You Had Me at Merlot: Part 2 Read online

  Lisa Dickenson was born in the wrong body. She was definitely meant to be Beyonce. Despite this hardship, she grew up in Devon attempting to write her own, completely copyright-infringing versions of Sweet Valley High, before giving Wales a go for university, and then London a go for the celeb-spotting potential. She’s now back in Devon, living beside the seaside with her husband and forcing cream teas down the mouths of anyone who’ll visit. She is sadly still not Beyonce.

  Lisa’s first novel, The Twelve Dates of Christmas, was an instant hit with readers who were won over by her wit, charm and naughty sense of humour - she’s got her fingers crossed that everyone feels the same about You Had Me at Merlot. Follow her on Twitter for all her book news and Beyonce-related chatter: @LisaWritesStuff.

  Also by Lisa Dickenson

  The Twelve Dates of Christmas

  Copyright

  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 9780751557435

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 Lisa Dickenson

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  Cover by Liam Faulkner at www.t3dhq.com.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Sphere

  Little, Brown Book Group

  100 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DY

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Lisa Dickenson

  Copyright

  Had Me at Merlot: Part 2

  Coming next in

  While chaos whirled around me like a hot tornado, I was frozen to the spot. Sofia was apologising; Jamie was back in the room, swooping up Donna’s bags; Sebastian was forcing a glass of wine into her hand; the other female guests were twittering about the new arrival – who they’d clearly not considered a threat until they noticed the men’s looks of admiration at this bulldog-like woman and her fierce tongue.

  Laurie covered her chuckling mouth with her glass and whispered to me, ‘What a loon. Sounds like she’s had an even worse flight than us.’

  ‘What do I do what do I do what I do?’ I rasped.

  ‘Er, nothing, the owners are on it. Though we should help ourselves to a top-up while they’re distracted.’ I gripped her arm before she could leave me. ‘Elle, what’s wrong with your face? It looks about as blotchy as mine.’

  ‘Her. I work with her.’

  ‘No way. Do you know each other?’

  ‘Not really. Sort of. She’s the managing director. She’s in charge of hiring and firing.’

  ‘She’s your boss?’

  ‘She’s my boss’s boss.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘This is going to stop me getting a promotion. You know they always say drinking leads to trouble.’ I put down my glass. Then picked it straight back up again and took a large swig. ‘Ohhhhh, what if one of the activities is drinking shots from each other’s belly buttons?’

  ‘This isn’t Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. Calm down.’

  ‘But this could be so embarrassing. What if I hook up with someone? What will she think of me?’

  ‘I knew it! You are hoping to hook up with someone!’

  ‘No I’m not.’ My eyes flicked to Jamie, betraying me. Damn my eyes.

  ‘So what if you have a tumble among the vines with a feisty hunk, squishing grapes underneath your naked bodies, hot Italian sun beating down on you and your hot Italian … anyway, what do you think she’s here for?’

  I glanced back over at Donna, whose face was like thunder. ‘I really don’t know. She got divorced years ago, before I even started—’ At that point she looked up and our eyes met. Both of us turned Merlot-red, and I looked away.

  Laurie aided me in taking my glass of wine back up to my lips. ‘Just pretend you didn’t see her for now. We’ll make our excuses, duck away and deal with it tomorrow. Or you could just act like you don’t recognise her.’

  ‘We just made eye contact for, like, four seconds. If I pretend it wasn’t out of recognition my only fall-back is that it was out of attraction.’

  ‘Ellen.’

  I spun around, sloshing red wine on the tiled floor; Laurie covered up the puddle with her foot. ‘Donna! Hi!’ I exclaimed, inexplicably throwing my arms around her. Now she could add sexual harassment to my appraisal, along with being an alcoholic and a desperate singleton. ‘Actually, it’s Elle—’

  ‘Elle – I know. My apologies. It’s been a bloody awful journey.’ She looked utterly crushed to see me there, which wasn’t a nice feeling. I could only assume that seeing a familiar face in a place like this was the icing on her absolutely shit cake.

  ‘This is my friend Laurie,’ I mumbled. ‘Laurie, this is my Donna.’

  ‘Howdy,’ Laurie jumped over my fumbled introduction. ‘Good old British weather; sent us all off with a fanfare today, didn’t it?’

  Donna nodded, the heaviness dragging her shoulders down. ‘I think I’ll find my room. I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow.’

  As soon as she’d left I slumped down onto one of the big leather armchairs, and Laurie perched on the arm next to me before the men could descend back around her.

  ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it? She seemed nice – screaming and swearing aside.’

  ‘She’s fine, it’s just …’ Tears welled in my eyes, which was ridiculous. I held my face in my hands and Laurie rubbed my back. ‘I’m so obsessed with work, all the time, it’s all I think about. And being here, I was just beginning to think maybe it was okay to think about something else for a couple of weeks. And now with her here it’s like there’s a big company code of conduct sign blocking my view of the vineyard.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, she’s probably thinking exactly the same thing about you being here. Actually, that probably doesn’t make you feel any better, does it? Hmm. What if I took all my make-up off? Unveiled the Botox Monster? Would that crack a smile?’

