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

by Belinda Jones

  ‘No.’ We’re both too scared and bewildered to think of anything at all. I feel as though somehow Jason has sucked the will out of us, and we’ve relinquished control of our lives to him. How are we ever going to get out of this mess?

  ‘I will see you to your rooms,’ says Jason, ever the gentleman.

  ‘Good night, girls. Here’s the key to the tower. Lock it at night.’

  We do as he says. I move my bedding and mattress into Maia’s room. Exhausted but unable to sleep, we fall into our beds.

  ‘We’ll have to take up yoga,’ I say ironically in a pathetic effort to lift Maia’s spirits. ‘D’you think they have any books here?’

  ‘It’s not books and yoga I’m worried about. It’s the Scousers, the guns, and us being upmarket drug mules scenario,’ replies Maia woefully. ‘We’ve got ourselves into terrible trouble now. I can’t see any way out of this.’

  ‘Oh, stop it. Jason says he’ll make sure we’re okay,’ I say with no conviction whatsoever, ‘We’ll just have to put our faith in that. Basically we have no choice in the matter.’

  One of us has to try and stay positive, despite the fact that each of us knows that we could end up in prison or dead.

  ‘Trust Jason? I’d sooner trust someone with a life sentence for mass murder,’ she hisses back at me in the dark. ‘You haven’t got that Stockholm syndrome thing, where you fancy your captor, have you?’

  I can’t help giggling despite the awfulness of it all. Then Maia bursts into tears, setting me off, and we both sob away helplessly.

  At 4pm on the dot next day, an unfriendly, sulky Luna arrives with bags of designer clothes and starts to lay them out on the bed. There’s a gorgeous pink-and-white printed silk maxi dress.

  ‘Cavalli,’ she snaps. Next, a lime green silk crépe Alexander Wang mini dress with racer back. ‘Great with these,’ she says, throwing a pair of silver leather Jimmy Choo heeled sandals with ankle straps carelessly on to the bed. And then, ‘You’ll need a tan for that,’ looking disdainfully at us. ‘I suggest you get some serious tanning in by the pool.’

  No pressure then, I think.

  Then there’s a beautiful mint-and-white embroidered Melissa Obadash mini dress, and a beaded, fringed Matthew Williamson clutch, and a fuschia pink embellished python skin bag with embroidery from Antik Batik. Then we both gasp as she empties out a huge pile of Isabel Marant loveliness. Gucci snakeskin-print silk mini dresses. There are more fabulous heels and gladiator sandals. A pile of tiny bikinis. Delicious lingerie by Kitten Kouture. Maia and I watch in amazement as she pulls beautiful dress after dress out of the bags. It’s all worth thousands.

  ‘Oh my God, this is our dream wardrobe,’ I say to Luna. She smiles, so I take the chance to ask her, ‘So d’you live here?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘I am Jason’s personal yoga and spiritual guide – he likes to keep himself super fit, and, well, he’s hard to resist... Plus I couldn’t turn down the salary. It’s more than double what I earn teaching high-flyers to relax from the stresses of their jobs – and look at the perks,’ she says, gesturing to the clothes. ‘There’s only one slight problem – I haven’t told my fiancé about this – he wouldn’t approve – so I’m kind of in hiding!’

  She appears to feel no guilt or remorse.

  She opens bags with ‘Kamla’ emblazoned across them. ‘This is my friend’s shop,’ Luna says. ‘Kamla means “Little Goddess”. It’s what they call her in India when she goes to have her designs manufactured there, and the name’s stuck. She’s amazing. A model, tiny, with a huge Afro. I love her stuff. You can wear it lots of different ways.’

  She suddenly strips down to a tiny silver bikini and pulls a diaphanous piece of chiffon printed with a pretty Paisley pattern over her perfect curves. ‘It can be a gipsy top like this. Or,’ she slips one shoulder off, ‘a one-shouldered tunic, a bandeau dress, or even a skirt. She demonstrates all. ‘So clever, isn’t it? She sells it in the boutique on Blue Marlin beach, too.’

  We smile and nod encouragingly.

