Reaching for some shower gel, which was sitting on a shelf above the washbasin along with matching bottles of expensive-looking shampoo, conditioner and body lotion, she proceeded to soap herself down as quickly as possible.
There wasn’t time to wash and dry her hair, so, having turned off the shower and wrapped herself in one of the white fluffy towels provided, she combed it through as best she could and tied it back in a ponytail. Then she put on a white, cotton, summery dress and gold sandals and applied a small amount of make-up.
Glancing at herself in the mirror once more, she frowned. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes that gave her a hollow, haunted look. But at least she was clean. She glanced away quickly. She’d have to do.
She felt quite nervous walking downstairs and wished she knew where Tash’s room was, then they could have gone together. Luckily, though, Tash was already on the terrace, along with Henrietta and about six or seven other women.
They were standing with drinks in their hands beside a rectangular wooden table and chairs, which was already laid with bright yellow linen place mats, yellow-and-white striped napkins, and cutlery.
In the centre was a silver wine cooler containing an open bottle, along with several glasses and a jug of something pale yellow and filled with ice.
The area was quite shady, surrounded as it was by trees and Bougainvillea shrubs, with showy pink and white flowers that looked almost too gaudy to be real.
Just beyond the terrace was a trellised archway, covered in climbing white roses and a trailing vine. A narrow pathway in the middle led, Cleo supposed, to the rest of the garden and the pool.
On spotting Cleo, Henrietta left the group and joined her.
‘Would you like some tropical fizz?’ she said with a smile. ‘It has strawberries, melon and orange in it. It’s non-alcoholic, of course. Or we have some of Mark’s delicious sparkling lemonade if you prefer?’
‘Tropical fizz, please.’
While Henrietta poured the pinkish drink, Cleo caught Tash’s eye and they smiled at each other. Tash was standing next to a tiny, lithe-looking woman in a sleeveless grey top with long, shiny silver hair. The woman appeared to be very animated, waving her tanned, wiry arms around, while Tash listened politely to whatever she was saying.
Opposite them was a tall, slim, striking-looking woman with bright red hair pulled up into a high ponytail. From her smooth face, big, pillowy lips, long, black eyelashes and razor-sharp cheekbones, it was pretty obvious she’d had work done.
Perhaps she’d gone a bit far with the lip filler, Cleo thought, but she looked fabulous all the same. Cleo rather fancied the idea of having Botox and fillers herself, but reckoned she’d be too scared and couldn’t afford it anyway.
None of the other guests were nearly as glamorous as this woman, and she stood out a mile. Cleo wondered who she was and couldn’t wait to meet her.
Lesley and Fran were slightly apart from the others, huddled together under a lemon tree. They’d both changed. Lesley was in a baggy, shapeless navy-blue polo shirt and beige shorts, while Fran was in a flowery top and white trousers.
Meanwhile, frosty Maya was talking to two, considerably younger women with straight brown hair, healthy, wholesome complexions and shapely physiques.
You couldn’t miss Maya – she was taller than everyone else and had an aloof, disinterested air. Perhaps she was used to mixing with far more important folk and was already finding the present company tedious. Cleo made a mental note to steer well clear of her.
The group was soon joined by a much older woman with dark hair, flecked with grey, in a voluminous pink-and-blue cheesecloth smock. Meanwhile, a grey-haired, middle-aged woman in a white top and black trousers emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of colourful pottery bowls, which she placed on the table. She was clearly one of the helpers.
‘Thanks, Elizabeth,’ Henrietta said to her. ‘Please tell Mark we’ll be another fifteen minutes or so.’
The bowls were filled with plump black olives, delicious-looking home-made hummus and slivers of carrot, red pepper and cucumber. Cleo’s mouth watered but instead of helping herself, she took her drink and made a beeline for Tash.
She was thinking she’d rather talk to her than get stuck with Maya or Lesley and Fran, so she’d better be quick. She wanted to meet the red-haired woman, too, who immediately introduced herself as Anthea.
‘I’m a hair stylist, I have my own business here,’ she said, in a strong Glaswegian accent. She was wearing a very short, tight gold top which barely fitted over her large boobs.
‘I’m also a trained masseuse,’ she went on. ‘I do Thai, Shiatsu, deep tissue, Swedish, reflexology or a blend of everything. If you’re interested, you can book through Henrietta or Mark. Let them know as soon as possible though. I can get quite busy.’
‘Ooh! I’d love a massage,’ Cleo replied, then, remembering her dwindling bank balance, ‘How much do you charge? Roughly, I mean.’ She couldn’t really afford to pay for extras.
As soon as she’d spoken though, she regretted it. It might seem pushy and a bit vulgar to ask about prices now. But if Anthea minded, she didn’t show it.
‘I know, you’ve all paid a lot to come here already,’ she said. ‘But you don’t have to go for an expensive treatment. It depends what you want. You can have anything from a fifteen-minute neck and shoulder rub to a ninety-minute full body, head and scalp massage. Henrietta has the price lists. I’ll ask her to give you one.’
Cleo was grateful. Anthea seemed sensitive, friendly and down to earth, and her heart was clearly in the right place.
Over the hubbub, Cleo heard Henrietta telling everyone in a loud voice to help themselves to mezze. ‘Supper in fifteen minutes!’ she added.
Cleo was aware of a few folk moving towards the table, but her own group stayed put.
