Sitting Pretty Read online

  The taxi ride took forever – Sheikh Zayed Road seemed to have doubled in length while I’d been at the yacht club – but eventually we got to Bur Dubai, where Mike, or Mark got out first at a rather downmarket-looking hotel and quickly disappeared inside with the girl, who I was starting to suspect might not actually be his girlfriend.

  We drove round a couple more streets before pulling up outside a huge building called Golden Sands. Alex paid the driver and I clambered out, not having to worry about the stupid topknot, which I’d yanked out in the powder room at the club. It looked like a nice building and I peered up at it, wondering which balcony was his. A smile flickered across my lips as all my bluster about shoving him off one of those sprang into my mind. As if! They still had the death penalty here for that sort of thing.

  A security guard greeted Alex with a smile and briefly glanced at me as we walked through the lobby area towards a pair of lifts. We got out on the first floor and Alex led me along the corridor.

  As he stopped at what must have been his front door I caught myself smiling again. This time it was at the memory of him carrying me over the threshold, at my insistence, after our honeymoon and banging my head on the door frame.

  Alex put his key in the lock and ushered me into the apartment. The door opened on to the lounge – from what I could see by the light that had been left on through a door to the left. He walked me through the door and past a dark kitchen. The light was coming from the bedroom, where the unmade bed and mess of clothes strewn about took me back to the first time I ever went back to Alex’s place in Camden. His room back then had had the look of a student pad tenanted by someone doing a PhD in medium budget designer squalor. The only difference here was that the designer shirts looked high end.

  ‘Na katsoume sto balkoni – let’s sit on the balcony.’ Alex indicated the sliding glass door on the other side of the bed. ‘I’ll bring some wine,’ he added, leaving me to go and get it.

  I’d rather have had a coffee, I’d already sunk far more wine and fizz than I was used to tonight. It occurred to me though that the options would be limited – sandy Greek coffee you could stand a spoon in, or syrupy frappe with sickly condensed milk. In my absence there wouldn’t be any decaf, or even any fresh milk in Alex’s kitchen. So more wine it was.

  I fiddled with the window catch and went out onto the balcony. It was long and narrow – just room for a small bistro table with a chair on either side which you would have to squeeze past to walk further along. I supposed it ran the whole length of the apartment. Instead of the road, it overlooked a quad with a swimming pool in the middle and what looked like a nice garden around it. I looked forward to seeing it in a couple of hours when the sun came up. If I was still here then.

  ‘Katse – sit,’ Alex invited me, as he put a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and two glasses on the table. Of course, he preferred red wine so he wouldn’t have any white in, but that was fine. He poured the wine. ‘Stin yia mas! – Cheers! Here’s to us.’ He clinked his glass against mine and downed about half of it in one mouthful. I took a sip of mine. It tasted dry on my tongue – I wouldn’t be able to drink much on top of all the Prosecco I’d had at the yacht club, or I’d be fit for nothing in the morning. Putting his glass down on the table he rested his hand close to mine and ran his fingertip along my wrist. Goose pimples shot up my arm – it must have gotten cooler than I realised.

  ‘How long have you had this place?’ I asked him, thinking my brain should be sending my arm a message to move and wondering why it wasn’t.

  ‘Since the beginning of December. I was stuck in a hotel apartment before that. It was pretty grim – you’d have hated it.’ He turned those big, puppy dog eyes on me and stroked my wrist again. ‘You really would have.’

  Possibly, but I wouldn’t have hated this place, I thought, but didn’t say. There went the goose pimples again – I should have brought my pashmina out. ‘Big pool.’ I breathed, nodding down towards it. ‘Do you get time to use it much?’

