Page 7 of The Summer Island Swap
I couldn’t.
In one hand he held a sign saying…Seagrass Island. Oh. So I wouldn’t be picking the brains of a global entrepreneur.
Still.
Private was private.
And something about this man made it hard to look away.
As we got nearer, I studied him and his friendly, open manner. Those mocha eyes told a different story and suggested an air of… dissatisfaction.
Call it a sixth sense. I’d always had that about Dad as a child.
It started when I began going to friends’ houses to play. Watched how their dads would hug them when they got in from work. They’d ask about their day at school. Talk about taking them swimming at the weekend.
I’d been brought up to think only mums did that stuff.
And I’d become accustomed to analysing someone within seconds of meeting, after the years I’d spent working as a hotel receptionist. By the time someone had checked in I’d usually surmised exactly what sort of guest they would be. Take the businessman who smelt of alcohol and straightaway asked to be upgraded to a bigger room for free. He’d be ringing the desk throughout his stay with an impolite manner.
However, this man seemed courteous. I watched him interact with the people gathering around him. He was a listener. Friendly. Focused. Patient. Organised as he ticked names off his list. If he’d booked a room at Best Travel there would be no last-minute requests. He’d have double-checked everything in advance. He’d still charm the staff but with no ulterior reason.
There was no avoiding him, with his stature and appealing looks. That square jaw. The assured gestures. A group of young women in shorts and high heels teetered past and stared at him before chatting amongst themselves and giggling.
If he noticed, he didn’t show it.
We joined the group. The word seagrass did at least sound lush and luxurious. Amy gave him our names. I raised my eyebrows. Most of the others carried big rucksacks instead of cases and were dressed more like interrailing students. We were in one of the wealthiest corners of the world. I’d expected fellow guests to have smart sets of luggage and designer sunglasses.
‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’ I asked Amy, as she came back.
‘Absolutely.’
I fiddled with my watch, feeling nervous, not knowing why. Something didn’t add up.
‘Good to meet you… Sarah,’ said the man loudly, consulting his list. He strode over. ‘I’m Rick Crowley.’ He held out his hand. Long fingers pressed against my palm that suddenly felt sweaty, as his eyes met mine. They made me simultaneously want to both turn away and never break contact. ‘Thanks for booking your stay and helping us continue our mission.’
Mission?
What exactly had Amy signed me up for?
4
‘A friend of mine stayed here last year and said it was excellent, with amazing local food and staff who couldn’t have been friendlier,’ said a young woman next to us, crisply. She wore a plain white T-shirt and cotton trousers. Her hair was neatly tied back and her nails were filed short and polish free. I tried to place her accent. German perhaps. ‘This trip is a dream come true,’ she added.
My shoulders relaxed. I was tired. Hungry. Thirsty. That was making me paranoid. I smiled to myself. Honestly! What was there not to like about this corner of the planet?
‘I hope we meet your expectations,’ said Rick laughingly and bowed before moving away.
No doubt hismissionwas simply to deliver excellent customer service. ‘It’s a dream for me too. I think I’ll have a cocktail first. Then a dip in the pool.’
The woman rolled her eyes. ‘I know. Who on earth would waste money on a holiday like that?’
I grinned, having always been a fan of a healthy dose of irony. Not that I’d always been good at understanding indirect humour. Like when I was young, before I plucked my untamed eyebrows. Dad would hold leaves above his eyes and say I looked like that. I didn’t understand why it was funny. It wasn’t until I got older I realised it wasn’t.
Rick waited until all the names were ticked off his list. Nine in total.
‘Follow me guys. Let the adventure start.’
‘Adventure. That’s what you wanted, right?’ said Amy and she beamed.
