Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1)

by Belinda Jones

  Evidently satisfied, the driver climbed back into the car and roared off. The young woman turned to them, her brown eyes as warm as her smile.

  ‘Welcome to Riad Oasis,’ she said, in heavily accented English. ‘My name is Elodie. Please, come in.’

  They followed her inside and let out a collective gasp. The old walls were hiding a gem; they were stood in a vaulted entrance hall, softly lit by jewelled hanging lanterns. Thick tassled rugs lined the blue and terracotta mosaic floor, and low, cushion-covered chairs were grouped around coffee tables in the corners. Light spilled in through a tall archway, flanked by two smaller ones, which led out onto a hexagonal sun-baked courtyard with a fountain bubbling in the centre. If she dipped her head, Nat could see ornate iron balconies framing the windows which overlooked the courtyard from the floor above.

  ‘It’s cool in here,’ Sibil said, sounding surprised.

  Lisa cocked her head. ‘And quiet.’

  ‘The name oasis is no coincidence,’ Elodie said. ‘When my mother and I took over the house, we wanted to offer our guests the perfect sanctuary among the noise and bustle of the city.’

  Gazing around at the tranquil beauty, Nat felt some of the tension drop from her shoulders. Maybe Marrakech had been the right choice after all.

  ‘But you must be tired from your journey,’ Elodie went on. ‘Allow me to show you to your rooms.’

  She led them through another arch and up a wide, sweeping staircase framed by wrought iron banisters to the first floor. The moment Elodie pushed back the brass-adorned door to the first bedroom, Nat knew they’d struck gold – it was five-star accommodation. The centrepiece was a wide, four-poster bed draped in billowing white cotton. An unlit log fire nestled in an ornate corner fireplace. The middle of the three elegantly arched windows was open, allowing sunlight to stream in but Nat had no doubt that the thick curtains pooled at either side would block out the light if they were closed.

  ‘This room is for Madame Milly,’ Elodie explained.

  Milly lowered her case to the floor. ‘Thank you.’

  Elodie smiled. ‘Once I have shown your friends to their rooms, perhaps you would like to take tea in the courtyard?’

  It sounded heavenly to Nat and the others evidently agreed because they nodded in unison.

  ‘Alors, until then,’ Elodie said, with a nod to Milly.

  The other rooms were every bit as sumptuous as the first. Agreeing to meet downstairs in twenty minutes, Nat closed the heavy door to her room and started to unpack. The bathroom was an unexpected delight; painted in turquoise and gold, it had a deep sunken marble bath and a burnished inlaid copper sink. She glanced in the mirror as she laid her toothbrush and toothpaste out. Her blonde fringe stuck damply to her forehead and her cheeks seemed to be having a competition with her chin to see which could be pinker, but her eyes were bright and interested. All in all, she looked like a sweaty English rose transplanted into the desert, but it was a vast improvement on the sickly pallor she’d seen reflected back every day for the last few months.

  She splashed cold water across her face, enjoying the momentary shock, before drying her skin on the soft towel and running a brush through her limp hair. Leaving the bathroom, she paused to lean over the balcony and gaze up at the cloudless sky. Dan would never have suggested coming somewhere like Marrakech – his idea of adventurous was having medium sauce on his chips at Nando’s. Tears prickled at her eyes and she forced them away. Not here. She was determined not to give in to the sadness here.

  Grabbing a sea-green scarf from the bed, she headed for the door. She’d spotted an inviting-looking reception room decked out in burnt orange and red as she’d followed Elodie up the stairs. Maybe it would have some tourist information she could read to while away the remaining ten minutes.

  Elodie had arranged a table under the shade of a wide umbrella for tea but was happy to show Nat to the salon. Another guest was relaxing on one of the sofas, reading a newspaper. Elodie spoke briefly to him in rapid French before settling next to Nat and offering her a wealth of tips for getting around the city, including recommending a guide for the myriad of winding alleyways and dead ends leading from the main square.

  ‘It’s easy to get lost once you leave Djemaa El-Fna,’ Elodie said, ‘but as long as you can see the tower of the Koutoubia mosque, you should be fine. And if you go shopping, never pay the first price you are given.’