  ‘Yeah,’ his fingers started tracing their way up the inside of my arm. ’Most Friday and Saturday mornings I’ll go do a few laps before it gets too warm. Some evenings when I get home too, if I haven’t gone for a drink with the boys after work.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got in to a nice routine.’ I took what was meant to be another sip but turned in to a gulp of my wine just for something to do with my hands. He moved closer. He looked like he was about to kiss me. That so wasn’t what I’d come here for. And yet …

  His free hand found my thigh and started stroking it. Half my brain was thinking Mm … yes please. The other half was trying to protest but couldn’t quite remember why and my body was siding with the first half. Then his lips met mine, my brain shut down completely and my body took over.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  We stood up together and moved as one – a rather awkward, clumsy one – into the bedroom. He started tugging at my dress before I’d even kicked off my shoes. I directed him to the zip and started unbuttoning his shirt while he took care of the dress.

  ‘Ella agape mou - my love,’ he murmured into my hair before pulling the dress down and tumbling with me onto the bed. He had my bra undone and tossed aside in seconds and his hands were fumbling with my knickers. My big old Bridget Jones granny knickers that I’d worn because this hadn’t been part of the plan. He didn’t seem to have noticed. But I had. I’d worn them for a reason. I wasn’t ready for this. I mumbled something about needing the bathroom as I pulled myself away from him and headed for the en-suite. I didn’t have long to wait until he started snoring.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  When I woke up later in the morning it took my brain a second to remember where I was, then I turned over. Alex wasn’t there. I looked at the alarm clock. Twenty-five past eight. That was late for me, but then it was New Year’s Day and we had just had a very late night. I’d have to get myself back to my hotel soon.

  ‘Alex,’ I called out, wondering if he was making coffee. I couldn’t smell any and there was no reply, so I got up, pulled on his shirt from last night, and wandered along the little hallway to where I thought the kitchen was. He wasn’t in there, but there was a note on the cramped counter, scribbled on a blank bit of a pizza delivery menu with a key next to it. Gone to work. I’ve left you my key so you can check out of your hotel and bring your stuff here. Will be back about 6, so be back before me – A x

  Check out of my hotel and bring my stuff here? A few apologetic words and a quick fumble and then business as usual? I knew I was low maintenance but did he really think I was going to just pick up where we left off and pretend the last few months hadn’t happened just because we almost slept together this morning?

  I’d started a new chapter in my life and had a great new job. I wasn’t just going to throw everything Henry had done for me back in his face because Alex had realised he’d been an idiot. We needed to sit down and have a real talk about all this as soon as he got back from work.

  Hang on a minute though, it was New Years’ Day. Why would he have to go in to work on New Years’ Day? I pulled the business card Steve had given me out of my evening bag. He’d scribbled several phone numbers on it that he thought might be useful, including one for reception. I dialled the number and waited.

  ‘Al Jadeed Brinkley, how can I help you?’

  Think, Beth, think. ‘Er, hello, is Alex Petropoulos there please?’

  ‘Just a moment, I’ll put you through.’

  ‘Alex Petropoulos speaking …’

  ‘Oh, hi, Alex … It’s Beth … er … I hadn’t realised you were going to be working today.’

  ‘Yeah, New Year’s Day! Look we’ll talk tonight. Gotta go, it’s crazy here today. Yia sou – bye.’

  OK, so he was working today. Actually, now I thought about it, Steve had said something about them all having to do overtime this weekend because of some emergency I hadn’t really paid attention to because I’d been too bus
y listening to Alex.

  There were half a dozen texts, including one from Henry which had arrived about four in the morning, wishing me a Happy New Year and saying he’d got me on a flight tonight. That was quick. I wondered if it could be changed to tomorrow night so Alex and I could have that talk. I was sure Henry wouldn’t mind, and I could go and check out of the hotel and stay here tonight, so that needn’t be a problem. I texted him back:

  Happy New Year Henry! Can we delay 1 day? Have met Alex & need to talk more. Can check out of hotel & stay in apartment, no prob. Hope this ok Bx

  The kitchen in this apartment was tiny. His used frappe shaker sat in the corner of the counter, surrounded by a litter of empty biscuit packets, crumpled condensed milk pods, dirty mugs, and teaspoons. Spilled dribbles of ketchup and that sweet sticky milk and grains of sugar added splotches of red and white to the rust-coloured granite work surface. I saw now that this miniscule space was a tip. The sink was full of dirty dishes and glasses – no pots or pans, so I guessed he’d been living on takeaways. The only thing that was clean was his briki – his little Greek coffee pot.

