Chapter Six
They arrived back to find that Juanita had left a bowl of fruit and some snacks for them. Ryan purported to still be hungry, and pulled a bottle of shiraz from his bag. They nibbled at the snacks and drank as dusk turned to dark, before Ryan helped himself to a second bottle that they half finished before he complained of discomfort caused by sand lodged in dark places. Isobel had been struck by the same affliction, and they agreed only a hot shower could offer a cure; one Ryan insisted should be taken while finishing the remainder of the wine. They fell into bed tipsy and, still half wet and wrapped in their towels, fell asleep.
She awoke to find him sitting up in bed browsing his phone and smiling to himself. She turned toward him, and put a hand on his thigh.
“What’s so amusing?”
“Nothing. Just sorting through some old photos, deleting the embarrassing ones.”
“Can I see?” she asked, pushing herself up beside him.
“Sure,” he said, leaning into her so they could share the phone. “It’s just holiday stuff, Vegas last year, mainly.”
“Nothing you don’t want me to see?”
“I’ve got no secrets.”
He flicked through a slew of photos. Most were from a hotel pool party, Ryan and a bunch of guys having a ball, drinking, splashing about and frolicking with girls in bright bikinis and perfectly tanned bodies.
“Who is she?” asked Isobel, feeling a pang of jealousy as a photo popped up of a girl draped over Ryan, her cheek pressed to his, her lips pouted for the camera.
“Some chick I met in Vegas.”
Isobel cuddled in closer. “She’s very pretty. Is she an ex?”
“Maybe we got together, maybe we didn’t. A boy’s weekend in Sin City can be a blur.” He selected “delete” and the picture disappeared from the screen. “Whoever she is, she’s history now.” He held the phone out in front of them. “Hey, how about we do a selfie?”
She hastily pulled up the sheet to shield her breasts and he snapped without waiting for her reply.
“I look such a mess,” she said, as they reviewed the picture. To her relief she had covered up in time.
“You look gorgeous.”
“With no makeup and my hair all over the place?”
“Sultry and seductive, I’d call it.” He sprang up to face her and pulled the sheet away. “Come on, let’s do a sexy one.”
She held out her palm, toward the camera. “No.”
“It’s just for us, babe.”
She hesitated. “Then wait. And only together.” He sat down beside her, one hand around her shoulder. “Okay if I do it with our backs to the mirror? That way we get to see both sides.” She turned sideways to the camera, her leg across his thighs.
“Happy?” he asked, as she checked the image. The picture had an intimacy about it without in any way being graphic.
She nodded approval. He had a talent for photography, she could see that.
“One more, then. And on your own this time.”
She had expected as much. “If you must, but make it tasteful.”
“Pose however you want. You don’t like it, we trash it.”
She sat up to face the camera, pulling her knees up to her chin, and strategically crossing her ankles. He raised the camera and she turned her head to one side, her hair falling full across her face.
“Tasteful it is, babe. There won’t be a beaver anywhere in sight.” The camera flashed, and she grabbed for the sheet, wrapping herself in it.
“Not bad,” she declared when he showed her the picture.
“Not bad? It’s a work of frigging art. But with your hair across your face like that, it could be anyone.”
“Ah, I would never have guessed,” she replied, springing off the bed and into the bathroom before he had any more artistic notions.
She came into the lounge to find Ryan with his feet up drinking a beer. “You want to go grab a bite?” he said.
She did not feel hungry and preferred to go back to bed. “There’s not a lot happening in Coronado after dark on a Monday night. There are no nightclubs and all the restaurants will start closing in about an hour. There might be music in the Del, I suppose.”
“We can do better than a hotel lobby. There’ll be things going on across the bridge. Come on, let’s go. It’ll have to be somewhere casual, since I don’t have anything here any more.”
“Casual will be fine,” she said, ignoring any inference that she bore responsibility for not allowing him to maintain a wardrobe for his convenience. “No one wears a tie after dark around here.”
She went into the kitchen, putting away the things Juanita had left to dry, when he called out.
“Who is this Lance guy, by the way?”
She dropped a cup in the sink and a handle broke against a glass bowl. A rush of guilt reddened her cheeks, though she knew she had no reason for it. She tried to connect the dots in her mind and came up with the only link she could think of: Juanita must have mentioned him. “Just a guy I met,” she said, not knowing what caused her to be evasive. The protection of the kitchen wall had never felt more welcome. He did not follow up his question, compelling to offer more explanation. “I met him at the Del. I think he said he works there, or used to, I’m not sure.” She emerged from the kitchen to find Ryan thumbing the guidebook. He had not made any connection between the book and the man he had confronted on the doorstep, or pretended not to. She realised Lance must have signed it, or left something with his name on in it, a card perhaps.
“Find anywhere interesting for tonight?” she asked as airily as she could, unable to think of a plausible way to now clarify that the “smug fucker” on the doorstep and the man who Ryan had asked about were one and the same.
“There’s a section here about the ten best things to do on Monday night in San Diego,” he said, seeming oblivious to Isobel’s awkwardness.
“Is ‘go to bed early and wait for Tuesday’ top of the list?”
“There’s a music night at a place in El Cajon that looks like it could be fun. Wanna try it?”
“El Cajon is a bit of a drive, about twenty minutes. It’s where Juanita lives.”
“A twenty-minute drive may be an overnight trek in England, but in the US it’s round the corner. I’m happy to drive.”
She relieved him of the bottle he had just emptied. “Let’s not risk a DUI, shall we? I’ll call a cab.” She held out her hand. “Let me see the number.”
“They don’t need reservations.”
Nevertheless she took the guidebook from him and a card fell to the floor. She pretended she hadn’t noticed but Ryan picked it up and gave it to her, and she stuck it back between the leaves without examining it. She thumbed the pages and came across a handwritten message inside the front cover: “To the mysterious and enchanting Isobel, with warmest wishes, Lance.” If Ryan had seen that message, then he’d decided to play it super cool.
“Looks like a fun place. Why not?” she said, relieved that Ryan had lost interest in who “Lance” might be.
His mind seemed to have moved on to more earthy matters. “You going in that dress?”
She put her fists on her hips. “And what’s wrong with this dress?”
“Nothing, if that’s what you’re comfortable in. Just might be a bit conservative for where we’re going.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I dunno. How about something that shows off those long legs of yours?”
“A bathing suit?”
“Up to you, babe. But I’m thinking more a short dress…and maybe high heels and stockings. You know, those ones that don’t need suspenders.”
She laughed. “I guess you’ve earned a treat. I’ll see what I can come up with.”