  Nat couldn’t imagine herself having the nerve to haggle with the Berber stall holders in the souks but Elodie insisted it was expected.

  ‘Start by cutting the marked price in half and stick as close to it as possible,’ she advised, getting to her feet. ‘Your guide will know the best places to shop.’

  She excused herself to fetch the tea, leaving Nat alone with the other guest. The silence stretched, broken only by the rustle of his newspaper and the distant chirp of an unseen bird. She was about to leave when a deep voice sounded from behind the paper.

  ‘Is it your first time in Marrakech?’

  His delicious gravelly accent made Nat shiver. She cleared her throat. ‘Yes. We arrived a few hours ago, from England.’

  The paper lowered then and she looked across to see he was perhaps in his late twenties, with tousled, too long hair and what looked like three day’s worth of stubble. His skin was lightly tanned and his eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen. ‘Welcome to the city. I am Luc.’

  ‘Natalia,’ she replied, preferring not to wonder why she gave the longer, more elegant version of her name. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  Lisa’s loud laughter drifted through the courtyard. Luc smiled. ‘That will be your friends. I hope you enjoy your afternoon.’

  With a courteous nod, he raised the newspaper again. Nat found herself staring at it and realised that her heart was beating just a little bit faster than it had been a few minutes earlier. She stood, her hands clenching at her sides.

  ‘Are you staying long?’ she asked, rushing the words out before her nerves got the better of her.

  One corner of the paper dipped. ‘A few more days, I think.’

  Nat nodded and sought around for something else to say. ‘Okay. Well, nice meeting you.’

  His eyes crinkled into a smile. Heart hammering even harder, Nat turned and fled.

  ‘Who was that you were talking to?’ Sibel asked once they were sitting around the shaded table and Elodie had poured four cups of steaming mint tea from the silver teapot. ‘Anyone interesting?’

  Nat hesitated. Sibel was a known man-eater; if she got wind that there was a gorgeous Frenchman sitting less than fifty yards away, she’d be prowling round him like there was no tomorrow. It wasn’t that Nat wanted Luc for herself – women like her didn’t pull men like him – more that the focus of the weekend was supposed to be Milly.

  ‘Just another guest,’ she said, injecting what she hoped was just the right amount of carelessness into her tone. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a map. ‘Now, what do we want to see first?’

  Djemaa El-Fna was even more overwhelming than Nat had expected. Marrakech’s legendary main square was crammed with food stalls, souvenir sellers and white-clad snake charmers seated on faded rugs, playing mesmerising melodies to their hissing co-stars. Elodie’s guide, a woman called Nadine, explained that the cobras they saw were defanged and harmless but none of the women wanted to get too close. Milly stopped to watch the henna tattooists at work and twenty minutes later all four of them had swirling rust-red patterns gracing their hand and arm.

  ‘You should come back this evening, when night has fallen,’ Nadine advised, as she wove her way north through the crowds. ‘That’s when it really comes to life.’

  The wood-covered alleyways that made up the souks were even more bewildering; fanning out from the enormous square, they seemed to sell everything from pungent cones of rich spices to intricately decorated lanterns and beautifully painted tagines. Brightly coloured clothing and rugs hung from rods near the slatted ceiling. Stallho
lders cajoled them to stop and look at their goods but Nadine was always there to deflect the attention. Nat quickly lost her bearings but, with her arm looped through Sibel’s and Nadine’s skilful navigation, it didn’t matter.

  ‘Have you ever been anywhere like this in your life?’ Milly marvelled as they turned down yet another stall-filled alleyway. ‘It’s like something out of a fairytale.’

  ‘Arabian Nights, more like,’ Lisa replied, waving a hand at a lantern shop which glittered like Aladdin’s cave. ‘It’s probably a good thing I can’t take it all home with me. Ryan would kill me.’

  Nadine glanced backwards. ‘Your husband?’

  Lisa shook her head. ‘My boyfriend. Milly is the only one of us even close to getting married.’

