‘I knew you were a couple!’ Clara squeals the second we walk through the B&B door.
‘Search through your TV channels tonight,’ Rohan hisses in my ear. ‘They’ve got their own broadcast channel, I’m sure of it.’
‘Maybe they just care about their visitors,’ I say as we go and stand in front of Clara’s makeshift reception desk, another diary of bookings spread out in front of her.
She doesn’t seem to notice Rohan twisting his head, trying to get a peek at them. She comes over to give us both a hug. ‘I just knew it. I can feel these things in my water, you know.’
‘Sounds painful,’ Rohan says. ‘Have you considered seeing a doctor?’
‘You’re very amusing, as always, Mr Carter,’ she says, sounding like he’s about as funny as finding an earthworm in your cornflakes. ‘I’m sorry I missed your proposal. I hope it was as romantic as you’ve always dreamed, Bonnie.’
Proposals I’ve always dreamed about include the top of the Eiffel Tower at midnight, a horse-drawn carriage ride at dusk in Central Park, under the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Center, or on a beach somewhere tropical with lots of coconut drinks and hibiscus flowers and the splash of clear blue ocean water around our feet, and they definitely always include a man I’m actually in love with and a man who wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Preferably these men are the same person.
‘Absolutely,’ I say. ‘Couldn’t have dreamt of anything more romantic.’
‘And what a marvellous spot he chose, on the clifftop, with that gorgeous view.’
The view was lovely, I’ll give her that. ‘Yep. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.’ I hope she can’t hear my teeth grinding. If you only get a certain quota of proposals in your lifetime, I can kiss goodbye to romantic holiday ones and make do with Rohan tying his shoelace in Edelweiss Island’s picnic area.
‘Now, why didn’t you tell me you were a couple?’
‘It was a whirlwind romance.’
‘We didn’t want to embarrass you.’
We both speak at the same time, and inspiration strikes. I beckon her closer. ‘We’re role-playing,’ I whisper, giving her a little nudge and a wink. ‘We’re pretending to be strangers to spice up the old sex life, you know?’
‘Oh yes, dear.’ She giggles and winks back at me conspiratorially. ‘Us ladies need a bit of variety. I wish my husband was as attentive. He’s very good in bed but he doesn’t experiment much.’
Which was probably more than I needed to know about Clara’s sex life, ever. Rohan’s gone the colour of an overripe cherry too. He clears his throat and Clara lets out an embarrassed giggle. ‘Well, judging by the proposal, Edelweiss Island is just what you needed.’
She bustles back behind her table and runs a finger down her pad of bookings. ‘Now, you’re genuinely not here in a professional capacity, are you?’
Rohan cocks his head to one side. ‘Professional capacity?’
‘We googled you. Well, you, Bonnie. A journalist with Two Gold Rings wedding magazine. And you must write under a pseudonym, Mr Carter. Judging by the cynicism you displayed last night and a quick scroll through Bonnie’s Twitter timeline, I assume you go by R.C. Art?’
‘How did you…’ he splutters, his face going even redder.
‘It’s so lovely that you can still be a couple even with all this rivalry between your magazines. It just proves that love conquers all.’
‘Er, yeah,’ I stutter, not sure if I’m more surprised by Clara’s detective skills or the fact I didn’t consider the islanders might know how to use the internet.
‘And that nasty argument on Twitter last week was obviously just a publicity stunt?’ she continues.
I glance at Rohan. ‘Obviously.’
‘Good good. You’re such a lovely couple. I liked you both the moment I saw you. I didn’t want to distrust you.’
‘We, er, knew you might not like reporters very much,’ Rohan says. ‘As we’re not here in a professional capacity, we thought it best not to mention it. Even reporters get a holiday!’
His voice is way too upbeat. He’s overcompensating and I’m secretly glad to know he’s just as thrown by this as I am. I get the feeling that not many people have identified him as R.C. Art before and I feel a little bit of vindictive glee that he’s embarrassed by the recognition.
‘Now, as an apology for questioning your motives and to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials, I’ll be upgrading you to the honeymoon suite on the top floor, free of charge, of course. It’s our largest room and has by far the best view from this part of the island, and as I assume you’ll be staying a while to plan your wedding, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the extra space and comfort.’
‘Oh, that’s so nice of you. You don’t have to—’ I feel my face contort as realisation sets in. ‘The honeymoon suite that we’ll have to share?’
‘Of course, dear. It might put an end to your little role-playing game, but I’m sure that doesn’t apply when he’s just proposed.’
