The Love Resort

by Faith Bleasdale

  ‘So, are you two going to run this place now?’ David asked, after glasses had been clinked.

  ‘You’re kidding?’ Lily replied.

  ‘First thing in the morning, it’s going on the market,’ Ed finished with a smile.

  32

  Questionnaire

  Please take a few minutes to fill in this questionnaire before you leave. Your comments are very important to us.

  Would you say your stay here fulfilled your romantic expectations?

  How would you describe the level of service?

  Was the food all you imagined from a five-star resort?

  Were the staff attentive to your needs?

  Would you return to the resort at a later date?

  How did you find the owner and brainchild behind the resort, Anne-Marie Langdale?

  Thank you for your time, and Goodbye. The Love Resort misses you already.

  Guest Handbook

  *

  ‘Welcome back to The Morning Show. I’m your host, Margaret Harding, and right now I am joined by Abigail and André, of The Love Resort fame. That’s some story, Abigail.’

  ‘Oh, I know, it’s amazing. And you wouldn’t believe it if it hadn’t been all over the press,’ Abigail replied, smiling, as she and André held hands.

  ‘Well, yes, did you think the press dampened the revelations at all, as everyone knew most of what was going on already?’

  ‘No, because, of course, the book is about a lot more than just that. The whole incident happens to feature in it, but there’s so much more, isn’t there, André?’

  ‘The book, which spans twenty-odd years tells a story which I think is both moving and touching, and funny and romantic,’ André added.

  ‘Yes, and it has been massively in demand, although it’s not out until next week!’ Margaret clapped her hands excitedly.

  ‘Pre-sales have exceeded all our expectations.’

  ‘And I wanted to ask you, how did your husband, the publisher of the book, react when you told him that you were leaving him, in one breath, and writing a book, in another?’

  ‘Well, he understood that our marriage had run its course, and naturally he was delighted with the idea for the book. Can we change the subject?’

  ‘Did you think you were exploiting people in the book? Anne-Marie, for instance?’

  ‘Although there was no way I could get her approval, as she didn’t recognise me, I know in my heart she will be grateful for the sensitive way we handled her story. And I did seek the approval of everyone else that I wrote about, and I got it.’

  ‘Can you believe her?’ Ed asked as they watched the interview. ‘We didn’t get any money from her; she almost tortured my agreement out of me.’

  ‘She did not. She just said that if she told the story we’d be protected.’

  ‘I’m not sure we should have believed her, are you?’

  ‘She seems to have come out of the whole thing pretty well,’ Lily replied.

  ‘As did I. I managed to sell that awful resort and I got you. Poor Anne-Marie.’

  ‘—will get better and when she does she’s got a pot of money waiting for her.’

  ‘Her career is over.’

  ‘No way. Imagine, everyone will want to interview her. There will be self-help books...’

  ‘Lily, you sound like Abigail.’

  ‘Bugger off, although, like her, I quite like London.’

  ‘A bit colder than the Caribbean.’

  ‘Actually, honey, I think it’s so much warmer.’

  *

  ‘Todd, Todd, are you there?’ Thea stood in front of him, smiling madly at the sight of him in his director’s chair.

  ‘Sorry, Thea. I was just thinking about that scene...’

  ‘Of course. Listen, Carla just called me from London. Abigail and the book are all over the press. She’s sending me the clippings.’

  ‘Why we let her do this I’ll never know.’

  ‘Someone was going to. Anyway, we got paid.’

  ‘I didn’t, but at least I got the film rights for free.’

  ‘Are you going to make it?’

  ‘I kind of feel really tempted. Hey, if you do a good job of this film you might get to play yourself.’

  ‘I’d rather be Anne-Marie.’ They laughed.

  ‘How is Carla?’

  ‘Dating everyone in London, by the sound of it. And her journalism course seems to be good.’

  ‘I’m glad it’s working out for her. Does she see Lee?’

  ‘No, thank God. She said she wanted to be friends but I don’t think she really did.’

