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So why was he checking his phone to see the message had been read?
‘I’m a fool, Tiger,’ he said to his cat, who as usual ignored him. But just as he put his phone out of reach, determined to concentrate on the game, his phone pinged.
His pulse sped as he reached for the phone and checked the name of the sender. Clem. She’d replied. His finger hovered over her name; it shouldn’t matter if she gave him a polite brush off or an acceptance, but Akil couldn’t deny the thrill of anticipation as he contemplated the message.
Nor could he deny how much he hoped her answer was a yes.
Clem was doing her best to put a Pollyanna spin on her experience. Number one: the weather was beautiful and her tan was coming along nicely. Number two: Arrosa’s villa was luxuriously and comfortably furnished with everything she could need and more besides, including some seriously luxurious toiletries, which turned every day into a spa day. Number three: she had the lake at her disposal. The small rowing boat in the boathouse was perfect for spending a couple of hours sculling up and down the lake in, and the water, although cold, was clean and clear enough for some serious swimming. She had got into the habit of taking both a morning dip and sunset swim and on a hot day could be found spending most of the afternoon in the water as well. She just hoped this behaviour wasn’t so out of character that it was raising eyebrows amongst bodyguards and staff who saw her from afar. Number four: there was a castle kitchen at her disposal. All she had to do was order her food and it turned up, like magic in her kitchen although she’d never seen anyone bring it over or put it out for her. Even when she didn’t order anything the kitchen was mysteriously stocked in her absence, freshly made bread, cream butter, sharp cheese, olives and delicious little cakes replenishing themselves or so it seemed. Her sister might live independently, but she definitely had all the perks of living at home. Her laundry disappeared too, only to return clean and pressed.
And, last but not least, she had the time she needed to think about her future. Time away from Cornwall and the memories of her mother. Time to ready herself to move on to whatever the next stage of her life entailed.
But even Clem at her most determined couldn’t be Pollyanna all the time, and when she stopped the reality of her situation came crashing down on her. She had been here nearly a week and her father still hadn’t found time to come and see her. She wasn’t so naive as to expect him to drop everything and rush over straight away, although that would have been nice, but she had hoped that now she was just a half-hour drive away he might have been able to carve out a little bit of time to see her.Idiot, she scolded herself. She should have known better than to expect anything from him. He’d made sure she was materially provided for and that was all she realistically could and should expect.
Plus, although she’d told herself that what she needed was time away, it turned out you really could have too much of a good thing. Her days seemed endless and her mind was whirling with possibilities and fears. It seemed impossible that less than two years ago she had been sharing a flat with friends in Battersea, filling her days with classes and auditions and sometimes even work, her evenings with bars and restaurants and plays. She’d never doubted that she would make it, that her talent and drive weren’t enough. It was just a matter of when her break would be, not if.
But then she’d received the call from her mother and all that fell away, her life became a worried regime of hospital appointments and waiting rooms, too brief moments of hope and long days of bitter grief, watching her home turn slowly into a hospice for those last long, painful months.
For the three months after the packed-out funeral she had been numb with grief, wandering along the beach, curling up in her mother’s bed, until the opportunity to play Juliet and the possibility of the theatre’s privatisation had galvanised her back into some kind of action and routine. She’d joined the Save Our Theatre campaign, aware of just how proud her mother would have been, attending planning meetings and organising petitions, turning the cottage into a campaign headquarters just as it had been throughout her life. But although both had filled her thoughts and hours, neither were a solution to the question of what came next. In the end she’d followed her sister’s advice and written a list of possibilities along with pros and cons and scores out of ten for how each one inspired her. It was time to revisit it.
Almost reluctantly she brought up the file on her tablet and set it before her on the outside table. She had a fresh coffee and a bowl of mixed fruit so she couldn’t distract herself with a trip to the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, Clem read through the short list.
First and most obvious: acting. Not only had she trained for it, but she still had an agent somehow, despite her long break. Plus, she’d loved playing Juliet and was enjoying impersonating her sister and getting into character as the Crown Princess, even if it was for just an hour sitting in a car. But she knew that at some point in the last eighteen months she’d lost the resilience she needed to face the constant rejection that awaited every aspiring actor. Did she really want the high point of her month to be a recall for a toothpaste ad? Did she want to spend another three months as an understudy, sitting in the dressing room every night trying not to wish a broken ankle on the star? At twenty-five that had just been part and parcel of the process, but at twenty-seven she needed more than constant knock-backs and waiting around for her break.
Secondly, and maybe even more obviously, she could follow so many of her drama school friends into teaching. Clem sighed. It was a worthy career and her mother, with her zeal and passion for change, had been a wonderful teacher. But she didn’t feel a vocation and surely that was important?
Or she could carry on putting off making a decision and go travelling, hoping she would find her vocation as she did so. After all, her mother had backpacked around the world more than once before enrolling at the Sorbonne. She had been full of stories of the time she had worked in a school in Ecuador or had crewed on a Greenpeace ship. Simone Beaumont, trying to save the world even as a backpacker. She’d always encouraged Clem to follow her example and why not? It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the money and the time. But she didn’t want to do it alone.
She didn’t want to do any of it alone, not any more. She wanted people of her own to live and laugh and love with. That was what mattered to her. That was what she needed.
But that wasn’t something she could just make happen.
Clem sat back and rubbed her eyes. ‘Get over yourself, Beaumont,’ she muttered. ‘You are luckier than so many other people. You have a home and you don’t need to worry about money, you have qualifications and prospects even if you’re not sure what they are yet. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. What would Maman say?’
Simone Beaumont had had no time for self-pity.
Her phone pinged and, glad of the distraction, she picked up her phone to look at the notification—an unknown number.
‘Ooh, what kind of spam will it be? An uncollected parcel or a tax rebate? Or maybe it’s not spam but a producer hearing about how devastating I was as Juliet and wanting me in the West End.’
She missed her mother’s cat. Talking out loud didn’t feel as foolish when she was addressing Gus, who always seemed on the verge of saying something wise.
She clicked it open, unprepared for the thrill of anticipation that ran through her when she saw who it was from.
Akil.
It had been five days since their lunch. After their parting she’d not expected to hear from him again, although a tiny part of her had hoped to be proved wrong, especially once Arrosa had told her that they had decided to remain just friends and colleagues after all. But after a couple of days had passed with no word from him, she’d done her best to put him out of her mind. Now here he was. What did he want?
The message was short and to the point.
If you’re still finding it hard to play tourist, I have a spare afternoon tomorrow. Shall I pick you up? Let me know. Akil
Clem sat back, unable to stop a small smile playing on her mouth. The part of her that had stopped knowing how to enjoy life over the last eighteen months, the part of her that knew that sometimes the worst did happen, advised caution. But the part of her that had propelled her here, that acknowledged how very attractive she found Akil—and was all too aware that Akil was now unattached—urged her towards acceptance. Without stopping to think she pressed reply and quickly typed.
That sounds great. I’m due another trip out as Arrosa, so why don’t I get Henri to take me somewhere where I can do a quick change afterwards and then meet you at your apartment? Send me your address and let me know what time. Thanks so much. Clem
She read it over quickly, and then before she lost her nerve she pressed send. Excitement and nerves warred but she pushed both back. It was an afternoon out, nothing more, nothing less. She deserved some fun.
Clem did her best to return her attention to the list, but right now the future seemed far away. Tomorrow she was going sightseeing with an attractive man. That was good enough for now.
