What Happens at the Beach...

For the perfect summer romance...

It’s finally time for Natalie Dryden to decide what she really wants! After ditching her sparkling engagement ring, and her ghastly fiancé, she jets off for the sun-kissed shores of Southern France – the only place that has ever truly felt like home. For the first time ever, Natalie is determined to forget all about men and follow her dreams!

…head to the French coast!

Only, avoiding the male population isn’t quite so easy, especially when she meets smooth-talking Philippe and gorgeous fisherman, Remy! But then Natalie, quite literally, bumps into brooding millionaire Mark whilst swimming in the glittering azure-blue bay – and her life is turned upside-down.

Love might be off the cards for Natalie, yet suddenly she finds herself in her dream job and working with her dream man! But is it all too good to be true...?

A deliciously sunny, uplifting romance to curl up with on your holiday – or any day!

Also by T. A. Williams:

When Alice Met Danny

What Happens in Tuscany…

What Happens in Cornwall…

What Happens at Christmas…

What Happens in the Alps…

Dirty Minds

The Room on the Second Floor

What Happens at the Beach…

T. A. Williams

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © Trevor Williams 2016

Trevor Williams asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008196998

Version date: 2018-06-08

TREVOR WILLIAMS

lives in Devon with his Italian wife. He lived and worked in Switzerland, France and Italy, before returning to run one of the best-known language schools in the UK. He has taught people from all over the world, among them Arab princes, Brazilian beauty queens and Italian billionaires. He speaks a number of languages and has travelled extensively. He has eaten snake, live fish and alligator. A Spanish dog, a Russian bug and a Korean parasite have done their best to eat him in return. He has written historical novels, humorous books and thrillers. His hobby is long-distance cycling, but his passion is writing. You can follow him on Twitter, @TAWilliamsBooks, find him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TrevorWilliamsBooks or visit his website: www.tawilliamsbooks.com.

With warmest thanks, as ever, to my wonderful editor, Charlotte Mursell

To Mariangela and Christina with love

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Prologue

The beach was just the same as she remembered. Protected from the Tramontane wind by the rocky headlands that dropped near vertically into the sea either side of the little bay, the narrow triangle of light golden sand, squashed between the water and the wooded hillside, was still undeveloped and unspoilt. As she made her way down the steep slope beneath the umbrella pines, the narrow path woven with protruding tree roots, her sandals slipped and crunched on the carpet of dry pine needles that covered the ground. The unmistakable scent of resin filled her nostrils, while the light wind barely stirred the branches above her head. Even at this time of the morning it was already very warm down here and, by lunchtime, she knew it would be baking hot.

As the trees thinned, she got her first good view of the water. The bright blue mirrored the cloudless sky, the surface of the sea barely disturbed by the breeze, the tiny wavelets reflecting the morning sun in myriad sparkles. The shallow water by the beach was a pale aquamarine, gradually deepening to a darker blue the further out she looked. From up here, she could see clearly all the way down to the white sand on the seabed. The waves that washed the beach were so gentle today that they produced little more than a gentle sigh, barely caressing the sand.

As she emerged from the trees and crossed the narrow, rough road that snaked along the coastline, she could see nobody on the beach. She looked around, breathing in the atmosphere that brought back so many childhood memories. The only difference she could see was that the little café over to the north side, just beside the tiny jetty, had been enlarged and now boasted a sign announcing its reincarnation as a Café Restaurant. Half a dozen tables now stood on the terrace outside the single-storey stone building, none of them yet occupied at seven o’clock in the morning. Three umbrellas advertised French beer, while the others invited people to opt for a mineral water.

Natalie set down her towel on a rocky outcrop on the sunny side of the bay and slipped out of her shoes and shorts. She walked down to the water’s edge, enjoying the feel of the sand between her toes. As ever, she found herself scanning the waterline for shells, and her eyes alighted upon a beautiful little light-blue butterfly shell. She bent down and picked it up, marvelling at its symmetry and perfection. Its colour, she knew, was virtually the same as her eyes. Somewhere up at the house was a bracelet of these shells that her grandfather had made for her when she was very small. She wondered where it was now. She dropped it back onto the sand and waded out until the water was deep enough for her to slip forward and start swimming.