  ‘Right, I’m done for the day. Where’s my leading lady?’

  ‘Ah, haven’t you heard? She’s holed up in her trailer with your leading man.’

  ‘Jesus, it didn’t take her long to get over me. Do you want a lift?’

  ‘I’m going to see Tim.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll take you. He’s so much better.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but when he finally gets out of rehab he’ll be mad that Abigail wrote the book before he could.’

  *

  ‘Hi, Carla,’ Jimmy said, after pulling himself out from under the classic Mercedes he was working on to answer the phone.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. I just bought another classic car. It’s a beauty.’

  ‘With Abigail’s money?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Good, because she’s on television again. Her and André. Love’s young dream. My God, it’s so funny.’

  ‘So how’s your love life?’

  ‘Jimmy, you never used to be this forward. But it’s fine, thank you, and I’m loving the course that I have Abigail to thank for.’

  ‘Believe me, I have a feeling she’s going to make more money out of this than we are.’

  ‘Sure, and I spoke to Thea yesterday and she sends her love.’

  ‘Enjoying being a big movie star, is she?’

  ‘Apparently she has only ten lines, but anyway, it’s still exciting. Hey, she said Tim was doing well.’

  ‘I wrote to him. It felt weird but I thought it might cheer him up.’

  ‘You’re so sweet.’

  ‘I guess I am. Carla, I had a breakthrough. I went to the pub.’

  ‘Emily’s pub?’

  ‘Her parents’ pub. Anyway, they told me that she’s moved to London.’

  ‘With Lee?’

  ‘Yes. They looked really embarrassed, but it was cool.’

  ‘Abigail’s on television now, that’s what prompted me to call. She just said she didn’t believe that they’d last.’ They both laughed.

  ‘I can imagine that Emily will be hopping mad. But anyway, I have a date.’

  ‘My God, spill.’

  ‘Oh, a customer just turned up. I’ll have to call you back.’

  ‘You’re rotten.’ Carla grinned into the phone as she heard him hang up.

  *

  ‘Thank you so much, Abigail, André.’ Margaret turned to face the camera and picked up the hardback book. ‘Just to remind you, the book is called The Love Resort—The Demise of Anne-Marie Langdale, it’s out next week, on the fifteenth, and is priced at eighteen pounds ninety-nine.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Abigail said, beaming with pride.

  ‘Just finally, your story is in there as well, Abigail, your falling in love with the gorgeous André here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ André said.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She laughed. ‘So, any final words from you about love?’

  ‘Of course. The thing about love is that it can’t be made. It has to happen, naturally, organically, magically. It’s different from romance, very, very different.’ She paused, looked at Margaret, then at André, and finally into the camera. ‘Romance can be created, but love, true love never can.’

  If you enjoyed The Love Resort you might be interested in Deranged Marriage by Faith Bleasdale, also published by Endeavour Press.

  Extract from Deranged Marriage by F
aith Bleasdale

  Prologue

  At some stage in life, most people make a marriage pact. This arrangement is an undertaking to marry someone as long as you are both unattached by the time you reach a certain age.

  There are certain guidelines to follow when you are entering such a pact:

   You should be much younger than the deadline you set as the marriage-pact age. This gives both parties ample time to find their destined life partners before the agreement expiry date.

   It has to be a verbal commitment. No lawyers need be involved in this type of contract.

   Both parties should feel vulnerable and unloved before entering the agreement.

   Both parties must be intoxicated.

  If you adhere to these simple guidelines, then you have made a successful marriage pact. However, the rules do not end there. They carry on into the aftermath of the ‘deal’:

   Once made, it must be forgotten. A distant memory, only recalled when you are both happily married to other people.

   The main condition is that once made, you do not ever intend to carry out the pact. Because destiny will wash your true love up on to your shore. It’s a bit like panic-buying: when you hear there’s going to be a shortage of something, you buy because you have to, not because you want to.

