A Girl Called Summer Page 9

  ‘Hola.’ Bella smiled back, watching the girl fondly. The Spanish did love their babies. ‘Um – habla Ingles?’ She was going to brush up on her Spanish if it killed her.

  ‘Uh-huh. Sure.’

  ‘I’d like to try on that dress in the window – the white one. Sorry – hardly narrows it down, does it?’ The girl laughed. Everything in the shop was white. ‘The long floaty one, with the embroidery on the bodice.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a beautiful dress,’ said the girl. ‘You’ll look great in it. Size – medium, I guess?’

  ‘I hope,’ Bella joked.

  The empire-line maxidress was made of the sheerest white cotton voile, with a double-layered fluted skirt that swished around Bella’s ankles. The intricately embroidered bodice tied, halter-style, at the back of her neck. Bella finished tying the ties, shook her hair out of its ponytail, so it fell to her shoulders, and finally allowed herself to look in the mirror.

  Yay! Pre-pregnancy, all of her favourite dresses had had halter-necks, but she hadn’t worn one for over eighteen months now, feeling too fat and flabby. It seemed that the yoga classes that had worked wonders on her waist had worked wonders on her arms too. The flesh actually stopped moving when she did! The empire line gave a fabulously flattering silhouette and the white was great against Bella’s dark hair and eyes, to say nothing of the tan she’d already picked up from living in such a glorious climate.

  ‘How does it look?’ asked the girl.

  Bella pushed the curtain open and walked into the shop, smiling.

  ‘Wow! You look beautiful!’

  ‘Thanks! I love it! What do you think, Daisy my darling?’

  ‘Doesn’t your mama look pretty, huh?’ said the girl.

  ‘I feel like the Cadbury’s Flake girl,’ Bella mused, more to herself than to the girl, on whom she assumed the cultural reference would be lost. ‘OK, I’ll take it. Actually, can I keep it on? I never want to take it off!’

  It would be nice to wearing something decent in front of Jorge, for once. Of course she wanted to look good for Andy, too, but he’d seen her at her best and worst, and there was nothing wrong with craving a bit of ego-boosting attention from somebody who wasn’t the father of your child. Especially if that somebody looked like Jorge.

  *

  ‘Been shopping then?’ said Andy, as Bella walked into the outhouse at the bottom of the garden, which he’d turned into his study, Daisy in her arms. ‘Wow! You look like a film star. Hello, darling!’ He took Daisy from her, kissing the top of her head, and Bella did a little twirl.

  ‘Thanks! Isn’t it pretty?’ She grinned. ‘Have you had a productive morning?’

  ‘I have actually.’ Andy’s intelligent eyes gleamed with excitement behind his glasses. ‘I’ve finally cracked something that’s been bugging the hell out of me for weeks. At least, I think I have.’ He smiled ruefully and Bella kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Fantastic. Aren’t you clever? Now you can relax and enjoy lunch properly.’

  ‘Lunch? Oh shit, I’d completely forgotten . . .’

  ‘How can you have forgotten? We talked about it this morning. Such an absent-minded old professor.’ Bella put her arms around him and Daisy and kissed them both affectionately. ‘I’ve got all the ingredients for a fabulous paella. Jorge and Henri won’t be here till two thirty, but I’d better get cracking all the same. Come on, my sweet angel, let’s go and have some lunch.’

  Bella took Daisy back and floated out of the door in her long white dress, leaving Andy staring, somewhat despondently, in their wake. His book was never going to get written at this rate.

  *

  They had made great progress on the house in the last couple of months, although the biggest rooms – the downstairs living area and the kitchen – remained resolutely unfinished. Bella had decided to tackle Daisy’s nursery first, and now the sunny little yellow-and-white room, with its gingham curtains, bookshelf full of Beatrix Potter hardbacks and Beatrix Potter mobile hanging over the painted wooden cot, was the stuff of childhood (or possibly more accurately, motherhood) dreams.

  Next up had been Bella and Andy’s bedroom. The initial decision to keep everything white had been thrown by her discovery of a glorious patchwork quilt at the antiques fair in Santa Eulalia. In shades of red, white and cream, the multi-patterned floral patchwork looked fabulous against their French antique wrought-iron bed, on top of which Bella had piled more cushions in vibrant scarlet silk, red-and-white stripes, gingham, the lot, telling herself that there was nothing wrong with a bit of red for passion in the bedroom. Against the plain whitewashed walls, floaty white voile curtains and dark wooden floorboards, the effect was wildly romantic.

