The first full day of their holiday and it's all about relaxation... Didn't take long for the rating to change, did it!
He's humming when he comes out of the shower the following morning, wrapped in a white towel with his hair slicked back.
"Did you get hot water?" She asks.
"Luke warm."
"We'll have to ask about it at reception."
She's sitting at the bureau fiddling with her iPad, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose, hair piled on top of her head and secured loosely with a clip. She looks wonderful, he thinks.
"What are you doing?"
"Setting up my wifi, I want to email Anna and let her know we're here. Send her a picture of our glorious view." She adds with a smirk. "Any one you want to contact?"
"Lord no, I'd only tell you."
Silly man, she thinks as she watches him dress, and wonders again what she's doing with him - he's not usually her type, not that she has a type after twenty odd years of marriage. But he's certainly not what she would have gone for in her youth; a slightly podgy book shop owner who wears cardigans, votes Conservative and knows everything there is to know about the English monarchy. The archetypal bachelor, he's never even spoken of past relationships and she wondered (when they first slept together) how long it had been since he'd had sex. Still, there was nothing lacking in that department, and she is more than satisfied with how things have developed.
She was smirking when he looked up.
"What? Not laughing at my love handles I hope." He squeezed his hips in example.
"No, just smiling."
"I'm hungry."
"I'm tired, 5 hours sleep at best. I was not cut out for a life in service."
"Says the person who marked essays on the plane." He pulled a straw hat from his bag and she couldn't help but giggle. "Laugh all you want, I easily burn. And remember no gratuitous displays of affection in public, woman, save it for the room."
"Yes. Man." She giggled again, slipping her glasses off. "I suppose you know all there is to know about the culture now too."
"Absolutely, I've read all about it in the welcome pack, no excess flesh." He's quieted by her hands on his shoulders and her face close to his.
"Do I have to ask permission to kiss you now?"
"No, I'll let you have that for free."
She's shaking her head as she presses her lips to his, drawing him into a sweet, soft embrace.
It's a buffet breakfast and he eats too much. She has tea, a croissant and fruit. He works his way along the line and picks up what he feels like, then feels guilty for what's left on his plate.
She refills his tea cup without asking and he adds milk, "Not China," he notes and she bites the inside of her cheek.
They're some of the last up for breakfast and the restaurant is quiet, staff busy milling about, working silently to clear and re-lay tables for lunch. How diligent they look; she muses on hotels she's stayed in at home and youngsters working jobs they hate.
"Shall we go for a walk after?" He asks finishing his tea. "There are maps in reception."
"Yes, but let's stick to the beach today, I'm too tired to try and keep up with you in a hike."
"We don't have to walk, we can stay here, whatever you feel…" he watches her over his cup, suddenly feeling awkward, there's still an element of the unknown between them, still treading gently, he doesn't want to mess this one up, as he has countless times before.
She reaches across to touch his wrist then retreats quickly, "A walk on the beach is fine, I want you to enjoy the holiday too. It's meant for us to relax, I need it."
"Yes," he wants to touch her but doesn't. He knows it's exam season, three weeks until her students leave following Easter break, and she's worked non-stop since January.
He used to think teachers had it easy, long breaks and short hours. Now he knows her and he's seen her hours. She's at her desk between 7:00 - 7:30, having a takeaway coffee and a muffin she's purchased on the way in (there's a handy Costa just two minutes from the school). She leaves around five, unless there are after school clubs or meetings, has a shower, dinner, then will often work through until 23:00. It's rare they have nights out mid-week, but she promises him come summer term they can have late dinners at restaurants with outdoor dining and enjoy the cool breeze and light nights of an English summer. He's already looking forward to the days when the sun doesn't completely disappear until after nine and he has her company.
She never complains. In fact he's come to think of her as the kindest soul he's ever met. That's not to say she's perfect – who is – she can have a foul temper and don't even get her started on politics and feminism. But she makes him feel things he never thought possible, especially at his time of life. He's closer to sixty than he'd like and still in no financial position to retire, not that he wants to. He's worked at the bookstore since he was 14 and trailed after his mother. Other jobs in between but he ended up back there, manager, now owner.
There was a time he didn't recognise what he'd become; mid-thirties, unmarried and working with his mother. He thought himself a caricature of a bachelor, he even threw away every brown item of clothing he owned to avoid disappearing. He sometimes wished he'd met her when he was young, or made a move when he first met her. But then she was married and things would have been complicated. Now she is divorced and healing.
"Are you ready?" She asks waking him from his musings.
"Yes, sure."
