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 Z4s 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 Nova or a Polo.’
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 local paper. The sun’s out – they’ll be queuing round the block.’
Victoria was quiet.
‘Is there a cyber cafe in Mariscombe?’ she asked finally.
George sighed.
‘You can use my computer. 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.
‘Fuck!’ he swore violently. What really annoyed him was he’d seen the ribbon she meant himself, in last month’s House and 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 the fuck 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.
‘Fuck me,’ she ordered.
‘Fuck off,’ 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?
He went back into his room. Caragh was still lying on the bed.
‘Haven’t you gone yet?’ he snarled, then realized with a shock that she had her hands down her knickers.
‘I decided if you weren’t going to do anything about it, I’d do it myself,’ she breathed. ‘And to be honest, I think I’m doing quite a good job. Maybe I don’t need you after all.’
She shivered and closed her eyes.
‘That’s so good. I don’t need your cock inside me, Frank. Girls don’t need men…’ Frank was transfixed, watching her fingers work herself expertly. He swallowed. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him.
‘I’m nearly there, Frank. Don’t you wa
nt to feel it too?’
Of course he did. He’d have to be inhuman. Cursing himself for his weakness, he hastily undid his zip and dropped his trousers. As he climbed on to the bed, she suddenly arched her back and let out a series of little moans.
‘Oh God, oh Jesus, oh my Christ… shit.’ She was gasping and writhing, then suddenly lay very still. A smile of gloating satisfaction spread itself across her face. ‘Oh dear. Sorry. I just couldn’t wait. Never mind. I’m sure there’ll be a next time.’
*
At tea time, Lisa found George and Victoria standing in the hallway with a paint chart, brows furrowed.
‘I think you’re making a huge mistake,’ said Victoria. ‘It’s far, far, far too cold. You need something with warmth.’
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Lisa.
‘We’re trying to pin down a colour.’ George held the chart up, scrutinizing it with eyes narrowed.
‘I thought we’d agreed white?’
‘Yes, but which white?’
‘White’s white, isn’t it?’
George and Victoria stared at her.
‘God, no.’
‘Oh.’
Victoria started stalking around the reception area, waving her hands.
‘You’ve got to remember that the light here is going to be changing constantly. So you need something that works in bright sunshine and gloomy, horrible winter. And you want soft, not stark. This isn’t the Med. You simply can’t get away with Brilliant White.’
Lisa’s eyes turned to the stack of paint pots that the decorators had lined up ready to start the next day. Each one was marked Brilliant White.
‘Me, I’d go for Farrow and Ball’s Slipper Satin,’ Victoria pronounced. ‘It’s a darling colour. Terribly forgiving. And it goes with everything.’
Lisa suddenly found she was trying desperately hard not to laugh. How could a paint colour be darling? Or forgiving? And surely the whole point of white was that it went with everything?
‘Estate emulsion on the walls,’ Victoria continued. ‘And dead flat oil on the woodwork. The key to it all is matt. Matt matt matt.’
‘I see,’ said Lisa, who didn’t have a clue what she was on about.
George was walking round with the chart, holding up a tiny square against the walls, the windows, the woodwork, squinting anxiously.
‘Victoria’s right, you know.’
‘It’s going to cost us a fortune,’ objected Lisa.
‘Better to make the investment now than to make an expensive mistake.’
‘Oh well,’ said Lisa. ‘You know best. What do I know?’
George looked pained.
‘Don’t be upset. Victoria happens to be good at this sort of thing, and she is right. It’s my fault, I should have thought about it more carefully.’
Lisa cleared her throat and spoke quietly.
‘Is she going to interfere with everything we’ve already decided?’ she asked. ‘Or is she going to crack on with sorting her own life out?’
George blinked.
‘Point taken,’ he replied. ‘I’ll have a quiet word.’
By the middle of the week the decorators had begun their task, arriving with masks and spray-guns, and soon the air was filled with the smell of fresh paint. The transformation was remarkable. As the walls and woodwork turned white, the house suddenly became suffused with light and the rooms seemed twice the size. And despite herself, Lisa suspected that Victoria had been right – the colour she’d picked did have a softness and subtlety when you looked closely. Not that she was going to admit it.
Thankfully, however, whatever George had said to Victoria seemed to have hit home, and she was keeping a low profile. She and Mimi had one of the rooms on the top floor and they came and went with the minimum of interruption, apart from a minor kerfuffle when someone came to take Victoria’s beloved Z4 away, though she soon perked up when she looked at the cheque. Meanwhile, she was hard at work designing everything from the logo to the brochures and had any number of contacts she was happy to exploit on their behalf. She made a huge effort to be deferential towards Lisa, asking for her opinion and her approval. Lisa began to worry about Victoria’s bill.
‘It’s OK,’ George assured her. ‘She feels so guilty about landing on us that she’s insisted we don’t pay.’
‘But she’s broke,’ Lisa protested, wondering for a moment why she was suddenly on Victoria’s side.
‘Let her get on with it,’ George advised. ‘You don’t normally get something for nothing out of her.’