  Bella had painted the spare room, and put up curtains, but they had yet to acquire any furniture for it. Still, plenty of time for that before Poppy et al turned up in July. The upstairs bathroom hadn’t been touched, so they had to content themselves with the downstairs wet room, which was an absolute joy, with its huge window looking all the way down to the sea.

  The kitchen had been gutted, and Bella had been thrilled to discover an original fireplace hidden behind one of the horrible plastic Seventies units. A large Belfast sink had been fitted, and the new cooking range and American fridge delivered, so it could actually function as a kitchen, while they waited for the rest of the units to turn up. Bella also wanted to buy a big wooden kitchen table, eventually, but as they were eating all their meals outside at the moment, there was no rush for that.

  So now, still in her beautiful new dress, she was chopping her onions, garlic and red peppers at an old plastic table, in a huge empty room with a brand-new sink, fridge and cooker in it. Daisy was sitting in her high chair next to her, and she had positioned the table so that they could look out of the window, at the glorious view down to the sea, as she chopped.

  ‘It’s lovely living here, isn’t it darling? Aren’t we lucky lucky lucky, as Kylie used to sing?’

  Daisy giggled as her mother launched into song.

  *

  ‘Hola! Bella!’ Bella heard the voices and the tentative tapping at the heavy wooden front door as she stood at the stove, stirring her paella. Daisy was sleeping peacefully upstairs in the nursery.

  ‘It’s open! Come in!’ she shouted. Wiping her hands on the apron she’d belatedly thought to throw on to protect her delicate white dress from greasy red splats of chorizo oil, she turned to face her guests.

  Jorge, in tight black jeans and yet another bicep-revealing sleeveless T-shirt, was bearing a bottle of rosé wine and a large smile. Henri, standing behind him, was clutching a lovely bunch of flowers that looked as though they’d been picked from his garden.

  ‘Oh, they’re beautiful. Thanks so much.’ She buried her face in the bouquet and breathed in the heady scent of lavender. ‘Hi, Henri; hi, Jorge, how lovely to see you.’ She kissed them both. ‘I’ll just put these in some water, and this in the fridge, and then we can all go and have drinks outside. The paella’s almost ready and it won’t do it any harm to rest for a bit.’

  ‘What about your mirror?’ Jorge smiled, his black eyes gleaming as they roamed lazily over her face and body. ‘It is probably best we bring that in now, si? We may not have the energy after lunch!’

  ‘Good point.’ Bella laughed, her cheeks ever so slightly flushed. ‘I’ll get Andy to give you a hand. Thanks so much for doing this – it’s hugely appreciated.’ She made towards the French windows to get Andy from his study, but he was already approaching them, having heard the arrival of Henri’s pick-up truck.

  ‘Hi, Henri; hi, Jorge,’ he said, shaking hands with them. ‘Great to see you both. Right, shall we bring this bloody mirror in then? Bella’s gone a little bit over the top with her romantic interior vision this time, but hey – what can you do?’

  But by the time the enormous, ornately framed (and very heavy) antique was propped up against the wall opposite the bed, all three men had to admit that Bella’s judgement had been correct. The room looked
more than twice the size, with the mirror reflecting both the gorgeous bed and the colourful view out over the balcony into the luscious garden.

  ‘Oh God, it looks fabulous! Thank you so, so much.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ smiled Andy. ‘She may be full of highly impractical flights of fancy, but Belle does seem to know what’s going to look good.’ He gave her a little squeeze and kissed the top of her head.

  ‘She has an artist’s eye,’ said Henri.

  ‘This is a room made for passion,’ said Jorge, flashing Bella a glance.

  ‘Yes – well. That was certainly thirsty work,’ said Andy. ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready for a drink.’

  *

  ‘Mon dieu,’ said Henri, wiping his mouth on a napkin. ‘You cook like a French woman.’

  ‘Thanks!’ Bella beamed at the compliment. ‘But Summer gave me the best tips. I’m sure I’d have forgotten the saffron, or something else, if she hadn’t been there in the market today.’