  Another hand, heavier and warmer than Laurie’s, gave my shoulder a soft squeeze.

  ‘George, please can you just bugger off – oh!’ I removed my hands from my face to see Jamie crouching down beside me.

  ‘Bugger off yourself.’ He smiled, his eyes full of concern. ‘Was that a friend of yours? Or maybe a long-lost enemy, because you didn’t seem very happy to see her.’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Did she hit you on the nose, too?’

  I blinked back the tears; there was no need for Jamie to see that I was a total wet wipe. Absently, I reached for the cuff of his shirt and played with it between my fingers as I said, ‘No, she’s … an acquaintance. She works at my company. She nearly runs my company. And she’ll probably have me fired if I drink too much wine.’

  ‘She couldn’t do that even if she wanted to,’ said Laurie. ‘And I don’t think she’d even try. I bet she’s up in her room now, cringing her head off at the thought of you going back to the office and telling everyone she was here.’

  ‘Laurie, this is Jamie – he’s Sebastian and Sofia’s son.’

  ‘Oh – I didn’t mean any offence. It’s really lovely here, it’s just the stigma that comes with, you know, singles’ holidays.’

  ‘I know.’ Jamie nodded, a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Nice to meet you, Laurie.’


  ‘Likewise.’ Laurie shot me a tiny look that said, We have much to talk about.

  Jamie turned back to me, putting his other warm hand over mine, which was still fiddling with his shirt. ‘Well she’s gone for now, and we don’t allow tears at Bella Notte unless they are the kind that come with being incredibly drunk and making a show of yourself. If you like, I’ll make sure she has so much wine on this holiday she won’t even remember you were here.’

  I snorted unattractively, which made Laurie snort unattractively at me. Jamie stood up, stretching out his long limbs. ‘I really am going now, but I’ll see you both for the winery tour in the morning?’

  ‘Definitely. Thank you, Jamie.’ I watched him go and then turned to Laurie, who was fanning herself with a flatbread.

  ‘Oh Jamie, thank you for mopping my soggy eyelashes. Thank you for being so absolutely and positively yummy that I’ve forgotten all about my no-men rule and remembered that I’m a lady with raging lady-hormones.’

  ‘Shut up.’ I prodded her with a finger.

  ‘Oh Jamie, please give me a tour of your winery and also of your body – oooh, that cow in the pink dress with the eighties hair has finally left Marco alone. Will you be all right now?’

  ‘Yes, go.’ I waved her away and stood up, taking a slow sip of wine and letting it rest on my tongue, its tangy perfume filling my mouth. In front of me was a mantelpiece chock-full of chunky wooden frames containing photos of Bella Notte throughout its life. There was one in black and white, showing the main building and a gruff, moustached woman standing outside the front. Two long rows of vines stretched into the distance, but none of the other outbuildings had been erected. Another was a glimpse into the vineyard in what must have been the early eighties, with muted colours and a very tanned and short-shorted Sebastian holding a little bronzed boy upside-down by the leg, both laughing their heads off, and the boy’s hands stained with purply-red grape juice. A close up of Sofia, probably taken fairly recently, showed the unmistakable gold of the evening sun on her face as she looked away from the camera, the vineyard in the background.

  ‘Cute family, huh?’ said George, appearing beside me. ‘You ever want a family?’

  ‘I have a family,’ I replied, thinking of Mum and Dad, who would be falling asleep in front of Call the Midwife right about now.

  ‘I mean kids of your own. Unless you already have any?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Me neither. Never wanted them. Now I wonder if I should have.’

  I didn’t turn from the photos, but there was something about the way he spoke that made me reluctant to shoot him down again right now. Perhaps Sebastian was right, and there was more to George than we realised as yet.

  And then he said, ‘But then young women like yourself don’t want the baggage of a step-kid your own age, so I did the right thing. Gotta keep the broads happy!’

  With that, and a wave to a very hair-tossy Laurie and her impatient hangers-on who were just waiting for Marco to take a loo break, I decided I was more than ready to put this day to rest and retire to my room.

  Ah, my room. I loved my room. I’d forgotten to close the shutters before I fell into bed last night and now the morning sunshine filled the space like a bright cup of lemonade, bouncing off the white walls and highlighting every brushstroke of the little vine murals. The air was warm and still, and I rolled comfortably under my sheet, a smile on my face.

  Perhaps I could just stay in here the whole holiday. I had everything I needed – the view, the sun, wine. No managing director.

  I couldn’t let it bother me. So she was here. So what, really? So I’d have to be a little careful? Well I wasn’t about to get smashed and ride a Vespa naked through the vineyard anyway, was I? No, most likely not.

  I ran myself a deep, cool bath, scented with Sicilian lemon bath bubbles and lay back, the water cleansing my pores as I gazed out at the view. Far away in the vineyard I saw the dog again, lolloping back and forth, and then the distant figure of Jamie appeared beside him, carrying armfuls of who-knows-what as if it weighed nothing. I sat up in the bath, resting my arms on the edge, and watched. It was a bit voyeuristic, especially since I was in my birthday suit, but even if Jamie looked this way he wouldn’t be able to see anything, so I was free as a bird to stare at him.

