Free You Had Me at Merlot: Part 2 by Lisa Dickenson Page B

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 tothe 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