The hot and humid air caught John by surprise when he stepped out of the airplane. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the wind lick his face. Oh, how he missed the tropical weather. The only thing he hated in London was the awful lot of raining and the constant greyness. This was what he preferred – sunshine, mild breeze and there was something new, the smell of the sea. It was different from the smell in England. It must be because of the constant heat and sun that made it so different – so good.
He gathered his luggage – Harry couldn't stop herself, she packed two big and one smaller suitcases full with his clothes. She insisted on him bringing a three-piece suit – suit for a summer holiday at a beach resort! – his khaki woollen trousers, his best pairs of jeans and his most form-fitting shirts. Well, Harry clearly had a plan for him – she wanted to make sure he got laid. John couldn't blame her. Their 'pleasure hunt' – as John called those nights when Harry dragged him with her and her friends to local bars – wasn't one to be called successful. He called only few of the girls back after their first dates. Not because they haven't ended with sex, no. Some of the girls were more than willing to invite him in for a 'coffee', but he never accepted them. None of them were for his taste - they were attractive, but a bit shallow. He wanted someone he could have a meaningful talk with, not just small talk and a chat with no depth. Harry seemed not to care about this and would never give up so she packed all his best clothes to make sure he looked his best. The rest was his job. Well, he'd see.
With difficulty, he dragged his bags to a cab and gave the address of the hotel to the cabbie. He was a little worried when after 20 minutes of driving the number of houses were less and less and it seemed like they were leaving civilization behind. All his doubts vanished when he saw the huge entrance of the magnificent complex. The colours were matching perfectly – light brown walls with bricks decorating at the foot, terracotta rooftops and dark brown window frames. Palm trees were framing the stairs and the enormous wooden entrance door. There was a small fountain in the middle of the driveway, the sound of the splashing water in complete harmony with the chirps of the small birds that were drinking from it.
The cabbie parked at the foot of the staircase and helped him gather his luggage. A boy from seemingly nowhere grabbed the two huge suitcases and climbed the stairs and held the door open for John. When he entered he was shocked. Luxury and elegance radiated from every centimetre of the interior – shining tiles, huge, velvet covered furniture, thick carpets and colourful flowers in tasteful arrangements. John looked around and a few metres from the entrance he saw the massive wooden counter with a 'Reception' sign above it. He walked to the receptionist – beautiful, dark haired and eyed girl in her late twenties – and smiled at her.
"Good morning, sir. How can I help you?" Her smile was dazzling. Damn, these three weeks are going to be fun.
"I'd like to check in, please." John put the bags in his hands down and started fishing his paper out from his pockets.
"Do you have a reservation? I'm afraid without it we cannot give you a room."
"Oh, I have, yes. It's… umm… under the name Harriet Watson." God, it was embarrassing. John's shirt collar felt a little too tight.
"One moment, sir," said the girl – Esperanza, going by her name plate – and started typing on the keyboard in front of her. "Yes, there's a reservation for one Harriet Watson. It's for two persons."
"Yes, that's it." John felt agitated – there was something indescribable in the girl's eyes.
"It's the honeymoon suite, sir." And there it was. John stood there as he felt the heat flooding his face and neck. He wished he could give a better explanation than my lesbian sister and her wife got this holiday as a wedding gift but they broke up and as I am an invalided army doctor who craves the same climate as there was in Afghanistan, she took pity on me and gave me the tickets and oh, by the way she packed me clothes I look like a womanizer in – yes, she packed my stuff – so here I am, give me my keys, thank you very much.
"Umm… Yes. I know, thank you." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Just get over it, please.
"Well… um… Javier will help you with your luggage, sir. Your suite is at the back of the complex, next to the pool and the spa area. The tennis courts are to the left, and if you follow this path," she was showing it on a map that she produced from thin air, though John was a bit preoccupied so he was not sure "you can go to the beach. If you have any further questions or problems, the reception is open 24/7. Feel free to ask." The last few sentences were muffled a bit as she was looking down to check John's papers and type furiously on the keyboard. "Here are your keys, sir. Enjoy your stay here."
Javier packed his three suitcases on a trolley, put the keys in his pocket and headed towards the end of the building.
"This way, sir. Please, follow me."
They exited the foyer and went through a long corridor with elevators on both sides. At the end of the corridor was a huge French window that led to a spacious terrace with view over the sea. It was so stunning that John needed to stop for a few moments to admire it in silence. The sandy beach lay in front of him and stretched to both left and right. Small umbrellas were standing in the sand, sunbeds under each, and a wooden hut at the end of the lawn, where grass met sand.
A small cough from Javier dragged John back from his gawking. They went past two tennis courts, a swimming pool and a bunch of palm trees and got closer to a small lodge. It looked like a miniature version of the main building – same colours and architecture.
Javier opened the door, stepped in and put the suitcases down next to the door then waited. John got the hint and dug into his pocket to tip the young man.
"Thank you, sir, have a nice holiday," he said then turned around and left.
John looked around in the room for the first time. It was only the entrance hall but it was bigger than his flat. The tiles were shining; he could almost see his reflection in them. He grabbed the two large suitcases and headed to the bedroom, which was at the end of the hall. The king-size bed was in the middle of the room, with the headboard against the wall. The duvet's light champagne colour matched perfectly with the rooms dominating white, burgundy and egg yolk shades. He placed the bags at the foot of the bed and examined the room further. There were orchids - accommodating to the colour scheme of the room, of course - on the small desk in front of the huge French window, on the vanity table in the other corner next to the window and on the commode on the other side of the room. All pieces of furniture were carved from the same wood – mahogany – and decorated with the same style. Opposite the French window, on the other wall there was a door. John opened it and his eyes widened. It was the bathroom, with a bathtub as big as an inflatable pool. As he looked closer, he realised that it was a Jacuzzi. There were two mirrors and two sinks on the wall, shelves and drawers next to both one, flowers on the drawers. John couldn't help but think that it looked like the designer knew very well that the bedroom might be not the only room the newlyweds might want to break in.
He smiled at this thought and went back to the bedroom to unpack his suitcases. He was almost finished when he took his toiletries to the bathroom to unpack that, too, and he was taken aback when he opened it. Almost half dozen packages of condom and two tubes of lube slipped out of it. That definitely wasn't his doing. Harry. That was part of his sister devious plan to get him laid – making sure that he avoids any inconvenience. He packed the rest of the kit in the drawers and hid the packages in the drawer of his bedside table.
When he finished, he sat down on the bed and tried to process all the new information.
He was really here, in Spain, for three weeks. No one he knew, just him on his own. Far away from London, from his dull work and dreadful apartment.
The first week went by really fast.
He played tennis once, but he had to stop because his shoulder hurt really badly and his slight limp slowed him down, too.
After that he tried water-skiing which was exciting and thrilling. The instructor was a rather grumpy woman in her thirties, with frizzy hair and dark skin. Sally didn't seem like an enthusiastic tutor at all. John wondered how she got the job with her almost complete lack of knowing social formalities. But once she was driving the boat and John was on the skis, the speed and need of concentration swiped all his thoughts about her out of his mind. He could feel blood running through his veins and his body and mind relax. The adrenaline kept him in focus and he forgot time and space, he devoted himself completely to holding himself upright and jumping every time a wave tried to hit him off his skis.
The next day he went on a boat cruise that ended with scuba-diving. They spent almost an hour with observing different types of fish and other creatures of the sea.
He also spent hours every day at the spa area, getting every type of massage available, facial masks, manicure, pedicure and embarrassingly unmanly (unsoldierlike) things.
But despite all these things, he started to feel boredom overwhelming him.
That was until he met him.