  ‘You were with Summer today?’ Jorge looked a tad uneasy as he took a sip of his rosé wine.

  ‘Yeah, I had yoga this morning – and my first swim of the year. It was gorgeous!’ Bella, happy and replete after the delicious lunch and half a bottle of rosé, smiled at the memory. ‘Summer looked after Daisy. Then we went for breakfast in Ibiza Town before hitting the market.’

  ‘And hitting the shops,’ laughed Andy.

  ‘Only one shop! Besides, this is the first thing I’ve bought for myself since giving birth to Daisy.’

  It was true. Feeling fat and frumpy wasn’t terribly conducive to clothes shopping, so Bella had poured all her shopping urges into the acquisition (mainly online) of garment after exquisite little garment for Daisy. Minuscule dresses, tiny cardigans, T-shirts, jumpers, hats, booties, dungarees – all of which she grew out of in a couple of months, but Bella didn’t care. The very sight of the adorable little scraps of fabric was enough to turn her heart to marshmallow.

  ‘That dress you are wearing now, it is your new purchase?’ asked Henri, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘But you look ravishing, Bella – très, très jolie!’

  ‘Thanks.’ Bella smiled again at the second compliment. She could get used to this.

  ‘Très jolie,’ repeated Jorge, grinning. Andy stopped smiling and Bella was suddenly aware of how much tanned cleavage her new dress revealed, not to mention the smooth expanse of bare back and shoulder. She shifted in her chair and looked away when Andy tried to catch her eye.

  They were sitting around the garden table on the stone patio, immediately outside the French windows that led from the house. A slightly chipped blue-and-white jug containing Henri’s bunch of wild flowers sat in the middle of the table, over which Bella had thrown an embroidered white cloth. The bougainvillea-covered balcony that led out from Bella and Andy’s bedroom jutted out overhead, providing shade from the afternoon sun. Beyond the patio lay the romantically overgrown garden, with its orange, lemon and almond trees, spiky palms, wild poppies, lavender, rosemary and thyme, all surrounding the magnificent turquoise-tiled pool – still empty, but clean now, and devoid of mould.

  ‘I can’t wait to get the pool filled.’ Bella tried to divert the subject from how jolie she was looking. ‘That swim this morning made me realize how much I’m missing it. It will be ready by the time Poppy and Damian come to stay, won’t it, darling?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be ready in plenty of time for your glamorous Hollywood friends. Honestly, you’ve known Poppy most of your life.’ Andy turned to Henri and Jorge. ‘Bella and Poppy have been best friends since they were at school, but now Poppy’s a little bit famous, Bella’s got this bee in her bonnet about showing off to her that we’ve got this perfect life and perfect home.’ Bella stuck her tongue out at him, laughing.

  ‘That, I can understand,’ said Henri kindly. ‘It is only natural, hein?’

  Jorge was leaning forward eagerly, his ears fully pricked. ‘Hollywood? Famous?’

  Henri smiled. ‘My son, he loves the celebrity gossip.’

  ‘Poppy’s not that famous,’ said Bella. ‘Poppy Wallace?’ Both men looked blank. ‘Never mind. She’s a TV presenter – her show probably hasn’t reached Spain yet. But her husband Damian’s a screenwriter – he co-wrote the screenplay for Antony & Cleopatra.’ Jorge let out a low whistle, and rubbed his fingers together in the internationally recognized gesture for filthy lucre. ‘Exactly. Rolling in it. Our other friend, who should be coming with them, is more famous though – Ben Jones?’

  ‘The Ben Jones?’ Jorge’s eyes were out on stalks.

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Bella was enjoying the effect her name-dropping was having on her guests. She wished she could tell them that she and Ben had been an item once, but didn’t want to rub Andy’s nose in it. ‘And there was even talk of Jack Meadows and Tamara Gold joining them here.’

  ‘Jamara?’ Jorge’s voice rose by two octaves.

  ‘Yup! There’s not room for them all to stay here, of course – Ben’s other half owns a fabulous villa down on the south-east coast, near Playa s’Estanyol – but you can see why I’d quite like to get the renovations finished before they arrive?’ said Bella, shooting a triumphant glance at Andy.

