‘Come on,’ he said, pulling away. ‘For once, Miles is right. No point moping around here; let’s go sailing.’
‘Miles is right?’ she said with a cynical half-smile.
‘About some things ...’ he said, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes and leading Grace outside.
It was time to go. The hotel boat was waiting by the dock and Sasha knew it was now or never. She had to return to the island, or run away, never looking back. At that moment, neither option seemed particularly appealing, but she knew she couldn’t keep running. She was too bloody tired.
Phil walked over, standing behind her, where she was looking out of the French windows leading to their private terrace.
‘You sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders.
She shook her head. ‘I’m grateful for you coming this far but I don’t want you to get more involved than you have to be. I’m just going to go over there and get this done.’
Philip tilted his head to look up at the grey clouds gathering across the horizon. ‘Well you’d better be quick. The concierge thinks there might be some bad weather coming in and you don’t want to stay on that island overnight.’
‘I’ll swim away if I have to.’ She smiled.
Phil put his arms around her and planted a soft kiss on her lips. She relaxed into his body, and didn’t want to pull away. There had been so many places that had just felt right over the past twenty years: on Pampelonne beach in St Tropez in the summertime. On a yacht in St Barts on New Year’s Eve. At the CEFA designer of the year awards picking up a gong. But right now, Sasha could not think of anywhere she wanted to be more than here in Philip’s gentle, protective embrace.
‘I should have said yes,’ she said quietly.
He turned to look at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That night in your flat. I should have said yes.’
His eyes twinkled with pleasure, but Sasha knew she didn’t have time for this right now.
‘I won’t be long,’ she said quickly, grabbing her bag and striding out of the hotel with a purpose she had not felt in a long time. She had to get this finished. Only then could she get back to Philip and the life she had been searching for all these years.
The boat taking her to Ang
el Cay was fast and powerful, slicing through the green water with such speed that a journey that should have taken forty minutes took only fifteen.
‘Shall I wait?’ asked the captain as he helped her on to the jetty.
Sasha glanced at her watch. ‘No. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but that journey was so quick I’ll give you a ring when I need to be collected.’
He lifted a finger to his cap. ‘Sure thing, madam. But don’t leave it too long; the weather’s turning.’
‘I’ll be two hours tops.’
She walked along the pier, her heels tapping on the sun-blanched wood to where a man was waiting by a Mini Moke. He was about forty, with weathered skin and a clipped moustache.
‘Benny Law,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘I’m the caretaker.’
‘What happened to Nelson?’ asked Sasha as she climbed into the little jeep. ‘I thought he was part of the furniture around here.’
‘He retired,’ said Benny vaguely. ‘Now let me take you up to the house. Grace Ashford and that musician fella arrived a couple of hours ago.’
‘So everyone’s here?’
He shook his head. ‘Naw, miss, not right now. They’ve all gone sailing. Should be back in about an hour.’
Sasha tutted and looked anxiously at her watch again. She wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible, and Phil was right – she really didn’t want to spend a night on the island.
Benny took her up to the house, then drove off in a cloud of dust towards the caretaker’s cottage. Left all alone, Sasha wandered from room to room, feeling the years slip away, remembering what it was like when she’d had the run of the house.
God, I really thought I was going to marry Miles, didn’t I? she remembered with a smile, trailing her hands over the familiar furniture. I thought all this was going to be mine.