‘Find David another hobby,’ she said. ‘It’s like a game of musical chairs with that borehole, and we can’t have it with the B&B. No wonder he’s got a running feud with Tommy. The borehole may be on his land, but he’s not supposed to ration water.’ With her facial expressions under control, she added, ‘And while we’re in complaint’s corner, why didn’t you give that child another pool towel?’
‘One each, that’s what the website says.’
She poked him in the chest. ‘Good reviews will drive bookings. It’s cheap marketing, allowing people an extra towel. It’s not even you who does the washing!’
He shook his head at her. ‘Message received. I will go and have a firm word with David.’
Emily went to check the gas tanks. The door to the borehole was open, and a joyful whistling tune was bouncing out at her.
She heard Mark’s voice, ‘Hey, David.’
‘Yo,’ came the muffled response.
‘When you’ve a moment, I need to take a shower.’
In the morning, Mark watched Emily fussing around Cindy and her family. At least these people were paying to stay at Villa Anna.
Mark could still see the taillights of Cindy’s rental car, but Emily already had the Bentley’s keys in her hands.
‘Right, I’m off to collect Mary,’ she announced. ‘I’ve done you a checklist.’ She shot him a stern look. ‘Please do a thorough job ... no clues this is a B&B.’
‘I’m not that daft,’ said Mark, snatching the list. Emily shouldn’t have invited her friends to visit – the B&B was a business not a hobby.
She clapped her hands, spurring him into action. ‘Quick, quick, you’ve only got an hour.’
Mark scampered around the villa as if searching for hidden treasure. He’d been horrified when Emily reminded him yesterday that they were hosting. He’d been making his lunch, under her watchful gaze, and retorted that, rather than closing the B&B, Charles and Mary should stay at a hotel. Emily rolled her eyes, told him not to be so selfish, adding that, as an only child, Gwen should’ve taught him how to share. Then she revealed that her friends were staying for five days.
‘Five days! No B&B income for five nights!’ he snapped, pressing the butter into the bread so hard the knife made a hole in one of the slices.
‘I invited them when I didn’t realize thattemporaryinvolved running a B&B.’ She kept her eyes trained on the dirty knife.
Mark closed his eyes. Why did she have to keep ramming home his lack of progress? Pedro was confident of securing the residency permits, but meanwhile, Mark was stalling the house sales. He wiped the butter knife on the back of a slice of breadthen used it to cut off a hunk of cheese.
‘Anyway,’ said Emily, ‘five days isn’t long. Some people have house guests for five weeks.’
‘I’d want a damage deposit,’ he snapped, placing his sandwich on a plate.
‘Yes, you probably would. You should be grateful Mary and Charles have chosen to spend their holiday with us. Don’t worry – Fran is helping.’
Mark shook his head. ‘We haven’t got the money for Fran. Not after the latest bills from London. The plumber cost four grand!’
‘Do you want Mary to see me living without help?’ demanded Emily, her face flushed. ‘Do you want her to work out that you’ve been sacked and that we’re out here escaping tax?’
His stomach clenched; he didn’t need to be reminded he’d lost his job.
‘Remember Charles is mates with Paul,’ she spat angrily. ‘And don’t forget to wipe down that chopping board and wrap the cheese back up properly.’
Reluctantly, Mark sanctioned the cost of Fran. The visitors were taking them out for dinner on their second night, and Fran would cost less than the Ellises returning the favour. If only Fran hadn’t formed a magnetic attachment to his wife’s purse. But then Tim did refer to her as the limpet, and there were compensations – she cooked a good breakfast.
To avoid joining the guests for their first breakfast, Mark ate his in his study. Hearing the front door slam, Mark emerged to fetch a mop for the morning “study puddle”. Could he hear music? He dropped his dirty breakfast plate on the side – damn but that Fran cooked a good fry-up – and slid open the terrace door. Fran was dancing around the poolside –his poolside– in her skimpy bikini! Shouting to be heard over Ed Sheeran, he yelled, ‘I think you’re done here. Thanks, Fran.’
Fran danced up the steps to the top terrace and raised herarms, circling them round his neck. ‘I don’t have to be,’ she whispered, her hips swaying from side to side, close to his own. He settled into her embrace, pressing his body up against her hot one. When was the last time Emily had wound her arms around him? Mostly, she feigned sleep – she thought he didn’t know – or complained of exhaustion from running the B&B.
He unwound Fran’s arms. ‘Out! And turn that music off too.’
‘Spoilsport,’ she said, pouting.
His eyes lingered on her, watching the gold belly-stud disappear as she shimmied into her T-shirt.
