The Holiday Swap. Zara Stoneley
all of France, but Paris really was the most spectacular, romantic spot on earth. And this time she’d be with the man she loved, not her parents, or on a school trip with a bunch of teenage boys who thought culture was seeing who could spit their chewing gum out furthest.
She and Oli had been together five years; it was the anniversary of that first date, he was going to propose. She knew it. And where better?
***
Two days later, with a carefully prepared picnic, and a chilled bottle of bubbly, they caught the train out of Barcelona, heading towards ten days of bliss.
Packing had been pretty straightforward. A sexy going-out dress, for ‘the event’ because he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble just for a break, sexy underwear (there was a theme going on here, but after all, Paris was the city of love – and hopefully passion), high heels (more on the sexy theme), and some boots she knew she could walk in (for those romantic excursions on the Seine and the art galleries, where they would stroll hand in hand).
Flo didn’t care that the moment they’d sat down Oli fished out his headphones and disappeared into his own little world as he messed about with his phone (no doubt answering work messages), she was happy flicking through the pages of the guide book, gazing in awe at the photographs and working out just where she wanted to go (though Oli, no doubt, would have planned everything anyway – he was good like that – he liked an itinerary).
The next day, Friday, after croissants and coffee served in their room (no point in squandering money on a café, is there?), he spread out a city map on the bed and pointed out a route around the area that he’d carefully marked in red ink.
‘I thought we’d do this today. You don’t mind going on ahead though, do you, darling? Bit of a muzzy head, too much champagne yesterday.’ Oli grinned apologetically.
‘Oh no, do you need anything?’
‘I’ll be fine, honest,’ he glanced at his phone and gave an exaggerated sigh as yet another message came in, ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun.’ He tapped out a reply and Flo shook her head.
‘A few days’ break from work would do you good. It’s no wonder you’ve got a headache. Can’t you just let people leave a message, like you told me to do?’
‘One of us has to keep things ticking over, darling, and I want you to enjoy the break. I promise not to do much.’ He smiled, then pressed a hand to his temple and grimaced. ‘You go and explore, I’ll meet you for lunch. Look,’ he pointed at the map, where he’d put a star, ‘the guy at reception said this place is excellent value.’
Flo was not happy. She’d only got a short way down the street when the first spots of rain fell from the sky, and she realised she’d left her umbrella in the hotel room. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been at home, but no way did she want to look a bedraggled rat when she met Oli for lunch. He’d obviously asked the hotel for a recommendation, which meant the restaurant could be somewhere special, which meant… Well, she really didn’t want to count her chickens, but it was their anniversary, and what if he was leading up to…? Flo grinned and a man walking the other way grinned back, but she didn’t care. She was in Paris, the city of romance, and her boyfriend was about to propose, and she needed an umbrella because she wanted to look sleek and sophisticated, not frizzy beach-babe.
She ran up the stairs rather than take the lift; she might as well make an early start on being trim. I mean, Oli had probably already planned the wedding, had a date in mind. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past him to have booked a place.
As she opened the door of their room, a gentle waft of air blew through from doors they’d left ajar, bringing with it the hustle and bustle of the Paris streets below, and Flo took a deep breath and smiled. What did they say? Heaven on earth? This place really was blissful. Oh God, maybe he’d brought her here because he wanted to hold the actual wedding ceremony in Paris?
‘You’re fucking gorgeous you know, darling.’
Her grin broadened as she stepped further into the room. ‘So are—’ The words died on her lips as she glanced at the empty bed. She frowned. It was Oli’s voice, but he wasn’t there. She peered in the bathroom, he wasn’t there either. Sticking her head out of the doors that led to the balcony, she risked getting her hair wet as a very feminine (and definitely not Oli) giggle reached her ears.
His voice was clearer out here, as were the muffled oo’s and ahh’s.
Flo leaned out further, desperately trying to see into the next room. Then she froze.
‘You bastard.’ The words choked in her throat. ‘You total utter bastard.’ This time they came out full throttle.
Marching back through their room and out of the door, Flo careered into the corridor, just as Oli popped out of the next room like a rabbit out of a bloody magician’s hat.
‘That’s Sarah, and she’s—’
‘Hang on, Flo, let me explain.’
‘She’s naked, on a bed, and you,’ Flo glared pointedly at his crotch, which was now encased in underwear, ‘were fucking naked with her.’
He winced. ‘Keep your voice down. Do you have to talk like that, you know I don’t—’
‘Do I have to talk like that?’ For a moment she was speechless, but it didn’t last more than a couple of seconds. There were so many words trying to burst out of her it was just a case of getting them in a straight line, and the right order. ‘Do you have to fuck another woman like that?’
‘I wasn’t actually fu—’
‘You, Oliver, are the only man I know who could split straws over whether you were actually doing it or not. You were naked. You were flesh on flesh. Like this.’ She flapped the palms of her hands together, ‘I’m surprised you’ve not got friction burns.’
‘If you’d let me explain, instead of flying off the handle.’
‘Explain? Explain? What is Sarah bloody Rogers doing here, in Paris, in the next fucking room? You, you, you fuckwit.’
Oli raised an eyebrow. ‘Look, you don’t normally swear.’
‘You don’t normally sleep around, or at least I didn’t think you did.’
He didn’t say anything, just made a move towards their room, so Flo reversed and planted herself firmly in the doorway. ‘Did you ask for adjoining doors so you could just pop between us naked and not waste a precious second of your time?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t bloody know they’d put her in the next room, did I? Be reasonable.’
Flo stared. ‘Did you really just say that?’
‘It was pure coincidence, if I’d have known…’
That was when she slammed the door and emptied every bottle she could find in the mini-fridge into his underwear drawer, and gave it a good jiggle. Shaken not stirred.
‘Flo, Flo, be reasonable.’ Oli banged on the door, hissing through the keyhole. ‘Calm down, you’re over-reacting and making a fool of yourself.’
‘I’m making a fool of myself? I’m not the one in my pants in a hotel corridor. I should have known you were up to something. That’s what all those late sessions working have been about, isn’t it? All the editorial work you’ve been doing.’ She’d been stupid. Accepted all his excuses at face value, trying to keep the status quo when deep down she’d known it wasn’t acceptable.
‘Flo, open this door, I’m standing here in my underwear.’
She added the olives and peanuts to the mix in the drawer, and hoped his gritty and oily extremities would cause him and the lovely Sarah a fair bit of discomfort for days to come. ‘I’ll give you friction!’
‘Flo, I didn’t even know she’d be in the same hotel.’