They wander around the hotel for a while; Charles builds up a pile of maps and leaflets on sites he wants take in, Elsie reserves a table for dinner at the seafood restaurant on the sea-front at seven.
"We should decide what we want to book," He says as they head back to their room. "I wouldn't mind visiting the museum."
"Okay, that's not too far, we can take a taxi." She takes his hand when they're off the main path and near their villa. "You'll hate it but I quite fancy taking the helicopter ride over Dubai, it's only half-an-hour, I don't mind going with others."
"Let me think it through overnight, we can book in the morning."
"Fair enough."
He fiddles with the key card for a while until the lock flashes green and grants them entrance. The room is dark and cool and she quickly strips off her long dress.
"I thought we were going for a walk," he says, the sight of her in underwear still makes him pause and breathe a little more deeply.
"We are, but if we're walking along the beach I want to be prepared." She plonks a bag into the bed, "Towels, water, cream, and I'm going to put my bikini on beneath my dress. Unless I should wear a costume," she turns to face him as she's unclipping her bra, "what do you think, too old for a bikini in public?"
"Bollocks to that."
She laughs – sometimes his language surprises her, it reminds her he's not quite so stuffy as he might like to make out.
"Well go on then, change too, I'm not swimming alone."
It's breezy but beautiful on the shore and they walk for a good hour along the private beach until they reach the man-made boundary and pause to sit on the rocks. They drink their water and eat the apples Elsie took from breakfast.
"Do you want to swim here?" He asks, glancing around to see if they're alone, he's not too fond of stripping in front of strangers.
"Yes, let's. Just for a while." He watches as she slips her dress off over her head and folds it into the bag. "It's getting awfully hot," she notes, unclipping her hair and fixing it higher up to prevent it trailing in the water.
"It's almost two, should start to lessen soon."
"I'm not complaining," she wades in, leaving him sitting with the bag and still dressed.
Her face is delighted as she treads water, splashing across to where he sits on the rocks, "Well come on then, I dare ya!"
There are times her accent rolls stronger than others, usually when she's jesting or drunk or reading him poetry. He adores it. He adores her, he corrects himself, and he thinks that perhaps he should tell her so.
He strips off his shorts and t-shirt and puts them in the bag with the rest of their things, placing it high on a rock so it's visible from where they're swimming.
His legs shiver as he gets into the water but it's a welcome thrill and he dives straight in, swimming front crawl to where she is.
"You never told me you could swim properly," she smiles, bobbing in the water, appreciative of his strong arms and thick-set shoulders.
"We've never been in a position where I've had to swim to impress you." She splashes his face, "Hey, I took lessons as a child, John and I both did, obviously not together."
She sometimes forgets he has a younger brother. They don't seem that close. John is a good sixteen years younger than Charles and spent most of his childhood in Ireland with his father and stepmother; Charles speaks little of his father, and usually only late at night after a few sherries when his thoughts turn maudlin.
"I've always loved the water but only ever learnt one stroke."
"I can teach you."
"Maybe in the pool with goggles on, don't want to put my face in here, I'll end up with mascara stains."
He swims by her side around the rocks and they paddle searching for shells alongside shrill children. He grimaces at every call from one to the other, she doesn't even notice.
"Why do they have to be so loud?" He complains before jumping back into the sea.
She wades in behind him watching as he swims away and then turning beneath the waves and returning to her.
"Because they're children," she answers when he comes up for air and he'd forgotten what he'd complained about.
"Did you never want children?" She asks as they sit on the rocks, drying in the sunshine.
He glances down at her, eyes closed, face up turned to the sun, droplets of water glistening on her chest.
"That's a deep question."
She opens her eyes, shielding them as she looks up at him, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
He touches her shoulder, "I didn't mean that." He runs his fingertips along her shoulder blade until she closes her eyes and relaxes again. "It would be easy to say I never found anyone to have them with, maybe that's true…" He looks out to sea, there's a small sailing boat bobbing on the horizon and he wonders if they can be hired. "When I left University I guessed I'd just meet someone, get married and that would be it. Normality."
She held her breath, relishing the feel of his hand on her skin, the deep rumble of his voice as he confided, he wasn't one for sentimentality and it was rare he opened up.
"Never happened, and as you know I'm not one to go searching in bars for the perfect mate, I was content alone. Things just happen."
"They do, sometimes I wish I'd been content to be alone, instead of plugging away at an unhappy marriage for far too long."
"But you have Anna."
"Yes. Maybe I was nervous of being a single mother. Or nervous of letting my father down."
She opened her eyes again, blinking in the sun.