  Wearing scruffy jeans and a dirt-covered, once-white T-shirt, with tanned forearms pushing the sweat from his brow into his already messy hair, he could be auditioning for the next Diet Coke advert. The dog was up on its back legs, leaning against Jamie and nearly as tall; it would have probably knocked me to the ground, but Jamie just stood there, firm and strong, stroking the dog’s head and taking stock of his surroundings.

  Jamie did then look my way and I ducked my head below the water, the lemon bubbles filling my hair. I stayed under for a while, enjoying the sensation of quiet, undisturbed coolness, and then slowly brought my head up, peering crocodile-like over the edge of the tub and back outside. Jamie and his doggy friend had gone.

  Clean and refreshed, but in need of some Laurie-time before the vultures descended, I quickly dressed in another loose sundress (how lovely not to be in sticky shirts and tight-waisted trousers in this heat) and left my hair in a loose plait to dry in natural waves, just like Pinterest told me to do. I left my shoes in my room and went along the corridor to knock on her door.

  ‘Laurie,’ I called softly. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Mmmph,’ came a noise from within. I think it was female.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Mmmph.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Mmmph. Cumm’n.’

  I poked my head around the door, giving the room a quick once-over in case it was strewn with broken men, but there was just Laurie, curled in one of the chairs, head on the windowsill, dribble making its way down the wall.

  ‘Did you sleep in the chair?’

  She lifted her head and I took her some water, which she gulped like she had last night’s wine. ‘It was so hot in the night. My face was burning up. FYI, the bidet is not good to sleep in, but the windowsill is.’

  ‘Did you have fun after I left?’

  ‘Oh Ellephant, Marco is lovely. But I do like Jon as well. Pierre was a bit … keen.’ She hauled herself up and wandered to the bathroom to run the bath. ‘How do you know Jamie?’ she asked as she came back out, suddenly alert.

  ‘We met yesterday, outside your room actually. We literally ran into each other in the corridor.’

  ‘Had a little flirty-flirty, did you? You bloody minx.’

  ‘No, it’s not like that at all.’ I laughed it off.

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I’m not lying. He’s just nice to talk to because he’s – obviously – not here to meet anyone either.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Shut your stupid face, it’s nothing!’

  ‘What a load of bullshiz. You may have been single for ten million years, my girl, but I remember the look you get when you fancy the heck out of someone.’

  ‘What look, I don’t get a “look”.’

  ‘It’s like … you try and keep a very still face so you don’t give anything away, but you blink manically like a there’s a spotlight pointed at you, as if you can’t quite believe a guy’s actually paying you attention.’

  ‘That is not true.’ Was that true? ‘And he was just seeing if I was okay.’

  ‘You do realise you’re not Lady von Uglyville? You hardly repel men left, right and centre.’

  ‘I’m also no Jessica Alba.’

  ‘You’re right, there is no one in the world in a relationship or married, because everybody only wants to date people that look like celebrities. Everyone is single except the Hollywood elite.’

  ‘Anyway, Sarky-Mark Wahlberg, that’s beside the point. He’s just a nice guy.’

  ‘Well, just so you know, there is a strong possibility that he might fancy you. So there. Are you saying you don’t fancy him even one tiny bit?’

 
‘Would you even believe me if I said no?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, he does have a nice chest.’

  She screamed. ‘And when, pray tell, did you gawp at his chest?’

  ‘I didn’t – my nose did, when we bashed into each other. But whatever, he made it pretty clear he doesn’t really mix with the guests. I think he’s a little disdainful of those who go on singles’ holidays, to be honest.’

  Laurie went back into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open, and shouted back out to me, ‘Well you aren’t on a singles’ holiday, remember? You’re on a vineyard stay which happens to be with a lot of pathetic single people. I’m the one on the singles’ holiday.’

  ‘Shall I go and get us some breakfast and leave you to it?’

  ‘Nope, I’ll be just two minutes, just need to replace the stale wine smell in my pores with this lemony hoo-ha.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much, something tells me the wine smell will be back on us from pretty early on today.’

  ‘Did you know there’s a spa in Japan where you can actually soak in a massive pool filled with red wine?’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously. It’s a Cleopatra treatment, or something, though I always thought she just wallowed in milk. Sebastian was telling me about it.’ With that she appeared, looking a lot fresher. ‘But we are in Italia, so let’s drink it instead! Cheers!’

  Downstairs, we filled our plates with yogurts, crumbly pastries, paper-thin slices of ham and bunches of cherries and grapes, and took them out to eat on the terrace in the sunshine.

  ‘Best breakfast view ever,’ I said through a mouthful of vanilla cream. We were sat at a round wooden table overlooking the vineyard, our rooms directly overhead. The light was so clear you could see for miles across the rolling hills of the Tuscan countryside, stone towers protruding from random points and stripe after stripe of cross-hatched wine, olive and lemon groves intermixed with short red-roofed buildings. A few tables over from us were Jane and Vicky, the Bristolian girls, dressed in the most enormous sunglasses and neon butt-cheek-baring shorts.