2014 started scorchingly hot here in Rio. 35ºC officially, but it must be more than 40!
Spend time at the beach is theonly way to live!... it's so hot we sweat under the sunglasses. Either pool or beach, but water anyway
To start this new year, after watching BBC's Death comes to Pemberley and spending the week away at my parents concoting another Pride and Prejudice fanfic (ha!), I chose one of my favorite books, and... surprise, surprise! It's their vacation at the beach!
Here you go...
The Rules of Engagement
The Dodecanese Islands, Greece
And then some days you wake up and everything is perfect.
This fine bright St Swithin‘s Day found them under an immense blue sky with not the smallest chance of rain, on the sun deck of the ferry that steamed slowly across the Aegean. In new sunglasses and holiday clothes they lay side by side in the morning sun, sleeping off last night‘s taverna hangover. Day two of a ten-day island-hopping holiday, and The Rules of Engagement were still holding firm.
A sort of platonic Geneva Convention, The Rules were a set of basic prohibitions compiled before departure to ensure that the holiday didn‘t get ‗complicated‘. Emma was single again; a brief, undistinguished relationship with Spike, a bicycle repairman whose fingers smelt perpetually of WD40, had ended with barely a shrug on either side, but had at least served to give her confidence a boost. And her bicycle had never been in better shape.
For his part Dexter had stopped seeing Naomi because, he said, it was 'getting too intense‘, whatever the hell that meant. Since then he had passed through Avril, Mary, a Sara, a Sarah, a Sandra and a Yolande before alighting on Ingrid, a ferocious model turned fashion-stylist who had been forced to give up modelling – she had told Emma this with a straight face – because 'her breasts were too large for the catwalk‘, and as she said this it seemed as if Dexter might explode with pride.
Ingrid was the kind of sexually confident girl who wore her bra on top of her shirt, and although she was by no means threatened by Emma or indeed by anyone on this earth, it had been decided by all parties that it might be better to get a few things straight before the swimwear was unveiled, the cocktails were drunk. Not that anything was likely to happen; that brief window had closed some years ago and they were immune to each other now, secure in the confines of firm friendship. Nevertheless, on a Friday night in June, Dexter and Emma had sat outside the pub on Hampstead Heath and compiled The Rules.
Number One: separate bedrooms. Whatever happened, there were to be no shared beds, neither double nor single, no drunken cuddles or hugs; they were not students anymore. 'And I don‘t see the point of cuddling anyway,‘ Dexter had said. 'Cuddling just gives you cramp,‘ and Emma had agreed and added:
'No flirting either. Rule Two.‘
'Well I don‘t flirt, so . . .‘ said Dexter, rubbing his foot against the inside of her shin."
Ah, Dex... Dex, Dex, Dex... a guy I love to hate.
If only he were more like Darcy...