"Do you think we'd have got on, your father and I?"
She smiled, "Maybe with my mother, my father would think you stuffy I'm afraid."
"Great. Most do."
"I don't. Besides, I'd been using your bookshop for years and your mother always disliked me."
"She disliked most people, or rather she tolerated them."
She pushed herself up, rolling her neck as she did, "But she had a great wit, you should write a book of her sayings."
"Maybe I will. The world according to Violet."
"A Violet coloured world." She smiled. "Shall we walk back and have a cup of tea before we go change for dinner?"
"Let's go wild and try one of those funny coloured cocktails with an umbrella."
"And people think you stuffy." She teases with a grin.
He sneaks into the shower when she's rinsing her hair, holding her from behind and kissing her neck.
"You'll get a mouth full of bubbles," she says, tilting her head back and letting the water run down her body.
"Worth it."
"I'm almost done, then you can have it."
He nips her shoulder with his teeth, "And when can I have you?" His mouth is by her ear, hands roaming up over her stomach to cup her breasts.
"I thought we were going for dinner, I've booked a table." She gasps as his fingers probe between her legs and feels him press against her bottom. "Charles…"
"Mm….?"
The long drawn out syllable reverberates through her; how he's not seduced a thousand women with that voice she'll never know. She turns in his arms, sliding her hands over his shoulders and pressing her mouth fiercely against his.
She's 51 years old – she thinks as he grips her bottom, pressing her back against the cool tiles – and having the best sex of her life. At times like this, when he's overwhelmed with passion and so completely intent on pleasing her, she finds it hard to believe he's a 57 year old bookshop owner.
They haven't had sex for days, in fact prior to sleeping at her flat on Wednesday night ready for the flight the following morning, he hadn't seen her since the previous Friday. It surprised him how he missed her.
He's moaning in her mouth and she can feel his erection pressing hard against her leg when the doorbell rings. "Charles…" She pushes against his chest, "It's probably housekeeping."
She slips out from his arms and pulls one of the fluffy robes around her, closing the bathroom door after her. He showers quickly, frustrated and turned on. If he's honest – in fact if she ever asked – he's never had much of a sex life. He wasn't a monk and he knew what to do but nothing had ever lasted long enough for him to really explore sexuality, pleasure, intimacy. With her he thinks he might, he thinks they're getting to that point.
"He'll come back in half-an-hour," she says returning.
He listens to her brushing her hair, applying cream and makeup. When he shuts off the faucet and emerges from the shower she's in her underwear and he stands beside her at the double sink.
"Sorry," she says, eyeing his reflection in the mirror.
"I blame the towel boy." He smiles at her, "maybe later…"
She returns his smile, "Maybe."
Charles orders Champagne with dinner, though she wonders on the occasion, and they eat lobster and watch the sun set.
"Why can't every day be like this?" She asks, swirling the last of the alcohol in her glass, "no worries, no stress."
"If we'd won that 53 million last week it could be."
"I know, lucky couple in Lincolnshire.
"I could have a chain of Carson's Books."
"I'd be travelling the world…"
"A private yacht."
"You never told me you like to sail, do you sail?"
Charles pushed his empty glass across the table, "I used to, years ago, one of those things you get into at University."
"Not in the University I went to." She glanced out at the view, "I was going to suggest we go for a drink in the main hotel." She watched him cover his mouth as he yawned, "But we're both a little whacked."
"Travel catching up with me. Still, I don't want you to waste that gorgeous dress."
She was glad he'd noticed, it wasn't something she'd usually wear but over the past two years she'd had a major wardrobe overhaul – and, with Anna's help, had begun to reinvent her style into something a bit more modern and certainly a lot more sexy. She'd grown her hair out too and had it lightened, Anna was with her in the hairdressers and assured her it took years off her face.
Tonight she'd gone for a long Jersey dress, cream, simple, but the cut was just interesting enough to keep his attention on her hips. She'd worn a shawl as they'd walked, unsure if the thin straps and her bare shoulders in the restaurant would be offensive but once they'd sat down she'd realised she was much more covered up than some of the younger girls there.
"I'm glad you like it. I don't mind you being tired, I feel the same. Do you want to walk back to the villa?"
He nodded and she reached for her shawl.
"I'll go sign for dinner."
"Don't forget, room 927."
He met her outside and they walked back along the beach front, sticking to the path, they looped arms, figuring it was safe enough at night.
"I could get used to this kind of life I guess," he said, "you know, if you forced me into it."
She smirked, "I'm not sure anyone could force you into anything. What about the flying?"
"Flying?"
