Sitting Pretty Page 21

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ Amelia looked up from the game she was playing with some of the other children. It had kept them quiet for all of five minutes.

  ‘Nothing, darling; you enjoy your game.’ Then he turned to me and raised his glass. ‘Merry Christmas, Beth.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Henry.’

  Boxing Day was never a good day to travel so we’d booked to stay another night. We took the opportunity of walking up the zig-zag road of the Great Orme and enjoying the windswept views. It was breathtakingly refreshing up there. The cable car ride was closed, but we had a fantastic walk. We were ready for our dinner when we got back to the hotel.

  ‘I like Christmas here, Daddy. Can we come back next year?’ Amelia stopped spooning beans into her mouth to ask.

  ‘Maybe the year after.’

  ‘Will Beth come back with us?’

  I held my breath, hoping he wasn’t going to get embarrassed again.

  ‘I don’t know, darling. Two years is a long time away. We’ll have to wait and see.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  ‘I don’t like the idea of you going there right now, Beth. I should find somebody else to go.’

  After we got back from Llandudno, Henry had received a comment from a guest staying in one of his Dubai hotels. He got staff to collect guest feedback from all his hotels and he took it very seriously. He didn’t tell me what the comment had said, but I did know that if Alex hadn’t been in Dubai, Henry would have already booked me a ticket to go there.

  ‘Look, Henry, Dubai isn’t a small place. What are the chances of me bumping into him there unless I actively went and looked for him?’ I reasoned. ‘And do you know what? Since I started doing this job, I’ve hardly given him a thought. I’m not the silly girl who thought camping out on people’s sofas was a good idea any more. I can bump into him there or not. I really don’t care.’ Although the thought of giving him a gentle shove off one of those high balconies was a rather satisfying one.

  ‘Are you really one hundred per cent sure? I’d go myself, but too many people working there know me.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ll have to book you an open ticket. You’d probably end up being out there on your own for New Year’s Eve.’

  ‘New Year’s Eve doesn’t mean much to me. It’s just another day.’

  ‘Well, if you’re positive.’

  ‘I’m positive. Now book that ticket.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Dubai International. The local time is five minutes past eight in the morning, and the temperature, twenty-one degrees. The cabin crew and I would like to thank you for choosing Emirates Airlines and look forward to flying with you again. Please take care whilst opening the overhead lockers and make sure you take all your belongings with you. Disembarkation will be from the forward cabin.’

  My fingers couldn’t help surreptitiously stroking the shiny walnut surround of my comfortable recliner one last time. My fellow passengers all looked nonchalant, as if they flew business class every day of their working lives. Having spent the last few years flying EasyJet to and from Athens, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to this whole other world of business class travel. It felt like some kind of private club I’d suddenly become a probationary member of, and I had to hide my excitement when I was offered a glass of fizz before take-off in case they all thought I was far too gauche to be there.

  I’d never been able to sleep on a flight before, cramped elbow to elbow, as I always had been, between Alex and some random stranger – somehow, it had always been my turn to have the middle seat. The person in front of me would always have their seat leaned back so far their head was in my lap and I’d be tempted to ask them if they’d like a head massage. Behind me, of course, would be the inevitable restless child or someone with long legs who just couldn’t help kicking the back of my seat every time they moved.

  This was my first night flight with my new job and despite that rush of excitement that kept flooding my stomach, I’d had the most refreshing night’s sleep. As I’d drifted off to the land of nod I’d wondered what on earth it must be like in first class, if it was this comfy in business. Drowsy after a couple of champagne cocktails and a delicious Kir Royal, I’d snuggled down, imagining golden chambers with fluffy clouds for beds and pillows filled with angels’ wings. There the passengers would be fanned by unicorns while vestal virgins hand peeled grapes for them and gently popped them into their mouths, accompanied by harpists playing soothing lullabies and fairies sprinkling magic dust and smiling gently. Although, come to think of it, I might have actually been asleep by then and dreaming all of this.

  My first thought on being woken up for breakfast was that I wanted to snuggle back to my cosy dreams, until the realisation that we would soon be landing in Dubai shook me fully awake. Dubai and my most exciting assignment!

  ‘Thank you! Goodbye!’ the cabin crew smiled as we edged our way off the plane. I pulled my lovely cabin bag on its wheels like a puppy on a lead, reminding myself of my first assignment in the New Forest. In some ways that felt like so long ago and in others as if it had only been last week.

  Dubai International was full of activity. Henry had told me it was competing with Heathrow to be the world’s busiest airport and I could believe him. As the travellator smoothly slid us towards passport control, I could see over the glass walls and down to the various departure lounges and Duty Free on the floor below us. It was bustling with shoppers, even at this time of the morning, all milling about. Everywhere was so bright and shiny and colourful, and so very clean.

  At the end of the human conveyor belt were a small group of smiling people in pink and grey uniforms holding up big pieces of card with names on them. Henry had told me to make myself known to them.

  ‘Marhaba.’ A young woman I guessed to be from the Philippines welcomed me as I slowed down, wondering which one to approach.