‘We really couldn’t…’ Rohan says. ‘You don’t need to apologise or congratulate us in any way. We’re really happy with the rooms we’ve got.’
‘Nonsense, Mr Carter.’ She waggles her eyebrows at him. ‘And it’s almost totally soundproof too so you won’t need to worry about staying quiet with anything you might get up to as you celebrate your engagement.’
I wonder if she’s on a mission to embarrass us more with each sentence. ‘Clara, we really couldn’t. We don’t need any special treatment. Separate rooms are fine.’
‘You’d actually be doing me a huge favour, dears. I’ve got a wedding party coming in next Wednesday and the bride and groom are in the bridal suite on the same floor as your rooms. Both sets of parents are also staying and it would be lovely to put all their rooms together. If you two move upstairs to the honeymoon suite now, the parents will be able to have rooms six and seven, and I’ll have plenty of time to clean, and the whole wedding party will be on the same floor. That’ll be lovely for them.’
I chew on my lip as I try to think of an explanation for not wanting to share a room with my supposed fiancé.
Rohan drops an arm around my shoulder. ‘Of course, we’d be delighted to move into the honeymoon suite. Thank you, Clara, that’s really kind of you.’
She blushes. ‘I like to do everything I can to make everyone’s stay as pleasant as possible. And you’re lucky too because some of our happy couples never get the honeymoon suite. If we’re fully booked, they have to make do with regular rooms or even guest rooms at the cottages that the residents open when necessary. I’m just glad we’re not busy at the moment or I couldn’t have moved you.’
That would’ve been a shame. Although, with the weight of Rohan’s arm around my shoulders and the spicy warmth of his aftershave filling my senses, maybe there are worse people you could share a room with when you absolutely have to for the sake of your job. I shrug his arm off as soon as Clara looks away. It’ll be fine as long as we don’t have to share a bed. The honeymoon suite is bound to have two beds, right?
***
‘This is ridiculous,’ Rohan says from the floor, the floorboards creaking as he tries to get comfortable. ‘I’m too old for this.’
I peer over the end of the bed to look at him. ‘You were the one who couldn’t say yes quickly enough when she offered us the honeymoon suite. I was still trying to think of an excuse.’
‘I tried to protest but we’d run out of options. We’re meant to be engaged – what possible reason could we have given for not wanting to share a room?’
‘We’re on the fourth floor. We could’ve said you were afraid of heights or something.’
‘Yeah, because that’s such a plausible reason. We were on the third floor last night, she’d have wondered why it didn’t bother me then.’ He sighs. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to share a room with you either but the whole looking us up online thing threw me and I panicked.’
‘I take it not many people know you’re R.C. Art?’
‘No,’ he says abruptly, a tone of finality in his voice that lets me know he isn’t going to elaborate. ‘They know who we both work for and we came here saying we weren’t a couple. If I was them, I’d have put two and two together by now and guessed what we were doing.’
‘Yeah, but you’re just a grumpy old cynic and you distrust everyone. Most people aren’t like that. Most people take things at face value.’
‘Most people are going to find themselves swiftly hurt then, aren’t they?’
It makes me think again about him being hurt before. Someone must’ve really done a number on him in the past.
‘I’m just saying,’ he continues before I have a chance to ask any questions. ‘We can’t give them any reason to doubt us as a couple. They have enough reasons already.’
‘I know,’ I say, because he’s right. And how can I lie here in this nice comfy bed, while he sleeps on the floor, and lecture him about trusting people? I’m pretending to be engaged to him too. I’m fooling people who have been nothing but nice to us too.
‘Look on the bright side,’ he says. ‘At least you’ll be able to give your readers an inside look at the honeymoon suite. Take a few pictures before we leave and give them the real inside scoop. Make sure you tell them how comfortable that lovely big bed is.’
The floor creaks again as he moves. ‘If it’s bothering you that much, we can swap. I told you I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. You don’t have to worry about your chivalrous gentleman image with Clara. I won’t tell her.’
He lifts his head and meets my eyes over the foot of the bed. ‘I told you, it’s fine. If I slept in that cosy bed and made you sleep on this rock-hard floor with this sandpaper carpet, I’d lie awake all night thinking about what a horrible person I was. This whole thing was my idea and there’s only one bed, so you get it. It’s nothing to do with being chivalrous, it’s written in the rulebook of pretending to be engaged.’
‘You’re much nicer than you’d have anyone believe, aren’t you?’ I ask, hoping that question doesn’t sound as surprised as it does in my head.
