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KlappentextThis is the book that you might think of taking along as part of your holiday reading, whilst relaxing on a sun-soaked tropical beach. If so, you may be in for a shock. A young couple manage to acquire a dilapidated resort hotel on an island in the Indian Ocean and through hard work turn it into a hotspot for the rich and famous. But their journey is fraught with difficulties and surprises, straining their relationship to its limits. You will not believe the things that happened at Vanilla Beach. But you should, because almost all of them actually did. Just as one problem is solved, another pops up, each one stranger or more frightening than before. Once you have read Vanilla Beach you may never want to go on vacation again. And don't believe that this is just a book; what happens in it could happen to you.

Peter Venison is a former hotelier and now an author of several novels and non-fiction books, some inspired by his work running high-end resorts and hotel chains internationally and his life in South Africa.

Details

Weitere ISBN/GTIN9781915785343

ProduktartE-Book

EinbandartE-Book

FormatEPUB

Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen

FormatE101

Verlag

Clink Street Publishing

Erscheinungsjahr2024

Erscheinungsdatum12.03.2024

Seiten270 Seiten

SpracheEnglisch

Dateigrösse812 Kbytes

Artikel-Nr.14126764

Rubriken

Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe

Chapter One
Sloane Towers

Roger Brown was a harmless sort of bloke, not someone who went looking for trouble, but sensible and well organised. He was the junior assistant manager of the Sloane Towers, a luxury hotel in Kensington, London, with three hundred guest rooms and two fine restaurants. He had been doing the job for just under two years, since he had been promoted from an analyst in the back office. He was popular and easy going, although well trained and efficient. The guests of the hotel liked his quiet but purposeful manner and the staff recognised him as someone on whom they could rely, provided they carried out their duties satisfactorily. Roger was married to Constance, a South African girl whom he had met on a number nineteen bus. They had been married for four years and, as yet, had no offspring. Roger was a good-looking young man but he considered himself fortunate to have landed Constance, because in his eyes, and many others, she was a very beautiful young woman. Their friends were surprised that they had not made babies.

Roger had been born and brought up in suburban London. He was the product of a stable marriage, commuter-belt living, local school and high school, rugby, tennis, sailing and, latterly, a course in hotel and catering management. The family had lived in a semi-detached house with small gardens, front and back, in a tree-lined street. His mother had been the dominant adult in the partnership. His overseas adventures, as a child and young man, had been confined to camping trips in France, early on with his parents, and then later with his male chums.

Roger´s upbringing had allowed him opportunities that many young men of his age had not experienced, but his roots were decidedly suburban. His parents, who had certainly bettered themselves beyond their own expectations, were, nevertheless, relatively uncultured people. Although they possessed a gramophone, they did not own one classical music record and the home was almost devoid of books. In all their years of marriage they had never set foot inside a hotel and rarely attended the theatre, save for Christmas outings to the pantomime. To the best of Roger´s knowledge, his parents had never been to an opera, ballet or classical music concert. Rarely was there an intellectual discussion in the home and, although Roger´s mum and dad enjoyed a healthy sex life, they would never dream of discussing anything of this nature with their son, and certainly neither one of them was brave enough to explain the birds and the bees. Luckily, Roger was a quick learner and his physical attractiveness to the fairer sex had been helpful. His lack of exposure to the more cultured things of life, however, troubled him and he learned how to bluff in covering up his lack of knowledge about the finer things of life. As Roger´s career had developed, and as his journey exposed him to men and women, often from a higher social rank than himself, he began to realise what he was missing in terms of education and exposure to the arts. The more he realised he did not know, the more he bluffed. He had become an expert bluffer. Roger did not like to look foolish, so he made sure he rarely did. This shortfall in experience was, in Roger´s eyes, a severe disability for him in his chosen career, or so he thought in his early days of hotel management. Most of his hotel guests were more worldly people than himself. Luckily, Roger was a fast learner.

There were a few things, however, that Roger was very good at, not least listening to and understanding other people. People, whether they be hotel staff or guests, felt that Roger was listening to them - and hearing them; they felt that he understood what they had to say or what they needed. Coupled with his ability to be practical and logical, he was able to come up with plans and solutions that everyone could agree to. Roger could size up situations and sort them out, when they needed sorting. Somehow or other Roger seemed to have an ability to get things done. He was a good manager and a good organiser. As a result, he had made rapid progress in his early career.

