as if Vicky didn’t even exist. He was looking even more handsome than usual, she had to admit, now that he’d allowed a little stubble to grow on his chin and his hair was a couple of weeks past its usual cutting time. For his job, he liked to look presentable. It was important to win the trust of the local women who made the decisions about repainting the sitting room or changing the bathroom tiles. He couldn’t look like a slob. Vicky knew he had his admirers in the town, which was why his business was such a success. She knew how lucky she was to have him, probably the most reliable, honest and decent man she’d ever met. This was one of the reasons she had to work so hard to keep him, she thought, studying the blonde woman who was so openly admiring her man.
‘It says here there’ll be plenty of time for sunbathing and swimming,’ Stuart added, oblivious to the silent battle that was developing between the two women. ‘Sets off at ten tomorrow.’
‘Or we could stay in bed all day and have some fun?’ Vicky countered.
He turned to her, amused. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we have the fun tonight, and do the cruise tomorrow? Come on, Vick, it’s not every week we’re on a Greek island. We’ll regret it if we don’t.’
That night, Vicky took a cool shower before returning, naked, into the bedroom, where Stuart was lying on the sheets in his boxer shorts trying to find a news channel. With her she’d brought a newly acquired bottle of massage oil, scented with jasmine, tea tree, aloe vera and basil, which, with one leg raised on the side of the bed, she started to massage into her calf. As she worked her way up to her thigh, Stuart continued to channel-hop, apparently oblivious to her seduction routine, until settling on something that most resembled current affairs. What about their current affair, Vicky asked herself, switching legs and repeating the motion. Then she poured some more oil into the palms of her hands and massaged her arms. Stuart, who was trying to concentrate on the sports report, kept glancing sideways at her. Pretending not to notice him, she started working on her chest, stomach and breasts, by which time she could see his hard-on emerging clearly through his boxers.
‘Help me moisturise?’ she asked, handing him the bottle. ‘Do my back.’
She spread herself down on the bed in front of him, and Stuart started massaging the oil into her shoulders, then her back, then down to her buttocks. She spread her legs open, as he made sure that no patch of skin was left unattended. She turned over, her legs apart, and he admired her body, taut from hours of yoga, and massaged more oil between her legs. She looked down to admire herself and her newly waxed pussy. She had only the slightest tuft of hair on her pubic mound.
Giving up on the TV, Stuart pulled open her pussy lips and then sank his head down between her legs to eat her. As ever, it seemed he could read her mind, placing just the right amount of pressure just where she needed it, and once he’d slid his finger inside her, Vicky knew she would orgasm soon. As it built up, Vicky pictured the blonde woman at the bar watching them through the window, and could only imagine the jealousy she’d be feeling. Perhaps she’d start touching herself, wishing she was with them too? Vicky came in a loud, shuddering outburst, rising to meet Stuart’s finger and his tongue, demanding and receiving more pressure, coming in swirls and mounds of pleasure, as if all her body had melted into the scented, sensual massage oil.
Once her orgasm subsided, Stuart pulled off his boxers and slid inside her, filling her with his cock, and it didn’t take many thrusts before he, too, had come deep and hard.
Vicky lay there, imagining the blonde woman through the window envying her, and kissed Stuart deeply. She didn’t stand a chance.
The following morning, after a breakfast of bread, croissants and the type of sweet strawberry jam that only ever tastes good on holiday, Vicky and Stuart made their way to the pier, and their cruise. Stuart had been right, she told herself, they should get out and explore. And what could be nicer than a gentle cruise with her man to a deserted beach, followed by a long and lazy lunch by the seafront? But as the boat was preparing to leave, Vicky spotted the blonde woman, wearing an overly short skirt and clutching a wide-brimmed floppy hat, hurrying along the pier to join them. Once on board, she sat opposite, and gave them both a pleasant smile.
‘Nearly missed it,’ she said with a faint accent that Vicky tried to place.
Vicky gave her a tight smile back.
‘We’re staying at the same hotel, I think? I’m Kristen.’
Stuart introduced them both – a little too readily, Vicky thought – and then paid way too much attention as Kristen told them that she was a Swedish jewellery designer who’d come on this trip at the last minute to get over her recent divorce. She was in her mid-thirties and coming to terms with a new lifestyle, without the benefits of her technology boss husband, who was currently looking after their two young children.
‘I only see my kids on alternate weekends,’ Stuart told Kristen, and Vicky tried not to feel left out as they embarked on a conversation about the inequalities of custody, the activities you come up with for the weekends you do spend with them, and how hard it always is to say goodbye. Vicky had never been that fond of kids herself, and had no intention of having them. Stuart had two already; she was off the hook.
But now she wished she had just one tiny story to contribute: babysitting her sister’s kids, perhaps, or having run a marathon in aid of some children’s charity or other. But there was nothing. The sum total of her experience with kids was trying to avoid them on planes.
And she didn’t think that sharing that little fact would do her much good.
By the time they’d reached the beach, Kristen and Stuart were getting along just famously. He’d even told a couple of stories about his ex-wife that Vicky had never heard. Vicky couldn’t win: if she tried to steer the conversation away she’d look desperate, but letting them get on with it only made her feel like an outsider. The balance of power was shifting, and she didn’t like it.
At the restaurant on the harbour, Stuart only made her feel worse. ‘You’re a bit quiet, Vick?’
‘I don’t have kids,’ she said simply. ‘I can’t exactly relate to what you two are going through.’
‘I can’t imagine not having children.’ Kristen smiled at her, a look of pity in her soft blue eyes. ‘Life must feel so empty.’
It was the kind of comment that made Vicky want to slap her hard in the face. ‘I have my own business,’ she retorted.
‘So do I,’ Kristen countered with a sweet smile.
‘Why don’t we all try the grilled mixed seafood?’ Stuart suggested, sensing that perhaps all was not well. ‘And how about a bottle of white?’
‘It sounds perfect,’ Kristen said, before going on to talk about some of the other Greek islands she’d visited over the years, and other restaurants and meals.
‘It must be awful, having to go on holiday alone?’ Vicky asked.
‘Not really. I paint, you see, and so it gives me time to do that. I don’t get much time for it otherwise. And I love to read, which I can never do when the children are around. So I make the most of it and consider it a treat.’
‘Yes, but you’re relying on the company of strangers,’ Vicky said, emboldened by a couple of sips of wine. ‘And they might be obnoxious, or you might have nothing in common, or they might resent the intrusion.’
‘This calamari is delicious, have you tried some?’ Stuart popped
