Lasting Damage by Sophie Hannah Page B

of an effort.
    Why wasn’t he having sex with his wife?
    Weren’t you supposed to spend most of your honeymoon in bed? Or was that only if you hadn’t slept together before the wedding?
    Charlie sighed. Was she expecting too much? After years of avoiding all physical contact with her, Simon had decided last year that it was time they consummated their relationship. Since then, everything had been fine. Well, fine-ish. Charlie still didn’t dare make the first move; she sensed Simon wouldn’t like it. It was equally clear that talking – during, immediately afterwards, or on the subject of – was forbidden. Or was Charlie imagining barriers that weren’t there? Maybe Simon wanted nothing more than for her to say, ‘Do you like having sex with me, or do you only do it because you feel you have to?’ Physically it seemed to work for him, but he always seemed so removed – eyes closed, silent, almost robotic at times.
    The mid-afternoon sun was scorching. Charlie considered telling Simon to go inside and put on more sun-cream. And then she could go in after him and . . . No. The rule of never initiating sex was a good one, and she was determined to stick to it. Once – years ago at a party, long before they were officially together – Simon had rejected her advances in a particularly brutal way. Charlie was determined never to allow it to happen again.
    She heard a noise behind her – footsteps. Domingo. She tensed, then exhaled with relief when she saw that he was holding a rake and a hoe; he was here to work, that was all. The garden that surrounded Los Delfines on all sides was evidently somebody’s pride and joy – perhaps Domingo’s, perhaps the owners’. It was bursting with more colours than Charlie had ever seen together in one place before: flame red, burgundy, purple, lilac, royal blue, orange, yellow, every shade of green. It made most English gardens look anaemic. Charlie’s favourite thing in it was what she thought of as ‘the upside-down lily tree’, from which white lilies hung like little lampshades.
    She put down her book and headed for the pool. Not because she wanted to be closer to Simon, but because the heat was blistering and she needed to cool off. She walked down the marble Roman steps into the water. ‘Exactly the right temperature,’ she said. ‘Not cold, but not warm. Like a hot bath someone ran two hours ago.’
    Simon didn’t reply.
    ‘Simon?’ What was he so focused on, that he couldn’t hear her when she was right next to him?
    ‘Hm? Sorry. What did you say?’
    It was hardly worth repeating. It seemed a shame to waste this opportunity; she ought to say something more important while she had his attention. ‘Every time I see Domingo heading in our direction, I panic.’
    ‘Scared he’s going to try and show us some more light switches?’
    ‘No, it’s not that, it’s . . . His mobile number’s on the website. That means we’re contactable via him, doesn’t it?’
    Simon struggled to sit up in his boat. ‘Are you worried about my mum? She doesn’t know where we are. No one does.’
    ‘Olivia does.’ Would he be angry that she’d told her sister what was supposed to be their secret? Apparently not. Charlie battled against the urge to ask him if she had his full attention. ‘When I told Liv how much this place cost, she insisted on seeing pictures. I had to show her the website.’
    ‘She’s not going to tell my mum, is she?’
    ‘It’s not Kathleen I’m worried about,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s work.’
    Simon made a dismissive noise. ‘The Safer Communities Forum can manage without you for fourteen days.’
    ‘I mean your work. No one cares if I’m not there.’
    ‘What, the Snowman? After months of looking forward to his Waterhouse sabbatical, as he calls it? He’s hardly going to seek me out. You know the last thing he said to me before I left? “Let’s both make the most of our two weeks off, Waterhouse. I might not be going anywhere more