  ‘Jason wants you dressed and ready for work by 6pm,’ she continues, ‘We’ll reconvene by the pool for a glass of champagne. Make sure you look amazing and you’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry – Jason will look after you.’ With that, she sweeps out in her silver bikini.

  When we’re sure she’s gone, I say to Maia, ‘Better scrub up, then!’

  As instructed, we’re by the pool at 6pm, Maia in the lime green Alexander Wang and silver heels, and me in a Matthew Williamson embellished peach strapless maxi dress slashed to the thigh, with strappy snakeskin high-heeled sandals with ankle cuffs.

  ‘Evening, ladies,’ says Jason. ‘If I may say so, you look gorgeous. Are you ready for this evening’s work?’

  Luna looks flushed, as if she’s had a little too much champagne, and she’s hanging off Jason’s arm.

  ‘We’ll start off doing the rounds of some of the most select villas in Ibiza, and on to Pikes Hotel. Then you’ll return here to replenish supplies and have a short break until 2am, when we’ll move on to the VIP rooms at Pacha, followed by Space, Ushuaia, DC10, Amnesia, and Aura. After that, it’s private parties at the most exclusive villas. You’ll carry the evening’s merchandise in your handbags. We have permission for you to enter all of these venues. Our customers know what they like and will state their preference. Take the cash from them and discreetly hand it to your minders. When I say discreetly, I mean it. You’ll have two of my men with you at all times, and they’ll let you know who to approach. And remember, my boys are armed. So no conversation other than business, and no trying to escape, or any false moves. Jaws will be your driver for the evening.’

  As we leave, I turn round to see Jason and Luna kissing passionately by the pool. I say to Maia, ‘So much for Jez’s supposedly lovely girlfriend. That doesn’t look much like yoga.’

  I have a flashback to the gentle, kind boy who had love in his eyes as he spoke of his beautiful fiancée. He doesn’t deserve that. I think to myself, What a bitch.

  The job isn’t difficult. We are actually quite good at it. Maia even jokes and says it’s just like working in PR, but the reality of the situation is never far from our minds. We are captives against our will, being forced to sell drugs under the control of a ruthless set of people who really couldn’t care less what happens to us. When I look at Maia’s face it’s ashen-white under her tan, and the strain really shows. As for our so-called minders, they scare the living daylights out of us.

  Most of the people we deal with are expensively dressed and well-spoken, with extremely high-flying jobs. Maia’s even come across people she knows from the world of PR on our jaunts. She’s had to make a hasty exit a few times.

  The rest of our clients are well known DJs, pop stars, footballers, models, actresses and actors. Faces we see papped and on the pages of Reveal magazine. It really isn’t difficult to shift the ‘merchandise’ as Jason calls it, and after a few days we’ve raked in around 30,000 euros for him.

  One evening, I’m taken to the VIP area in one of the clubs. A well-known DJ is looking twitchy and pensive before his set, which kicks off at 2am. The room, with its own bar, is full of his entourage. Glamorous, leggy girls are draped over high bar stools, and guys are larking around trying to get their attention. The DJ’s PA is pointed out to me and I’m told to sort everything out with him. I stop in my tracks. It’s Jez! I walk up to him, and greet him.

  He looks blankly at me and says, ‘No. I’m Tom.’

  I’m completely thrown – he is the spitting image of Jez. When I ask him if he’d like anything for the evening, he says, ‘Leave. Now.’

  His eyes follow me as I exit, clocking the minder accompanying me, who looks like a Rottweiler chewing wasps.

  *

  The moment that Tom got back to the finca he was sharing with his twin brother, Jez, and his friend, Storm, he went to talk to Jez.

  ‘This girl came up to me tonight. Really pretty, English. Tried to sell me cocaine
. She seemed like a nice girl and I got to wondering how she could be wrapped up in a business like that. It just didn’t seem to fit. She wasn’t the type. And there was something else. Fear in her eyes. She seemed so relieved to see me, and she thought I was you, Jez.’

