‘Call a truce, Rumpole, and buy me a drink. We need to talk.’
‘Sounds ominous,’ said Liam, pulling on his shirt. ‘Better make it a double.’
They went to one of the bars at the quieter end of the beach and Rachel took a wicker table outside with a view of the sea. The evening throng had not yet come out to play, but she still knew plenty of people in the bar and she didn’t want to be overheard.
Liam returned with a bottle of Kingfisher and a Fanta. Rachel took long, eager sips, grateful for the clinking ice. It was past five o’clock and the sun was beginning to sink, but it still had to be thirty-five degrees at least.
‘So how many bookings have we got tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘Party of eight on the learn-to-dive package. Honeymooners and some of their friends, I think.’
‘Well, that’s another marriage that’s doomed before it starts,’ said Rachel dismissively. ‘Taking your friends on honeymoon. Who does that?’
Liam looked at her as if he were observing a small, disobedient child.
‘They got married on the island. If a bunch of mates have come all the way to see you get married in Thailand, you’re not exactly going to shove them on a plane as soon as you’ve said “I do”. Or isn’t that the way you work, Little Miss Sunshine?’
Rachel shrugged and finished her drink.
‘I just wonder why some people are daft enough to spend fifty grand shipping all their friends and relations out to Thailand when they could buy a sports car or a loft conversion or something.’
‘You’re such a romantic,’ he grinned.
Her eyes challenged him across the candlelight coming from the small hurricane lamp on the table.
‘Just because I happen to think that weddings are a mug’s game? Marriage is an antiquated institution and if you believe otherwise you are a romantic fool.’
‘But of course you’ll be happy to take their business. Talking of which . . . you wanted to discuss something.’
Rachel took a breath. ‘You know that we’re rushed off our feet and it’s not even July? Well, I’ve been thinking.’ She paused, not sure how he would react. ‘I’ve been thinking that we should expand.’
Liam lifted his beer and took a thoughtful swig.
‘Well? Say something,’ she said nervously.
‘I’ve been thinking the same thing.’
‘Really? Great!’ She leaned forward. ‘Listen, I heard last night that the Sunset Bungalows are up for sale. Now you know as well as I do that they’re in one of the best spots on the whole island, it’s like a stone’s throw from the main drag, and if we can do them up . . .’ She was dimly aware that she was babbling, and as she spoke, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar and almost laughed out loud. The last thing she looked like was a businesswoman. Her dark hair was cut into a choppy bob, her thin vest showed off a tattoo of a dolphin and, frankly, her wide-eyed enthusiasm made her look more like a madwoman than Karren Brady. Even so, Liam looked intrigued.
‘Jim’s selling up?’ he said, rubbing his chin.
‘Moving back to New Zealand.’
‘How do you know all this stuff? I only spoke to him yesterday and he didn’t mention anything to me.’
Rachel grinned. ‘I keep my ear to the ground.’
‘Old habits die hard, huh?’
‘We should buy them,’ she said determinedly.
‘The bungalows?’ said Liam, frowning. ‘I admit they’re in a good position, but we run a dive school, Rach. What do we want with a load of bungalows?’
She put her glass down. ‘They’d be part of the dive school, Liam. That’s the beauty of it. We could position ourselves as the premier dive resort on the island, selling dive packages along with accommodation. Just think how amazing it could be: we’d provide cool little boho-chic crash pads, along with food, diving tuition and a PADI certificate thrown in. We’d clean up in this part of the gulf. I think we should set up a free-diving operation too.’
‘Now there’s a big surprise,’ he teased.
Rachel supposed she deserved that one: free-diving was her latest obsession. And it was an obsession, it had to be; free-diving wasn’t for the faint-hearted. Diving without oxygen tanks to see how deep you could get, your lungs burning, the pressure hurting your ears, pulling at your limbs. It was dangerous and a little bit crazy, but to Rachel it was like an addiction. She had been taking instruction for the past year – diving in the deepest part of the gulf every time she could – from a mad Frenchman called Serge, and had almost got her teacher’s certificate.