mutter to myself as we mount the spiral staircase. 'Perchance to lie awake all night wondering whether the morning will bring a dream come true or just a near miss…

The digital clock glows red numerals at me in the blackness: 4.30am.

Too early to get a verdict from Elliot. My thoughts flip to the B&B – 12.30pm in England right now. I wonder if Mum's signed anything yet. Not going to think about it. Go back to sleep.

Thirsty. Need a drink.

Returning from the bathroom, glass in one hand, I feel my way around the bed with the other.

'Sorry!' I whisper to Helen as I thwack my leg on the bed frame and then jiggle the wooden headboard as I climb in.

No reply.

I prop myself up, sipping my water and wondering how long it's going to take me get back to sleep. Gradually my eyes adjust to the darkness. I look over at Helen, or at least where Helen was when I last saw her. Unless she's been run over by a steamroller in the night, she's no longer in bed with me.

Feeling for the bedside lamp, I spike myself on the gold thorns twisting around its stem. And then there was light! Yup, definitely a vacancy in this bed. I throw back the covers and inspect every nook, drawer and balcony. She's nowhere to be found. I'm not quite sure what to do next – with all the spiral staircases and hidden rock corridors this is not the place to go sleepwalking. There must be some other explanation. I suppose she could have gone for a walk. Maybe she couldn't sleep. Maybe she's taken up smoking. Maybe this is all a dream? Perhaps if I turn off the light and close my eyes the universe will realign itself and she'll reappear.

I settle back down and switch off the light. The next thing I know it's 6.57am. Slowly I extend my leg and feel for Helen with my foot. When I reach the other edge of the mattress encountering no obstacles I know the situation hasn't changed. She's still gone. It's three hours until we're due to meet for breakfast but I know I'm not going to get back to sleep now. And then it dawns on me – she's probably gone surfing: 4.30am seems kind of early to set off but that's the kind of dedication you need, I presume.

Glugging back the remains of my water, I go for a refill. Until now, I hadn't noticed that the flowers on the bathroom wallpaper are actual embroidery. I run a finger along the stitching, then catch sight of myself in the mirror. My disheveled, black-eyed face is the last thing you'd expect to see framed by pretty pink enamel dog roses and lovebirds. Something must be done.

After a quick shower and spruce (including discovering that Helen's orange hooded top gives my skin a much-needed reflective glow) my stomach demands sustenance. I remind it that we're having a big pig-out with everyone at 10am but it's insistent, so we come to a compromise on a slice of peach pie and a cinnamon spice tea. See how I'm not freaking out about Elliot? I'm thirty now. A grown woman. If I just concentrate on the pie, I'll be fine. Besides, what harm can befall me in a place with Heidi waitresses?

The Copper Café is a-bustle with young girls in white puff sleeves pouring piping hot coffee. When they offer a splash of milk I have no doubt they're getting it from the cows with their own fair hands.

I take a seat at the horseshoe bar where Amoret takes my order and fills my glass goblet with iced water. I notice that every place-setting around me has a different colored goblet – amber, aquamarine, ruby, baby pink and what can only be described as urine yellow.

'These are beautiful,' I comment when Amoret returns with my pie.

'We sell 'em in the gift shop. My mom's got the whole set – says they look like jewels when the light shines through 'em.'

I smile. This place is so magical and cozy. I feel like I'm inside the Gingerbread house. This is how I want our breakfast room to feel. I close my eyes, say a little prayer and take out the mobile phone. Pressing each digit with care, I dial my mother and wait for her to answer, feeling as if I'm about to leap from a trapeze.

'Lara?'

'How did you know?' I gasp.

'I just got a feeling,' Mum says, obviously on edge herself. 'Now listen. I've spoken to the buyers and told them we need the weekend to decide —'

'And they agreed?’

‘Reluctantly. They think I'm playing them off against someone else.'

'You are – me!' I laugh, feeling giddy at the prospect of having more time to come up with a solution even if I have no idea what that solution might be. Hell, I'll even try the ancient Hawaiian art of problem-solving if that's what it takes.

'Darling, I've got to go – I'm getting a second opinion on the re-wiring cost – but call me at the weekend.'

'I will! Mum, I love you, thank you so much!'

'Anything for you, darling! Have a good day!'

I snap the phone closed. That's one bit of good news. I pray I'm on a roll. Still, if Elliot doesn't come through for me at least I'm going to be surrounded by counselors for the rest of the day.

'Anything else I can get you?' Amoret presents me with the bill.

