The High Life (The Mercury Travel Club #3)

Chapter Twenty-Four I’m Too Sexy

With Zoe’s words ringing in my ears, I try to keep pedalling, I really do. But all week I can’t stop myself staring out of the window, watching the people flow in and out of Lorenzo’s shop.

‘The offer will be over soon,’ says Charlie joining me at the window.

‘There’ll be something else to follow.’ I sigh and he hugs me.

‘You really should call this business Mercury Funerals,’ says Patty. ‘Will you get your ugly mugs away from that window.’

She’s right, moping isn’t pedalling. I try to focus on work, answering the small amount of queries we have. Just then, there’s a sound we haven’t heard for a while — the front door opening. I perk up with expectation but then fall flat when I see it’s just the postman.

‘Recorded delivery for the directors,’ he says.

My heart sinks, thinking it’s probably the summons for our fine. Do you go to court for putting up signposts? Charlie signs for the letter and looks at it.

‘Oh my God,’ he says. ‘Ange, it’s from the financial advisors. It must be about the bid.’

He holds it out to me but I just shake my head.

‘You open it,’ I tell him while Patty and I grip hands. I’m not sure whether it’s good news that it’s arrived by recorded delivery — does that mean we have it or have they sent all responses that way? Charlie opens the envelope far too slowly. I’m wound up tighter than a Boudicca bodice on my best friend as I watch him read the words to himself and then read them again. His lips are moving but I can’t tell what they’re saying.

‘Do you want the good news or the scary news?’ he says eventually, and I look at him puzzled. He pauses dramatically and then cries, ‘They’re both the same — we got it!’

We holler and jump up to hug each other, then after a few minutes of congratulations and joy, the reality starts to sink in. Every single goose pimple along every inch of my skin is tingling. Charlie was right. I feel fabulous and terrified all at the same time.

‘Oh my word, I don’t know what to say,’ I tell him, wiping the tears from my eyes.

‘I’m just so relieved,’ says Charlie. ‘I couldn’t have coped with more bad news this week. At last we’ll finally have something Mr Launch Pad can’t offer.’ He pauses and mock bites all his fingernails at once. ‘But holy holidays — we’ve actually gone and done it — can you believe it?’

‘I know. Whose idea was this? Are we mad?’

Half of me is thinking that this is the stupidest thing we could take on right now. We have our hands full with Lorenzo. The other half knows Charlie is right. This gives us something he can’t compete with. That’s what Branson would advise. Or I think he would anyway. I wonder if he’s ever just called it a day at any time. I hope we’re doing the right thing. Charlie seems to think so.

‘Well, yes, we’re mad but that’s beside the point,’ he’s saying. ‘We need to get moving on our plans to have everything up and running quickly. The sooner we can get out there to the media with something really new, the better for us. And whatever we do, no leaks on this. We can’t have him cobbling something similar together before we’re ready.’

So Charlie is definitely pedalling and as fast as he can by the sound of it. Right then, I can certainly do the same. So first of all we have to work out how to deliver everything we said we would. If I’m honest, I wasn’t really sure we’d actually win the bid. Not because it wasn’t a good plan. It was or it wouldn’t have won. It’s just that people like me don’t run exclusive resorts. Well, I guess they do now. We’ll have to ring the bank and tell them that we won the bid. They’ll release the funds we need when the contracts are signed. There’s so much to do, but strangely, it’s come at exactly the right time. When you’re not busy, you’ve time to get gloomy. Now that we have this ray of sunshine in our lives, who knows, it may rub off onto Mercury too. Here’s hoping. Charlie is already beaming again.

‘This is brilliant.’ He glows. ‘We’re really going to do it. We’re going to have our beautiful yurts, our gorgeous bar and the most fabulous wedding venue ever. Peter and I might have to renew our vows when it’s all set up. I’d love to be the first couple celebrated when it’s finally ours.’

I don’t like to tell him that it would be a bit odd for him to renew his vows within the first year of marriage. Still, his joy is infectious and I relax a little. I drift off and start wondering if everyone had to renew their vows every year, whether they actually would. I can imagine it would be an ideal time for couples to split up if they wanted to:

‘Do you take this person for another year?’

‘Err no, I think I’ve had enough of them. I’d quite like a younger/richer/sexier model now.’

It would be a lot more honest and would save a fortune in legal fees. I’m going to have to be far less cynical when I’m selling these weddings.

Enough daydreaming, Charlie is proposing a planning session at his house tonight.

‘I think it might be useful to have Michael there,’ I tell him. ‘He does know a lot about building and planting — he would probably be a real help.’

‘And I’m coming, too,’ says Patty. ‘I might have to help you sell it and I’ll stop you both making it either too dull or too kitsch.’

‘Cheeky mare.’ I wonder which of those hazards I represent but already know the answer.

* * *

Come the hour we gather at Charlie’s and divide up the tasks: Michael reviews the tents and their construction while Patty finds out what the wedding bloggers are recommending at the moment. Charlie and I make a Skype call to our new resort manager to say hello.

