The trail

A Christmas short story by Anthony Horowitz
Illustrated by Carolyn Gowdy

They were spending their first Christmas together in Antigua, Simon and Jane Maxwell, enjoying not just a holiday but a honeymoon after a courtship that had taken them both by surprise. It was his second marriage, her first — and perhaps it was because she had waited so long that she had jumped into it so readily. Of course, she was a modern woman with a perfectly successful career… in publishing, as it happened. She might be single but she would never have described herself as ‘on the shelf’. It wasn’t as if she kept cats or anything dreadful like that. But her 40th birthday was fast approaching, her two younger sisters were not only married but with child (her father was a vicar) and she had begun to feel that if an opportunity did come her way she might as well grab it for better or for worse — reflecting at the time that it was an appropriate choice of words.

She knew that she had disappointed her parents by marrying in a registry office but it wasn’t as if Simon had put undue pressure on her. They had all agreed that it was for the best, given the age and status of the couple plus the fact that all their friends were in London. Had Jane allowed herself to be rushed into the decision? No. It had been a lovely, bright December day. There had been the ceremony, a wedding lunch at the Dorchester and then, in a cloud of bio-degradable confetti, a taxi to Heathrow and the long flight to the winter sun.

Simon had chosen the hotel; an intimate, whitewashed, wooden construction built in the manner of an old plantation house though one with room for 80 guests, two swimming pools, a water sports centre and a bar with Italian furniture, right on the beach.