“No, seriously,” he says. “Look at this.”
For God’s sake.
Impatiently, I dump my rucksack on the deck and go to join him on the beach. I’m expecting a washed-up piece of flotsam or maybe a weird-looking dead fish, but when I see what he’s looking at, my jaw falls open. It’s a bottle of champagne in a rubber chiller, weighed down with heavy-duty plastic sheeting and a couple of rocks. But it’s not just the champagne that’s making me stare—it’s the message written in the sand. It’s gouged out in huge letters and lined with stones and is clearly legible:
To the couple on the beach. Thank you.
“Wow,” I say at last. “That’s weird.”
“I know, right?” Finn seems perplexed.
“Is that real champagne?” I take a step forward. “Should we touch it?”
“It’s not a crime scene!” Finn laughs—then stops. “Maybe it is.”
“It’s a glass bottle.” My mind is already on the practical issues. “It might break and cut someone’s foot. It’s dangerous.” I look at the message again. “What does it mean?”
“Means something to the couple on the beach, I guess,” says Finn.
I swivel around sharply, as though hoping to spot the elusive couple, but the endless stretch of sand is as empty as ever.
“Well, what do we do?”
“I’ll talk to Cassidy,” says Finn. “Find out if they know what it is.”
“I’ll talk to her,” I contradict him, getting out my phone and taking a photo of the message. “I think I’ll probably handle it better, wouldn’t you agree?” I glance up at Finn, expecting him to look abashed or maybe even give some explanation for this morning, but he frowns.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
God, he really is in denial.
“I just think maybe I’m better at communicating with the staff than you are?” I say pointedly. “Just my opinion.”
“Your opinion?” he echoes incredulously.
“Yes. My opinion.”
“Well, my opinion is that if I deal with this, we won’t need to wait until your PA’s made a call and your team’s confirmed the details. We can just talk directly. You know? Like normal, down-to-earth people?”
I do not believe this. Is he having a dig at me?
“At least I know how to talk to the staff in a civilized manner,” I say icily. “Unlike some.”
“Civilized?” He gives a shout of laughter. “The woman who gets her PA to issue high-handed commands every morning? Kefir! Kale! Reflexology! At seven A.M.! Whatever you pay that PA of yours, believe me, it is not enough.”
I feel a jolt of shock. Is that how he sees me?
Well, OK. So what if he does? I don’t have to explain myself to him. Even so, I can’t help retorting, “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Oh, really?” he shoots back. “I know you’re a princess who’s got everyone running after you. And a health freak who blanches at the sight of sugar. Let alone booze. Let alone anything fun whatsoever. Sorry we can’t all live up to your high standards of nutrition and exercise and general perfection,” he adds sarcastically. “It must be very distressing for you to have to witness a real, flawed human being.”
Whatever irritation I felt toward this man is turning to rage. Princess? Health freak?
“What, I’m a health freak because I don’t sit on the beach drinking whisky and ordering pizza all day?”
“I’d take whisky and pizza over frog vomit,” he instantly replies, nodding at the kale smoothie in my hand.
Frog vomit is such an apt description of the smoothie that I’m momentarily halted.
“Well, at least I don’t yell at the staff!” I snap, changing tack, and Finn’s face jolts defensively.
“Yell at the staff? What are you talking about?”
“This morning,” I say. “You nearly gave poor Nikolai a nervous breakdown.”
I’m expecting Finn to look guilty, but he stares at me, his expression unchanging.
“What are you talking about?” he repeats.
“Come on!” I exclaim in frustration. “I know you yelled at him or swore or … I don’t know. Punched the wall? Threw a chair? Got out your chainsaw? I just know you scared him somehow. Maybe I drink frog vomit, but at least I’m not a sociopath with anger issues.”
A tiny pulse is beating in Finn’s forehead. For a few moments he says nothing, but I notice his fists have clenched. When he does speak, it’s in an unnaturally calm yet tense voice.
“Do you make a habit of hurling unfounded accusations at people? Or is it just a fun holiday pursuit?”
“Don’t deny it,” I say indignantly. “Nikolai was a wreck. He could barely speak!”
“Maybe he couldn’t.” Finn’s face is resolute. “But what has that got to do with me?”
Seriously? Does this guy think he’s kidding anyone? I can see he’s trying to rein in his anger right now. Look at his stance. Look at the way he’s breathing through his nostrils, as though trying to contain his emotions.
“Look, I know, OK?” I say impatiently, before I can think whether this is a good idea or not. “I know what happened in your workplace. I heard you dictating letters in the dunes.” Finn’s face blanches in shock and I feel momentarily bad—but too late. He should have thought of that before he was mean to Nikolai. “I know you’re not just on holiday. I know you’re here to ‘consider your behavior.’ ” I fold my arms disapprovingly. “But you’re not considering anything! You’re just drinking whisky and lashing out at some poor blameless waiter who wouldn’t harm a fly!”
With a flourish, I turn and stalk off toward my lodge, but to my dismay, Finn follows. As I reach my door, he’s still behind me, and I wheel round to kindly tell him to leave me alone. But my words shrivel on my lips. He looks livid. And somehow several feet taller. More intimidating. My eyes run over his body as though for the first time. Powerful chest. Powerful arms. Powerful jaw, even tighter than before. Despite myself, I feel a tremor of nerves.
“OK, Ms. Health Nut of the Year,” he says evenly. “I have just about had it.”
“Are you threatening me?” I swallow.
“No, I am not threatening you!” he erupts hotly. “I’m telling you a few home truths. Maybe you’re so used to bossing your PA about, you’ve forgotten the rules of decency. Or maybe it’s your low-calorie diet. It’s messed with your head.”
“I’ve forgotten the rules of decency?” I echo in disbelief. “I have? You have to be joking! You’re the guy who made a toddler cry on the train!”
A look of utter shock passes over his face, as though I’ve caught him out.
“I was stressed,” he says defensively.
“Stressed?” I retort. “We’re all stressed!”
Quickly, I step into my lodge and shut the door with a bang, feeling slightly relieved to have escaped. But at once he raps on the door, so hard that I jump.
“That’s right, hide from reality!” His voice resounds through the wooden door, only slightly muffled. “You think you know everything, but you don’t! And by the way, the reason I’m here is none of your business.”