LITMIR.BIZ

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Vanessa Kittler, photographer extraordinaire.’ Nick broke the silence first. Even though I’d been at a complete loss for something to say, I chalked it up as a win. ‘I still want to hear your story.’

      ‘Nope.’ I picked up a piece of pineapple from the platter in front of me and used it as a delicious fruity pointer. ‘I’m not the storyteller, you are. Maybe you should be a writer.’

      ‘Hilarious,’ he replied flatly. Somewhere in the past five minutes, something had knocked the comedy right out of him. Instead of looking bemused by the whole situation, he just looked pissed off. I was ever so slightly pleased with myself. ‘Must have been a terrible break-up,’ I said, eyes wide with feigned innocence. ‘You poor, broken man, you.’

      ‘Yeah, I think you’ve seen too many films.’ Nick chugged the remains of his coffee and snatched the piece of pineapple out of my hand. ‘And you clearly haven’t read too many books.’

      ‘I read,’ I snapped back. He stole my fruit! And, yes, there was an entire plate of pineapple, but that wasn’t the point. ‘I read all the time.’

      ‘The Fifty Shades books don’t count.’ Nick pushed his chair back.

      ‘I didn’t read them, actually,’ I announced with triumph. He didn’t need to know I hadn’t had the time and had read the Wikipedia synopses and then downloaded the dirty bits instead.

      ‘Like I said, not a reader.’

      With just as much grace but significantly more purpose than when he had sat down, Nick stood up, walked round the table and placed his hands on the armrests either side of me, leaning in close. I jerked backwards, eyes locked on his. They were such a strange colour. He bent down until his lips were right beside my ear, and I breathed in suddenly, his fresh, soapy shower gel and shampoo just barely covering the traces of a darker, warmer scent that made my stomach flip.

      ‘Goodnight, Vanessa,’ he whispered before pushing away from my chair and jogging off down the steps and back towards the beach.

      ‘Well.’ A little stunned and incredibly flustered, I grabbed another bit of pineapple and took a big bite, waiting for my heartbeat to resume normal service. ‘That was just rude.’

      ‘It was a little,’ a voice said in the semi-darkness. It was Kekipi. ‘I think you touched a nerve.’

      I laughed self-consciously, happy to have an ally and only slightly embarrassed at being caught talking to myself.

      ‘How is the pineapple?’ he asked, filling up my coffee and pouring himself a cup before sitting down in Nick’s empty seat and throwing his bare feet up onto the table. I wondered if he was like this with all of Mr Bennett’s guests. I wondered if Mr Bennett had many guests.

      ‘Bloody delicious,’ I replied, my mouth completely full. With Kekipi as my witness, it was the best bloody pineapple I had ever eaten. The little plastic pots from M&S would never, ever do the job again. ‘Perfection, actually.’

      ‘Good to hear.’ Kekipi sipped his coffee and sighed. He looked so contented and comfortable, the opposite of my earlier dinner date. ‘They do say you’ve never eaten pineapple until you’ve eaten it in Hawaii.’

      ‘I’ll have to make sure I eat lots while I’m here then,’ I said.

      ‘We can ensure that your cottage is well stocked.’ Kekipi gave me a wink and nodded down the hill, where a light flickered on in the cottage next door to mine. Nick was home. ‘Mr Miller was an interesting dinner companion?’

      ‘I just hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew,’ I said, tugging at the end of my plait. ‘I’ve got a funny feeling I’m going to have trouble with that one.’

      ‘I’ve got a funny feeling I’d like to have trouble with that one,’ he replied. ‘And that funny feeling is right in the middle of my trousers. He would be just my type.’

      ‘Not mine.’ My eyes were still fixed on the glowing window. He was probably taking his shirt off. Right. That. Second. ‘Never been a blond fan.’

      ‘I’m sure you could make an exception if you put your mind to it.’ Kekipi heaped a giant spoonful of sugar into his cup and stirred. ‘He is one of those men everyone wants. He’s like pizza and George Clooney. Everyone wants a slice. He’d charm your mother and flirt with your grandmother while impressing your father with his in-depth knowledge of knot-tying and single malt whiskies.’

      ‘He knows about knot-tying?’ I looked back at Kekipi.

      ‘Probably.’ He shrugged. ‘I think he might be the least gay man I’ve ever met. I’m trying very hard not to fall in love with him. Can I suggest you do the same?’

      ‘I promise I will not fall in love with him,’ I said, laughing alone until my chuckles tailed off into awkward silence. Kekipi stared at me with a less-than-convinced expression.

      ‘I won’t,’ I said, unnecessarily defensive. ‘Seriously. I am not going to fall in love with him.’

      ‘I’ll remind you of that at the wedding,’ he said.

      ‘You can be head bridesmaid,’ I muttered, turning my gaze back towards the cottages and watching the little light in Nick’s window flicker and blink before the bay was bathed in darkness.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      Tuesday morning was almost as confusing to my poor little brain as Monday evening had been. I woke up with the remains of jetlag fug clouding my mind as I tried to recount the events of the past twenty-four hours. Hawaii, Amy, sleep, dinner, Nick-baiting and then two hours on the veranda with Kekipi. According to my new best friend, it had been years since the estate had seen any real guests and he was ecstatic to have a captive audience, even if only for a week. In exchange for my rapt but sleepy attention, he told me endless amazing stories about his adventures as the only gay in the Hawaiian village and during all the years he’d worked for Bertie Bennett. His tales of wild parties at the Bennett mansion reminded me of The Great Gatsby. Which reminded me I should finish reading The Great Gatsby.

      But that was last night and this was this morning. Today was the first real day of my new double life, my first full working day as Vanessa Kittler. I’d decided, somewhere between two and three a.m. – when all best decisions are made – that if I was going to be Vanessa for a week, I was going to be Vanessa for a week. As much as I hated to admit it, all that verbal sparring with Nick had been fun, and while picking a fight didn’t feel like a very Tess thing to do, it did feel like a very Vanessa thing to do. And why shouldn’t I indulge in flirty banter with the handsome man? I was a free agent. And, as far as that handsome man was concerned, possibly a bit of a slag, according to my reputation. Stretching my arms above my head until I heard something crack, I tried to make myself get up. I only had this life on loan for a week – I really should try to make the most of it. Instead, I rolled over and curled my arms around my pillow, smiling at what I saw. My camera, safely tucked in beside me, resting half under the covers and half on a pillow. Apparently I’d felt like a one-night stand with my Canon when I got home. Nothing like slutting it up with electronic equipment to start a week away. I reached out and stroked it gently, careful not to press any buttons and wake it from its slumber. We had a hard day ahead of us.

      Leaving my lover in bed, I slunk into the kitchen in my T-shirt-come-nightie and noticed two things that hadn’t been there when I’d finally rolled myself into bed. A plate full of yet more delicious-looking fresh fruit and a thick white envelope resting beside it, addressed to Vanessa. Inside was a stiff white note card with a gold crest and a couple of lines of perfect handwriting.

       Dear Ms Kittler,

       Unfortunately I will not be available for our appointment today. Please accept my sincerest apologies. Kekipi is at your disposal.

      

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