  ‘Well, you are my twin, and we are virtually identical. It’s not like that’s the first time that has ever happened. Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance. She had a really heavy-looking guy with her, and I asked them to leave. Didn’t like the look of him. I’ll look out for her again. She’s bound to turn up in another of the clubs at some point, doing what she’s doing.’

  ‘What did she look like?’ Jez asked.

  ‘Tall and slim, long brown hair, tanned and, well, gorgeous actually.’

  ‘Look if you see her again, can you talk to her? I’ve been worried about these two English girls, and that sounds like one of them. They don’t seem to have been back to Luna’s flat. Kerala hasn’t been fed, and everything’s the same as it was when I dropped them off. Nothing’s moved. They’re not there. Storm and I will take a look round the clubs later.’

  *

  The alarm clock by the bed says 5am; we’ve been woken by what sounds like a muffled gunshot. We can hear that someone’s broken the lock on the door to the tower and is running up the stairs. Maia’s hiding under the bedcovers. I peep out and… it’s JEZ!

  ‘Shh. Not a word. Get up quietly and follow me.’

  We do as we’re told, following him downstairs. The BIG LOVE jeep is parked outside. The sun is just starting to creep up over the horizon. It’s time for Luna’s meditation and silent walk.

  ‘GET IN,’ says Jez firmly, ‘and duck down.’ He’s got one arm over an air rifle, just the way they do in Tarantino movies, his head down low. Storm is sweating profusely at the wheel. He revs up the engine and the jeep jolts into action and careers at great speed toward the electronic gates. A bullet whizzes over our heads through the jeep, and Maia screams, ‘Fuck! It’s a shoot-out!’

  Jez jumps out, crawls to the gate and taps in the code. Bullets pepper the ground all around the Jeep, and Jez yelps in pain – we see blood soaking through his shirtsleeve. He jumps back into the jeep, and Storm drives off down the hill, taking a sharp turn off-piste, bumping through olive groves and ploughing through low dry-stone walls. We hit the main road and speed off.

  After a hair-raising drive which seems to last forever, we arrive at a tiny rustic finca nestling in the shade of fig trees, high in the hills near Beniras beach.

  Once we’re safely inside Jez says, ‘Man, that was crazy. You’re safe now – we shook them off miles away. They’ll never know we’re here. If Jason Brightside thinks he can steal my girlfriend and rule the island with his bunch of thugs and get away with it, he can think again. He’s finished. I’m phoning London and busting his drugs cartel.’

  Jez is still dripping with blood. Maia looks set to pass out. Storm comes through from the kitchen with bandages and antiseptic, a pair of scissors and a bowl of warm water. He cuts Jez’s shirt away from his arm and takes a look at the wound.

  ‘You’re lucky the bullet didn’t stick in your arm,’ he says.

  I jump up and try to remember some of the first aid I learnt on a course at one of the offices I worked in. They hadn’t filled me in on what to do with bullet wounds, but I try to help Storm and do my best.

  With Jez bandaged up, we sit outside under the fig trees drinking Sangria, and watch the police helicopters arrive from mainland Spain that head towards Jesus and Casa el Pirata.

  Storm moves to sit close by Maia. She’s in floods of tears. Holding her close to his chest, he puts his arms around her, and says, ‘It’s all going to be okay.’ I look at Jez, and he beckons me over. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he kisses my hair. It feels so right to be in his arms again.

  His phone vibrates and there’s a call from an unknown number. He picks it up, and I can hear the unmistakable voice of my mother. ‘It’s Tamara Rose-Gilby here. Is Caitlin there?’

  ‘Mum, I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll call you back in a bit. Yes. Fine. I promise.’

  ‘She got my number from the police,’ says Jez, smiling and cupping my face in his hands before kissing me slowly and gently.

  ‘How did you know where we were?’ I ask when we break free.

  He exhales a long deep breath, and says, ‘It was my identical twin brother, Tom, you saw in the club. He’s PA to Armand Van Durchen when he’s here in Ibiza. He told me he’d seen you and then Storm and I kept an eye on the clubs for you. We followed you back to Casa El Pirata, which happens to be a villa I’ve done some work at, so I knew the entry code. We spent a couple of days and nights staking the place out, and saw you coming and going. I saw Luna too with Jason, kissing him, holding hands, sunbathing naked with him by the pooI. I realised she was in love with him, and that everything between me and her had been a lie. I kept thinking back to when you and I met and how I felt I’d known you forever. It seemed as though we were meant to be. I knew we had to rescue you. Because I was familiar with the layout of the house, Storm and I decided to come for you – we couldn’t wait for the police.’

