Freya nodded, wanting to move her aching limbs and to breathe fresh air. She wasn’t sure if the smell of smoke was stuck in her nostrils but the whole area stank. Zander led the way to the beach. Dizzy, she stopped and leant against the trunk of a palm tree.
‘Are you okay?’ Zander retraced his steps and put his hand on her back.
‘Just stood up too quickly.’
‘I’ll get someone to pick us up in a buggy.’
‘No really, I’m fine. I think I could do with a walk.’
They left the clearing together. The air was fresher on the beach, the moonlight bright enough to see by. As they padded through the cool, soft sand, Freya’s head began to clear a little. And when Zander radioed through for the island medic to meet them at his villa, she didn’t resist.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Freya woke to the sound of waves and call of birds. She’d been so tired the night before she could barely remember anything past the walk to Zander’s villa and the island’s doctor listening to her chest. She vaguely remembered Zander suggesting she stayed. Beyond that, the events of last night had become a blur.
White chiffon curtains billowed into the room. Freya propped herself against the pillows on a bed easily three times the size of the one in her own room. The dominant colour was white, broken up by the subtle grey tones of the driftwood dressing table and stool. The seaside feel of the room was echoed by the view through the open doors that led out on to a balcony. From where she was lying against a mountain of pillows, all Freya could see was the azure water of the reef in front of Zander’s villa.
She glanced at her watch and had a sudden panic that she was late to open the bookshop. Then she remembered. There was no bookshop – at least nothing that could be opened any time soon. She breathed deeply, her racing heart calming with the realisation that she didn’t need to rush. She was in Zander’s villa though and her heart fluttered at the thought.
In a sleep haze, she got out of bed. She was wearing a white T-shirt that was too big for her. It smelt fresh and was wonderfully soft against her bare skin; she presumed it belonged to Zander. She wandered over to the open doors. The view was the focal point and it wasn’t hard to see why, although the bedroom itself managed to be effortlessly luxurious yet homely. In the corner was a bamboo chair in front of a bookcase packed with novels. She couldn’t find her clothes but laid neatly on the chair was a bikini and a pale-grey kaftan, along with a handwritten note that simply said, ‘For you’. She went into the en suite and stopped in her tracks. In front of an open window was a freestanding bath with an unrivalled view of the ocean. There was also a large walk-in shower which Freya was desperate to use. Her hair still stank of smoke and she looked pale with ash smeared down the side of her face. She could barely remember getting into bed, so it was no wonder she hadn’t managed to get a wash either.
Freya emerged from the shower refreshed. She wrapped a large white, fluffy towel around herself and brushed her teeth with a new bamboo toothbrush, while gazing out at the ocean glittering in the sunshine. Next to the sink was a tub of expensive-looking body cream, so she lathered that on along with P20 sunscreen. The bikini was brand new and the right size. She ripped off the tags and put it on with the kaftan over the top. After the coolness of the air-conditioned room, the intensity of the heat on the balcony left her breathless. Or was that the after-effect from the night before? There was a lingering tightness across her chest but it felt good to breathe the clear ocean air.
Freya could only imagine the joy of waking up every morning to nothing but the sound of the Indian Ocean and the call of birds overhead. To be able to step out and soak up an unspoilt view of beach and ocean from a villa hugged by palm trees. Why on earth had she stayed living in a city as big as London for so long? Of course, she knew the reason, but then her desire to make a change in her life had led her to a place like this. Not that she could ever afford somewhere as incredible.
She leant on the faded wood of the balcony and gazed at the ocean. Zander was below, lounging on a reclining chair with a book. She couldn’t tell what it was from this angle. She should really go down and say hello and thank him for his hospitality... He looked so at ease, relaxed in shorts and a T-shirt, his skin bronzed, his bare feet resting on a cushion. She could see a small patch on the top of his head where his hair was thinning. She stood back, aware that she was staring. It was strange to know so much about him, his whole life from platinum selling popstar to multi-millionaire resort owner, documented for all to see and judge. The Zander she was beginning to get to know seemed at odds with his media profile. She knew which version she preferred.
She left the bedroom and navigated her way along a landing with several doors. It opened on to a wider landing that looked over a living area with four large sofas round a coffee table. She couldn’t even begin to imagine living in a place like this. Her shared flat in London was far from glamorous; the idea of being able to buy her own place seemed
