Chapter Eight: Guests for Dinner

Catherine was so cross she could have absolutely kicked herself! Mrs. Holliday had been lying flat on her back and snoring when Catherine closed her eyes after lunch. The young model reckoned that if she shut her eyes as well it would only be for a minute or two.

And then she could explore the island!

Somehow the long, hot afternoon hadn't gone according to plan. Catherine hadn't counted on the primitive pleasure of lying in a lounge chair, light years away from London, soaking in the hot sun. It was easy to forget about her modeling career, and the hectic life she'd led rushing from one job to another. It was easy to relax. The hot sun and the smell of the sea and the raucous snoring of Mrs. Holliday just had a way of making her feel safe and protected. Making her feel ever so far away from it all. Making her fall asleep.

So when she awoke, first rubbing her eyes and then gaping stupidly at the vivid crimson and gold of a stunning tropical sunset, it was positively mortifying to discover that she'd been asleep for hours. Particularly when she stopped gaping long enough to notice that the lounge chair next to hers was empty. Mrs. Holliday was nowhere in sight. She must have woken up hours ago. Ages ago!

"Ah, there you are." Mrs. Holliday flashed a warm smile as Catherine stumbled into the cottage. The hefty housekeeper was wearing a fresh apron, and stirring something on the kitchen stove.

"That smells good. What is it?" Catherine stood up on tiptoes, leaning over Mrs. Holliday's shoulder and breathing deeply. Her stomach growled, suddenly reminding her that she was ravenous.

"The locals call it 'Ropa Vieja', which is their name for beef stew. Shredded meat and bits of veg look just like rags, or old clothes."

"So we're eating like the locals, then?" Catherine liked the idea of living a tropical lifestyle. To her that meant zero worries.

And lots of luxury.

"No, dear. We're eating with the locals." The housekeeper smiled back, but there was something mysterious about the smile on Mrs. Holliday's round face. She swatted Catherine across the backside. "Off you go, now. Jump into the shower and make yourself smart before our guests arrive. Fresh clothes are on the bed."

Catherine took a quick shower and had a go at doing her own hair and makeup. She'd learned from modeling how to highlight her big blue eyes and her rather dramatic cheekbones. She was glowing from the sea air, her skin golden from the sun. Her dress was a tropical print, bright colors with a playful style. Everything felt right, but for some reason she still had a case of the jitters. Just to be safe she rang up Anne of Cleves Cosmetics at her London office.

"So glad you called!" The cheerful voice carried Catherine right back to the old days, going to premieres and modeling in London. "Did Mrs. Holliday tell you all about the cocoa bean contracts? I'm sorry to put you on the spot, but the numbers aren't quite right."

"Not quite right? The number of beans?" Catherine couldn't hold back a fit of giggles at the thought of counting beans over dinner.

Anne joined right in on the laughter. "My fault, darling. I rang you up this afternoon, but Mrs. Holliday said you were enjoying a bit of siesta and I shouldn't disturb you. But what you need to know is this. Cleves Cosmetics is in big trouble if we don't get that new suntan lotion onto the market in time for the summer holidays."

"Right, that's why I'm here in Puerto Tranquillo."

"Correct, my love. You've been modeling for the ad campaign, and the photos I've seen are perfect. You're the very picture of innocent allure. But originally I was supposed to join you in Puerto Tranquillo so I could persuade Don Jose and that no-good nephew of his to give us a little more time to pay for all those cocoa beans. Without cocoa beans there's no cocoa butter, and without cocoa butter our new suntan lotion will hit the market too late. We'll be ruined."

"Oh, dear." Catherine felt her jitters kick up a notch. "Anne, what can I do to help?"

"You must convince Don Jose that he's going to be paid, but that he really must wait another month or two. Make him realize that we are in desperate need of cocoa beans, and that his are the best. Fighting to free you from your Tudor modeling contract is taking a bit more time than I thought, and a lot more money. And I don't dare leave London till I know you're safe from that awful man."

"Anne, I don't want you ruining your business because of me!" Catherine felt almost frantic. "I'll get on a plane, I'll come back and I'll tell fat Henry that I'm sorry. He can do whatever he likes to me!"

"You will not," Anne said sharply. "You escaped Henry's clutches once. I won't have you going back. I just need a little help with Don Jose."

"And his no-good nephew." Catherine frowned, trying to picture the filthy rich old cocoa bean grower, and his wicked young nephew.

"Precisely, darling. Can I count on you?"

"Yes! I mean, I'll try." Catherine wanted to say more. And she wished she could sound more confident. But just then Mrs. Holliday called from the kitchen that their guests had arrived.