Lisa wasn’t used to feeling insecure. She told herself to get a grip as she got out of bed a couple of days after Victoria’s arrival. Resisting the urge to shower, wash her hair and put on full make-up, she defiantly pulled on her scruffy old tracksuit to go down to the village for bread and croissants, tying her curls in a loose ponytail and plonking a baseball cap on top of her head. She wasn’t going to pretend for anyone.
Ten minutes later, as she pushed open the door to the bakery, the delicious scent of yeasty, warm bread enveloped her and her mouth watered. She joined the queue, scanned the counter anxiously and was relieved to see there was one almond croissant left: this had become her morning treat over the past week.
Then she watched in horror as the woman behind the counter picked up the object of her desire with a pair of tongs and slid it into a paper bag.
‘I’m sorry, love.’ She smiled sympathetically at Lisa as she handed it to the customer in front. ‘Last one. You should get me to put one aside for you. We only ever do half a dozen.’
‘Never mind,’ said Lisa bravely.
The man turned and Lisa found a pair of dark grey eyes looking into hers.
‘Never let it be said that I’ve deprived a girl of her breakfast.’ His voice was deep; from two paces away Lisa could feel it resonate through her body. He held the bag out to her solemnly.
‘Please – don’t worry.’ Lisa held up her hand to reject his offer, smiling awkwardly. ‘I’m sure I don’t need the calories.’
The man ran his gaze over her, as if to appraise her body mass index. She in turn took in his black curls, his broad shoulders, his thick brows. He was dressed in khaki chinos and a rumpled white linen shirt. Then he smiled and it was like the sun coming out over the sea on a cloudy day.
‘I insist,’ he pronounced. ‘I’ll have a
pain au chocolat
instead.’
Lisa took the bag reluctantly.
‘Thank you.’
The assistant duly served him with a replacement
pain au chocolat
and as he left the bakery with his purchase he gave Lisa the faintest wink, leaving behind nothing but a lingering trace of cologne that cut through the smell of fresh bread.
‘Gorgeous, isn’t he?’ sighed the woman behind the counter. ‘He could knead my dough any day.’
‘Lovely,’ agreed Lisa, slightly flustered by the encounter. ‘Um, I’d better have six croissants as well. For the others.’
‘Bigger than your usual order, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Lisa meaningfully. ‘We seem to have quite a houseful all of a sudden.’
As she walked back up the hill, she mused that there was nothing like an act of chivalry to brighten one’s day. She wondered who the man was, whether he was local or just passing through. He certainly stood out; he wasn’t particularly tall, but he had a certain presence. Usually, if someone winked at her, she felt slightly repelled, but somehow from him it had been perfectly acceptable behaviour, not lecherous or overly familiar.
Whoever he was, the encounter had certainly boosted her confidence, and she felt more than ready for Victoria and her skinny little arse.
Bruno walked back through the hotel car park, wiping pastry crumbs from his lips and feeling a curious desire to break into a whistle. It was funny, he thought, how he could be oblivious to the legions of attractive women who sauntered scantily clad through Mariscombe every day, then suddenly have his eye caught by someone out of the blue. The girl in the bakery had been undeniably pretty, but there was more to her than mere good looks – she had something that set her apart. A twinkle in her eye, a ready smile . . . Bruno wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. But the encounter had definitely lightened his mood.
He went through the revolving door and into reception, where a team of workmen were painstakingly renovating the gloomy panelled woodwork as unobtrusively as possible. Hannah was behind the desk, busy printing out the next day’s arrivals. She was his next target. And to be honest, once he’d finished with her that was about it. Apart from Frank, Molly and Hannah, the rest of the staff were total slackers. But he reminded himself that he had to be positive.
‘Hannah,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about something. Come into my office.’
Hannah was his protégée. Bruno thought she was probably management material, but not yet. She didn’t have enough experience. He did, however, have another plan which would make the most of her talents. Something he thought she would enjoy . . .
‘Wedding coordinator?’
Hannah gawped at Bruno, completely baffled. He spread some sheets of paper out in front of her, statistics and articles he’d garnered from magazines and from the Internet.
‘The average spend on a wedding these days is more then twenty grand, apparently,’ he explained. ‘I think we deserve a slice of that. We’ve got the location, we’ve got the facilities. I’ve applied for a licence to hold ceremonies here already – I’m told there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get one.’