  He leans towards me and kisses me again. I open my eyes and peep over his shoulder to wink at Maia, nestling into Storm.

  One year later…

  It’s September, and Maia’s and my closest family and friends are all here, on the beautiful beach at Beniras. Maia’s in an antique rose bias-cut full length slip, barefoot with flowers in her hair. I’m wearing a pale gold slip and a pretty vintage headband. We’re standing side by side, holding hands with Jez and Storm. Tom looks lovely as best man.

  Everyone raises their champagne flutes to us as the white witch, Sabrina, whom we’ve hired for the joint wedding ceremony, waves her arms around and summons the energy and good vibrations of the universe to bind Jez and me, and Maia and Storm, in joyful wedded union. We giggle hysterically and kiss our beautiful boys!

  My mother, in a ridiculous huge floral headdress she’s had made for the occasion, collapses (from too much champagne), weeping and wailing, ‘My darling beautiful daughter! I’m so happy!’

  Jez’s dad helps her up, and the bongo drums of Beniras start playing. Softly at first, then gradually building up to a crescendo, the rhythm of life itself, as the sun sets over Beniras beach.

  About the Author

  Wendy Rigg is Associate Editor at Reveal magazine, overseeing the celebrity style, fashion and beauty pages. A respected fashion expert, Wendy began her career as Fashion Editor of Jackie magazine, went on to become Fashion Director at the legendary more! and has since worked with many celebrities: Gok Wan, Vernon Kaye, Alesha Dixon, Holly Willoughby, Emma Bunton, Myleene Klass, Tess Daly, the cast of Coronation Street, Eastenders, The Only Way Is Essex and Made In Chelsea, to name but a few. She also had her own clothing line, which sold to Joseph and Harvey Nichols, and to Macy's in New York, and was worn by Madonna.

  Reveal magazine: www.reveal.co.uk

  Visit the Sunlounger website at www.va-va-vacation.com/wendy-rigg

  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.

  JUST ONE DAY

  ***

  Lucy Robinson

  Destination: Argentina

  Grace is sitting on the scrubby grass verge with a two-foot high statue of Jesus and a murderous expression on her face. She is watching the coach driver attempting to repair the burst tyre with what looks like a band-aid and is wondering angrily what possessed her to take this stupid trip.

  Grace is not comfortable with discomfort. Grace believes she was designed for the finer things in life. Leather goods. Attentive service. Luxury chocolates. She was never meant to suffer long-distance coach journeys, especially those that are cut short by burst tyres. In the middle of the Patagonian steppe, hundreds of kilometres from civi
lisation.

  If this debacle goes on much longer she is at great risk of having to talk to . . . she shudders. To backpackers. A group of them are sitting on their rucksacks on the other side of the road, talking cheerfully amongst themselves. They are playing cards and eating crisps as if it were perfectly fine that they are stranded in this vast, barren wilderness.

  One of them tried to talk to her earlier. He had matted hair in his beard.

  Grace refuses even to look at Janey, whose fault all of this is.

  Janey is staring at the vast sky, marvelling at the dramatic cloud formations hanging above them. Vast, funnel-like whorls of combed cotton suspended in a bright blue dome as if the Gods had frozen everything in the middle of a Frisbee game and wandered off for a cup of tea. Janey has enjoyed the drive across northern Patagonia but wishes guiltily that she was not with Grace. Grace is being appalling on a really epic scale.

  ‘It’ll be grand!’ they’d cried when the plan was hatched, both doubting this but neither willing to travel alone. ‘We’ll get along famously!’ They cited school trips where they had got on famously, deliberately forgetting that these trips had taken place twenty years ago and that they had gradually given up socialising in the years that followed.

  In Argentina, everything would be different. They would be the best of friends.