undressed, pulled on her swimming costume, wrapped a towel around her and headed for the pool. What should she say to Hugo? she thought, as she front-crawled up and down, stroke after rhythmic stroke. She would definitely have to tell him that Scott was here and that she might see him. Then she let out an unexpected underwater laugh which made bubbles come out of her nose and caused her to come up for air mid-stroke, coughing and spluttering. It was all too ridiculous. He would probably have forgotten who she was.
She pulled up by the side, resting her arms on the stone edging of the pool. The slabs were warm from the sun, their slight roughness smoothed by a thin film of water. She observed how her forearms were covered in goose bumps that made each hair stand on end, petrified droplets of water shimmering in between. Lifting her face to the evening light, she closed her eyes, enjoying the strange contradiction of the cool water on her legs and stomach and the last of the sunâs warm glow on her shoulders, and tried to empty her overcrowded mind, to let her thoughts drift away.
âOh my God, I do not believe it!â A deep, resonant voice broke into her daydreams.
âI do not believe it! Sarah Lacey. How the hell are you?â
5
Portugal, 2010
Horror seared through Sarahâs body, momentarily freezing the blood in her veins. Surely it wasnât Scott, surely the moment they met again after twenty years wasnât going to be when she was soaking wet, hair bedraggled, wearing a tatty old swimming costume and no make-up?
But she knew that it was him. She would recognise that voice anywhere. And he clearly had not forgotten her.
She opened her eyes, blinking the water out of them. She was so embarrassed at the circumstances that she could hardly bear to look up, but when she did there he was, right in front of her, impossible to avoid.
âScott! How amazing,â she stuttered, her teeth suddenly beginning to chatter violently.
Just act normal, she admonished herself. Just behave as if itâs an everyday occurrence to meet an ex-lover, the love of your life, when youâre in a swimming pool in Lisbon.
She pulled herself out of the water.
âI got your email â I was on my way back to my room and I was going to reply to you there. I just cannot believe it!â Scottâs incredulity was apparent in his voice and his delight-crinkled eyes.
Sarah was standing up now, acutely aware of her hair strewn everywhere, and of her faded, baggy swimsuit with the sagging elastic. If only sheâd packed a decent one, she thought, before remembering that she didnât have any other costume, it was so long since it had seemed to matter what she wore to go swimming.
She studied Scottâs face discreetly. There were the beginnings of slight bags under his eyes, and shallow lines across the brow that she remembered as flawless and smooth. He was fatter, but still looked fit, and his hair was the same honey brown and thick as it had ever been, his skin still the colour of a smooth hazelnut shell. His dull, charcoal grey business suit in no way masked the sex appeal he had always carried so easily. Above all, he was unmistakably Scott Calvin.
âLook at you. You look amazing.â His voice brimmed over with gladness and enthusiasm. âAbsolutely amazing!â
The idea was so ridiculous that she couldnât help but smile. He moved towards her, made a half-gesture to hug her, then faltered, registering the fact that she was soaking wet.
âYes, I wouldnât come too close,â she laughed, a high-pitched, nervous laugh. âYou look far too smart in that suit, and Iâm sure itâs dry clean only.â
His eyes danced in the old familiar way, and her stomach lurched. âSo how come, Sarah? Why here? Why now?â
Bashfulness descended on her once again. âIâ¦Iâm⦠Iâm writing an article for a newspaper,â she managed to
She pulled up by the side, resting her arms on the stone edging of the pool. The slabs were warm from the sun, their slight roughness smoothed by a thin film of water. She observed how her forearms were covered in goose bumps that made each hair stand on end, petrified droplets of water shimmering in between. Lifting her face to the evening light, she closed her eyes, enjoying the strange contradiction of the cool water on her legs and stomach and the last of the sunâs warm glow on her shoulders, and tried to empty her overcrowded mind, to let her thoughts drift away.
âOh my God, I do not believe it!â A deep, resonant voice broke into her daydreams.
âI do not believe it! Sarah Lacey. How the hell are you?â
5
Portugal, 2010
Horror seared through Sarahâs body, momentarily freezing the blood in her veins. Surely it wasnât Scott, surely the moment they met again after twenty years wasnât going to be when she was soaking wet, hair bedraggled, wearing a tatty old swimming costume and no make-up?
But she knew that it was him. She would recognise that voice anywhere. And he clearly had not forgotten her.
She opened her eyes, blinking the water out of them. She was so embarrassed at the circumstances that she could hardly bear to look up, but when she did there he was, right in front of her, impossible to avoid.
âScott! How amazing,â she stuttered, her teeth suddenly beginning to chatter violently.
Just act normal, she admonished herself. Just behave as if itâs an everyday occurrence to meet an ex-lover, the love of your life, when youâre in a swimming pool in Lisbon.
She pulled herself out of the water.
âI got your email â I was on my way back to my room and I was going to reply to you there. I just cannot believe it!â Scottâs incredulity was apparent in his voice and his delight-crinkled eyes.
Sarah was standing up now, acutely aware of her hair strewn everywhere, and of her faded, baggy swimsuit with the sagging elastic. If only sheâd packed a decent one, she thought, before remembering that she didnât have any other costume, it was so long since it had seemed to matter what she wore to go swimming.
She studied Scottâs face discreetly. There were the beginnings of slight bags under his eyes, and shallow lines across the brow that she remembered as flawless and smooth. He was fatter, but still looked fit, and his hair was the same honey brown and thick as it had ever been, his skin still the colour of a smooth hazelnut shell. His dull, charcoal grey business suit in no way masked the sex appeal he had always carried so easily. Above all, he was unmistakably Scott Calvin.
âLook at you. You look amazing.â His voice brimmed over with gladness and enthusiasm. âAbsolutely amazing!â
The idea was so ridiculous that she couldnât help but smile. He moved towards her, made a half-gesture to hug her, then faltered, registering the fact that she was soaking wet.
âYes, I wouldnât come too close,â she laughed, a high-pitched, nervous laugh. âYou look far too smart in that suit, and Iâm sure itâs dry clean only.â
His eyes danced in the old familiar way, and her stomach lurched. âSo how come, Sarah? Why here? Why now?â
Bashfulness descended on her once again. âIâ¦Iâm⦠Iâm writing an article for a newspaper,â she managed to
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