Chapter nineteen
Francine walked into the spare bathroom, shielding her eyes from the mess. There were shirts, everywhere. Boxer shorts festooned from the towel rail. And, horror of horrors, a men’s razor, sitting on the side of the vanity unit, drawing one’s eye to the tide line of stubble and scum below it.
Juan Carlos had only stayed one night in her immaculate Gorey apartment, yet the devastation was hiroshimic. How could a man who was so fastidious in every other area of his life (well, the ones Francine had seen so far), be so disorderly when it came to getting dressed?
The answer, Francine was afraid to admit, was that he had possibly been a little too overindulged. As a child Juan Carlos had a nanny running around after him, then, as he grew up, other staff. Mess would disappear as easily as it was created.
Unfortunately, Francine did not have a full complement of household staff ready to clear up after Juan Carlos. She had a wonderful cleaner, who normally came in once a week to go over everything and keep an eye on the place when she was away, but she managed perfectly well to keep things decent herself the rest of the time.
Even if Juan Carlos had stayed over in a time frame that coincided with Mrs Markez, Francine would not want to inflict this disorder on her. She had a choice – do it herself, and potentially end up having to tidy up after Juan Carlos for the rest of their relationship, or leave it, and allow him to see the consequences.
As she had another bathroom to use, it would be possible to pretend she had never even seen the mess. Juan Carlos would find it exactly as he left it when he next used the room. And that would serve him right!
Deciding on her course of action, Francine marched back into her bedroom with the bathrobe she had been about to return. She folded it up carefully and placed it on the chair next to the bed.
As lovers go, Francine had been suitably impressed with Juan Carlos. He had maintained his polo player physique despite not getting near a pony in years and had far better stamina than contemporaries who had devoted more time to their desks than to sport. But, most importantly, Juan Carlos made her feel amazing.
The end of year lockdown had been a bit of a slump for Francine. Living by herself, with no social activities on the horizon, she could go for days without seeing anyone. Esmerelda had suggested a walk on the beach once or twice, but what with the weather being so bad tempered, she hadn’t really felt the motivation.
When Juan Carlos confessed that he hadn’t seen anyone, or been anywhere for a similar amount of time, it brought about a frank discussion.
“Do you like bubbles?” Juan Carlos asked.
“Of course. I’m French.” Francine had replied. Wondering how anyone might query her devotion to champagne.
“But would you like to bubble me?”
“Huh?”
“You have been alone. I have been alone. We could do the clean bubble.”
“Oh, a bubble bath. I’m afraid the hot tub on the balcony isn’t running now. I need to get it serviced but it’s not considered ‘essential’. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get the repair chap in next month …”
And so, it continued, until eventually the penny dropped, thankfully before the bubble burst.
Juan Carlos had joined Francine in her apartment for dinner. Which had led to returning another day for lunch. Then another night for a bottle of champagne because there was one that needed liberating. And then another dinner. And then, they had decided to watch the sun rise together from the balcony with the broken hot tub.
And then Francine had walked into the bathroom.
Join us soon for the next episode of the Secret diary of island wives.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