  The words stung Nat even though she knew they weren’t intended to; a few months ago, she’d thought she might be the next one walking down the aisle. Now she was about as far away from marriage as it was possible to be.

  Nadine smiled at Milly, her teeth white against her golden skin. ‘I wish you a thousand blessings.’

  Nat looked away and distracted herself by glancing inside the nearest stall. It seemed to be some kind of medicine shop, although it wasn’t like any pharmacy back home. The shelves were filled with jars of bright powders and potions and a set of ornate bronze scales dominated the counter. A man stood behind them, his forehead furrowed in concentration as he tipped the contents of a dish into a bottle and put a cork into the top. Fascinated, Nat watched as he shook and labelled the bottle. Then he looked up and caught her staring.

  In a flash, he was in front of her. ‘How can I help? Fatigue? Stomach ache? Whatever ails you, I have the remedy.’

  She stepped back in alarm but there was nothing but genuine concern on the shopkeeper’s face. He reached out and gripped her hand for a moment, gazing deep into her eyes.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ he murmured. ‘For you, it is more complicated.’

  Nadine appeared at Nat’s side and let go a barrage of Arabic. The man replied, gesturing animatedly at Nat, his tone passionate. Turning to Nat, Nadine sighed. ‘He says he can mend your broken heart. If you return here tomorrow, he will have prepared a medicine for you.’

  Nat laughed and glanced at the shopkeeper again. His expression was assured, as though he was one hundred per cent confident in his claim and her laughter faded away. ‘Is he – uh – trustworthy?’

  ‘He will not poison you. As to whether he can help…’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Traditional Berber medicine goes back thousands of years, they can cure many things. But not, I think, a broken heart.’

  Her gaze was compassionate. Nat felt heat creep up her cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature in the covered market. It might be part of her culture but Nadine clearly placed a lot of value on having a man; a single woman of Nat’s age was much to be pitied.

  The shopkeeper placed a hand on her arm, his eyes intense. ‘Come tomorrow. Please. I promise I can help.’

  With a mortified shake of her head, Nat turned away. ‘Let’s go.’

  *

  The view from the rooftop bar overlooking Djemaa El-Fna at sunset was breathtaking, the Koutoubia minaret forming a perfect silhouette against the pink and orange sky. As darkness fell, the square lit up and Nat decided it had more than a touch of the circus about it. She did her best to push the embarrassment from the medicine stall from her mind as they played the Mr and Mrs quiz with Milly and sipped pomegranate cocktails, but the man’s quiet assurance nagged at her. The others hadn’t mentioned it, obviously keen to spare her feelings, and she didn’t want to drag the mood down. So she smiled at the storytellers in the square and laughed at the antics of the entertainers tumbling into dizzying somersaults and leaps. When it was time to go back to their riad, she made an excuse about having a headache and went to cry hot tears into the cool cotton of her pillow.

  The next morning, Nat was woken early by the call to prayer floating through her window. Once she was awake, there was no getting back to sleep and she lay blinking in the semi-darkness, listening as more and more voices joined in and wondering why her eyes were so sore; then she remembered. Strangely, her encounter in the souk didn’t feel as humiliating the day after. In fact, she was surprised to realise that her main emotion was curiosity. How had the shopkeeper been able to tell just from looking at her that she had a broken heart? Was it printed on her forehead? And what would his magical medicine do? Wipe her memories of the last few months?

  She lay for a few more minutes until the call to prayer finished, and reached a decision. She’d come to Marrakech for an experience unlike anything she’d had with Dan and she could imagine his reaction to the shopkeeper’s offer; scorn to the point of rudeness. The thought filled her with the perverse desire to do the opposite of what he would advise and an urge to see what Berber medicine could do for her. After all, what did she have to lose?

  After a quick shower, she dressed and wrapped a scarf over her still dripping hair. The riad was silent as she crept down the stairs and let herself out onto the already busy street. Feeling as though she was Mata Hari on a secret mission, she headed towards the main square and the network of alleyways that made up the souks.