'No thanks – actually, there is one thing… you haven't seen a girl about my height with wavy, streaked hair down to here, probably in a yellow hooded top…'

'Surfer girl?'

I nod.

‘If it's the one I think you mean, she left with the rest of them about twenty minutes ago.'

'The rest of…?

'The surfers,' she confirms.

Hmmm. If they're only just leaving for the beach now that doesn't account for Helen's disappearance from the room in the middle of the night – unless her surf buddies are staying here at the Madonna Inn and she knew that ahead of time and went to crash in with them. Funny she didn't mention it. And that she didn't leave a note. I wonder if it's secret California Club business they're up to?

'Do you know where they were going?' I ask. 'I mean, obviously the beach …'

'Most of them go to Pismo, there's good pier breaks there.'

'Is it far?'

‘Bout ten miles.'

I look at my watch. I've got plenty of time. It would be great to go for a paddle and exfoliate my feet on the sand. Maybe I could even try a few Surf Diva moves. I've got a sneaking suspicion that Helen's boyfriend will be among the pack and I'm extremely curious to meet him. I take one last sip of tea and go in search of a taxi.

Twenty minutes later I'm at the pier.

There they are, weaving dangerously close to the girders. I walk along the weathered beams of wood to the best vantage point and lean over the railing, spotting Helen almost straight away. Wow. She's amazing! Swimming back out to sea, she exchanges smiles and banter with various surfers and then blows a kiss to one. They make some kind of signal to each other and paddle like crazy, catch a wave, surfing exactly parallel then suddenly Helen jumps from her board on to his and they ride up to the shore with their arms around each other. Once he's retrieved her board, she grabs a towel and starts rumpling dry his hair. He leans down and kisses her. Even from this distance it looks a great kiss. I wonder if it was him she snuck out to in the night. But why wouldn't she say?

All at once I feel shifty, like I'm spying on one of my best friends, and decide to go over and say hello. After all, it's perfectly reasonable that I should come down to the pier like any good tourist.

As I clomp down the wooden steps and lollop across the sand towards them, I watch him peel off his wetsuit – there on his calf is a Maori tribal tattoo. A-ha! So the guy at La Jolla was indeed her boyfriend. As I get closer, something else looks familiar – his face. I stop mid-step. It's Alex, president of The California Club.

I don't get it. If Alex is her boyfriend, who's Reuben? Is she cheating on him? Or maybe he doesn't exist – it's funny that we've never met him. Huh. No wonder she could swing us temporary membership. A beach ball rolls across my feet. I kick it back to the kids playing nearby. Now I'm in a quandary. She obviously doesn't want us to know the truth: maybe she feared it would undermine his credibility or get us thinking she had been blinded by love into joining some cult. Either way, I feel I've seen something I shouldn't.

As they turn in my direction I drop down into the sand and lay as if I'm sunbathing, only fully clothed.

I sneak a peek in their direction. They're sitting down now, legs interlaced, swigging Snapples, obviously in no hurry to leave. I have to make my move before they do. I'm tempted to shuffle forward on my elbows like a soldier advancing on the enemy but instead decide to make full use of the hood on Helen's zippy top.

The cab takes twenty minutes to arrive, by which time I'm panicking that I'm not going to beat them back to the Madonna Inn. I get the driver to take me up the driveway, right to the door (well, not up the spiral staircase, obviously) to save me vital minutes. I'm only just inside when I hear a key in the lock. Desperate to look like I've barely left the bed I grab my birthday book and flip to the section on ranching.

'Howdy!' Helen grins as she enters.

I don't want to ask her directly where she's been in case she lies and thus freaks me out so I settle for: 'You were up early!'

'Yeah, I went for a surf. It was beautiful out there this morning.'

'Did it rip?'

'Yeah!'

See anyone you know? I'm dying to ask. Instead I say, 'Were there many people in the water?'

'Yeah – total surfer soup but I still managed to get a few good breaks.’

‘Do they mind non-locals cluttering up their waves here?' I feel as if I'm interviewing her.

'No, it's cool.'

She's definitely not going to mention him. Or her other friends. What is going on?

'Is that my top?' she asks.

'Oh yeah!' I blush. I forgot about that.

'Keep it, it looks good on you.'

Thanks!' I watch Helen start packing her bag, then – trying to sound as casual as I can – ask: 'Have you spoken to Reuben today?'

She looks startled. 'No, why should I?'

'I don't know, yesterday you sounded a bit vague about where he was, I was just wondering if everything was okay.'