Although the initial impact was cold, she soon acclimatised and began a slow breaststroke, out parallel to the rocky shore towards the mouth of the bay, luxuriating in the refreshing feel of the water on her body after a hot, sticky, disturbed night. When she was almost at the open sea, she reached the last of a line of orange mooring buoys. Stretching out her hand she grabbed hold, glad to rest for a minute, letting the gentle current slowly turn her back towards the land.

From here, she could see clear up the hillside to her grandmother’s house. Higher up, near the top of the hill, the old chateau was still as beautiful as ever with its slate roof and circular pointed turrets, sitting in its walled park, ringed by cypress trees. The terrace outside her grandmother’s house was empty, the vines that her granddad had planted and trained across the trellis casting a rare patch of shade on that sunburnt slope. In the far distance she could just see the hazy outline of the high Pyrenees; to the left of them lay Spain, and to the right France. It was a spectacular, magical view.

The sea rocked her gently from side to side, her shoulder resting against the cool plastic of the buoy, the sun already hot on her head and neck. She felt comfortable and refreshed, pleased to revisit her favourite childhood haunt. But this brief moment of happiness didn’t last long, as her thoughts turned once more to the here and now. Of course, she was no longer a child, and those carefree days were long gone. Here she was, alone in the sea and virtually alone in the world. In spite of the sunshine, in spite of the idyllic surroundings, she had to struggle hard to stop the tears from falling as she thought back over the events of the last two days.

Chapter 1

David’s parents’ house was one of the most opulent in what was a very opulent part of south-west London. Today the gravel drive in front of the house was choked with smart, expensive cars and the Union Jack hung proudly, if limply, from the flagpole. The trees in the extensive garden to the rear were festooned with bunting, and a string quartet was playing softly from beneath the rose arbour. The French windows were wide open, and smartly dressed guests, all of whom had observed the instruction on the printed invitations to wear Smart Casual clothes, stood around on the terrace and chatted. Those without high heels had ventured onto the meticulously mown lawn and were making appreciative noises about the fine collection of flowering shrubs all round. The gardeners had been under strict orders to make it an impeccable display and, luckily for them, they had succeeded.

Natalie was at the far corner of the lawn, ostensibly studying the rock garden, but in reality just taking time out from the small talk. She really didn’t feel in the least bit like turning on the charm for these people with whom she had nothing in common, although she knew they meant so much to David and his family. She had been dreading this day for weeks now and the fact that her presence had not so much been requested as demanded had done little to improve her attitude. Now, although surrounded by so many people, she felt more alone than she had done for months. She let her eyes roam over an exceptionally prickly cactus and reflected that it looked the way she felt.

So far, David’s mother’s birthday party had proved to be as ghastly as she had feared. Officially billed as Marjorie’s sixtieth birthday, Natalie knew for a fact that this milestone had been passed several years earlier, but had refrained from commenting. As expected, the other guests were a collection of the great and, if not the good, then certainly the well-heeled of London society. David’s father, Wilberforce, had until very recently been the senior partner in a large and long-established law firm. Given his career choice, it was little surprise that his only son had followed him into that profession. And, as Natalie knew only too well, David was expected by everybody to achieve a position of pre-eminence in the London law scene in his turn. Increasingly over the past few months, Natalie had been trying to make up her mind as to whether in fact she wanted to be at his side when he did so. She and David had been arguing more and more often and she sensed that their relationship was reaching a tipping point. She drained her third glass of champagne and went back into the house in search of another.

As she went in through the French windows, she found herself confronted by a sea of suits and cocktail dresses. Over in the far corner of the room, she spotted Marjorie, deep in conversation with a man she recognised as David’s boss, Mr Lightfoot. Natalie had no hesitation in heading off in the opposite direction. She went along the corridor to the kitchen, helping herself to a fresh glass of champagne from a tray carried by one of the catering staff as she did so. The kitchen had been taken over by the caterers and, as she walked in, she spotted Winston the cat, her only friend and ally here, as he slipped through the door into the old pantry, no doubt looking for a place of refuge. Natalie decided to follow his example. She grabbed a couple of sausage rolls from a silver platter and followed the cat into the larder, pulling the door half-closed behind her. It was cool in there. The only window had been covered with wire mesh to keep the flies out and the narrow room was perpetually in twilight as a result.

‘Hello, puss.’

