Chapter Twelve #2
Back home in England, she’d worried about moving to an unknown island where she didn’t speak the language and she didn’t know the customs. She’d been concerned that they wouldn’t fit in, or maybe they wouldn’t be accepted, or even that they’d be terribly homesick and end up back on the flight home within a few weeks.
Just about the only thing that hadn’t troubled her had been matters of the heart.
It was kind of funny then that all of her worries had melted like butter on a warm knife, and only their romantic lives seemed determined not to play nice.
Thank goodness for cool, calm, unflappable Frankie.
She had the right idea; immersing herself into life on Skelidos without having her head turned by the first attractive man to glance her way or have his wicked way with her in the cellar.
Stella practically ran into reception an hour later, darting her eyes around to make sure they were the only three people in the place as she grabbed a hand of each over the reception desk.
‘I have to say this really quick because they’ll be walking through that door in about two minutes’ time. It’s not Smith, Brown and Williams. It’s Manson, Harte and Miller.’
Frankie gasped and gripped Stella’s fingers hard enough to stop her circulation, and Winnie caught up a few seconds later when their new guests strolled in, already looking as if they’d spent the last six months in a five-star resort, thanks to their expensive luggage, metro scarves and leather jewellery.
‘Shut your mouth, Frank, you’re gaping,’ Winnie said through her fixed smile, gazing at the same faces that had adorned their bedroom walls, Frankie’s most of all, as teenage girls.
There was a time around her fifteenth birthday when she’d seriously considered changing her surname to Manson just so she could tell everyone she was married to Seth, the lead singer of Tryx.
The very same Seth Manson who’d just approached the reception desk.
Frankie made a smart grab for the pen right out of Winnie’s fingers and nudged her sideways with her hip, greeting Seth with what she probably hoped was a cool-girl smile and weird, tiny wave.
‘I’m Frankie,’ she said, shoving her hand out. ‘Welcome.’
‘Seth,’ he said, firing Frankie the killer dimpled smile that had had grown women fainting in stadiums around the world. Tryx had split up after six hugely successful years together back in the 90s, but had recently reformed and were riding high in the charts all over again.
‘I know who you are,’ Frankie blurted, still gripping his hand tightly between both of hers until Winnie jabbed her in the ribs with her elbow.
‘Why don’t I deal with the booking in while you grab some refreshments?’ Winnie suggested, sending Frankie a clear ‘go to the kitchen this minute and pull yourself together’ glance in case she frightened their fabulous new guests away.
Frankie thankfully seemed to get the message, reluctantly letting go of Seth’s hand and glancing at her palms as she walked away as if she was considering how to never wash them again.
‘Is it best if I book you in as Smith, Brown and Williams?’ she said, looking up into the three familiar faces.
If she were to be brutally honest with them, which obviously she wasn’t going to be, then she’d been more of a Blur kind of girl herself, but it was undeniably thrilling to think that Tryx had chosen to come here of all places.
‘Probably,’ Seth said, nodding. ‘We’d like to keep a pretty low profile if we can. It’s kind of a working holiday, somewhere off the beaten track to write the next album.’
It was more information than Winnie needed or expected; he seemed far more relaxed in person than he did whenever she’d caught him being interviewed on TV.
‘Well, I hope you can make time for a little R Mikey Miller was notorious for his wild party lifestyle and drinking habits.
Seth Manson clearly didn’t want him to get wind of the fact that Skelidos was known for its gin, or no doubt the only thing Mikey would be interested in would be tracking down a supply.
Suddenly nervous, Winnie flicked her eyes towards the hallway and the cellar beyond it with its robust stock of gin.
Note to self: keep the door locked at all times and under no circumstances was anyone to mention the secret distillery beneath their feet.
‘Let me show you where your rooms are,’ she said, deciding it was best to get them all upstairs out of sight so she could brief Frankie and Stella.
On that, Frankie reappeared bearing a tray of three sparkling and very large G&Ts.