  Take a word from the wise, as my mother would say, because I am now wise. I was twenty when I made my marriage pact. Without knowing the rules, I failed to adhere to some of them. Yes, I was drunk, as was he. I was vulnerable, as was he. I wasn’t in love with him; he wasn’t in love with me. We had set a ten-year deadline—adequate time to find the true loves of our lives. However, we failed, by ignoring the simplest of the rules: we didn’t make a verbal agreement, we produced a written one.

  We didn’t stop there, we rolled drunkenly to the local off-licence with it and asked the man behind the counter to witness the ‘document’. Looking back, I think we took the intoxication rule a tad too far. Afterwards, we left our wayward path, returned to the rules, and forgot about it.

  Then, one fateful day, it all came back to haunt me in the most unimaginable way.

  Chapter One

  Two Men

  ‘What do you wear to court?’ I screamed in frustration at my wardrobe. I was staring at rows and rows of clothes as if they would tell me. Of course they wouldn’t, clothes had a habit of refusing to answer important questions. I had been awake for hours, I felt sick and tired, and more than a tiny bit hysterical. Joe came up behind me.

  ‘Try to stay calm,’ he said. Like a red rag to a bull.

  ‘I’d like to see you try to stay calm, if you were me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Joe looked suitably contrite, although none of this was his fault.

  ‘What do you think I should wear?’ I asked, nicely, throwing in a smile for good measure.

  ‘A suit,’ Joe replied.

  My resolution dissolved immediately. ‘Yeah thanks, mastermind. What colour?’ I felt awful for the way I was treating him but I had no control over my bitchiness.

  ‘Well, I’m wearing a grey suit so wouldn’t it make sense for us to match?’

  ‘Yes, maybe, but I don’t own a grey suit. It’s a pity you didn’t think of that earlier.’

  ‘Holly Miller, I’m not your enemy. I’m on your side. Let me have a look.’ He proceeded to flick through my clothes. He was trying so hard and didn’t deserve my wrath.

  I sat on the bed in a sulk while Joe worked his way through my wardrobe. I could tell by the way his back was hunched that he was worried about making the right choice. I couldn’t see his face but I could picture the look on it. His brows would be furrowed the way they did when he was concentrating, and his lips would be pursed together tightly. He was so beautiful when he was engrossed. Just as I was about to kiss him and apologise for my earlier outburst, the buzzer interrupted. I answered the intercom to my boss Francesca, and my friend and work colleague, Freddie. I waited at the door for them to climb the stairs. Within seconds and like a slightly out-of-breath fanfare, they arrived.

  ‘You poor lamb,’ Francesca cried, hugging me. I experienced another blast of nausea as I inhaled her generous perfume. She was such a maternal boss; it was all I could do to stop myself from crying. I chastised myself, I’m not a big cry-baby and I hate tears.

  ‘We’ve come to help with the outfit,’ Freddie said, giving me a kiss on the cheek and one of his famous ladykiller smiles. I stood, frozen in my dressing gown, as they pushed passed me and made their way to my bedroom.

  I watched Francesca, Freddie and Joe discuss what I should wear. I stood back, nervously chewing my bottom lip. I felt invisible. Finally they decided on a navy-blue shift dress and jacket; the most conservative items in my wardrobe. For some irrational reason, the outfit made me feel even more sick. I went to the bathroom and threw up, praying no one would notice. That would have involved fuss I wasn’t equipped to deal with. Now all I had to do was dress, leave my flat, and go to court. Then it would be over. I tried to be confident, after all it wasn’t even a proper court, but I was still worried. I was in the right, I knew that, but it didn’t help that there could be another outcome, however unlikely, and that outcome could ruin my life.

  It came down to two men. Joe, the man I loved, and George, my oldest friend. Not a love triangle; actually, it was anything but a love triangle. Two men and two things happened to kick off everything. I realised I was in love with Joe, then George, my oldest friend who had been out of touch and in New York for the last five years, returned home. How did those two events manage to get me in court? Well...it’s a bit of a long story.

