Clara,’ the woman says, coming over to give our hands a vigorous shake. ‘Welcome to The Little Wedding Island. I’m the owner of the B&B. I’ll be here for anything you need. Now, do come over here and let me get you checked in.’
We both follow her back to the table she was sitting at, and I get the impression it’s a makeshift reception desk, and all manner of diaries and appointment books are lying open and strewn across it. It doesn’t look very private… In fact, it looks like it might be a great way to get some figures for Oliver… Not that I want to go snooping. No, I’ll just ask her outright. I’m sure she’ll be all too happy to tell me how popular the place is.
‘May I enquire about the purpose of your visit?’ she says cheerily. ‘You’re not reporters, are you? We’ve had an influx of them coming in lately. I don’t know what they expect to find here, but they’re all sent swiftly on their way.’
Rohan hesitates for just a second too long. ‘No, we’re not reporters.’
I can feel his eyes on me and I give him a sideways glance. ‘No, definitely not reporters.’
I don’t like lying to this woman, but there’s a tone of anger in her voice and I get the feeling she’d kick me straight out if I told her the truth. I mean, it’s not a huge lie. When people say reporters, they generally mean tabloids. I’m on their side here. I work for a magazine whose readers are their target audience. I’ll talk to her privately sometime and explain the truth. ‘We’re just tourists.’
‘Oh good.’ She nearly blinds us with a beaming smile. ‘I apologise for asking but I’ve had it up to here with reporter types telling me how much they can help me and how I should want to appeal to their audience to grow my business.’
I gulp.
‘There, now that’s settled, we can get you checked in,’ she says as she scribbles some notes and turns to Rohan.
‘Ladies first.’ He gestures to me, and backs away with a nod to Clara and a smile that could make chocolate spontaneously start melting.
Past the makeshift reception desk is a corridor that leads to a kitchen, judging by the glorious smell emanating from it, and the walls of the corridor are lined with plaques bearing quotes in swirling calligraphy. I watch Rohan as he wanders off, peering at each one.
‘Miss…’ Clara says, starting to fill out a form. She gives me a knowing smile when she sees where my attention has gone and I blush for no reason.
‘Haskett,’ I say. ‘Bonnie. Just Bonnie is fine.’
‘And how long will you be staying?’
‘Er…’ I stumble into an awkward pause. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t planned it out. I just thought—’
‘An open-ended stay,’ she says. ‘No problem. We see it all the time. People feel drawn to the island and catch the boat without making any further plans. You’re welcome for as long as you want to stay.’
I’m half-touched and half-amused by this odd attitude. In fact, I was wondering if they’d have space for me considering this trip wasn’t booked in advance. ‘Are you not busy?’
‘Not this early in the spring, dear. We’re fully booked at the height of wedding season in the summer, but you and your lovely gentleman friend are early enough to be our only guests for now. We’ve got a bridal party coming in next week so we might have to shimmy the rooms around then, but not to worry, we’ll make it work.’
‘I might start getting big-headed if I hear myself being called a gentleman any more, Clara,’ Rohan says, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards as he comes back into the reception area.
She fans a hand in front of her face, her brown curls bobbing up and down. ‘Ooh, if I was thirty years younger and unmarried, I’d call you far better than that! Can I take your name, please?’
‘Rohan Carter.’
Rohan Carter. Even his name is sexy.
‘And are you booking in for an open-ended stay as well, Mr Carter?’
He looks at me and my knees go weak at the intensity in his light eyes. ‘I think I’d like that,’ he says without dropping his gaze, and I try to focus on staying upright. You read about knees going weak at just a glance in romance books, but it’s never, ever happened to me in real life before.
‘Lovely. I’ll put you in room six, Bonnie, and you’re in room seven, Mr Carter, both on the third floor. The bridal suite and the honeymoon suite are our only other bedrooms on that floor and both are unoccupied until next week so you’ll have plenty of privacy and the best views on the island, apart from at the church, and you aren’t going to see them from there unless you’re getting married!’
She chortles as she picks up the keys and bustles past us.
A little seed of dread starts growing in my stomach, the kind of seed that grows into a big plant known as ‘You’re going to be personally responsible for the entire staff losing their jobs and the end of Two Gold Rings magazine after more than two decades’. I try to stamp it down. Surely they’ll understand that an article in Two Gold Rings will be good for them? They’re wedding people and I’m a wedding person. They’ll be keen to reveal their secrets to me. Surely they will.
We follow Clara up two flights of stairs that are covered by blue and pink floral carpet that looks like it’s recently escaped from the Seventies, until she stops on a landing with clashing orange and pink flowery carpeting that looks like it lived through the Sixties – the Eighteen-Sixties. She hands us a key each. ‘Here we go, dears, rooms six and seven. Now, you must allow me to invite you both for dinner tonight. As you’re my only guests, it would be an honour to welcome you to our little island in the best way I know how. Do say you’ll join me at eight o’clock this evening?’
I look over at Rohan, who still looks pale and like his stomach is turning at the mere thought of food. He manages to put on a smile for Clara. ‘I’m in if Bonnie’s in.’
‘How could we refuse such a kind offer?’ I say to her. ‘Thanks, we’ll be there.’
She pats me on the arm. ‘Rightio. I’m downstairs if you need me. You can just yell and I’ll come running as fast as my arthritic hip will carry me. I’ll leave you two to get settled in.’ She waggles her eyebrows as she leaves, and I wonder what and why she thinks there’s anything going on between us, and what exactly ‘settling in’ is supposed to be an innuendo for.
‘Well, I suppose we should…’ I wave the key towards the door of my room.
‘Yeah. I can’t wait to see what the rooms are like. If I didn’t already have a headache, this carpeting would’ve given me one.’
I unlock the door of room six and push it open, trying to think about something other than Rohan next to me, turning the key in his lock.
Inside, the room is small. There’s a dark brown plain carpet, a double bed, and a wardrobe and dressing table. All of them look like they’ve been here for a century too long. There are vases of artificial flowers and bowls of potpourri on every available surface, ornaments of children playing and dead-eyed animals, and framed pictures of couples kissing hung on the walls all round the
