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

by Belinda Jones

  On the bench across the wide path from mine, there’s an old couple. Maybe late 80s, maybe even in their 90s. Monsieur is wearing a white cap to shade his eyes against the sun, smartly pressed grey trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. Madam is in a smart white day dress and lace up shoes which are sensible and yet dainty. She has tiny feet and the sun is kept from her eyes with a powder blue hat, trimmed with a fresh pink rose. When Monsieur takes his hand from the top of his cane and places it tenderly over hers, I feel a lump form in my throat.

  But again, I can’t help smiling. There is still time. There is so much ahead to enjoy. At last, it feels possible to put the past behind and move forward with hope into the future.

  About the Author

  Carmen Reid has written eighteen novels now, including THE PERSONAL SHOPPER series, and for younger readers, the SECRETS AT ST JUDE’S series. She lives in Glasgow, Scotland, with her family but needs regular does of hot sunshine and sea air.

  Carmen’s latest novel, CROSS MY HEART, comes out in August.

  Website: www.carmenreid.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/carmenreidbooks

  Twitter: @thiscarmenreid

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/carmen-reid

  We have everything you need to make this your Best Summer Ever!

  You can also chat with the authors on the Belinda Jones Travel Club Facebook page.

  Return to the contents list.

  FROM EIVISSA WITH LOVE

  ***

  Wendy Rigg

  Destination: Ibiza

  This is going to be the summer of our lives. My bestie Maia and I are spending two whole months on the white isle.

  I’ve been temping at the moment, at ad agencies and publishing companies in London, and saving up for the trip. I have a degree in marketing and am hoping I’ll be in the right place at the right time when a great job comes up. But they’re few and far between, so now is the perfect time for our adventure.

  Maia runs her own PR company from home, in North London, getting column inches in the Sunday newspapers and glossies for boutique hotels and a client who makes rose-flavoured vodka – a brand named V. She hopes to do a bit of business in Ibiza, getting V into some of the island’s prestigious clubs, and adding a couple of new boutique hotels to her client list.

  So, after much wardrobe planning and editing, we’re at City Airport in the departure lounge.

  Petite and gorgeous, Maia looks every bit the Ibizan babe. She’s wearing an embroidered gipsy top from Anthropologie, tiny distressed denim hotpants and an armful of pretty multi-coloured friendship bangles. Her blonde hair is in a cute messy side plait. Maia’s girlie looks completely belie her personality – she loves dubstep and football – and that’s why we all love her!

  I’m wearing an All Saints sequinned mini-skirt and a loose vest for travelling in, with a khaki combat jacket to throw over if the air con on the flight makes it a bit chilly. I flick my long brown hair, which is a bit Kate Middleton, even if I say so myself. I treated myself to an expensive cut at Richard Ward – her hairdresser. I’m the quieter one – shy and more reserved than Maia – so we make a good double act!

  It’s time to board, so we pick up our bags and get in line.

  Now’s the chance to survey our travelling companions. Amongst the lairy girls, families, and stag dos we spot a gentle-looking guy with blonde dreads wearing Thai fishermen’s trousers and a Foo Fighters t-shirt. (‘Cute,’ we note.)

  We settle into our seats, and I want to scream with excitement when the plane takes off.

  I’d found me and Maia a lovely little apartment to rent which belonged to a yoga teacher called Luna. She seemed to be a real hippie, signing off all her emails ‘Good vibrations’ or ‘Kind energy’. She was going off on a Silent Yoga Retreat in the South of France and had instructed us to meet her boyfriend, Jez, in a hotel in Talamanca. Jez would take us to our Ibiza home and give us the keys. She’d also asked us to look after her kitten, Kerala.

  After landing and exiting the airport, to that lovely heat that feels like someone just switched on a hairdryer and wafted warm air at you, we jump in a taxi and speed off to the Hotel Sol – our meeting point.

  On arrival at the bar, there is only one person there, sitting on the terrace with a beer. He’s tanned a gorgeous honey colour, has curly brown hair and hazel eyes. He’s tall and slim, with the kind of body clothes just hang perfectly on.

  ‘Hi, you must be Maia and Caitlin,’ says this vision of loveliness, taking off Oakley shades and shoving them in his hair back to front, like a sort of girlie hairband, which has the effect of making him even more gorgeous. ‘I’m Jez.’