‘Wow.’ Hannah looked impressed. ‘That’s such a great idea. I don’t know why someone didn’t think of it before.’
‘Perhaps because it might involve hard work?’ replied Bruno drily. ‘I think the whole philosophy of this place has been to get away with as little effort as possible.’
‘You’re so right,’ she agreed.
‘I want you to start working out some packages and put a brochure together. Obviously getting the price right is key. But we can do different levels. From a simple beach barbie wedding right through to getting a helicopter for the happy couple to go away in.’ He laid out some brochures on the table. ‘Here’s some examples I got from other hotels with similar facilities to ours. Use these as a guide. And I suggest you get together with Frank.’
‘What?’ He saw her blush red almost instantaneously.
‘Talk through menus with him. And table plans. Decide how many guests we can accommodate comfortably. Maybe we could supplement the space with a marquee – we could easily put one on the lawns beyond the terrace.’
Hannah managed to recover herself. She nodded.
‘Maybe we could do hen and stag packages too. Not tacky ones . . .’ she added hastily. ‘Surf and spa weekends. For the boys and girls together.’
‘Nice one.’ Bruno was pleased. He’d instinctively thought Hannah was the girl for the job, and it seemed he was right. ‘I can’t pay you any extra for this straightaway. But you’ll get a generous commission on any weddings that get booked. So the sooner you can get it up and running, the better.’
When she got back to The Rocks, Lisa found George in the kitchen with Victoria, who was wearing a U2 tour T-shirt and not a lot else.
‘Bloody hell! I wondered where that had gone!’ George was saying, clearly delighted to see this treasured possession again.
‘It got muddled up with my stuff when I left.’ Victoria smiled. ‘I use it to sleep in, when decency is called for.’
As it only just covered her bottom, Lisa didn’t think it counted as decent, but she wasn’t going to say anything. To her, it just symbolized Victoria’s desperation for point-scoring. If she thought her reminders of their past life together were subtle, she was wrong. To Lisa, they were the signs of a desperate woman.
George, meanwhile, did his absolute very best not to peep under the grey marl to see what sort of knickers Victoria had on. She spent more on lingerie than most women’s annual clothing budget. He made his way determinedly over to the cafetière.
‘So what are your moves today?’ he enquired. ‘Obviously we’ve got rather a lot to be getting on with . . .’
‘Oh, quite. I shan’t get in your way. I . . . need to sort out a lawyer, I guess. And maybe . . . legal aid?’
George looked at her quizzically.
‘Legal aid?’
‘I keep telling you. I haven’t got a bean.’
‘Victoria, I don’t think people who drive BMW soft tops actually qualify.’
‘But I need my car.’
‘You need
a
car. Not that car.’ George carefully measured out four spoons of freshly ground coffee beans. ‘My first suggestion would be to trade that thing in for something sensible. Like a Ford Focus.’
Victoria looked appalled.
‘You’re winding me up.’
‘You said you need cash. That car’s worth over twenty thousand. You could get a decent runaround for five. Which would leave you fifteen to get a deposit on a flat. Or whatever.’
Victoria stuck out her bottom lip.
‘I’m no good at doing deals. I’ll probably get majorly ripped off.’
George rolled his eyes at this blatant nonsense.
‘It’s perfectly simple. Just go online, see what price they’re getting, then stick an advert in. The sun’s out – they’ll be queuing round the block.’
Victoria was quiet.
‘Can I borrow your computer?’ she asked finally.
George sighed.
‘Yes. But you’re not hogging it all morning. I’ve got work to do.’
Victoria kissed him.
‘You’re a poppet. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
George smiled a mirthless smile in return.
‘Tell Mimi if she wants a job there are plenty of things I could find her to do.’
‘Oh, I think she’s already fixed herself up with something,’ Victoria said airily, lobbing tea bags into a brace of mugs.
George frowned.
‘What?’
‘She met some people in the Old Boathouse. She’s helping out a girl who’s got a stall down by the beach. They do hair-braiding and henna tattoos and stuff. She’s thrilled to bits.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m just going to take her up a cup of tea. And can I pinch one of these croissants?’ Victoria helped herself from the paper bag on the side before anyone could answer. ‘Oh, yum. Still hot. Any raspberry jam?’
Lisa gritted her teeth and produced a pot of strawberry conserve.
‘Only strawberry, I’m afraid,’ she said sweetly. ‘But do help yourself.’
