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‘We mostly holidayed with her parents. They’d bought an old chateau out in France and we spent the holidays helping them renovate it.’ He hadn’t enjoyed those holidays—he’d known Claudia’s parents didn’t really approve of him, though he’d never been sure as to why. Perhaps they had seen something he hadn’t been able to—had known that in reality he and Claudia weren’t suited.
‘So even that was a sort of working holiday?’ Gabby asked. ‘What about family holidays when you were young?’
‘We used to go down to Cornwall and Devon and camp mostly. Money was tight, but we still had a wonderful time. I spent loads of time swimming in the sea and trying to make surfboards out of driftwood.’
It was a long time since he had thought back to those holidays, those hours of happiness away from school, away from the scent of failure and humiliation. Free to be himself, free to swim and run and think and plan how one day, somehow, he would prove to the world that he wasn’t stupid.
‘Then I have the perfect thing for you to do. You can go surfing! Why not have a lesson? On a real surfboard?’
For a moment he was tempted, but then he shook his head. ‘No point. I haven’t the time or the inclination to take it up as a hobby, so why bother?’
‘Because it might be fun! No one is going to demand a commitment from you to take it up as a lifestyle. Plus, if you enjoy it, why not take it up as a hobby? You surely can’t work all the time, every weekend.’
‘Surfing sounds like a time-consuming hobby and I don’t have the time.’ Right or wrong, his entire focus was on his business and that was the way he liked it.
‘OK. But one afternoon surfing won’t impact your company, will it?’
Put like that, he realised how absurd he sounded, and wondered at his own reluctance to kick back and enjoy something other than work. ‘Of course not.’
‘Good. Then that’s decided. I’ll call them and book you in.’
‘What about you?’
‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘No way. Not my thing at all. I wish it was—I mean, the idea of mastering the waves is obviously incredible—but I can’t imagine doing it. I wish I was that sort of person but I’m not. I’ll sit on the sand and watch.’
He frowned. When he’d first met her hadn’t she said the same?
I wish I was the sort of woman who would jump at this, but I’m not.
‘How do you know? Have you tried it before?’
‘No. I don’t need to. The whole idea leaves me cold—or rather shaking with terror.’
‘Can you swim?’
‘Yes. In a pool I’m pretty competent, but the thought of swimming in the sea doesn’t appeal. Too scary.’
‘But you might be a natural—you might love it.’
‘Or I might drown.’
‘Unlikely on a summer day, on a safe beach with an instructor and me there. I think you should give it a try.’
‘Well, I appreciate your thought, but I don’t want to.’
‘But if you try it and find it too frightening, you can always stop.’ Perhaps he should stop, but he sensed that deep down she did want to do this.
‘I’m already finding it too frightening and I’m on dry land, miles away from the sea.’
‘But—’
‘Stop with the buts. The idea of falling in, of the waves sucking me in, pulling me away, of drowning, of choking, not being able to breathe, not coming back... That is too frightening.’
Her knuckles had tightened white against the brown enamel of the coffee mug and he reached out and gently took it from her clasp.
‘Back off, OK?’
‘OK. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was such a deep-rooted fear.’
