Simply Heaven Read Free Page A

doubt. I’ve never done before and I’m not going to start now. So I say: ‘Rufus, hold on a minute.’
    He reappears. ‘Uh-huh?’
    ‘Look, I’m sorry to give you the third degree, but who’s this “we”?’
    He looks blank. ‘Huh?’
    Well, either he’s a good actor, or he’s lacking a few sandwiches in the old picnic department. Or he’s going ‘huh?’ because I’ve caught him out and he’s stalling for time.
    ‘You know. You’ve done it about ten times. Said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’.’
    ‘Well, I …’ He frowns.
    Oh God. He’s thinking up a story.
    ‘Well, I did say it was a family house.’
    ‘Oh God.’ I sit down, heavily, in a wooden chair at the kitchen table. ‘Oh, God. How stupid am I?’
    Rufus is frowning some more. Puts the tomatoes and the olives on the table and sits down facing me. ‘What’s up, captain? You’ve lost me.’
    ‘Well, shit, I might as well have known, but … Jeez. You could have told me. I mean, you can’t be that desperate …’
    He shakes his head. That’s right, you low-down ratfink. Shake away. That’s a lot less than I’m doing.
    ‘So,’ I ask, ‘have you got kids as well?’
    ‘Have I got …? What are you …? Oh God! Melody, no! You’ve so got the wrong end of the stick. You think I’m married, don’t you?’
    I look up. To my shame, I can feel that my nose has already started to puff up and go pink. ‘Well, aren’t you?’
    He starts to laugh, which doesn’t please me. Reaches over and bashes me on the shoulder, which, given the fact that I’m making it so clear that I don’t like what he’s got me into, seems a bit inappropriate.
    ‘You think I’m some kind of moustache-twirling lothario preying on innocent sunbathers while the Ball and Chain slaves away at home? Is that what you think?’
    ‘Well, that’s about the size of it, isn’t it?’
    He wipes his eyes. Collapses into another gust of giggles. ‘And I threw myself into the sea as part of my cunning plan to get your pants off? Gawd, blimey, darling. There’s a couple of hundred chicks who’ll probably put out for a couple of glasses of Lachryma Vitis staying in Marsalforn alone. I really didn’t need to … Bit of a high-risk strategy, isn’t it? What if you couldn’t swim?’
    ‘I’m Australian, aren’t I?’ I snap. ‘Of course I can swim.’
    ‘Didn’t check your accent. Sorry. Have an olive.’
    He unties a plastic bag full of purple kalamata olives, pushes it across the table towards me. Starts to laugh again.
    ‘OK, OK,’ I say, embarrassed now, ‘that’s enough.’
    ‘I can’t wait to tell the wife about this,’ he says, then, catching my expression, points and cackles. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he says, ‘even if I was married, I don’t think I’d dare try something like that on with you. Seriously, Melody, you look like you could come over Sicilian at the drop of a hat. You’d probably leave a horse’s head in my bed or something.’
    ‘Cypriot, actually,’ I say. I’ve inherited my father’s hair and skintone, but, fortunately, not my yaya’s capacity to grow a beard. ‘And it would be a goat, if I could get my hands on one.’
    ‘I’m not married,’ he says. ‘Melody, I’m not married. I’ve been waiting for you to come along, honestly.’
    ‘Don’t overdo it, mate.’
    Rufus stretches over and tucks my hair behind one ear. ‘Will you have an olive, now?’
    Sulkily, I pop a couple of kalamata in my mouth. Yum. Fat as a goose.
    ‘I mean it, though,’ says Rufus, and he hasn’t taken his hand away. Caresses my ear and my jawline, and I can feel another shiver coming on. ‘I know Englishmen aren’t meant to be romantic, but I swear I’ve been waiting for you. You’re different. You’re different from the kind of girls I know at home, but you’re just – different too. Melody?’
    ‘What?’
    And a bit later, he says: ‘You feel it too, don’t you?’
    And I say, ‘I don’t know. There’s something. You’re