The Burnout(41)

“Good morning, Madame,” he says, his voice still wobbly. “Madame would prefer a melon plate?” he continues, and I smile back sympathetically, even though the thought of yet more melon makes my heart plummet.

“I would absolutely love a melon plate, thank you. And some toast, please. Any kind of toast,” I add, with a meaningful edge to my voice. “Some details aren’t worth troubling about.” I glare at Finn, who seems bemused. Does he really think I haven’t put together what happened? “Toast is toast,” I continue. “It really doesn’t matter which kind, does it? Unless you’re some sort of mean-spirited obsessive. Thank you so much, Nikolai. I greatly appreciate all your help.”

“Madame would enjoy a kale smoothie?” ventures Nikolai, and I nod enthusiastically.

“Of course! I’d love a kale smoothie! Although in a takeaway cup,” I add as an afterthought. “If that’s OK.”

After a few minutes, Finn gets up to leave, nodding at me brusquely, and I eat my breakfast in silence, feverishly planning all the things I’m going to say to him. If he thinks he’s unaccountable, then he’s going to learn a lesson. I’m actually quite looking forward to having a bona fide excuse to let off steam at him.

After breakfast, I get ready for the day briskly. I head downstairs with my rucksack ready-stuffed with snacks and march straight down to the lodges. As I arrive, I see that Finn is already on the beach, gazing at something on the sand. Perfect. No time like the present.

“I’d like to have a word with you, if that’s OK?” I greet him crisply as I approach. But he doesn’t move. He seems transfixed by whatever it is he’s staring at. “Hello?” I try again. “I just wanted to talk about this morning. I have a couple of questions.”

At last, he moves his head.

“Look at this,” he says.

Deflection. Typical.

“I don’t want to, thanks,” I say. “I want to talk about whatever happened at breakfast.”

“No, seriously,” he says. “Look at this.”

For God’s sake.

Impatiently, I dump my rucksack on the deck and go to join him on the beach. I’m expecting a washed-up piece of flotsam or maybe a weird-looking dead fish, but when I see what he’s looking at, my jaw falls open. It’s a bottle of champagne in a rubber chiller, weighed down with heavy-duty plastic sheeting and a couple of rocks. But it’s not just the champagne that’s making me stare—it’s the message written in the sand. It’s gouged out in huge letters and lined with stones and is clearly legible:

To the couple on the beach. Thank you.

“Wow,” I say at last. “That’s weird.”

“I know, right?” Finn seems perplexed.

“Is that real champagne?” I take a step forward. “Should we touch it?”

“It’s not a crime scene!” Finn laughs—then stops. “Maybe it is.”

“It’s a glass bottle.” My mind is already on the practical issues. “It might break and cut someone’s foot. It’s dangerous.” I look at the message again. “What does it mean?”

“Means something to the couple on the beach, I guess,” says Finn.

I swivel around sharply, as though hoping to spot the elusive couple, but the endless stretch of sand is as empty as ever.

“Well, what do we do?”

“I’ll talk to Cassidy,” says Finn. “Find out if they know what it is.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I contradict him, getting out my phone and taking a photo of the message. “I think I’ll probably handle it better, wouldn’t you agree?” I glance up at Finn, expecting him to look abashed or maybe even give some explanation for this morning, but he frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

God, he really is in denial.

“I just think maybe I’m better at communicating with the staff than you are?” I say pointedly. “Just my opinion.”

“Your opinion?” he echoes incredulously.

“Yes. My opinion.”

“Well, my opinion is that if I deal with this, we won’t need to wait until your PA’s made a call and your team’s confirmed the details. We can just talk directly. You know? Like normal, down-to-earth people?”

I do not believe this. Is he having a dig at me?

“At least I know how to talk to the staff in a civilized manner,” I say icily. “Unlike some.”

“Civilized?” He gives a shout of laughter. “The woman who gets her PA to issue high-handed commands every morning? Kefir! Kale! Reflexology! At seven A.M.! Whatever you pay that PA of yours, believe me, it is not enough.”

I feel a jolt of shock. Is that how he sees me?

Well, OK. So what if he does? I don’t have to explain myself to him. Even so, I can’t help retorting, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, really?” he shoots back. “I know you’re a princess who’s got everyone running after you. And a health freak who blanches at the sight of sugar. Let alone booze. Let alone anything fun whatsoever. Sorry we can’t all live up to your high standards of nutrition and exercise and general perfection,” he adds sarcastically. “It must be very distressing for you to have to witness a real, flawed human being.”