The Burnout(22)

“Yes. The noni juice.” Simon shakes his head heavily. “Believe me, Ms. Worth, I am mortified by our failure. I will get you that noni juice, if I have to squeeze the noni myself.”

“Well … thank you,” I say, feeling embarrassed.

“Other than that, has your stay been comfortable so far? You’re here for a health break, I understand? Ah, here’s Nikolai with your green smoothie,” he adds. “In the absence of organic kale, our chef used frozen Birds Eye peas.”

Birds Eye peas?

I stare aghast as the waiter approaches with a glass of green gloop, which is presumably whizzed-up peas. He puts it on the tiny table in the corner as Cassidy watches curiously.

“I don’t suppose you want bacon and eggs for breakfast?” she says. “Or pancakes?”

“Of course she doesn’t!” says Simon testily, before I can answer. “Use your brain, Cassidy! Our guest is here on a wellness break. She will prefer the melon plate. And herbal tea.”

“Yes,” I say reluctantly. “That sounds … great.”

I could die for some pancakes, but I can’t admit that now.

“One melon plate, one herbal tea,” says Cassidy, as my phone bleeps with another text. I click on it out of habit and see yet another message from the Rilston.

Do you enjoy ballroom dancing? Please accept a complimentary ten-minute ballroom-dancing lesson from our resident experts Nigel and Debs!

“Thanks for the dance-lesson offer,” I say to Simon. “But I don’t think I’ll have time today.” He looks puzzled, so I peer at my phone again. “The ballroom dancing?” I clarify. “I just got a text offering me a complimentary lesson with Nigel and Debs?”

Simon and Cassidy exchange looks of consternation.

“That app!” exclaims Cassidy. “See, Simon? I told you! It’s still inviting the guests to ballroom dancing! We never did have ballroom dancing,” she confides to me. “Nigel and Debs don’t exist. The tech guy put it on as an example and never got rid of it.”

“Ms. Worth, what other messages have you received?” asks Simon, looking beleaguered.

“Er …” I scroll down the messages. “Apparently Mike Strangeways is doing magic tricks in the lobby today?”

Cassidy emits a squeak and claps a hand over her mouth, while Simon’s consternation seems to have doubled.

“Mike Strangeways was dismissed a year ago for … unsavory behavior,” he says, as though speaking with difficulty.

“He got hammered,” puts in Cassidy, winking at me. “Went a bit too far with his magic wand, know what I mean? He’s a one, Mike.”

“Cassidy!” hisses Simon, then he turns to me, breathing hard. “Ms. Worth, I can only apologize that his name has appeared on your phone. These are not the high standards we expect of ourselves at the Rilston. We have let you down and we have let ourselves down. Cassidy, please send Ms. Worth some flowers at once, by way of recompense.”

“Of course.” Cassidy busily gets out a notebook and pencil. “What sort of budget? And what message shall I put? Shall I put, We are devastated and destroyed by our error, like last time?”

Simon swivels his eyes meaningfully toward me several times, and Cassidy seems to notice her faux pas. “Oh, right,” she says hastily, whipping her notebook away from my view as though it contains state secrets. “Yes. I’ll get on that, Simon.”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.

“You don’t need to send me flowers,” I say. “It’s fine. But you might want to fix your app.” As I’m speaking, my phone pings with yet another text, and silently I show it to Simon.

Only one week till Christmas! Join us for a festive mince pie at reception!!!

From the appalled expression on his face, I kind of wish I hadn’t.


I eat my melon plate all alone, with Nikolai watching me silently from the other side of the room. God knows where the Bergens are; maybe they have breakfast in their room. I’m aware of every clink of my fork and every gulping sound I make as I swallow. Each time I take the slightest sip of water, Nikolai dashes forward to replenish my glass, murmuring, “Madame,” until I don’t dare have any more. It’s a relief to get up, after a final swig of musty mint tea. (How long has that been sitting in the drawer?)

As I trudge upstairs to get my stuff, I don’t feel remotely energetic. I sit hunched on my bed for a few minutes, trying to muster some enthusiasm, then gather up my wetsuit, yoga mat, foam roller, Hula-Hoop, iPad, and painting stuff. I lug them downstairs, then pause in the lobby, eyeing the sky through the open front door. It’s a moody gray, and I can sniff the rain in the air from here.

“Hi!” Cassidy greets me from behind the reception desk, where she’s busily using a sewing machine on a piece of yellow fabric. “Off to the beach?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’ll probably spend most of the day down there,” I add firmly. If I say it out loud, then I’ll have to do it.

“Doing yoga?” she inquires, looking at my mat.

“Yoga, meditation, grounding …” I try to sound knowledgeable. “General wellness activities.”

“Wow.” Cassidy looks impressed. “So you won’t want shortbread and coffee in the lounge at eleven?”