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled back. ‘I’m Beth …’

  ‘Ms Dixon Beth? Come with me.’ She reached for the handle of my cabin bag and I didn’t know what to do – she was very petite and although the bag wasn’t heavy and was on wheels, it felt very lazy to let her pull it for me.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, I can …’ I started to say, but she had already taken control of it and was ushering me ahead.

  ‘Welcome to Dubai,’ she said, leading me towards an escalator. ‘First time you come here?’

  ‘Yes, it’s my first time.’

  ‘Marhaba means welcome. You here for business or holiday?’

  ‘Business,’ I said after a brief pause. It felt slightly strange saying it, as if I were pretending to be somebody else.

  ‘Where do you stay?’

  ‘Oh … just in a hotel,’ I gabbled, probably taking the whole mystery guest thing a bit too far. ‘A driver’s meeting me and taking me there.’

  I hadn’t realised quite how long the queues at passport control would be, and I was relieved when she led me to a much shorter queue, obviously of people who had used the same service. I’d have to remember to thank Henry when I checked in with him later.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  The car that took me to the hotel was very swish. Sitting back on the soft leather seats felt like sinking into butter. That feeling of being an imposter and wondering when somebody was going to find me out kept tapping me lightly on the shoulder, just in case I should forget. It gave up tapping and started punching when the car pulled up outside the destination of my new mystery guest assignment.

  I’d never seen anything like it. It looked like a Hollywood film set of a sheikh’s palace and grounds. As we drove up the long drive, I’d been more than half expecting to see magic carpets floating past us. The unicorns with the fans wouldn’t have looked out of place here, either. There was no way I wasn’t going to stick out like the big, fat proverbial sore thumb.

  The member of staff I was supposed to be keep
ing an eye on was the manager of one of the restaurants. The customer comment had suggested that he might be taking bribes for booking tables in the busy and popular restaurant. It was the sort of place you had to book up months in advance but it seemed it might be possible to get a table for a little backhander.

  Henry didn’t believe this was happening, but he saw it as part of his duty to his customers to check it out. And so I was going to try to get a table for two for New Year’s Eve. I was going to look very desperate and as if that table was the most important thing in the world to me and see what happened.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  ‘I’m so sorry ma’am, there just isn’t a table available for tomorrow night. It’s New Year’s Eve. All the tables have been booked up for almost a year. It’s the busiest night in the calendar.’

  Well, he was making all the right noises. I’d have to try harder. ‘I’m going to be in such trouble,’ I gasped at him, trying to sound as if I might cry. ‘My husband told me to book it at the beginning of the year and I forgot. He’s going to be so angry with me. It’s our wedding anniversary. Isn’t there anything you can do?’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s just not possible.’

  ‘It’s just a tiny table for two. Couldn’t you squeeze one in somewhere? It wouldn’t matter if it was cramped. Is there any way I could persuade you?’ I ran my finger along my purse, where a thousand dirham note was poking out enough for him and only him to see it. I felt very aware that what I was doing could actually get me into trouble. But if he was taking bribes then I was doing a good thing, right?

  The friendly look in his eyes vanished immediately. ‘Ma’am, this is a respectable establishment. Please do not insult me or my staff. This is the second time this month that someone from your country has attempted to do such a thing and it only serves to give your country a bad name. Please leave me to attend to my duties and do not come back to this restaurant.’

  I was shaking all the way back to my room. What if he called the police and had me arrested for bribery? The laws were a lot stricter out here. I phoned Henry.

  ‘Beth?’ He picked up almost at once.

  ‘Henry, I did it and he was very angry. He said that someone else had tried to do the same thing recently. What should I do? Can you book my return? I think I should leave.’

  ‘Beth, take a deep breath and calm down. It’s all right. Remember I told you that a lot of the staff there know me? I’ll call one of them as soon as I get off the phone and they can pass on to this man that you were working under my instruction to check a customer’s comment. You won’t be in any trouble. Are you in your room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then make yourself a cup of tea and I’ll call you back in a few minutes.’

  Those few minutes felt a lot longer. I put the little kettle on and shoved one of the fancy silk teabags into a cup. Why hadn’t he rung back? What if he couldn’t get hold of the person he wanted and the restaurant manager decided to make an example of me?

  When the kettle boiled I poured the water without taking my hand away and nearly scalded myself. The police could be on their way right now.

  The phone rang and I nearly dropped the kettle. ‘Henry?’ I yelped into the receiver.

  ‘It’s fine, Beth. It’s all taken care of. He’s being told right now. Next time you go downstairs he’ll be all smiles again. Now why don’t you forget that tea, open the mini bar, and pour yourself a proper drink?’

  So I did. I poured myself a very large, very good quality Sauvignon Blanc and sipped it slowly while I waited for my heart rate to return to normal.

  And that was when I did it. That was when I did the foolish thing I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do while I was there. I switched my laptop on, logged into Facebook, and went on to Alex’s page.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  My stomach was fizzing like a glass of Alka Seltzer – one where someone had put too many in and it was in danger of frothing over the top. I’d tried taking deep, calming breaths, I’d tried breathing slowly – in, two three four five six seven eight, out, two three four five six seven eight. I’d even tried not breathing at all, but none of those things had helped. The effervescence wouldn’t even subside, let alone go away and leave me in peace to get on with getting ready. I was in danger of arriving at my destination foaming and frothing at the mouth like a dog with rabies.