"Yes, if I'm travelling the world I'll need to fly, won't you be joining me?"
"If you'd have me. You could find a nice toy boy."
"With 53 million I could buy a nice toy boy."
He shook his head, "Very true, not a middle aged bookshop owner."
"But you'll do for now. You know, until I do win."
They were quiet as they climbed from the beach towards the hotel, taking the paved path that led from the main building and down to the villas. They paused at one point so Elsie could snap a few pictures of the sea on her phone, a full moon filling the inky sky. Golden lights lined the way and they listened to the sounds of scuttling wildlife and the humming of insects in the trees as they walked.
By the time she'd washed her makeup off and tied up her hair Charles was in bed, already dozing. She checked the doors were locked and switched off the lights, leaving only a lamp on above the bureau.
"Are you asleep?"
"Not quite, almost…"
"Do you think it's safe to open these drapes, can anyone see into the room?" She asked, standing by the patio doors that looked out to the beach.
"I don't think so, I don't plan on parading around naked though."
"Me neither, I'll be asleep within minutes."
He yawned again as if giving weight to her claims, "And me."
She slipped off her robe revealing the new silk nightgown she'd purchased especially for the trip, well, bought when Beryl bullied her into it when they'd met for coffee in M&S last Saturday. She must email Beryl, send her some of the sunset pictures she'd taken that night.
When she turned for the bed she noted his appreciative gaze and felt her cheeks redden, realising he'd been mesmerised by the back of the gown, a sheer lace panel from her shoulders to just above her bottom.
"New?" He asked, his voice low.
"Yes…" Blushing, she quickly got into bed, switching off the lamp as she did.
She felt the bed dip as he rolled next to her, pulling her into an embrace and sliding his hands along the silky warmth of her body. "I'm only sorry I'm too tired to fully appreciate how well it fits." He whispered by her ear.
She smiled, covering his hand with hers, "I'm tired too." She turned to face him, "but I'm glad you like it."
"Mmm…" He nudged her nose with his, eyes closed as he felt her soft, supple lips move across his.
He held her tight, his hands wide across her back as they sank into the kiss.
"Who would have thought…" She whispered against his mouth.
"Thought what?"
"That old Charles Carson would be such a good kisser."
"You can spread that around, might boost my street cred, leave out the old though."
She rested her head on his chest, secure and comfortable against him, listening to the conjoined sounds of the ocean rushing to shore and his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
'Who would have thought?' She mused to herself as he slept. That the bookshop keeper would be the man to bring her back to life following the mess with Joe. A man who'd always seemed so very reserved and removed from real life was the one to shake her life up. Her only fear was how long would it last?
It was getting on for nine months now and it was all lovely and nice and she enjoyed it very much. But what was it really? It seemed unlikely they'd marry at their age, and besides, she didn't really want to marry again. She'd returned to her maiden name to leave the idea of being a 'wife' behind. And they still lived separately. He in the flat above his shop (she hated staying over in the week, it added twenty minutes to her morning journey) and her in her new-built flat just outside of town, which he disliked because it was new. She liked having her freedom again, her independence. And she still wasn't entirely sure what Charles wanted from her, what he saw in it all. Or for that matter what she did.
She heard him mumble in his sleep and shift beneath her so she slid from his arms, tiptoed out of bed and got herself a glass of water.
She stood by the patio doors as she drank, watching the surf inch along the sand, the tide was going out and the line it left in the sand was getting further away. Perhaps that's what she had to think about Joe, not have any regrets about it anymore, not feel guilty about it anymore, just move on.
She must try not to see him again. The last time had been Christmas when he'd turned up at her new flat with a card and present. He'd stayed for a drink and confided in her about fearing Sarah was pregnant – imagine, a baby at his age. Then he'd kissed her, right there in her kitchen, and it had been hot and messy, pressed up against the wall and his hands moving down between her legs…
And she'd stopped it. Slapped his hands away. Asked him to leave.
She hadn't told Charles. She hadn't told anyone. What would be the point? But she didn't want Joe thinking he still had her, or could have her whenever he felt like it. Her feelings were still so muddled over it all, they'd been divorced 18 months and yet she still cared. They'd been unhappy together for at least six years and yet she still cared. She didn't want to.
She wanted this kind, wonderful man in the bed in front of her.
"Elsie?" He asked sleepily.
"Yes, I'm just having a drink." She put the glass down and returned to bed, letting him hold her, spoon against her. And she fell asleep in his arms.
Thank you for all your wonderful, kind comments so far. They are very much appreciated! I hope you're still enjoying their trip and learning about their lives. x R