A rather beautiful woman appears on the screen. She looks like Halle Berry’s big sister and she greets us with the most stunning smile. I try to smile back enthusiastically without revealing my typically British teeth. Note to self — get them whitened before you go over.

‘I’m so delighted you won the bid,’ she tells us. ‘I remember Charlie and Peter well. You were my favourite visitors.’

Charlie blows her a kiss and introduces us. ‘Lucille, this is Angie, my partner and the woman who introduced me to Peter. Angie, meet Lucille who I’m told is the most resourceful person in the whole world.’

If we’d met in person, we’d have been able to assess each other with one discreet glance. With only our heads on the screen we both stay in a fixed smile — mine obviously with mouth closed (which is difficult to hold with any sincerity for any length of time). It’s not just idle curiosity, I try to convince myself: this is the woman who’ll be looking after my guests and my money.

‘You are staying on there, aren’t you?’ asks Charlie and she reassures him that she is. ‘That’s brilliant news — the place just wouldn’t be the same without you.’

‘So what are the plans? Tell me all about them. The finance people wouldn’t say a thing,’ she tells us.

Charlie talks about the wedding packages, the yurts and the beachfront ceremonies. Lucille is nodding at each of the suggestions, so before Charlie gets carried away, I ask what she thinks.

‘I think they’ll sell well,’ she says. ‘Of course beach weddings are not new but couples are starting to want something a little different from the big packaged tours. We can help people personalize their day. Clients don’t necessarily want to sit down and dance to cheesy music all night — although that too we could provide if they wish. I will find out what we need to do over here to become a legal and proper place for weddings.’

I’m impressed. She’s obviously been watching out for what customers want and her thinking is in line with ours. She doesn’t stop there.

‘But don’t just think about weddings — there are many other opportunities. We’re seeing lots of older people celebrating anniversaries or retirement. Apparently our island is on the “bucket list”, I think it is called.’

‘And what about people renewing their vows?’ asks Charlie like an eager pupil.

‘Not so much, but we could certainly try them.’ Lucille is shaking her head. ‘However, divorce parties are big, and fresh start celebrations — we’re seeing more of them.’

Poor Charlie sighs something about the lack of romance in this world, but I’m starting to feel more confident having spoken to this beautiful and seemingly knowledgeable lady.

‘We need to start ordering the new equipment and also ensuring any repairs are taken care of before the season starts,’ I say. ‘Can you compile a list of what needs doing and get some quotes for the work?’

‘I have it here,’ she replies, opening a folder and taking out a sheet of paper. ‘I’ll email it to you.’

I’m determined to find something this woman hasn’t thought of — just to make myself feel useful.

‘Can you advise on any structural issues we might have with the yurts?’ I ask.

She shakes her head and I cheer a little internally.

‘I’m not great on building things but I can find someone who does,’ she offers.

At that moment Patty and Michael walk in, so we introduce them and I tell Lucille that Michael is the person who might be helping us with construction.

‘So if your structural expert could liaise with Michael that would be fabulous. It’ll probably go completely over my head too.’

Michael spends a few moments explaining what he’s looking at and what questions he has about the terrain and planning permissions we’ll need. Lucille studiously takes notes of all his points and at the end flashes him one of her beautiful smiles: ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve found out about all of this.’

Michael thanks her and leaves us to our conversation.

‘Are you going to handle that yourself?’ I ask. ‘I thought you were bringing someone else in.’

Lucille raises her eyebrows and leans into the desktop camera. ‘I was, but that silver-haired gentleman — yum — he could be my Hugh Grant — no? I could definitely become interested in foundations and those joist things if he’s handling them.’

Of course she doesn’t know Michael is my other half and I don’t tell her. Charlie muffles a snort of laughter and takes over the conversation, telling Lucille we have to hang up now as we’ve a marketing meeting to chair. As soon as she signs off, Charlie releases that muffled snort full force.

‘I’m sorry but you should have seen your face,’ he teases. ‘But I’m warning you, if we have to pimp Michael out just to keep Lucille, we’re going to do it.’

I scrunch up a piece of paper and throw it at him in mock indignation. ‘Too right we are,’ I agree.

Either the sexy supplements or that session with Lucille start kicking in, but I feel a desire to become just a little more exotic. Next to her anyone would look a bit humdrum. I mean she was older than me, yet even via a long distance call with her I felt like a bowl of Weetabix on a breakfast table laden with juicy mango and pineapple. However, it isn’t just that she’s gorgeous, I tell myself. For goodness’ sake, we’re just about to take out a lease on a beautiful island and I’m sure I shouldn’t be facing this brand new start in my twinset. If I can take a risk this big, surely I can manage a plunge neckline. I think ahead to when we announce this new venture — won’t the journalist and photographer be expecting someone just a little more — well, colourful? I think about all the famous women entrepreneurs — Karren Brady, Arianna Huffington — they’re all very ballsy of course, but there’s also something just a bit glamorous and bold about them. Maybe I need to start looking the part.