Recognising her voice, Winston turned and came over to her with a plaintive meow, tail standing stiffly in the air. Natalie sat down on a packet of toilet rolls, set her glass on the floor beside her and stroked the old cat while he rubbed himself against her legs. She stuffed one of the sausage rolls into her mouth and offered him the other one. He sniffed it fastidiously before taking it delicately from her fingers and settling down to eat, purring to himself as he did so. Natalie took a mouthful of champagne and sat back, glad to get out of the babble of chatter for a brief while.

She looked round the larder, her mood still gloomy, as it had been for months now. Things had started out so well with David four years earlier. She had met him when she was at her lowest ebb, shortly after the accident that had taken both her parents. At the time she had convinced herself it was love, and had embarked upon an affair with him that had led quite naturally to their moving in together and then to their engagement. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she found herself coming to the realisation that it probably hadn’t been so much true love as a deep need for support and company at what had been a desperately lonely time. Their life together had been very good at first, but doubts, serious doubts, had started to set in as the months and years went by. She saw now that he had changed since those early days and she was analytical enough to see that she, too, had changed. He had been right behind her when she had made the decision to give up teaching and go back to university to get her doctorate. Now, her studies no longer appeared to interest him. The fact that she had been increasingly busy with her thesis had impacted on their home life together, and his encouragement had dried up as a result. It had become increasingly clear to her that he would really prefer a wife who would look after him in the kitchen and the bedroom, rather than an intellectual equal.

And now? Yes, she now had her PhD after so much hard work, but she didn’t have a job yet. Could it be that she would end up like David’s mother, running an immaculate house for her successful husband, her role reduced to that of gracious hostess and producer of children to continue the line? Certainly, the more they had spoken about it, the clearer it had become that David’s family, if not David himself, saw it that way. And how did she see it? Well, she thought to herself, as she sipped her wine and watched the old cat, the one thing she knew for sure was that she wanted more out of life.

‘Sausage rolls! What on earth were they thinking of?’

At the sound of the voice, Natalie jumped, spilling champagne on her fingers. She turned towards the door, but the conversation was taking place out in the kitchen. She couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but there was no mistaking it.

‘Sausage rolls, of all things! I told them I wanted refined canapés, not the sort of thing you can find in any local pub.’ Natalie recognised Marjorie’s acid tones, mildly surprised that her future mother-in-law was admitting to being familiar with the inside of a pub.

‘The sushi and the goat’s cheese crostini were pretty good, but I quite agree with you, Mummy; sausage rolls, indeed!’

David’s big sister, Emily, was sounding more and more like her mother as the years went by. Natalie glanced down at the cat who was thoroughly enjoying his sausage roll and reflected that she, too, had enjoyed the one she had just eaten. Then, to her surprise, the topic of conversation on the other side of the pantry door changed to a subject much closer to home.

‘I tell you who would like the sausage rolls.’ Emily’s voice was contemptuous.

‘Yes, I daresay you’re right. By the way, I haven’t seen her for a while. Have you?’

‘The last time I saw her she was out in the garden glugging Daddy’s champagne.’

‘I do think she could have made a bit more of an effort. What on earth was she thinking of when she chose that frock she’s wearing?’

‘The price, Mummy, I would think. From a charity shop, I have no doubt.’

‘Or the supermarket.’ Marjorie sounded bitter. ‘Really, she could have tried a bit harder. After all, she knew Gordon Lightfoot was going to be here.’ Natalie listened as David’s mother went on to reel off a list of names of other notables from the legal profession and did her best to stifle a growing sense of anger. Along with the anger came the realisation that what she was hearing just confirmed what she had been thinking for months.

‘I really don’t know what David sees in her.’

‘Well, she is quite pretty.’ Marjorie even managed to make a compliment sound like an insult. ‘It’s just that she’s so…’ She paused for thought. ‘So unkempt. She just doesn’t make any effort at all. A bit of make-up, some nice clothes and she would really be quite good-looking.’

‘And a change of attitude’s long overdue.’

‘Of course it’s because she’s a student, I suppose. Ever since she’s been at college she’s been getting so scruffy and bohemian. And she’s far more interested in her studies than in David. Doesn’t she realise how important it is to him to have a fiancée who can support him and make the right impression? He’s got his career to think of, after all.’

