Page 69 of The Summer Island Swap
My chest glowed.
‘Actually, Sarah has another idea to help attract business to the island,’ said Rick. He nodded at me.
I took a deep breath. ‘Do you like chocolate, Margot?’
The wrinkles in her face deepened. ‘If I could comfortably carry a secret stash around in this turban all day, I’d be tempted.’
This was a good start. Not that her face so much as flickered as I set out my idea. Calling the family home Cacao House. Harvesting the trees all year around. Producing a boutique brand of chocolate tourists could take home. Margot listened intently.
‘I could get a sign made,’ said Rick. ‘Put it up before the first proper guests arrived.’
‘USPs. You’re good at them, Sarah. Rick told me about your idea to have a cartoon version of Chatty lead browsers through Seagrass Conservation’s website. This is the same. The chocolate – it’s something that’s unique to this hotel venture. Along with the nearby conservation project, it’s the thing that could make us stand out from local competition.’
‘You like the idea?’ I asked, tentatively.
Margot leant back into her armchair and folded her arms.
‘I’m not entirely heartless when it comes to business. It jars, simply giving our beloved home a name to make money. But…’ She smiled. ‘As Rick knows, his granddad loved chocolate more than anyone. He’d certainly approve. That makes the idea feel more personal.’
‘I’d forgotten that. He would buy a large family bar for himself every Friday, and you were lucky to get a look in, he would eat it that fast.’ Rick glanced at his watch. ‘Right, we need to get going to the airport soon. Sarah? A cup of tea before we leave?’
He passed me the laptop and headed towards the kitchen. Margot asked me again to explain the chocolate-making process. We discussed the equipment the Crowleys would need to invest in. She grabbed a notepad.
‘I’m good friends with a restaurant owner on Tortola. He might be able to put me in touch with suitable suppliers. I’ll email him as soon as this call is over.’ She put down her pen. ‘So, Sarah… have you drawn up that five-year plan we talked about last time?’
She’d remembered.
I’d asked Dad to help me draw up a revision timetable once, for my GCSEs. I was in a major panic. He was always going on about how his projections at work paid off. I thought he’d help if for no other reason than to impress me with his organisational skills.
It was the last time I asked him for anything. He’d waved me away and said not to disturb him the football was on – muttered that if I couldn’t put together a timetable on my own then there was no point even sitting the exams. He did his usual thing and made it sound as if that last comment were a joke. But I always knew with Dad that was just a cover. The only time he hadn’t done that was when he’d made the terrible accusation against me on the day I’d left.
‘I did. Thank you. Suggesting that has really made me focus.’
‘What’s the first thing on your agenda, when you get home?’ she asked. ‘A bright woman like you – you said that Best Travel wasn’t stretching you anymore…’
Margot even remembered the name of my last employer. My eyes pricked. Anabelle had done her best over the years to recall the details of my life, but never really took on board who were my best friends or which were my favourite foods – not like Mum had.
‘I’ve learnt an awful lot there,’ I began.
‘I like that,’ interjected Margot. ‘Loyalty. Gratitude gets you a long way in life – but not if you take it too far. If you’ve worked hard, that’s your debt paid, so you needn’t feel you owe this Best Travel employer anything if your gut is telling you it’s time to move on.’
‘That’s what your suggestion has made me realise – I have no time to lose. Not if, in five years I want to be at least assistant manager somewhere spectacular, with an income that means I no longer have to ask myself if this month’s earnings will pay all the bills.’
‘Don’t forget your personal aspirations,’ she pushed. ‘I’ve always been ambitious but never forgotten that my career is only one part of my life. Do you want to travel? Get married? Have children? Learn how to cook Thai food? Run marathons? Because if so, those dreams also need to be factored in.’
At that point Rick came back. He passed me a mug of tea. Sat down again. He told Margot about the mini bar we’d put in each room – effectively a shelf of small bottles of alcoholic and soft drinks, plus packets of nuts. She said how impressed she was with the hotel website and had a few ideas of her own. She’d email a family photo taken there just before the hurricane. She thought the personal touch – a photo of the Crowley family – would help attract the right kind of clientele.
I was sorry to end the call. Margot was so easygoing. She made me feel valued and gave me faith that being forced to leave Best Travel earlier than I’d wanted would turn out to be a positive thing.
At five o’clock Rick and I stood side by side, over on Tortola, at the arrivals gate in Beef Island airport. He was holding a sign that said Jason Elliot.
Raucous laughter bellowed across as passengers started to appear.
My palms felt sweaty. None of this would be happening if I hadn’t come up with the concept of renting out the beach huts. I didn’t want to let down lovely Margot, Rick – or myself.
31
It’ll be fine, I told myself. They are mature businessmen – not eighteen-year-olds who don’t know their own limits. Shouts and whoops caught my attention and I focused on the crowd of people coming into view. There was a young man soothing a crying baby. Grandparents. Loved up couples. And… a group of men in their thirties and forties creating most of the noise, wearing red T-shirts that said in large capitalsSTAGS LOVE A VIRGINfollowed by the worldislandin really small letters.