  Forty minutes later, she was hopelessly lost. It didn’t help that some of the stalls were only just opening for business; every alley looked the same but different to the day before. Once, she found herself outside of the covered streets entirely and wandered down a deserted alleyway which turned into a dead end. Foot sore and cursing the idiotic fancy that had sent her out alone, she retraced her steps to the souks and resumed her search.

  Several times, she thought she saw a familiar shop but there was no medicine stall nearby. She was beginning to wonder if she’d dreamed the whole encounter when a shout rang out. ‘Madame!’

  She turned to see the shopkeeper waving at her, framed by the doorway of his shop and wearing a broad smile. Open-mouthed, she gazed at him, wondering how many times she’d walked past without seeing. He beckoned her over. Slowly, she approached.

  ‘I knew you would return,’ the man said. ‘I have your medicine ready.’

  He walked back into the shop and for the first time, it occurred to Nat to think about the price. Mentally, she counted up the number of dirhams in her purse; what if the cost was more than she could afford to pay? Then she remembered Elodie’s advice, to offer half the quoted price.

  She waited as he rummaged under the counter and held out a stoppered bottle. A dark green liquid glistened inside.

  ‘Drink this under the light of stars and the moon tonight,’ he instructed her. ‘Do not be tempted to open it before or the potency will be lost.’

  Nat wanted to laugh – what kind of medicine needed starlight to work? But the laughter died in her throat when she saw the earnest expression on the shopkeeper’s face. Whatever her scientific knowledge told her, this man had gone to the trouble of preparing something he believed would help her. She was not rude enough to mock his belief.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, tucking the bottle into her bag. ‘And the price?’

  He shrugged. ‘Pay what you think it is worth.’

  She stared at him in consternation; she’d been prepared to haggle but this? How was she supposed to know what to offer without insulting him? Her gaze slid sideways to the handwritten price list beside the counter. A remedy for colds cost fifteen dirhams, an aid to digestion was ten – less than two pounds and cheaper than a bottle of Gaviscon back home. It didn’t seem much and she wondered how many medicines he had to sell to put food on his table each day. Then she remembered Nadine telling her that many Moroccans couldn’t afford health care and relied on stalls like this to cure their illnesses. Perhaps that was why the medicine was so cheap. Which brought her back to her original question; what price would she pay to be free of the weight of sadness that had pressed down on her since Dan had left her?

  Without stopping to think, she dug into her purse and pulled out one hundred dirhams. ‘If
this works, I’ll double it.’

  He took the money without comment, merely clasped his hands together and bowed slightly. ‘May God give you peace.’

  Backing out, she hurried away in the direction she hoped would lead her to the riad. With a bit of luck, she’d be back before the others even realised she was gone.

  *

  The day passed in a whirl. At Milly’s request, Elodie had arranged a camel ride amid the palm tree gardens in the north-east corner of the city. Lisa had nicknamed her camel Ryan, because it always had the hump, and all four women collapsed into giggles when their guide misunderstood and started to call her Ryan. In the afternoon, they visited the ruins of El Badii Palace, marvelling at how amazing it must have been before it was ransacked for stone. All the time, Nat was acutely aware of the little bottle nestled in her bag and the knowledge of its existence gave her a thrill. Whether she’d have the nerve to drink it later was another matter entirely.

  After a delicious meal in one of the restaurants off Djemaa El-Fna, they soaked up the atmosphere in the square. The plan had been to force Milly to wear L plates and a veil decorated with two dozen condoms but they’d all agreed that it was wildly inappropriate and the boxes sat, unopened, beside Nat’s bed. Back at the riad, where Elodie had wine chilling and lanterns lit inside the gazebo on the rooftop terrace, they settled into the soft sofas and started to reminisce, reminding each other of how it had been before they’d met their partners. Nat’s stomach ached from laughing and her misery back in England seemed a lifetime ago. Before she knew it, the hands on her watch had reached eleven-thirty. Glancing up at the millions of stars twinkling in the black sky (surely more than she had ever seen back home), she thought again of the bottle on the table beside her bed. She felt pretty happy now; did she even need the potion?

  Milly stretched and yawned. ‘My bed is calling me.’