  Desperately trying to look nonchalant, I smile and say, ‘We are indeed.’

  ‘Sit down, I’ll get you a cool drink – what would you like?’

  ‘Ooooh, a spritzer would be lovely,’ we say simultaneously, and burst out laughing.

  After enjoying our drinks, we head to the apartment and Jez lets us in. It has a ceramic tiled floor and is painted white, with billowing muslin curtains and sliding glass doors to a verandah with a white wrought-iron table and two chairs.

  A view of the sea sparkles through the trees. Huge photographic prints adorn the wall, showing Luna in a white bikini, contorted into various impossible yoga poses on the beach. A miniature Buddha statue, carved out of stone, and incense sticks are set out on a small Indian rug.

  Kerala the kitten, who’s adorable, comes in to suss us out.

  Jez, seeing us looking at the photographs, says, ‘That’s Luna. We’re getting married next year. I’m going to miss her. Can’t contact her except by email, as she’s gone deep into the well of silence, as she calls it, at this yoga retreat. Learning new skills so she can incorporate some of it into her classes. She’s one of the top yoga teachers on the island.’

  He looks sad and my heart goes out to this gentle, sensitive boy, missing his girl.

  ‘I guess you girls don’t know your way round Ibiza. If you like, I’ll take you to a nice beach tomorrow and on the way you can see a bit of the island,’ says Jez. ‘I’ve usually finished all my work by about twelve, so I could pick you up then. I look after a few villas on the island, doing odd jobs and general maintenance, and I keep the swimming pools clean.’

  The next day, Jez arrives in a vintage open-top khaki Jeep, with the words ‘BIG LOVE ...T.L.C. for villas and swimming pools’ written on the side. We are thrilled to note that the cute surfie guy we saw on the plane is with him.

  ‘This is Storm.’

  ‘Hi there,’ says Storm with an open, friendly smile.

  ‘We went to uni together,’ explains Jez as he drives, the warm sea air acting (I hope) like a wind machine on our hair. ‘He studied fine art, and I studied psychology. I moved out here last summer to be with my girlfriend. I love it – the lifestyle is so chilled. I can’t see myself getting a proper job any time soon!’

  ‘Jez is the brainy one, and I’m the scatty, arty one,’ jokes Storm.

  Turns out he’ll be in Ibiza for the summer, helping Jez out by doing a bit of carpentry where required.

  We spend a lovely day on Las Salinas beach, enjoying lunch, drinks and music at the beach bar, Sa Trinxa. Sun-kissed and happy, we dip in the sea at regular intervals and watch the troupes of dancers, acrobats and transvestites, glammed up and sparkling in a flurry of glittery lashes and blonde Amy Winehouse-style beehive wigs, parading their way through the shallow waves holding placards to advertise club nights. Jez and Storm are such fun, chasing us into the water, and we just laugh all day. At one point Jez playfully picks me up in his strong arms and I look deep into his eyes which are flecked with gold, and feel as if I never want him to let go. He gazes back at me, and then quickly puts me down. His cheeks flush and he steps away.

  The boys leave around 5pm but we stay on, planning to get a cab back to the apartment later.

  Jez tells us, ‘If there’s anything you need at all, don’t hesitate to give
me a call. You’ve got my number.’

  We stay on until sunset and have a supper of tapas and more wine before being thrown out of the bar, which was closing.

  We decide, out of sheer joy, to go for another swim under the stars. It’s about midnight, the beach is deserted, and even the bar staff have gone home. We can see yachts and boats bobbing about out at sea. Maia suggests we bellow out any songs we can think of with the word ‘stars’ in the title but before we’re even two lines in to David Bowie’s ‘Starman’, a low speed boat comes bouncing through the water, creating a flux of waves on the sheet-glass smooth surface, and shoots up on to the sand James Bond style. Through the darkness we see a tanned, good-looking guy with peroxide blonde hair leap out of the boat and start unloading packages on to the sand. Shadowy figures appear and begin to help him.

  ‘Who the fuck are they?’ one of them shouts gruffly, looking at us, still in our bikinis, gawping at them.

  ‘Get them into the car. NOW! We’ll take them with us and make use of them!’ exclaims the guy who got out of the boat, a set of perfect veneers visible, so white they actually glow in the dark.