* * *

When I walk to work the next morning, I take sideways glances at everyone I pass. Who seems completely at home in this summer sunshine? Who looks stylish? If I were a photographer, which ones would I want to photograph? Some people — and I would have included myself in this group pre-Mercury — obviously have a work wardrobe which doesn’t really change whatever the weather. Generally navy or black and sort of shabby looking as it’s worn day in, day out. I guess they’re thinking it doesn’t matter what you wear when you’re in an office with those awful cubicles. I can spot the people who are going places and those who never will. It’s not about the most expensive clothes: it’s about flair. Patty would tell you that, as a performer, when you step into your costume, you become that character. I look down at my sensible courts and know this character is definitely not an exotic international entrepreneur.

All day long I assess the outfits coming into the store. Charlie spots me.

‘Why are you staring at all our customers’ shoes?’

Rather than answer the question, I ask, ‘Do you think I could wear bright colours?’

‘Definitely — you’re dark like Peter. Do you want to see his colour swatch?’

He pulls out two little wallets of mini fabric swatches. He tells me that they’ve both had their ‘colours done’ — which involves going to see an expert who tells you what you’d suit and what to avoid.

‘You see, I’m a summer so I wear blues and greens, but Peter, he’s winter, like you,’ explains Charlie.

This means I can wear yellow and aqua, Charlie tells me as he holds the colours up to my skin. I ask to borrow the swatches and plan to go shopping tonight. Now that things are finally looking up, it wouldn’t hurt to try on something a little more adventurous would it?

* * *

Later that evening, the assistant in the store agrees completely. She tells me I’m definitely winter and brings me a selection of outfits to try. I have to say the raspberry-coloured short-sleeved top she gives me brings a glow to my face that I’m sure isn’t just a reflection of the colour. I swirl around in it, checking out my reflection. This looks good and is certainly more international entrepreneur — if only I didn’t have such pasty arms. The tone isn’t too bad but I should probably stop off at the sports department and get some weights to exercise them more.

After buying the top, I look at the store directory trying to find the sports section. Instead, I’m drawn to the beauty salon on the same floor. Perhaps I should have a facial while I’m here? After all, I might as well go the whole hog — Michael is coming round later. I’ve been religiously taking my supplements and it wouldn’t do any harm to look every bit as exotic as Lucille when he arrives — although I can’t imagine her ever seizing up at the crucial moment.

I’m disappointed to find there aren’t any more appointments for facials and am just about to leave when I spot the special offer running — half-price spray tans. Now, I have never had one of these before but lots of our customers tell me they always get themselves a little colour before they go away as they don’t want to look like the Brit on the beach. I look down at my arms — I imagine they’d look more toned if they were tanned and then I might not need to do the exercises after all. It could be the upper arm equivalent of contouring. Nothing ventured, I ask if there’s a free appointment and fate must be intervening as there is, if I’m prepared to get my treatment from the trainee.

Everyone has to start somewhere, so I go into the changing room and put on the horrid paper knickers they give me without any fuss — I don’t want to look like a tanning virgin. As instructed, I take off all my make-up and put on the shower cap — the end result better be glamorous because this bit sure as hell is not. Stepping into the cubicle, the assistant asks me how dark I’d like to go.

‘As if I’ve just stepped off my very own private island,’ I tell her.

I move round as I’m told to and before long, it’s over. I look in the mirror and I’m slightly disappointed — I don’t look very different at all.

‘Could I go a little darker?’ I ask, ‘please?’

I think the trainee is frightened to say no to her first customer, so she reluctantly agrees and repeats the process. She then tells me the colour will develop over the next couple of hours and that I shouldn’t go any darker. I still don’t look too dark but take her word for it, get dressed and leave.

I can’t get washed tonight, so put on my new exotic raspberry top and chill the wine. I feel fabulous and know that Michael is going to find a very different woman here tonight. I even put on some slow and sexy music just to put us in the mood. The doorbell rings and I turn the music up and fling the door open.

‘Welcome to the new me,’ I declare.

Michael stands transfixed. ‘What on earth?’

It wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.

‘Thought I’d give myself a little sun-kissed glow,’ I tell him. ‘In celebration of the island.’

‘You’re orange.’

Horrified, I rush inside and he follows me to the bathroom. I stare at the creature in front of me. The colour certainly has developed over the intervening hours and I definitely didn’t need that second coat. I sink onto the toilet seat, my head in my hands.

‘I was trying to look exotic for you.’

‘You’ve certainly achieved that.’ Michael laughs, lifting my face up to his ‘You’re like a glorious tropical cocktail — or the juiciest ripe mango.’

He strokes my hair and kisses me. At least I’m no longer the Weetabix.

‘In fact from now on, I’m going to call you my little Or-Ang-Ina.’

I give him a friendly punch then fall into his embrace. He gently strokes my arms.

‘Now,’ he says, ‘shall we go and get fruity — you sexy little citrus.’