Anette, Linda, and I start on the laborious return journey back up to Can Xara, a solid ten minutes’ walk up the path which is pleasant at times, and almost vertical at others. We reach the top of the stairs that connects the beach to the cliff above, alongside which the path runs before it climbs upwards past the finca and to the new house. I glance back down at where Bianka is lying on the beach, stretched out on her stomach, her body a smooth, even brown, her feet moving rhythmically to the beat of the music she’s listening to.
I move my gaze from Bianka to the beautiful rolling hills and I’m about to follow the others up the path when I notice some movement on the lower part of the Dubois-Joseph property – I happen to be standing in one of the few spots where it can be seen from below. A man is walking fast down toward the bottom of the property, probably toward the gate in the hedges where Bianka and I emerged on our morning walk of shame. I feel a dull ache in my stomach at the thought of that walk through Sa Capricciosa’s groomed gardens, the sound of Bianka’s footsteps behind me, my heart lurching, the nasty aftertaste of the coke at the back of my throat.
‘Charlotte?’ Anette has stopped on the path ahead and is waiting for me. I look from the neighbours’ property to Anette and back again but the man is gone. Seconds later I watch as a square patch of the hedge opens, then closes again, and the man appears at the top of the path that leads nowhere but directly towards us. Though he’s still far away, I know the man is Max – I can tell by the way he holds himself.
‘Sorry,’ I say, pulling my phone from my bag and pretending to press the home button. My heart is suddenly pounding so hard in my chest it feels as though I could have an actual seizure, but I use all my focus to breathe properly through my nostrils and give Anette a casual smile, while watching Max head toward us out of the corner of my eye. ‘I’ve had a couple of urgent emails this morning,’ I continue, ‘so I’m just going to sit down for a half hour or so and answer them.’
‘Surely they can wait for, like, five minutes until we’re back up at the house?’
‘Ah, actually, no. This is, uh, urgent…’
‘Charlotte, it’s not like you’re a surgeon or a pilot. Whatever could be so urgent in the low-carb universe?’
Linda laughs at Anette’s little quip and I do too, trying to seem relaxed and good-natured. They need to keep moving, right now, or they’ll walk straight into Max on the path. If they hurry and move along, I have a chance of quietly intercepting him. I smile at Anette as they turn to keep walking, but she raises an eyebrow and glances pointedly back down to the beach toward Bianka, as though to say I know what you’re really doing. You just want more time with Bianka alone, when really, the absolute opposite is true.
As soon as they go, I rush back down to the beach.
‘Hey, Bianka, quick. Max is coming here. Right now.’
Bianka sits up, shielding her eyes from the sun, peering up and down the deserted beach. ‘What…?’
‘I saw him coming down the path from the top of the stairs. God, how awkward, what could he possibly want?’
‘Well, he might just be heading down to the beach. Isn’t the only access across Can Xara?’ This is true. And people do have the right to access the beach, which isn’t private, only the land surrounding it. We stare at the stairs and the cliffs above, and sure enough, Max appears moments later, wearing smart dark-blue jeans and a white linen shirt, an ‘H’ Hermès belt completing the look – hardly the outfit for a day at the beach. And wouldn’t he have come with some of his buddies if he was intending to spend the afternoon here? I vaguely recall his two burly friends with the matching interlinked ‘o’ neck tattoos. Max had joked about them having mafia connections, and I believed him – they’d probably have to, to afford to rent out a house like Sa Capricciosa from the Dubois-Josephs, or even move in those circles. I know the type; I’ve seen them plenty over the years in Ibiza – the sons and daughters of billionaires, who call themselves ‘nomads and philanthropists’, who found cute little so-called sustainable businesses selling craft bracelets made by locals, or handbags made from recycled plastic, while they simultaneously jet around the world on Daddy’s plane.
‘Hi, beautiful ladies,’ says Max. ‘I saw you guys from the house and figured I’d pop down and say hello. Actually, to formally introduce myself. I think we skipped that part when we last met.’ He winks at me and I try to return his smile but my face won’t quite comply. Seeing him stone-cold sober and in full daylight, he’s hardly the mega-hunk Bianka and I must have felt he was. I feel bile rising in my stomach just looking at him; he has a sleazy, cocky attitude, evident even in the way he’s standing, feet planted widely apart as though to inform us that a certain part of his anatomy needs a very excessive amount of space. His arms are crossed across his wide chest, sleeves rolled back to show off the intricate tattoo on his right hand. I remember that same hand cupping my breast and have to suppress a shudder. His hair is slicked back and rigid, like a shiny helmet.
‘We were just leaving actually,’ I say.
‘Maybe you could give me a little tour. I’ve been wanting to take a proper look at Can Xara for some time.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Forgive me. How rude of me,’ he says, taking a step forward and extending his hand, the one with the tattooed eagle. ‘Maxime Dubois-Joseph. Max for short.’ I am literally speechless; wave after wave of horror crashes over me at the ugly realization that Max is the son of my neighbours. I’d vaguely known that they had a son, I remember seeing a young boy down on the beach years ago, when I first came to Can Xara. It actually makes sense that if that was twenty years ago and the boy was five or six at the time, then it could be the same person as the man now standing in front of me.
‘Wait, who did you say you are?’ Bianka asks, having gotten up from where she’d been lying on her stomach. She stands next to me, looking Max up and down, a flirtatious glint in her eyes as though she may at any point invite him to join us for a repeat. I wouldn’t put it past her. I shoot her a firm glance and give her a curt nod, but Bianka just looks confused.
‘I’m the neighbour.’
‘You own that place?’
‘My parents do, yes.’
‘I think I mentioned Mr Dubois-Joseph’s parents to you, Bianka. You know, they’re the ones who have repeatedly tried to get me to sell most of Can Xara’s land, including my mother’s finca, in spite of the property not being for sale.’
At this, Max smiles graciously, as though the relationship between his parents and myself hadn’t deteriorated to the point where we only spoke through lawyers.
‘Ah. Yep.’ Bianka realizes it’s probably best to stay out of the conversation at this point and walks back over to her stuff to start packing up.
‘You really had no idea who I am, did you?’ Maxime says to me.
‘Perhaps you could have let me know?’
‘I’m not sure we would have had so much fun if I had.’
‘Fun.’ I turn around and glance longingly up the path toward the house but I know I can’t just run away from this – I have to find a way to figure out what this guy wants and make sure that, whatever it is, he won’t be able to negatively impact my life more than he already has.
‘Frankly, I’m a little surprised you didn’t realize. I didn’t even give you a fake name.’
‘Well, it’s hardly surprising, I haven’t seen you since you were a little kid. And I never knew your name.’
‘I think you babysat me once or twice.’
‘No, that wasn’t me. I would have remembered it if I’d come to the house.’
‘It was definitely you. My father said. Maybe they brought me to you at Can Xara before your mother died. I missed her, you know. I used to like coming to see Ximena with my father. Even though she was a little, you know…’
‘A little what?’
‘Nothing. Never mind.’
‘No, say it.’
‘Crazy. She was a little crazy, let’s face it. No. More than a little.’
‘Like I said, we were just about to leave. Anything else I can do for you this afternoon, Mr Dubois-Joseph?’ I feel like hitting the guy in the face for having the nerve to even mention my mother, and consciously draw my breath very slowly to calm down.
Maxime chuckles and kicks at the sand, then runs his fingertip across the carefully curated stubble on his chin.