  ‘Help!’ Piercing screams are coming from Maia somewhere near me. ‘Let me go!’ she shrieks. Someone puts a hand over my mouth and I think I’m going to be suffocated. I’m biting, kicking, struggling.

  ‘Keep quiet and you won’t get hurt,’ my captor barks hoarsely in a strong Scouse accent. His rough hand over my mouth stinks of cigarettes, and his hot breath is in my ear.

  There are six strong guys around us. We’re fighting back like cats but their vice-like arms clamp ours down as they wrestle us towards a Hummer. It’s dark and the only light is that of the full moon hanging low on the sea’s horizon. We haven’t a hope in hell of escaping. They bundle us into the Hummer, its blacked-out windows glinting, and drive off at some speed.

  The car bounces and bumps along a track until we get to a main road. I’m close to vomiting and Maia is crying hysterically and shaking with fear; both of us are cold and shivering in our damp bikinis. Suddenly, the car swerves off and begins a climb up a steep, winding road which seems to go on for miles.

  We stop at secure gates. I can see the name ‘Casa El Pirata’ on the gate.

  ‘What’s the bloody code?’ asks Speedboat Man with an Essex twang.

  ‘I don’t foochin’ know,’ says the Scouser in the passenger seat. ‘Anyone know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You bunch of gerbil-brained fuckwits!’ shouts Speedboat Man in a fury.

  ‘Foochin’ phone Luna. She’s in the foochin’ villa!’ someone says.

  Luna? It must be a different Luna, a weird coincidence. We drive up to a spectacularly luxurious white villa with an infinity pool. One of the guys slides open the door next to me and Maia and nods at us. ‘Out! Jog on! No funny business!’

  We’re dragged over to a tower looming up out of the dark, and I can see a black pirate flag flying from the top. They open the door and push us in. A light goes on and we can see our surroundings and, terrifyingly, the men who’ve taken us hostage.

  ‘This is where you’ll be staying. You can’t leave the grounds – you’ll get an electric shock which will be enough to kill you if you try to climb over the fences. Make yourselves at home,’ says Speedboat Man. Tall, slim and bare-chested, with a toned, waxed torso, he’s wearing blue-tinted mirrored Ray-Ban Aviators, even though it’s pitch black, and somehow not being able to see his eyes is even more frightening.

  He introduces himself. ‘Jason Brightside, ladies. Pleased to meet you. I apologise for the way you were brought here, and do hope that bunch of Scouse reprobates didn’t hurt you in any way. Now, if you’d like to join me over at the villa after you’ve settled in for a glass of champagne, I’ll explain why you are here. Luna will show you round. I hope you’ll be comfortable. If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to let Jaws here know,’ he says, gesturing to a rough-looking shaven-headed thug with most of his front teeth missing, and a couple of gold molars glinting.

  ‘We have your mobiles and we’ll keep them under lock and key. You’ll text your families, under our supervision, to let them know that you’re safe.’

  With that he sweeps out, taking his entourage, and through the door steps the blonde, glamorous, tanned Luna from the photos in the apartment. What the hell is she doing here?! I look at Maia with widened eyes but we stay quiet.

  She has a fabulous body, and she knows it. She’s wearing a Missoni bikini top, a gold chakra fine chain necklace, and a cool white cotton maxi skirt with a gipsy frill. Her exquisite feet are bare, the toenails painted mint. Her blonde hair is scraped into a messy up-do. She fixes us with her green almond-shaped eyes, smiles in a self-assured way, and says, ‘Follow me.’

  We go up the narrow stone spiral staircase behind her. The first room is white and simply furnished, with a large double bed with an embroidered silver silk throw over it.

  There are two white kaftans on the bed, and Luna says, ‘You’ll have to wear these until Jason buys you some proper clothes.’ There’s a small chest of drawers, painted pale blue, a woven Mexican rug on the floor in electric blue with pink, white, turquoise and yellow stripes, and a tiny window. The room is basic, but quite lovely. Further upstairs and the second bedroom is decorated in a similar manner. A Moroccan lantern stands on the window ledge, and there’s a wardrobe of dark wood in the corner.

  Luna’s manner is cold and offhand as she says, ‘When you’re ready, come over to the villa. I’ll see you there.’ An ankle bracelet tinkles as she makes her way back downstairs.