‘If I answered that with a yes, I’d instantly prove you wrong.’
I smile as I rest my chin on my hands and watch him.
‘Besides, bed or floor is irrelevant. I can sleep standing on one leg without that godawful bric-a-brac looking at me. Thank God Clara kept them out of the honeymoon suite. They’re not a great omen for a life of wedded bliss, are they? And they’d put people right off consummating the marriage. I wouldn’t fancy having sex with one of those empty-eyed china ornaments watching on.’
The thought of Rohan and sex in the same sentence is a bit too much for me and I duck behind the footboard of the bed to hide my red face. ‘She did well with the décor in here,’ I say to take my mind off Rohan and sex.
This room, an extended attic on the top floor of the B&B, is in complete opposition to the gaudy carpets and floral wallpaper of the floors below. Up here, the walls are a pale cream colour, the carpet is cream with understated flashes of pink running through it, and there are no ornaments or potpourri or clutter. The dark wood exposed beams of the ceiling make it feel cosy and romantic, and the skylight that’s just to the left of the bed must be amazing when it’s raining. I can imagine lying here with my new husband and listening to the rain and feeling this was the most perfect place on earth.
Rohan grunts from the floor, bringing me smack bang back into the present. Lying here alone while my pretend fiancé sleeps on the floor because sharing a room with a stranger is bad enough, neither of us were about to share a bed too. It’s not quite how I imagined spending my first night as an engaged woman.
‘I can’t believe it didn’t even cross my mind that someone might google us,’ I say.
‘You,’ he points out. ‘Some of us have the sense to write under a pseudonym. They’d never have found me out if you didn’t use your real name.’
‘No? I’m surprised you don’t need a neck brace after all that twisting and turning to get a look at Clara’s books. You’re not exactly subtle. And I use my real name because I don’t have anything to hide. Some of us don’t write stuff that’s so horrible we need to hide our true identity, R. C. Art.’
‘Please stop calling me that. It’s not… Call me Rohan or Ro. The only other person who regularly calls me Ro is my mum, so take that as a concession and run with it.’
There’s more in what he doesn’t say than in what he does. ‘R.C. Art embarrasses you that much?’
‘No.’ The tone in his voice says a seagull outside would give me a more detailed answer via a series of squawks. I want to press him more. Every moment I spend with him makes me more intrigued, and more and more I’m getting the feeling that R.C. Art is just a character he plays.
I’m about to question him further when there’s a knock on the door and we both freeze.
‘Oo-oo, it’s just me,’ Clara calls through the door. ‘Are you both decent? Can I pop my head in for a minute?’
Rohan jumps to his feet, hissing a string of swearwords under his breath. He gathers the sheet from the floor and I yank the duvet cover back and he launches himself into bed next to me with such force that he nearly goes straight through the headboard. He shoves the sheet under the cover and ends up lying on top of it, panting.
‘Come in!’ I shout. She’d definitely have a few questions if she walked in and found him sleeping on the floor. Lying on the bed looking suspiciously breathless is much less incriminating.
‘Hello, dears,’ she says as she bustles in, Rohan’s blue shirt on a coat hanger in her hands. ‘Sorry to intrude on such a special night but I have an important message from the vicar and I thought I’d return this at the same time.’
‘It’s always lovely to see you, Clara,’ Rohan says, his voice absolutely dripping with sweetness. ‘Come on in. Can I get you a cup of tea with the kettle you so thoughtfully provided us?’
I’m sure he’s being sarcastic but Clara’s looking at him like he’s just offered to nip up and get a star from the sky for her.
‘No, no, of course not. I’m sure you have much better things to do on your first night as an engaged couple. I just wanted to drop this off, Mr Carter. The wine stain came out perfectly. Shall I hang it in the wardrobe for you?’
‘If you would, Clara. Thanks, you’re a wonder.’
I can feel him beside me, his body weighing the bed down. He’s breathing hard from the shock of her unexpected visit and he smells of the avocado shampoo Clara’s left mini bottles of in the bathroom. His hair has dried now, smoothed back but bits of it have sprung forward with the effort of getting into bed so fast. I’ve got to admit it’s been a while since I had a man in bed with me and I stay still, frozen in place, every part of me hyperaware of how close he is.
Clara hangs the shirt in the wardrobe and turns back to us. ‘Paul’s just phoned and asked me to pass on a message. He says he fears he was a little rude to you this morning. He didn’t realise you were a couple thinking of getting married here, and he asked if I could pass on his apologies and tell you that if you’d like to visit the church again tomorrow, the gate will be open and he’d be all too happy to show you around.’
