She had birthday gifts from her friends, and a few clothes if she wanted a night out. Well, she had the sale rail spectacular she’d snatched from her room before bolting from the hotel in London, together with some shoes she’d had repaired. She hadn’t stopped to pack a case. She couldn’t have spent a second longer than she had to in the hotel while her body was crawling with invisible insects where the concierge’s hands had touched her.
‘It seems you’ve got everything covered,’ Luke was saying, while she shrank like Alice to the size of a pea. ‘I’ll get off your case, Lucia. I was only trying to look out for you.’
She hugged herself tighter, waiting for the line to be cut, for the silence to grow and gather. But Luke didn’t cut the line.
‘Are you really spending your birthday on your own?’ he drawled, in a mock-weary tone.
‘For goodness’ sake, stop going on about it,’ she flashed. ‘I don’t need a cake and candles at my age. I’m a big girl now.’
‘Good. Then you can have supper with me at the Grand. Eight o’ clock sharp. And, Lucia?’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t be late.’
The Grand? She had been to the elegant hotel many times with her parents, and the entire family had always dressed up for the occasion. She had nothing remotely suitable for an evening at the Grand in her sparse arsenal of clothes.
So was she going to turn down Luke’s invitation? A warm room, a decent meal, the company of an old friend …
Her stomach growled in anticipation of its first proper meal in a long time that didn’t include scones, cream and jam, fries or hot chocolate. ‘Don’t worry, Luke. I won’t be la—’
Luke had cut the line.
What on earth had she agreed to? The Grand was one of those seriously exclusive hotels that attracted seriously exclusive guests. And if she was going to brave it in her sale rail spectacular, did she really want to prove the fact that sun-starved olive skin looked no better than sun-starved pale white skin?
Lucia’s gaze strayed to the well-past-its-sell-by-date bottle of fake tan on the shelf, which had been there when she’d moved in. She had to do something to make herself feel better. She couldn’t possibly look any worse than she did now, she reasoned, reaching for it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Get a Tan
You will have noticed that The Tan was actually item number four on my to-do list, appearing after item number three: The Wax. I think you’ll agree that’s proof positive that the list was written by my fourteen-year-old-self long before the ramifications of turning fuzzy black leg hair a strange shade of green with the overuse of chemicals had actually occurred to me.
You will also know that a fake tan takes time to develop—something else I had yet to learn. With my olive skin I was naturally sun-kissed in Argentina, thanks to the lovely weather, and even when I was at school in England there were always half-term holidays and trips home, so I was a bit of a fake-tan virgin. When one application didn’t seem to work I applied another … and another … figuring that since it was past its sell-by date maybe it wasn’t as strong as normal.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I decided to wear my sale rail spectacular for the birthday supper with Luke. It’s a strappy dress in electric blue with a huge wilted rose dotted with shocking pink diamanté pinned at the front, which was probably the reason the dress hadn’t sold. Removing the brooch made a whole world of difference.
What surprised me most of all was that after working such long hours, and skipping a few meals due to lack of time and money, I had lost a few of my comfort-food pounds. In fact the dress almost fitted me. But, as previously mentioned, those long hours spent indoors had done my olive skin no favours, so the success of the night hung on a bottle of Tanfastic Your World.
YES, he had spoken to Nacho. Inviting Lucia for supper was his good deed for the day—make that the year.
‘Would you spoil Lucia a bit?’ Nacho had asked him, no doubt overcome with relief that Luke had tracked down his missing sister.
‘I’ll buy her supper,’ Luke had offered.
‘And a card?’ Nacho prompted.
He exhaled steadily before answering. ‘I’ll see what the hotel shop can offer.’
‘Thanks, Luke.’
Nacho’s gratitude made him feel guilty, and then he detected another question in Nacho’s voice. ‘You want me to try and buy her a little gift or something?’ he said, anticipating Nacho’s next request.
‘Please,’ Nacho said with relief. ‘I’ll wire you the money—’
‘Dios, Nacho,’ Luke exclaimed, slipping into the lingo they customarily used. ‘It will all wash through—and I won’t find much in a hotel shop.’