  ‘Okay, this is totally weird,’ I say to ashen-faced Maia, whose eyes are wide with terror. She’s shivering in her bikini and looks like she’s seen a ghost.

  ‘That is the girl whose pictures are all over the apartment we’re renting in Talamanca, Jez’s fiancé,’ I whisper, taking a peep down the stairs to make sure Luna has gone. ‘I thought she was supposed to be examining her own navel somewhere in the south of France? As if everything wasn’t strange enough without her being here. D’you think she’s been kidnapped as well?’

  ‘I’m not Sherlock freakin’ Holmes,’ says Maia, tetchily, ‘but I think we’d better just do as she says.’

  We take quick showers and throw the kaftans on over our bikinis, then explore. The villa is white and open plan, with a large lounge, kitchen and dining space with sliding glass doors leading out to a green infinity pool the colour of Luna’s eyes. Luxurious big wooden sun loungers line the pool at either side, and there’s a bleached white ram’s skull on one of the pillars outside. Moroccan lanterns are dotted around the pool area. Groove Armada is booming out from huge speakers.

  Luna is pouring two glasses of champagne.

  ‘Jason will see you in his office,’ she says, handing the flutes to us. Jason is sitting with his feet propped up on a desk. He gestures to us to sit down. He’s smoking a cheroot. A huge pile of white powder is on his desk.

  ‘This is more civilised,’ he says. ‘You look terrified. Really, there’s no need. I will make sure you are well looked after. Don’t worry about those other idiots – they’re less than useless. What my business needs is a couple of well-brought-up, clever girls like you. What you saw being unloaded at the beach was in fact the finest cocaine, ecstasy and MDMA this island has ever seen. It’s not destined for the ordinary clubbers: it’s for an elite and celebrity clientele. I need you working the VIP bars and private villa parties, delivering my high quality merchandise to the right people. You will be escorted by a couple of my employees at all times, and they will be armed. It’s not in your interests to try and escape. Whilst you are out, you must not engage anyone in conversation other than on business. Your escorts will see to that. You have to realize, we have paid off the police on the island so there is no point in going to them. If you keep your heads down and get on with what I ask you to do, there will be no repercussions. At the end of the season, we’ll release you, and as long as you keep our little busi
ness quiet, you’ll live long and happy lives. I need your assurance that you understand my drift.’

  ‘Yes.’ We’re stunned into monosyllabic communication.

  Jason goes on, ‘Tomorrow, Luna and I will pick up some clothes for you. I have your mobiles here. If you’ll let me know the codes, I’ll message your families now to let them know you are okay.’

  We tell him and he taps a text into both our phones:

  Hey! Arrived IBZ . All gr8. Missin ya:)

  Although it’s three in the morning, a text bounces back immediately from my mother.

  Darling! Glad you’re okay. Missin has a g on the end. What’s all this text speak and smiley face thing – I thought you hated it? You’re normally so grammatically correct. Is this your new Ibiza persona? Very strange. Is this really you? Still might pop over. Love you. XXX

  Maia’s mum doesn’t reply. She’ll be tucked up in bed, fast asleep. She doesn’t worry about her. Unlike mine, who seems to be in permanent telepathic communication with me.

  ‘We’ll have to make sure that mother of yours does not turn up. That’s the last thing we need,’ Jason says, popping the mobile phones, with our bags, into a giant safe and locking it.

  ‘If I were you girls, I wouldn’t get into this stuff,’ he says, pointing at the powder. ‘It’s a loser’s game. I don’t touch it. Only to scientifically test it and make sure it’s pure.’

  To demonstrate, he puts a small amount of the powder into a glass vial and drops some liquid out of a dropper on to it. It turns black immediately. ‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘Now, I want you to feel comfortable. Use the pool area whenever you like. Chef prepares breakfast, and a healthy buffet lunch is available every day. Luna does a sunrise meditation and silent walk through the grounds, followed by an hour’s yoga session before breakfast. You are most welcome to join that. You’ll find it energises and clears the mind. Most of your work will be done in the early evening and through the night. We do have to remain on call 24/7, of course, so sometimes this may vary. One well-known DJ has a habit of calling us at 6am. It’s a very bespoke service we supply – and you girls will be the public face of it. Now I suggest you get some sleep. Luna will come to your rooms tomorrow at around 4pm with some new clothes. You will follow my instructions at all times. Have you any questions?’