‘Too right,’ said Justin darkly, who was still twitchy about Victoria’s presence. Lisa was growing very fond of Justin, who was helpful in his own inimitable way, very supportive of her and very protective. While he was around she felt she had an ally. And he had some crazy ideas that would give The Rocks the edge it needed. Like turning one of the downstairs utility rooms into a wet room, with an adjoining area for storing surfboards and wetsuits.
‘Element of self-interest there, don’t you think?’ asked George, for Justin had thrown himself into the surfer’s lifestyle, taking any opportunity to sneak off to ride the waves.
‘No point in owning a hotel if you can’t take advantage of the facilities,’ retorted Justin, pushing back his hair that was already bleached white from the salt and the sun.
Meanwhile, six free-standing, copper-coated baths arrived and sat in the hallway, waiting for the carpenters to build platforms for them to be mounted on to in order to take advantage of the views. George was adamant that luxury bathrooms were the key to a successful hotel, and so they were sacrificing two of the smaller bedrooms so each room could have its own en suite.
The decision-making was endless. The office was a mound of brochures – from doorknobs to glassware to bedlinen to lighting. George was in seventh heaven. This was what he loved best. The finishing touches. Lisa laughed at him agonizing over the detail.
‘Do we go for a pewter or a polished nickel finish? And do we go for knobs or levers?’ he wondered.
‘You choose!’ she insisted. ‘I haven’t a clue. You know me. I really can’t get excited about what doorknobs to have.’
George looked at the brochure and sighed.
‘Starfish handles on the bathroom doors,’ he finally pronounced. ‘And the rope-effect levers on the bedrooms.’
Lisa privately thought that plain round knobs would be perfectly adequate, but she suspected that wasn’t the right thing to say. And she knew that it was her inability to understand the importance of the right doorknob that made her so different from Victoria. She had to admit that George’s obsession with the minutiae of the hotel was starting to get to her. He insisted that it was all in the planning; that of course the finish on the knives and forks should be considered, as closely as the table linen and the lighting and the glasses.
‘Trust me, people notice these things,’ he told her. ‘It’s what will make us stand out from an ordinary hotel.’
‘But I thought we were keeping things simple.’
George sighed.
‘Which is why everything has to be exactly right.’
‘Oh,’ said Lisa, as if that made everything clear, though it didn’t.
It was at the beginning of the following week that things started to go wrong. Lisa felt like tearing her hair out.
‘Where’s the man from the council?’ she demanded. ‘He was supposed to come and inspect our fire doors this morning and give us our certificate.’
Although they weren’t doing any major structural work, there were still plenty of rules and regulations to follow, and Lisa was finding it frustrating that they couldn’t begin one job until they’d finished another. When she phoned the man from the council he insisted that they’d called and postponed his visit themselves.
‘Rubbish!’ Lisa snapped at him. ‘It’s typical of you bureaucratic types to pass the buck. I want you here by midday.’
George cringed. You didn’t talk to people from the council like tha
t, not if you wanted the right pieces of paper at the right time. But miraculously it worked.
‘You don’t take any crap, do you?’ he said admiringly.
‘No, I don’t.’ Lisa put a defiant tick on the enormous whiteboard George had put up in the office. It was a meticulous timetable of all the jobs that needed doing in consecutive order, detailing contacts, reference numbers, telephone numbers, delivery dates. That way everyone knew what was going on and no one could claim ignorance. George had learned the hard way that communication was the key.
By Thursday, Lisa sat at the desk in the office for a moment and put her head in her hands. The wrong tiles had turned up for the bathrooms. It was like a television make-over show gone horribly wrong. This was the fifth disaster in as many days, and somehow she suspected there was a gremlin at work. She knew that in this day and age people often made mistakes, that orders got cocked up, that tradespeople were over-committed and played clients off against each other, as did bureaucrats. But there had been a suspicious number of glitches.
George was irritatingly phlegmatic about it.
‘Listen, this is all perfectly normal,’ he said calmly. ‘In fact, I’d be worried if something didn’t go wrong.’
‘Someone doesn’t want us to succeed,’ Lisa insisted.
‘You’re being paranoid. In my experience, things are going swimmingly. There’ve been no real nightmares.’
At that moment, Victoria came in with the final artwork for the logo.
As she and George bent their heads over the desk, Lisa surveyed her thoughtfully. Could Victoria be at the bottom of all this? Deliberately putting Lisa under stress, in order to put her relationship with George under pressure? There were still times when George deferred to Victoria over some detail, and Lisa tried not to feel threatened. After all, if she couldn’t express an interest it wasn’t surprising he went elsewhere for a second opinion, and he obviously respected Victoria’s.
Was she, as George had implied, being paranoid?
‘Lisa? What do you think?’
George was giving her a rather reprimanding look over the top of Victoria’s head, as if to chide her for not paying attention.
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Lisa came over to the table to admire the handiwork, and had to admit it was stunning. ‘It’s gorgeous, Victoria.’
Love on the Rocks Page 25