Lisa had decided that her best policy was to hold her tongue and not interfere. If George wanted to help Victoria, so much the better. Perhaps she would sort out her affairs and be on her way.
‘I’ve got the woman coming to measure up for curtains today,’ Lisa reminded George. ‘And we need to be totally sure what we’re going for if they’re going to be done in time.’
‘Curtains?’ Victoria seemed to perk up considerably. ‘What are you having? Can I have a look?’
‘No,’ said George, very definitely. If Victoria started to interfere, it would get too complicated. And the budget would soar sky-high. ‘We’re going for cream linen tab tops.’
Victoria put her head to one side. Lisa clenched her jaw as she awaited the verdict.
‘Classic but safe,’ she finally decreed. ‘Any trimmings? VV Rouleaux do a fabulous ribbon trimmed with shells.’
George plunged the cafetière too hard. Hot coffee spurted everywhere. What really annoyed him was he’d seen the ribbon she meant himself, in last month’s
House & Garden.
Of course it would be perfect, but as a single metre cost more than the actual fabric, it was out of the question. He was already finding it frustrating that he couldn’t have exactly what he wanted, but he knew that it was vital for them to stick to their budget. The last thing he needed was Victoria sticking her oar in.
‘Victoria, please don’t interfere. You know what they say. Too many cooks,’ said Lisa firmly. ‘We’re keeping everything simple. We can always add on later if we want to. But for the time being we can’t afford to make any expensive mistakes.’
Victoria gazed at her. George swallowed nervously.
‘In which case, don’t listen to me,’ she replied eventually. ‘All the mistakes I’ve ever made have been very expensive.’
She picked up her two mugs of tea and left the room.
Lisa looked at George, who smiled ruefully.
‘With any luck she’ll be gone by the end of the week. If no one pays her any attention, she’ll soon get bored.’
He walked over and handed her a cup of coffee, giving her a conciliatory kiss on the cheek.
‘You have forgiven me, haven’t you?’
Lisa tossed back her curls.
‘What’s to forgive? I can see perfectly well why you wanted to forget her,’ she replied archly.
George winced. The truth of it was, you couldn’t get two people more different than Victoria and Lisa. They were poles apart. Which was why he loved Lisa so much.
‘I love you, you know. I’d never do anything to hurt you,’ he told her.
‘I know,’ Lisa sighed, curling an arm round his waist. George pulled her to him, burying his face in her neck, nuzzling her. To his huge relief, she seemed to melt at his touch. That was the wonderful thing about Lisa. She didn’t bear grudges.
‘Sorry,’ said Victoria, as they sprang apart. ‘I forgot to ask. Does anyone know if there’s a decent hairdresser round here?’
Later that afternoon, Caragh barged into Frank’s room and was disgruntled to find him and Hannah huddled over a mountain of brochures and recipes and wedding magazines.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she demanded.
‘Working out a wedding package,’ Frank replied. ‘Hannah’s been made wedding coordinator.’
As Caragh took in this information, Hannah trembled. She had a feeling Bruno hadn’t told her about this new development, and if there was one thing Caragh hated it was being left out. Just as she feared, Caragh gazed at her scornfully.
‘What do you know about weddings?’ she demanded. ‘It’s not like anyone’s ever going to ask you to marry them.’
Hannah looked aghast and ran out of the room.
‘You bitch,’ said Frank.
Caragh flopped on to his bed.
‘Come here,’ she ordered.
‘No way,’ he replied, and went to find Hannah. He found her sobbing in the kitchen.
‘She’s right,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m bloody hideous.’
‘Hey,’ soothed Frank. ‘No, you’re not. You’re not. I think you’re . . .’
‘What?’ demanded Hannah, her face blotchy and streaked with tears.
‘Come here,’ said Frank, pulling her into his arms. To his surprise, she pushed him away.
‘Oh no,’ she said vehemently. ‘That’s the ultimate bloody insult. A sympathy snog. That’s the last thing in the world I want.’
Frank slunk back to his room. He felt a bit confused. There had been a moment there when he genuinely wanted to kiss Hannah, but was it just out of sympathy, he wondered? With the best will in the world, even with beer goggles on, you couldn’t call her attractive, and he wasn’t going to lie to her. But there was something about her. Her honesty, her kindness. The way she encouraged him and supported him. Was she more than just a friend? How did he feel about her?