  There was also a thumping in my chest that skittered about between a vague salsa rhythm and an even vaguer hip hop beat. And as if that wasn’t enough to contend with, my tongue and the roof of my mouth felt as dry and ragged as pages torn out of an old, yellowing newspaper.

  This was ridiculous. I should never have gone on Alex’s Facebook page yesterday. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen that it still said Relationship Status – Married to Beth Dixon, and still had the photo of us, petting those damn donkeys on Santorini on our honeymoon. And I wouldn’t have seen that he was going to be at a party at the Dubai Marina Yacht Club tonight. And I wouldn’t have started wondering if I could get him close enough to some railings to push him over. Or if the music would be loud enough to cover the splash.

  I looked at my hair in the mirror – the hair I had just tried to put up in the quick and sophisticated style Henry’s hairdresser had once shown me in case I needed to do it myself in an emergency. At the time, I’d laughed – who has an emergency hairstyle? Now a wave of frustrated despair rushed over me. Of all the times to be staying in a five-star hotel whose beauty salon couldn’t fit me in because it was New Year’s Eve and they were fully booked up with guests who’d had the forethought to book well in advance. If Facebook had told me, well in advance, that tonight I would know where Alex was going to be, then that’s when I would have booked an appointment. The elegant little topknot that the hairdresser in Winchester had shown me how to do, with a few twirly-looking tendrils falling daintily to frame my face, was just not working. How she’d managed to get what there was of my hair into any kind of knot on the crown of my head was beyond me. All I was getting was a ratty little pineapple of sticky-out bits which were in no way elegant. And as for my face being framed by twirly-looking tendrils, falling daintily or otherwise, I looked like a scarecrow who’d been dragged through a couple of hedges backwards. I pulled it all out, shook my hair free, and started again.

  The air conditioning in the bedroom had, up until about five minutes ago, felt just right. My top lip, however, was now pursing itself in concentration under a fine film of perspiration. The same unwelcome chilly moistness was starting to trickle down my back, and I was glad I’d decided not to put my lovely dress on until after I had finished doing my hair and make-up.

  How did some women do this sort of thing all the time? Was it normal to spend this long faffing about in front of a mirror just to be able to be seen in public? I’d always been a wash and go kind of girl – most of the time I didn’t even bother with a hairdryer. A squirt of shampoo, a dollop of conditioner, a run through with a comb, and I was usually good to go. Since working for Henry, however, I’d been introduced to all kinds of sprays and serums and spritzes I’d never even known existed. Products I’d previously marched past in Boots, their labels making no sense, their contents having no possible bearing on my life, had suddenly become recognisable. There was a hell of a lot of stuff out there for people to spend their money on, and then spend even more time and effort messing about with. My new and very full spongebag was twice the size of my old, half-empty one. I just hoped it was all going to be worth it.

  Doing my best to ignore the fizzing and thumping, I threw my head forward, scraped my hair towards the top of the back of my head with my brush, and held it in place with my left hand while my right wrestled with the little clear rubber band thing that the hairdresser had given me a couple of. I twisted it round, pulling the bit of hair through five times, each time thinking that this was when it would snap. It held the hair in place and it seemed to be the closest to the right part of my hea
d that I’d achieved so far.

  Encouraged by this bit of success, I picked up the little doughnut thing I’d also been given and carefully pulled the hair though that. Now I was supposed to wrap the bits of hair round it, completely covering it, and tuck them under, securing them in place with a few hairgrips. I’d have sworn the hair wasn’t long enough to do that if I hadn’t seen the hairdresser do it with my own eyes – and it hadn’t been cut at all since then so, if anything, it might even be a fraction of a millimetre longer.

  Willing it to actually have grown a fraction of a millimetre while being pretty damn sure it hadn’t, I started pulling a bit of it over the doughnut and tucking it underneath. It just about went under, but the hairgrip I shoved in after it really had nothing to attach itself to and just sort of sat in my hair like the spare part it technically was. I gently removed it and dropped it back on the dressing table as surplus to requirements, then set about tugging under and tucking in other bits of hair.

  The scrunchie-type hair band I had to wrap round it was the same shade of dark purple-pink as my dress. Sending up another of those silent prayers that I wouldn’t destroy what I’d managed to do so far, I carefully stretched it over the hair-covered doughnut, twisted it at the back, and stretched it back again. Twice seemed to just do it, thankfully, so I smoothed out the crinkles a bit and stood back to take a proper look.

  The resulting style was a fairly distant poor relation to how the hairdresser had done it but, hey, she’d had years of training and experience behind her. This didn’t look too bad, and anyway, it was probably about as good as it was going to get, so I gave it a quick spurt of Frizz Ease hairspray, then another for good luck and left it at that. Job done.

  I looked at my watch. It was time to get my glad rags on and be on my way. I had no idea how long I’d have to wait for a taxi to Alex’s party.