  ‘Sure I can see that!’ Jorge leaned back in his chair, evidently having decided to play it a bit cooler. His smile lit up his tanned, handsome face. ‘So do you actually know Jack and Tamara?’

  ‘Not personally, but they all seem to have become pretty close. I get regular updates from Poppy. I have to say that Tamara sounds an absolute nightmare!’ Bella did love a good gossip.

  ‘She is very sexy, though.’ Jorge’s chocolate brown eyes gleamed. ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Fake,’ said Henri dismissively.

  ‘Bit of both, I’d say,’ said Andy, and they all laughed.

  ‘Anyway, we’ll be having a pool-warming party when they’re here, and you’re both very welcome – I’ll let you know the exact date nearer the time,’ said Bella. ‘Though of course I can’t guarantee Jack and Tamara will grace us with their presence. I must say, I’m dying to meet Jack.’

  She had been planning the pool-warming party ever since Poppy had confirmed her holiday plans. She already had quite a few guests in mind: Jorge and Henri; Summer (of course) and her parents – oooh, maybe she’d also invite David, whom she’d met over breakfast that morning; Gabriella and the other ladies from yoga; Pilar, the smiley cat-faced young waitress at Anita’s, and Carlos, the good-natured older waiter; Poppy, Damian, Ben and Natalia – her guests of honour; and she was secretly hoping that Jack and Tamara would accept the invitation too. Surely word would get around the island that Tinseltown’s golden couple had been at their pool party? Bella wasn’t particularly proud of her delight at the prospect of wiping the smug smiles off those bitches Saffron and India’s faces.

  Summer had offered to help with the catering, and Bella was planning to turn the currently run-down and dilapidated outhouse at the opposite end of the pool to Andy’s study into a Balinese-style folly, complete with daybed, lush plants and brightly coloured silks. She hadn’t yet confided this to Andy, anticipating more good-natured mockery, but Daisy was fully aware of her plans and approved whole-heartedly.

  Bella could just imagine all the happy, glamorous faces lapping up her sunshiny hospitality. She couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 8

  Summer’s kitchen was small, but light and airy, with the same view from the window behind the gas hob as that from her balcony, all the way down over the higgledy-piggledy streets to the boats bobbing on the harbour below. The compact galley with a few tongue-and-groove cupboards above and below, painted in soft shades of dove grey, white and eggshell blue, gave more than a clue to her Nordic heritage; the vivid blue-and-white-tiled splashback, terracotta tiled floor and hand-embroidered cloth on her little round kitchen table were pure Ibiza.

  She padded barefoot out onto the balcony and picked a generous handful of parsley from one of her colourful window boxes, smiling
as the warmth of the sun hit her bare skin, before heading back inside to chop the herb and scatter it over the large pan of spaghetti vongole she’d just prepared. She’d picked up fresh clams from the market after waking early and deciding to make the most of the beautiful morning with an energetic hike in the hills north of Ibiza Town.

  She’d certainly worked up an appetite, but even she couldn’t eat this much, she thought with a rueful smile. Normally she’d save some for her dinner, but this evening she and David were going to the opening of a new restaurant close to Cala Jondal. It was awkward that she had to accompany him to these openings, but she was food and drink columnist on Island Life, and she guessed she’d brought it upon herself.

  You made your bed, now you must lie in it. The phrase popped unbidden into her mind and prompted a spontaneous giggle.

  Oh well, she’d simply take whatever she didn’t manage to eat down to the office this afternoon – there were always grateful takers amongst Summer’s colleagues for her delicious leftovers.

  She spooned a generous portion of the fragrant, steaming pasta into a shallow bowl and carried it outside onto her balcony with a plate of green salad simply dressed with olive oil and lemon. Returning with a glass of iced water she sat down and contemplated her lunch with satisfaction and a healthy modicum of greed.

  Once she’d wolfed most of it down, though, she sighed. Yes, her life was good. No doubt there were a lot of people who would happily change places with her right now – would in fact, she thought, with typical candour, deem her a stupid, spoilt bitch for not being thankful, every day, for the gifts life had bestowed on her.

  Yes, the David situation was far from ideal, but the sex was great, she told herself, trying to be fair to her boss. OK, so maybe he had been a little creepy recently, but it wasn’t as though she hadn’t given him any encouragement. It was about time she took herself in hand and tried to cool things a bit between them.