‘To you it does,’ she snapped, without looking at me. Perhaps I’d embarrassed her. I hadn’t meant to. But then she seemed to think better of it, and looking up, gave me a half-smile. ‘Hey, I’m sorry.’ She walked over to me, touching my shoulder.
I still wasn’t sure if she’d been joking, but Dan always said I took things to heart too much. Perhaps he was right. I needed to ‘woman up’.
‘I guess I just don’t have the same sense of humour as you,’ I conceded.
‘Yeah, you’ll need to get used to it, Clare.’ She went back to what she was doing, and standing with her back to me, said, ‘Because that’s who I am.’ Before I could respond, she called, ‘Joking!’
‘Not funny,’ I said, echoing her sing-song tone and returning to my book.
‘Hey Clare,’ she said, after a few minutes. ‘You can join me if you like, as long as you warm up first and don’t talk. I could help you do something about that tummy?’
I knew then Ella wasn’t suffering from a lack of tact, or a strange sense of humour, it was deliberate. ‘Thanks,’ I smiled through gritted teeth, ‘but I’m okay.’
‘Okay, I need quiet now,’ she said, and started making humming noises.
‘I need quiet too,’ I murmured, and went back to my book, but she didn’t respond. She appeared to be totally engrossed as she started waving her arms around, then threw her body into all kinds of positions. By now I was so distracted I abandoned my book and watched her.
‘I haven’t seen yoga like that before,’ I said, unable to resist commenting.
‘I don’t suppose you have, it’s only for the very flexible. I learned it when I lived in LA.’
‘LA. You lived in LA?’ I said, ignoring the implication that I wasn’t flexible. Well, I could hardly argue about that. ‘Gosh, you’ve fitted a lot into your life.’
She didn’t respond.
‘Sorry Ella… I know I keep asking questions.’ I forced a smile. ‘It’s just that… Well, you said your dad is a New Yorker, but I could have sworn you said he was Italian – from Sorrento?’
‘What did you say?’ she asked, staring right at me in what I felt was a threatening way.
‘I’m just saying, how can he be a New Yorker “born and bred”, and an Italian “born and bred” too, all at the same time?’ I stared back at her.
‘Are you saying I’m a liar, Clare?’ She stopped what she was doing, stood up and walked towards me, hands on her hips in a rather confrontational stance.
‘No… I’m not saying that.’ I was slightly shaken by her response; suddenly everything had changed.
‘You need to be very careful, Clare.’ Her tone was suddenly threatening as she came even closer.
She was standing over me now, blocking out the sun. In moments this had changed from verbal sparring to something far darker. I caught my breath. Her beautiful face was close enough for me to see the smooth, botoxed forehead sloping down to perfect brows. But something had turned ugly in her – those sparkly eyes were now cold and dark, the perfect skin now creased as jagged, angry lines escaped across the top of her nose.
Then she leaned down towards me, her nose almost touching mine. She slowly put two fingers to her eyes, and then to mine, like she might gouge them out. ‘I see you,’ she said, and held herself there, in my face for far too long. Eventually she stood up straight again. ‘I bet you can barely sleep at night,’ she spat.
My eyes were now locked with hers. I daren’t move, my heart was beating in my chest. I wanted to push her over, run away, escape from this – but I couldn’t. I was there, in her shadow. Still on my chair. Clutching my book.
‘You don’t think Jamie and I have secrets, do you? No, we tell each other everything.’ She smiled. ‘Including your dirty little secret. So, thinking about it, maybe it’s time to start being nice to me?’
Chapter Eight
Later Dan took the children to the nearby village for breakfast. There was apparently an amazing café that did pancakes and the children were excited to try it out. Normally I would have gone with them, but I was so distraught I needed time alone to think. I spent the next couple of hours worrying and washing the kids’ clothes in the little kitchen, mindlessly scrubbing, terrified that Ella knew what I’d been hiding all this time. Did she know everything? She was bluffing surely. What on Earth had Jamie said to her? Even if she knew some of it I was in trouble. If I upset her, she’d likely tell everyone – it would ruin my life, and my family. She was mean and I knew I couldn’t trust her, but now had to try and keep the peace, at least until the end of the holiday. Perhaps if I really made the effort to be friends with her, she wouldn’t say anything? But just remembering the hate on her face, the jabbing fingers near my eyes – it felt impossible, because despite barely knowing me, she already hated me.
I decided not to tell anyone about the earring theft yet. I’d just keep it to myself, and use it if and when I had to. For now, I’d bide my time, watch her, try to find out more about who Ella really was – and keep myself and my secret safe.
* * *
A little later, when the washing was done, I saw only Joy by the pool, and felt it was safe to go out there. But within minutes of me settling down, Ella appeared, like an apparition.
‘Hey,’ she said sweetly, as she approached.
‘Hi. It’s still so hot,’ I said, miming wiping my brow, trying hard to show her there were no hard feelings.
‘Yeah, love the heat though,’ she murmured, her flip-flops heading towards us and stopping a few feet away. She turned and looked back at the villa. In the few seconds silence I was scared she might say something in front of Joy, so I leapt in with some vague talk about the weather to keep the atmosphere light.
‘The villa looks gorgeous in this bright sunshine, doesn’t it?’ I said. No response, so I tried again. ‘Have you posted any photos of the villa?’ I asked brightly, then realised she wasn’t looking at the villa, she’d turned around to take a selfie.
She looked at me, a frisson of irritation crossing her face.
‘Do you mind if I follow you on Instagram so I can see the photos of the villa?’ I was trying to keep her on side, but in truth there was a part of me that wanted to know more. After all, she claimed to know my secrets.
She shrugged. ‘Yeah, sure. Didn’t realise you had an account, Clare.’ She sat down on the other side of Joy and pouted into her phone screen.
‘Yeah, even boring mothers are allowed on Instagram,’ I said, with a smile.
‘Oh Clare, I’m sorry. I upset you last night, didn’t I? I can be so tactless sometimes, please forget I said that – about you being a part-time housewife, or whatever it was.’
‘Already forgotten,’ I said. I wondered if perhaps she’d also forgotten the way she’d spoken to me only hours before?
‘Thing is, you seem to take offence so easily,’ she added. ‘I had no idea you were so touchy, but I promise from now on I won’t joke with you about how you spend your time washing and cooking… oh, and making beds for a living.’