Constance was a true product of the sunshine of South Africa. Born in the days of Apartheid on the Highveld, she was, firstly, privileged to be white and, secondly, to be the daughter of a wealthy industrialist and a stay-at-home mum. She had attended university in Cape Town with no particular distinction and then hot-footed it to England for the experience , where she joined forces with many expatriates like herself at the Overseas Visitors Club in Earls Court and eventually secured the job as a secretary to an executive in a leading advertising agency in Duke Street. Her appointment had more to do with her good looks than her experience. She was an extremely attractive young lady who quickly gathered a wide circle of friends in her new environment.

Despite her upbringing in the colonies , Constance´s education, both at school and from her parents, was far broader and more rounded than her new husband´s. The standard and scope of her whites-only school in Johannesburg and subsequent university in Cape Town was much higher and all-encompassing than Roger´s suburban grammar school and technical college. She was familiar with, and fond of, most of the higher forms of art and music, but that is not to say she was a snob. Constance could have as much fun in a disco or night club, as any other young lady. In fact, some, that knew her well, would say more. Her mother had, at an early age, explained the basic facts about sex, but, until she reached university, Constance had not been sexually active. By the time she had landed at the Overseas Visitors Club in London, however, Constance had gained considerable experience and this was the ideal place and time to have some fun. At first glance, it looked as if Roger could provide some of that fun. Although the pair came from such different backgrounds and had developed, as a result, very different interests, one thing bound them strongly together. Physically, they were extremely attracted to each other. They became constant companions whenever their careers allowed and, very quickly, they considered themselves, not only to be lovers, but also in love .

Their chance meeting led to a short courtship and then marriage, much against the wishes of Constance´s parents in distant South Africa. Constance had fallen for Roger´s good looks, his charming smile, his wavy blonde hair, and tan, acquired from his frequent sailing activity. Roger thought that Constance was the most beautiful girl he had ever met and was proud to have captured her attention. At five feet seven inches tall, with flowing blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a well-toned shapely sun-tanned body, Constance was a fantastic catch for any young man and Roger was astonished that he had been the lucky one. Since their relationship was heavily weighted to their mutual physical attraction, it would remain to be seen whether this would be enough to sustain a long-term partnership, but in the first few years of marriage life could not be rosier. They made love at every opportunity. At the same time, they took precautions. At this stage of their lives, they did not want the encumbrance of a child. On that they were in complete agreement.

At work Roger reported to Antoine Mersky, the general manager of the Sloane Towers. Antoine was a large loud man, who claimed to have come from a titled European aristocratic family. Roger wondered if that was true. If so, why would he be working as an hotel manager? Roger also wondered what Mersky had been doing during the war. Mersky spoke several languages but his mother tongue was German. When he spoke English, it still sounded German and his lips twisted into a snarl. When he smiled, which was rare, it was more of a sneer. When he walked, he did so with a very slight limp. Roger always wondered why.

Mersky was a bully and a tyrant, the product of a bullying Austrian father and a once-pretty, but now meek, German mother, whose family had actually been the ones with the money. Mersky was not really fat, but heavy and solid. He had a jowly sort of face with almost no neck and very large feet, highlighted by the fact that his black hard-leather shoes were always shone so impeccably that they stood out like two large rocks on a beach. One leg was slightly longer than the other; his tailor never seemed to get this just right, so he was always tugging at one leg or the other in an attempt to even up the hems. At the hotel he wore a formal morning suit with grey and black striped trousers and a black jacket. He was extremely experienced in his trade but this was the first time in his career that he had been in charge of such a large hotel, and certainly the first time he had worked for American owners. This was difficult for him because he had a low opinion of Americans. He was appalled when an executive from the company in America showed up off the night flight from Boston wearing sneakers and a sweat shirt. In Mersky´s world such attire had no place in the first-class cabin of an aeroplane and certainly not at the Sloane Towers, other than in the gym.

As assertive and aggressive as he was to his staff, he was, of course, the complete opposite when dealing with the actual American owners of the hotel, to whom he almost bowed and scraped, as if they were from a superior rank in the army. This need to kow-tow only caused him to bottle up his resentment, which, when...

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Venison, Peter J.

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