Page 31 of The Lucky Escape

‘No, actually,’ I countered.

‘The lady here is treating me because of a big award at work,’ Patrick supplied.

‘Oh really?’ Bianca asked, pulling away from the kerb.

‘I work for MI6 though, so I can’t talk about it I’m afraid. I’ve already said too much.’

Bianca signalled to get onto the highway. ‘I don’t believe you for a second,’ she hooted. ‘If you’re James Bond, I’m the guitarist for The Rolling Stones.’

‘Oooooh,’ said Patrick. ‘Can you get us tickets for the next tour?’

She talked our ear off as we settled in, heading south to Margaret River – I think Patrick’s chitchat had won her over. The road ran parallel to the coast, so as Bianca babbled away through the speaker system to us we watched endless sea meet endless sky out of the window. She told us she was born in Hackney to a Mexican mother and Aussie father who’d died the week before she’d been born, and that Bianca loved rhubarb gin before it was even a ‘thing’.

‘Of course,’ she continued, ‘it’s all about the wine out here. At least for the tourists, anyway.’

She told us, apropos of nothing, how she ‘takes no BS, but I’m sensitive. Just because I have a big gob, people forget that.’ I had an inkling she’d been betrayed by somebody recently, and was trying to reason with herself that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t seem to care that we’d stopped much responding beyond a polite ‘Oh, really?’ or ‘Mmmmmm!’ sound. I was sleepy and relaxed – it was wonderful stepping off a plane and being whisked to our destination. My brain shut down synapse by synapse, letting everyone else’s organization lead the way.

‘Anyway, it was my dad who grew up out here,’ she yapped, and I watched a seagull surf the air, bobbing down smoothly and then shooting back up. ‘And when I turned thirty-three last year I just had this pull to come out and see what he saw when he was a kid. I can’t explain, but this feelsmore like home than anywhere else in the world to me. Some things just feel right, don’t they?’

‘Not a bad place to feel at home in,’ Patrick observed. It really was beautiful. I hadn’t even had time to pick up a guide book for the trip, and my knowledge of Australia was limited, pitifully, to having watchedNeighboursafter school growing up. It was greener than I’d assumed, with huge leafy trees swaying contentedly in the breeze, and grassy banks and gardens and parks so luscious and verdant it was like looking through a filter.

‘So what’s the trip really for?’ Bianca asked, when she caught Patrick and I smile at each other through the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re booked into the best villa in the hotel. It’sreallygood. Stunning.’

I didn’t even need to look at Patrick to know what his face said. I knew he’d be looking delighted and jiggle his features at the mention of the fanciest villa. He was so excitable. So enthused by every piece of good news – and the good news really was endless, it seemed.

‘We’re here to celebrate the very essence of being alive,’ Patrick said to her, his voice sing-song and happy.

He made Bianca laugh almost as much as he did me. ‘Aren’t you just full of the happiness of spring?’ she giggled. She looked between us in the rear-view again. ‘It’s nice to see people so content.’

‘Only way to be,’ Patrick replied. ‘Isn’t that right, Annie?’

I shook my head at him teasingly and went back to looking out of the window. Australia. Half a world and a universe away.

‘I’ll get the truth out of you sooner or later,’ Bianca warned. ‘MI6 my arse. You two have got a story. I just know you have.’

I couldn’t believe the hotel. Bianca had gently woken us as we rounded off up the private lane, and twilight set in making everything a dusty pink. I looked at the car’s clock up front: because we’d stopped off halfway to stretch our legs, it was now just after six. The clouds lit up from behind and reflected in the lakes either side of the road perfectly so that it was as if we were gliding through the sky itself. Up ahead was a grand lodge made of lightly coloured stone, surrounded by lavish gardens with plants that looked like they’d had their saturation turned up: purples and oranges and blues and pinks in their full brightness, an exotic fair for the senses. The lodge had a huge wrap-around porch where sets of guests sat out with their drinks and snacks, and a firepit burned just behind it, where more couples sat on reclining wooden chairs, blankets splayed across their knees. Two perfect white helicopters waited in the distance, and I was sure I saw a peacock dragging its feathers behind her over in the field, too. It was astounding. As we got out of the limo and took it all in, I couldn’t believe I was there. We’d pulled up in paradise.

‘It’s not bad, is it?’ Bianca said. ‘You just wait until you see your villa.’

14

‘Okay, listen to this,’ Patrick said, reading from the pamphlet. We’d been shown to our cottage out towards the edge of the compound, driven there on a little golf cart to save our legs from the tiny pedestrianized pathways that snaked through the grounds. The first thing Patrick had said when we’d opened the door was that if I was getting Fernanda and Charles a giant Toblerone, he was going to gift them a kidney. I made a mental note to call them as soon as it was morning back home – although words wouldn’t be enough to express my thanks.

‘Postcard-perfect shorelines,’ he read. ‘White sand beaches. Towering forests. As far as God-given beauty goes, Western Australia’s Margaret River region hits the jackpot …’

‘Oh my God,’ I murmured under my breath. ‘All of this is for us, Patrick. Wow.’

Everything inside was glass and birch wood, meaning the whole place filled with the last of the light and the inside merged with the outside, as if there was no distinction between the two. A huge central seating area with plush, biscuity sofas was sunken into the middle on three sides, andwhen I went over to the balcony door I saw that you could slide it all the way across so that the whole back was entirely open. Birds sang and some sort of exotic-sounding creature issued a soft cooing sound, and I crept through the rest of the place with my jaw slack.

It had three bedrooms, which was a relief. Unexpected for a honeymoon but great for a holiday with a guy I used to go to drama camp with. I figured it was normally used for whole families. We checked in solely under my name at reception, and I remembered that Bianca’s sign had only my name on it too. Alexander’s parents must have given strict instructions for that, and I was so grateful. They hadn’t given any feedback when I’d given them Patrick’s details, other than Fernanda saying, ‘I’m so glad you changed your mind, darling. I think this will be really, really good for you.’ After the faux pas in the departure lounge I really wanted to make sure we avoided any further Mr and Mrs mishaps – and so far, so good.

‘Did you know about all this?’ Patrick asked as I went back through to where he was lying on his stomach across the big sofa. ‘We’re right in the middle of the food and drink scene here, and Bianca was right – it’s where literallyworld-classwine is made.’

‘Oh, actually, that does sound familiar,’ I acknowledged. I had vague recollections of talking to Alexander’s mum about the honeymoon ages ago, but mostly they’d kept the details of it as a surprise for us. Fernanda had said that as Alexander and I had planned everything else down to a ‘T’, we’d be grateful somebody else organized the honeymoon once we were on it, and that all I needed to do was trust her. This wasn’t how I’d imagined experiencing it, but I had to hand it to them – this was dreamlike in every sense of the word.

‘There’s art galleries and every Saturday there’s theMargaret River Farmers’ Market. Oh. I guess we missed that this week, but will we still be here for it next week?’

I considered it. ‘I think so? We’re here six nights before we go to Sydney.’

---