  A quick search of the cupboards revealed no other coffee and no clean mugs either. Crockery and cutlery-wise, this kitchen had obviously been kitted out with a set of four each of everything, and all four mugs, dinner plates and bowls were dirty on the counter or in the sink. That particular cupboard held a couple of clean side plates and that was it.

  Another cupboard held a half-empty box of bags of salt and vinegar crisps, more packets of biscuits, a jar of Kalamata olives, an open bag of sugar with a coffee-tipped spoon stuck in it, some little salt and pepper packets, and a handful of ketchup sachets, which must have come with some of the takeaways. Another flashback to the first time Alex took me back to his place in Camden.

  There was some orange juice in the fridge, and I rinsed out the glass he’d obviously used this morning before pouring some for myself. I’d drink that and have a shower. By then I hoped I’d have finished arguing with myself over whether I should tackle the washing up mountain or leave it to the lazy sod who’d created it.

  The quick shower I had was an assault on my senses. Alex’s lime and lemon shower gel, his shampoo, his deodorant – the scents I’d spent three years living with and almost as many months living without, shot through my sense memories and made me feel like I’d come home. Except that I hadn’t and I wasn’t ready to start feeling like that.

  It felt remarkably like doing the walk of shame leaving Alex’s apartment, wearing one of his shirts, tied at the waist, over last night’s dress. There was a different security guard on duty and I didn’t want to imagine what he must be thinking as he looked at me, but he didn’t say anything. There didn’t seem to be any taxis coming along that road, so I walked to where I thought I’d remembered a main road and found one quite quickly. The look the driver gave my clothes made me not want to imagine what he was thinking either.

  I’d arrived back at the hotel and had an omelette and a proper coffee, and had just got out of the bath, when a text tinged into my phone from Henry:

  Are you sure, Beth? I can delay ticket as long as you need but do be careful. Don’t check out in case you need the room. Any problem call/sms/email me H

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  ‘Mmm, something smells good.’ Alex was practically drooling when he got home that evening. ‘Is that my mum’s recipe?’ The level of enthusiasm in his kiss sent goose pimples chasing each other all over my skin.

  ‘What do you think?’ As if I would dare make moussaka any other way. As soon as we got engaged, his mother had handed me a notebook in which she had written down all Alex’s favourite Greek dishes with exact instructions as to how they had to be made.

  ‘I’ll just grab a quick shower.’ He kissed me again. ‘I won’t be long.’

  I carried on laying the little outside table which I’d brought up to the lounge end of the balcony. I hadn’t stopped since getting back from the hotel this afternoon. The state of the lounge had somehow managed not to make itself fully known to me until I walked back through the front door, when it hit me full in the face. There were a couple of pizza boxes, complete with a collection of unwanted crusts under the coffee table. On top of it, old newspapers and magazines with coffee mug rings all over them, empty beer, and soft drink cans and water bottles left like knocked-over skittles, and some kind of pizza topping trodden in to the rug at the far end of the sofa. I knew it was stupid but I hadn’t been able to go back out and buy the moussaka ingredients until I’d cleared up that lot.

  The security guard, once we’d established my identity, had directed me to a lovely little supermarket called Spinneys, about a five-minute walk away. It was one of the ones which had a pork license and so was a bit on the pricey side, but everything looked lovely and fresh and I was pretty sure I’d get everything I needed there.

  It was only when I’d arrived back at the apartment with my minced lamb, aubergines, courgettes, potatoes, herbs and spices, a bottle of Greek olive oil, milk, and my one cheat – a packet of bechamel sauce mix – that I realised there was no baking dish to make it in. I’d expected to find the one his mum had given us specifically for baking this and pasticcio, another favourite of his, but it wasn’t in any of the kitchen cupboards. So I’d sliced the aubergines and sprinkled salt over them – as instructed by the Greek mother-in-law, so as to draw out the bitter juices – while I went back out to get one.

