‘You have a nice day now, Ms Gregory,’ said the bellhop, adroitly pocketing his tip.
Dismissing the idea of having an early dinner – her body clock told her it was five in the afternoon – she stripped off her clothes and scattered them carelessly about the room. Walking through to the bathroom, she spent the next ten minutes luxuriating under the needlepoint jets of freezing cold water that struck her body from all angles. But she felt no cooler when she stepped out of the shower.
Dispensing with the need for a towel, she returned to the bedroom and, ignoring the bellhop’s advice, slid open the balcony doors. For a moment or two she gazed down at the beach and considered, yet again, how lucky she was to have a job that took her to such an idyllic place. Some of her former school friends in her native Basildon worked as hairdressers, shop girls or checkout assistants at a supermarket, but such mindless occupations would not have suited Sharon. And the dismal selection of available men would have suited her even less.
Turning from the balcony, she opened her suitcase and took out a small leather bag. Inside was a collection of perfumes: Tommy Girl, Coco Mademoiselle, Chanel No 19, Prada Amber and Lancôme Trésor. Each of them was a gift from one of the several men in her life. And she always ensured that she wore the right perfume for the man who had given it to her when she was about to make love to him. Although uncertain whether the man she had spoken to earlier would appear, she nevertheless selected his favourite, Lancôme Trésor, and dabbed it behind her ears and between her breasts.
Her preparations were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed to take the call.
‘Hello?’
‘Fancy a swim, Sharon?’ It was her crewmate Cindy Patterson calling from the room next to her own.
That was a bloody nuisance, thought Sharon, and presented her with a minor dilemma. Should she wait on the off chance that her lover would arrive, or should she go to the beach? He’d said he had meetings all afternoon. She made a decision; after all, she might find a hunk on the beach who would catch her eye, and she could hardly tell Cindy that she was waiting to get laid. But the sea water would wash off her perfume. Oh, what the hell. She had plenty more and she might only sunbathe anyway.
‘Sure. See you on the beach. Usual place?’
‘I’ll be there in ten,’ said Cindy.
Sharon took a moment or two to study her all-over tan in the mirror, a tan that had ensured there were no ugly white lines or patches. Donning a string bikini, she shoved her feet into a pair of flip-flops and slipped into one of the hotel’s terry robes. Grabbing a towel, she was about to leave for the lift that would take her direct to the beach when there was a knock at the door.
‘Just coming, Cindy,’ shouted Sharon, assuming that her friend had decided to call for her rather than meet her on the golden sands beneath her window.
She opened the door and the first-class passenger she had served on the flight that morning entered the room. Before locking the door, he hung a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside, as he always did on these occasions.
Sharon smiled. ‘I thought you said that you had business meetings to attend all afternoon, darling.’
‘I cancelled them.’ The man moved closer to where Sharon was standing, arms at her sides, and slid the robe from her shoulders. Quickly untying the bows of her bikini, he allowed the microscopic pieces of fabric to fall to the floor.
‘I don’t have the time, darling, really,’ said Sharon. ‘Cindy’s expecting me on the beach in a few minutes’ time and she’ll wonder where I am.’ But it was a futile protest and she didn’t mean a word of it.
‘Cindy will have to wait,’ said the man, quickly stripping off his clothing. ‘Unless she’d like to join in.’
‘Naughty,’ said Sharon. ‘I want you all to myself.’
Later, when the couple were lying side by side and perspiring freely from the exertions of their love-making, the man raised himself on one elbow and gazed down at the girl.
‘You are a thoroughly wanton woman, Sharon Gregory,’ he said. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I am, darling. And aren’t you pleased? However, there’s something I want to talk to you about. Something that will mean we can be together always.’ And she went on to explain what she had in mind. But before her lover could respond, the telephone rang. Reaching across him, she deliberately lowered herself so that her breasts were pressing on his chest. ‘Hello?’
‘Where the hell have you got to, Sharon?’ demanded Cindy crossly. ‘I’ve been on the beach for nearly an hour already. What’s more, there are some dishy men about: a crowd of hunky all-American six-packs in a variety of colours, for a start. It’s not like you to miss out on an opportunity like this.’