‘She’s only studying history, after all, and it’s not as if she’s likely to do anything meaningful with it.’ Emily’s tone was dismissive and Natalie found herself gripping her glass so hard she was in danger of crushing it in her hand. She made a conscious effort to relax her grip, but it wasn’t easy. After three hard years doing a PhD in medieval history, she knew full well just how much work had been involved. She had lost count of the late nights, early starts and the interminable days she had spent in university libraries all over the UK and France. She had lost a stone in weight, developed dark rings under her eyes and ceased to have any kind of social life, with or without David. The PhD was done now, but she knew it would take her months to recover from the effort. She growled to herself as she listened to the conversation in the kitchen.

‘And it’s French history of all things, and ancient at that. Surely she could have tried to do something British.’ David’s mother’s voice dropped a little. ‘Of course, she’s only half British. I suppose that explains it. How on earth she thinks she can make a living with something like that I really don’t know.’

‘Of course it’s only a hobby really, Mummy. After all, she knows she can rely on David to support her and keep her.’

‘Poor David. He deserves so much better.’

There was the sound of movement in the kitchen as the caterers returned. From the jingling, it was pretty obvious a tray full of glasses was being set down on the table. Natalie heard the clicking of high heels retreating down the corridor as Marjorie and Emily left them to it. Natalie glanced down at the cat who had finished eating the meat out of the sausage roll and was licking his paws. She resisted the temptation to gulp down her champagne, and limited herself to taking a few small sips while she did her best to regain some sort of calm, while her every instinct was crying out for her to follow Marjorie and Emily into the living room and tear their hair out. The cat looked up and caught her eye.

‘Ever contemplated a double homicide, cat?’ Natalie kept her voice down to a whisper and the cat just rewarded her with a yawn. She sat there, sipping her wine, until the glass was empty, resisting the urge to scream or weep. She had realised months ago that subconsciously she had been seeking a surrogate family when she had hooked up with David. It had been some time into the relationship before she had been introduced to his parents and it hadn’t taken long before she had begun to realise that this was not going to happen. As people, she and they were too different and these hopes had been crumbling more and more as she got to know them better. Now she knew they were totally crushed. Of course, she had been coming ever closer to this realisation, but it was only now, hearing it from the horse’s mouth, that it finally sank in. She could expect nothing from them. She was on her own, totally on her own; except for David, even if that was by no means certain any longer. She knew that she had to find him and seek reassurance from him. In spite of their arguments and in spite of her doubts, she desperately hoped she could still count on him, even if his family had shown its true colours. Angrily, she wiped the moisture from the corners of her eyes and pulled herself to her feet.

Her instincts made her pick up the remains of the cat’s sausage roll before leaving, although she was in no mood to do favours for Marjorie. The cat, taking the hint, stood up, pushed the door open and strode through back into the kitchen, most probably on the lookout for another sausage roll. Natalie took a deep breath and followed him, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the two girls rinsing champagne glasses. They could think what they liked. She knew she had to find David as soon as possible.

She dropped the bits of pastry in the bin, wiped her hands on a paper napkin and walked as calmly as she could along the corridor and into the living room. Avoiding making eye contact with any of the crowd of people in there, she scanned the room for signs of her fiancé. He wasn’t there, but she had a shrewd feeling she knew where she would find him. She went out onto the terrace and, from there, onto the lawn. At the far end, to one side of the rose arbour, was the little lawned area, surrounded by a laurel hedge and accessed through a wooden gate, that was always referred to as the secret garden. In there was a swing bed and lying stretched out on the leaf-patterned seat was David. His eyes were closed and he looked as if he was asleep. Natalie went straight over to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

‘David, wake up.’ Her voice sounded strange to her, half-choked. His eyes opened at once and he sat up. He hadn’t been sleeping, but the dark rings under his eyes testified to how tired he was. In spite of his relaxed pose, his tie was still done up and he had been careful to avoid creasing his trousers, while the grey jacket of his suit was hanging neatly from the side of the frame. He immediately saw that something was wrong. Shifting over to one side, suppressing a yawn, he took her hand and guided her down onto the seat beside him.

‘What’s up, Nat? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

She took a deep breath and recounted the conversation she had overheard, hoping she could count on his support. However, it soon turned out that her confidence was misplaced. As she came to the end of her tale, he reached for his champagne glass and swallowed half in one big gulp.