‘Will he have his dog with him?’ Rohan asks. He really loves that dog.
‘I assume so, Mr Carter,’ she says, a look of confusion on her face. ‘Paul seems to have taken quite a liking to him.’
‘He didn’t seem to like us very much.’
‘Oh, Paul’s just a bit protective over the church. It’s been in his family for generations. He’s fine once you get to know him.’
Rohan pokes my leg through the duvet with his toe and grins at me. ‘Translation: he’s a numpty but we’re stuck with him.’
I can’t help smiling and even Clara laughs despite the insult to one of her neighbours. She goes to leave but she stops at the door and turns back, her eyes going between him and me. ‘Mr Carter, for a first night with your new fiancée, you are wearing far too many clothes. Nakedness is the secret to a happy marriage.’
She says it in such a serious voice that I nearly choke myself trying to hold in a laugh. He’s wearing tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt – quite reasonable given that we’re two strangers sharing a room.
Rohan doesn’t miss a trick. ‘Ah, not if I’m planning a striptease for my fiancée in a minute.’
Clara squeaks and fans a hand in front of her face. ‘On that note, I’ll leave you in peace. Goodnight, dears!’
I’ve been trying to keep my serious face on for so long that I’m panting for breath by the time she closes the door behind her.
Rohan breathes a sigh of relief and flops back onto the bed, stretching out and sinking into the soft mattress. ‘Sorry. She took me by surprise coming in like that. I hadn’t even thought she might come up here and find me sleeping on the floor.’
‘Me neither, but you’re good at quick thinking. I don’t think she suspected anything, other than your trousers. After all, nakedness is the secret to a happy marriage.’
He laughs so hard that the whole bed shakes. ‘I think that will be imprinted on my brain for the rest of my life. Clara and nakedness in the same sentence. I just about clutched my pearls and fainted.’
I have to bite my lip to stop myself laughing. I can’t let him know I find him funny. I’ll never hear the end of it. ‘So why is it you turn on the charm tap every time Clara’s around? Trying to get her to spill some secrets?’
‘Nah. I’m just trying to make her like me. You might find this hard to believe but I’m not a very likeable person.’
‘Yeah. Can’t imagine why.’
He gives me a false smile.
‘You don’t usually seem to care if people like you. Why’s Clara different?’
I don’t miss that flash of hurt cross his face again but he doesn’t say anything about it. ‘I don’t know. She’s nice. She can’t do enough for us, and she seems to be running this place completely by herself. She’s mentioned her husband but I haven’t seen sight nor sound of him in two days. I half feel sorry for her, half want to adopt her as a mum, and a third half is just hoping she makes another chocolate cake.’
‘That’s not quite how halves work, Ro,’ I say, smiling.
He wriggles around and bounces up and down with his whole body. ‘Not the waterbed I expected.’
‘No. It’s even got a TV in the footboard.’
‘Seriously?’ His left hand feels down the side of the bed until he finds the button and presses it, making a TV slide upwards from the end of the bed. ‘Wow. The rooms below wouldn’t look out of place if they’d just been unearthed from a burial chamber under the Pyramids, but the honeymoon suite has got a TV bed. Clara’s idea of décor is certainly something to behold.’
‘Maybe she blew her budget on this and—’
‘And had to resort to time travelling back to the Sixties to decorate the guest rooms?’
I look over at him lying there, poking at buttons on the remote control he’s just picked up. ‘You can stay here and watch something if you want.’
‘No, thanks. You might be an axe murderer. You might be waiting for me to fall asleep and then you’re going to get an axe out of your suitcase and go to town.’
I fold my arms and raise an eyebrow. ‘Did you watch too many horror films as a kid or something?’
He looks over at me and grins.
‘If I’m an axe murderer, sleeping three foot away from the bed won’t really help, will it? Besides, you’re the cynic who doesn’t believe in love. There’s probably a theory somewhere that says people who don’t believe in love are more likely to have psychopathic tendencies. If either of us are going to be an axe murderer, it’s much more likely to be you.’
He’s still smiling when he speaks, and I like how you can hear the smile in his voice. ‘I promise I’m not an axe murderer.’
‘Yeah, right. I bet every axe murderer says that to his victims. I don’t think meeting a guy in a bar and him saying, “hi, I’m a serial killer, want to come home with me?” is the best chat-up line, do you?’