  At the time, I was twenty-nine and on the fast track to being thirty. I felt that my life was settled; not boring, but tranquil. Every morning I woke, despite the frequent hangovers or lack of sleep, I woke smiling. Always. I had a job I loved, great friends and a new man in my life. I was even looking forward to being thirty. What I discovered was that I had ‘sorted out the lumps in the cushions’, as my mother would say.

  The lumps in question were my twenties. I had some bad relationships, a few drunken encounters with equally drunken and unsuitable men, I lost my best friend, George, to New York, and I had had some disastrous jobs. But that was behind me. I was a woman of the new millennium and I was enjoying what that meant. Obviously there were day-to-day problems in my existence, but that was par for the course. The fact remained that I was deliriously happy most of the time.

  Perhaps that’s why it went wrong. I had enjoyed selfish happiness for long enough, and now someone wanted to take that away. If fate was always in control of people’s lives, then fate decided to slam on the brakes, and take my life in a more downhill direction.

  I was no longer as happy as I was. Two men in my life, one good, one bad. That was how it all started and that is why I am about to go to court.

  Chapter Two

  I realised that I was in love with Joe McClaren the moment we had our first row. That row will be stored in the chronicles of our relationship along with our first meeting, our first kiss, and our first time. The row was important because it consolidated my feelings; it opened my slightly closed eyes.

  All the signs were there, only I probably hadn’t recognised them as such. Knowing what I know now, I am sure they were. Big neon, flashing lights telling me that I was in love. Once I had identified my feelings, or accepted them perhaps, I knew I had never felt like that before. I was tipsy the whole time but also a little bit vulnerable. There wasn’t a more specific way for me to describe it, which is why people say you just know when you’ve met the right person. You do know, but you don’t always know why. I was different, I had more energy. I smiled more, I laughed, I was nice. More than nice, I was wonderful.

  I was also terrified, scared of losing that happiness. Even though it’s good, it’s bad, but you have to take the bad with the good and the bad didn’t even feel bad because I certainly wasn’t miserable, just a bit vulnerable and I could cope with that. I could, becaus
e although it was confusing, it was amazing.

  Over three months ago, in August, I met Joe at a party thrown by a mutual client. They were celebrating a successful publicity campaign; Joe’s company were the designers, my company provided the PR. I had never met Joe before.

  I don’t like parties, I never have. Parties are too full of anonymous people and I liked my social life to be familiar. If I am standing in a room I like to know the room, I don’t like to look out on a sea of strangers and hope that one of those strangers might be interesting. I’m a bit of a bitch when it comes to new people; with men—unless I am going to fall in love with them or at least have sex with them—I can’t be bothered. Usually I judge women really quickly. However, that is part of my job, and normally I manage to put on a façade and be civil when duty calls. I can boast, unhappily, that I have gone to every type of party; from the corporate, dull ones, to film premieres where, naturally, I was ignored by celebrities. Parties are part of my professional life, but not a part of my personal lifestyle.

  Certainly I wasn’t enjoying myself on this particular evening. The party was in a cavernous bar, somewhere which was trendy once, but was definitely passé. The invitation—a white card embossed in gold—declared an evening to ‘celebrate success!’ Although the sentiment was nice, the reality was quite different.

  Approximately one hundred people were crammed into the dark cave, that wasn’t big enough for half that number. The decor was minimal, but that was fine because there wasn’t room for much. Most of the people there were company staff; it was a personal finance organisation. They were all wearing suits. I felt distinctly odd as I was not wearing a suit, but a pair of black Joseph trousers, high-heeled boots and a black cashmere polo neck. More like an undertaker than a PR director.

  The evening started with sparkling wine. The waiters were trying their best to distribute the drinks, but were unable to penetrate the human wall that had formed, so they stood around the perimeter of the room, shoulder to shoulder; all that was missing were the riot shields.