She laughs and two dimples deepen in her cheeks. ‘Honestly, the expats are a noisy, nosy bunch who get a little merry most days. You can blame that on Mrs Bastille’s half-price happy hour drinks, happy hour drinks that go all day in the Cabana Bar, mind you. She’s got a soft spot for the expat crew and has always made sure they’re well looked after, no matter what.’
‘No matter what?’
Mariola blushes. ‘Some of the expats have been here on and off since the late seventies, like Brian, first as guests, now as long-termers, so they’ve become an extended family. If they run into a spot of bother with say, finances, she covers it. It’s something she’s always done…’
‘Right. And Xavier is probably going to nix that.’
Mariola’s face twists as if she’s not quite sure which side she’s on. ‘I guess it’s in the realm of possibility. And that’s not because Xavier doesn’t care about them. Some of those expats helped raise him, looked out for him as a boy and then a gangly teen. They’re a good bunch and would give you the shirt off their back if you needed it. While they bicker and squabble over the silliest things, they’re a tight-knit group.’
‘So is Xavier is going to leave the Cabana Bar as it is? The expats seem very against the modernisations.’ There’s a definite divide between the fancy renovated areas and the humbler Cabana Bar that’s a little weathered with its rustic stools and thinning thatched roof and tipsy expats.
Mariola pulls a face. ‘Xavier has plans to redo the Cabana Bar and add a promenade, but he’s sensitive to their needs and figures it’ll just take time to win them over.’
‘How long have the family owned the resort?’
‘Forever, it feels like. Mrs Bastille purchased it in the late seventies after she fell in love with a local, Xavier’s dad. It was basic back then, shacks where fishermen stayed overnight on the way to elsewhere, and slowly they made it into a proper boutique resort.’
‘Xavier’s dad, is he…?’
‘Sadly, he died when Xavier was a kid. Mrs Bastille only recently reluctantly handed over the reins of the resort to her son…’ Xavier and I have that loss in common then. It indelibly changes you, losing that anchor at a young age. I know firsthand that part of you also dies, a little piece that you never get back. It brings my sympathy to the fore for Xavier and his mum.
‘Why reluctantly?’
Mariola exhales a long breath. ‘Her last divorce was acrimonious, to say the least. The guy in question tried to get half the resort, even though they’d only been married a year or so. It shook her up, knocked her confidence. Mrs Bastille is always falling in love. For her, each love affair is like a holiday romance but unfortunately, the intentions of most of them haven’t been all that pure – I guess that’s the risk she takes when they have dollar signs for eyeballs instead of real love in their heart. And so that debacle forced her hand. Brian’s been in love with her since he first stepped on the sand here, but she doesn’t seem to notice and honestly, he’d worship her. He does from afar.’
‘Talk about a slow burn, that’s a lot of years to be in love with someone and not make a move.’
‘Yeah.’
‘This place is fascinating. So what happened with the messy divorce? Did she have to pay the ex off to keep the resort?’ That would explain why there are so many changes afoot. Protections being put in place.
‘Well… the expats rallied around her. Not surprisingly, they’ve got quite a lot of connections between them. Let’s just say you want to keep on their good side, that’s for sure.’ Mariola shakes her head and laughs. ‘Between us, Brian and Doris managed to dig up some dirt on husband number seven’ – she lowers her voice – ‘and Mrs Bastille was able to use that as leverage to get him to give up his claim on the resort. The whole sorry saga scared her though, and once the divorce finalised, she signed the Last Chance Resort over to Xavier.’
This is the stuff of soap operas. ‘And Xavier’s first thought was to renovate, even though it’s against his mum’s wishes?’
Mariola glances away. ‘I’m not sure it’s against her wishes, it’s more that the old way wasn’t working. The expats want everything to stay the same, but they pay such a nominal amount. The resort can’t survive on that alone, and so that’s why he’s taken such a gamble. There’s been one setback after another, but it’s summertime now and we’re set for a busy season. Xavier’s got a forecast. His forecasts have forecasts, so I imagine it’ll work, but might ruffle expat feathers – as you can imagine they don’t exactly love it when the resort is at capacity. Don’t like sharing the volleyball court, the Bingo prize money. Although Lucy plays the part of doddering old lady very well and manages to hustle guests in poker and blackjack. She cheats, you know. Got cards stuffed up her sleeves.’
‘That cute little old lady with the white-blonde bob? No.’
‘Don’t be fooled by her or the other two. Cunning as foxes. And Doris is not much better. Absolutely lovely people but will rob you blind in a game, doesn’t matter if it’s pool, cards, volleyball. They’ll bet on anything and they’ll already know the outcome.’
I laugh, sure Mariola’s exaggerating. ‘How can they know the outcome?’
‘Pre-planned. They’ll choose a mark, let the expat group in on it and share the spoils. A volleyball game will be thrown, and that’s that. It’s a bit of fun for them watching guests’ confusion as two twentysomething staff members lose an energetic volleyball game to two eighty-year-olds. Crafty as anything, they are. And everyone is in on it. You should see the ping pong tournaments, they go all out, fake falls and all sorts…’
I mean, it’s clever, isn’t it? And harmless in the scheme of things. I make a note to be on guard when these granny grifters try the little old lady act on me.
I look out to the stunning vista of blue where the sky meets the ocean. ‘It’s so beautiful here, I can see why the expats don’t want to share this place. They strike me as a sociable lot though, so I’m sure they’ll enjoy an influx of guests on the island, even if it’s just to swindle them for pocket money.’ The tropical island holiday that’s picture-postcard perfect. Who wouldn’t want to holiday here? The lagoon alone is incredible and not something you see at many resorts.
Now Xavier’s uppity attitude makes a bit more sense, if he’s dealing with the pressure of renovations and discord among the long-termers, including his own mum.
I gaze over at the expats. Some are dancing to the beat of their own drum. Others are playing games, chess, cards or Jenga, sitting under beach umbrellas, innocent faces at the ready, just waiting for an unsuspecting moneyed-up guest to amble along and accept an invitation to play and then later, to put a few bucks on it. Some read books, their feet up on chairs. I gaze back to the lagoon, the way the sun glints off it, a sparkling invitation to swim.
‘Are the expats all retired?’
‘Mostly. And live on limited funds. They’re salt-of-the-earth types who came here because the cost of living was cheap so they could stay in luxury for a fraction of the price of wherever they came from. Except Khalil, he’s local to the island and still works part-time in the cultural centre on another island. Brian dabbles in crypto – and when that proposition comes up, it’s best to decline.’
‘Thanks for the warning.’