  Once the dish was assembled and ready for the oven, I’d sat and finished off my hotel report for Henry. A germ of an idea had planted itself in my head, but it was far too early to know if anything would come of it. It was a very long shot that Alex and I might be able to find some way of staying together, but if we did, I didn’t want to give up my job. It had occurred to me that I could do this job using Dubai as a base, if Henry sent me to check up on his Middle East, Far East and Australian hotels. But like I said, it was a very long shot that I could trust Alex again and I would miss working so closely with Henry. I flicked through the report again. I was pleased with it and left it out on the coffee table to show Alex, as I wasn’t sure if he would understand about the job, or quite believe that it was something I could be good at. I was giving it another quick read-through when Alex came back out, smelling fresh and citrusy and looking even more edible than my moussaka.

  He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a long kiss, before patting me on the bottom and saying, ‘Na fame eh – let’s eat!’ Then he sauntered out to the balcony and sat himself down. My mind did a quick flashback to when I’d made a lasagne for Henry – how he’d insisted on helping carry things through to the dining table and he didn’t sit down until everything was on the table and I was there too. But then, Alex had never done any of that, so he wasn’t going to start now. Just different upbringings, I supposed.

  I took the moussaka out of the oven and left it to rest a moment while I carried out the wine and Greek salad and put them on the table. By the time I’d returned with the moussaka, Alex had opened and poured the wine.

  ‘Stin yia mas.’ He clinked my glass. ‘Here’s to us, Beth.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  ‘So, that’s why I was in Dubai on New Year’s Eve,’ I finished my tale and waited for Alex’s reaction.

  ‘Then katalaveno. I don’t understand. You came here as some kind of undercover hotel spy to try and bribe a manager in one of the best hotels in Dubai?’

  ‘Yes, but only to test whether he’d take it or not. And of course, he didn’t. But he told me that the guest who’d complained about him had been the one who’d offered the b –’

  ‘Stamata – stop, Beth. This is crazy. Who is this man who sent you to do this? Some man with a cat who found you breaking into his home and living there while he was away?’

  ‘No it’s –’

  ‘Accou – Listen to yourself. This is like some bad television soap opera. It was bad enough having to tell people you picked up dog shi
t for a living. Now I have to tell them that you spy on people? What have you let happen to you, Beth?’

  ‘What, apart from my husband flying halfway round the world and leaving me behind?’ The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  ‘Ego ftaio eh? So it’s my fault? I told you to go and live like a criminal? I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. I’m going for a drink.’ And he marched out, taking the one key with him.

  I was furious, with Alex, and with myself. This was what he’d always been like. Why had I thought he’d be any different now? Everything had to be done his way.

  Of course he wouldn’t be proud of me for finding an exciting new job. He’d be angry that I hadn’t done what he thought I should do.

  Well, if Alex thought he’d trapped me here by taking the only key with him he could think again. I grabbed my bag, stuffed my laptop, night things and toiletries into it and was out of the door just a few minutes after him, slamming it shut behind me.

  I should have listened to Henry. He said I was too vulnerable to Alex to come to Dubai and risk seeing him, and he was right. Henry, who’d only known me properly for what, six weeks? He understood me far better than Alex who’d known me three years. He even knew I’d need that hotel room again tonight. Why couldn’t I have married a man like Henry?

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  The first thing I did when I got back to the hotel was head to the bar and order a glass of their very superior Sauvignon Blanc. While I waited for it I sent Henry a text – Sorry. Been stupid Please book return ticket A S A P. B x

  I thought there’d have been a reply by the time I finished my drink, but there wasn’t, so I tried ringing his number. It seemed to be switched off. Either that or my roaming thing wasn’t working. I didn’t want to stay for another drink in the bar on my own so I ordered a latte and a slice of camels’ milk chocolate tart from the coffee shop to be delivered to my room and went up to run another bath. Henry still hadn’t got back to me by the time I was ready for bed and I lay there flicking through the channels, unable to concentrate on anything.