He grins again. ‘You know what, of all the gullible fools daft enough to believe in a mythical church I could’ve got fake engaged to, you’re definitely the best.’
‘Thanks, Rohan, you really know how to make a girl blush.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he says, deadpan. ‘If The Man Land survives, maybe that’ll be my next column – a selection of the most offensive compliments you can give a girl. Bound to be a top seller.’
‘And people wonder why The Man Land’s in trouble,’ I mutter as Rohan presses the button that sends the TV sliding back down into the footboard and gets off the bed.
‘Yeah, because that’s so much worse than “top ten handbags to take to your wedding” or whatever it is you write about. Men read my columns so they can avoid ever being dragged into the world you write about. We’re like the antidote to Two Gold Rings. Hambridge should sell them together as a package, like diarrhoea relief and a constipation aid in one.’
‘Such a lovely analogy,’ I say, unsure whether to laugh or cringe. ‘And once again, I can’t tell which one is supposed to be which.’
He looks up from positioning the sheet on the floor and meets my eyes. ‘All part of the fun.’
This time I hide a smile behind my hand as he lies down and wraps himself in the sheet. I try not to be disappointed that there’s no hint of the promised striptease. He could’ve carried through for the sake of the role. What if Clara’s got a nanny cam or something hidden in here? I bet he’s all kinds of ripped under that T-shirt if his arms are anything to go by…
‘Okay, theories on where Clara’s husband is,’ Rohan says, quiet enough that she wouldn’t hear him if she was outside the door listening. ‘Assuming he’s not really chopped up in the freezer, that is. I still think that lasagne she did us tonight was a bit suspect.’
‘That was mince, Ro.’
‘Yeah, minced what, though?’
I laugh because I know he’s joking but he manages to sound so serious. ‘My guess would be working away. Probably back on the mainland and only gets home at the weekends or something.’
‘Chained up in the basement as a sex slave?’ Rohan says. ‘Naked, obviously. Nakedness is the secret to a happy marriage, you know.’
It makes me start laughing again. I feel like I’ve done nothing but laugh since I met him. He must think I’m unhinged. ‘She doesn’t really seem like the sex slave type, does she?’
‘Prison then? Might explain why she talks about him but she isn’t keen to tell us where he is. Astronaut? Rocket scientist? Nah, too normal. I’m going with sex slave or mincemeat until someone proves otherwise.’
I reach over and turn the bedside lamp off as he turns over again and pulls the sheet up to his chin. ‘Goodnight. May you be blessed with Brad Pitt sex dreams.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Brad Pitt? Seriously?’
‘What’s wrong with Brad Pitt? Sorry, I’m not up on hot male celebs. Is Brad Pitt passé now?’
‘A little.’
‘God, if Brad Pitt’s passé then what hope have the rest of us got?’ The floorboards creak as he moves yet again. ‘Who’s hot now then? Tom Hardy? David Tennant?’
‘Hmm. Either of them.’
He laughs. ‘There you go. I wish you hot sex dreams about a threesome with Tom Hardy and David Tennant. How’s that?’
‘Probably the weirdest thing a relative stranger has ever said to me.’
‘Aww, we’re not strangers now, we’re engaged.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Well, who do you like so I can wish you hot sex dreams too?’
‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t like anyone. Celebs, real people, none of ’em. I dislike the entire human race in general.’
‘Well, I’ll just have to hope you’re blessed with Prince Charles sex dreams then,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood because the weariness in his voice makes me feel as gloomy as this room now the lamp is off.
‘Ooh, kinky. Prince Charles, eh? Now there’s a sexy beast. I could get behind Prince Charles sex dreams.’
‘I’m not sure if you’re really funny or really disturbed.’
He lifts his head and looks at me even though I can barely see him in the darkness. ‘A fair half and half, I’d say.’
I smile. ‘And a third half that’s just pure charm?’
He laughs. ‘If that’s what you want to think then it’s one of the nicer things anyone has thought of me.’ He shifts around again but he obviously can’t get comfortable. ‘And on that note, I’m going to go to sleep imagining Prince Charles naked. Night, Bon.’
‘Night, Ro.’ I lie there for a long while in the dark, thinking about him. Rohan, that is. Not a naked Prince Charles. Behind R.C. Art there are hints of a kind and funny guy who loves dogs and charms the teeth out of old ladies. I think of the smile on his face when he was playing with the vicar’s dog today. That is not a man who hates the human race. And I’m going to find out why he’s so determined to make me think he does.