Nine Perfect Strangers

Napoleon said, ‘It wasn’t you who arrived in that Lamborghini was it, Frances? I saw it from our room. That’s one hell of a car.’

‘Not me – I’m the Peugeot,’ said Frances.

‘Nothing wrong with the Peugeot! Although I hear those jackals charge like wounded bulls when it comes to servicing, right?’

He mixed his metaphors most delightfully. Frances was keen to talk more with him. He was someone who would answer any question with candour and vigour. She loved those sorts of people.

‘Dad,’ said his daughter. Not-showy Zoe. ‘Let the lady pass. She’s only just got here. She probably wants to get to her room.’

‘Sorry, sorry, I’ll see you at dinner! Although we won’t be chatting then, will we?’ He tapped the side of his nose and grinned, but there was a trapped, panicky look in his eyes. ‘Lovely to meet you!’ He clapped Yao on the shoulder. ‘See you later, Yao, mate!’

Frances followed Yao up the stairs. At the top, he turned right and led her down a carpeted hallway lined with historical photos that she planned to study later.

‘This wing of the house was added in 1895,’ said Yao. ‘You’ll find all the rooms have original fireplaces with marble mantelpieces of Georgian design. Not that you’ll be lighting any fires in this heat.’

‘I didn’t expect to see families doing this retreat,’ commented Frances. ‘I must admit I thought there’d be more . . . people like me.’

Fatter people than me, Yao. Much fatter.

‘We get people from all walks of life here at Tranquillum House,’ said Yao as he unlocked her room with a large, old-fashioned metal key.

‘Probably not all walks of life,’ mused Frances, because come on now, the place wasn’t cheap, but she stopped talking as Yao held open the door for her.

‘Here we are.’

It was an airy, plush-carpeted room filled with period furniture, including an enormous four-poster bed. Open French doors led to a balcony with a view that stretched to the horizon: a rolling patchwork quilt of vineyards and farmhouses and green-and-gold countryside. Flocks of birds wheeled across the sky. Her bag sat like an old familiar friend in a corner of the room. There was a fruit basket on the coffee table, along with a glass of green, sludge-like juice with a strawberry on the side. Everything except the juice looked extremely appealing.

‘That’s your welcome smoothie there,’ said Yao. ‘There are six organic smoothies a day, prepared specifically for your changing individual needs.’

‘They’re not wheatgrass, are they? I once had a wheatgrass shot and it scarred me for life.’

Yao picked up the glass and handed it to her. ‘Trust me, it’s tasty!’

Frances looked at it doubtfully.

‘The smoothies are mandatory,’ said Yao kindly. It was confusing because you’d think from his tone that he’d said, ‘They are optional.’

She took a sip. ‘Oh!’ she said, surprised. She could taste mango, coconut and berries. It was like drinking a tropical holiday. ‘It’s quite good. Very good.’

‘Yes, Frances,’ said Yao. He used her name as often as a desperate real estate agent. ‘And the good news is it’s not only delicious but brimming with natural goodness! Please make sure you drink the entire glass.’

‘I will,’ said Frances agreeably.

There was an awkward pause.

‘Oh,’ said Frances. ‘You mean now?’ She took another, larger sip. ‘Yum!’

Yao smiled. ‘The daily smoothies are crucial for your wellness journey.’

‘Gosh, well, I want to keep my wellness journey on track.’

‘Absolutely you do,’ said Yao.

She met his eyes. There was no irony as far back as she could see. He was going to shame that snark right out of her.

‘I’m going to leave you to relax,’ said Yao. ‘Your welcome pack is right here. Please take the time to read it because there are important instructions for the next twenty-four hours. The noble silence that Napoleon mentioned will be beginning shortly, and I know you’re going to find that so beneficial. Oh, now, speaking of silence, Frances, I’m sure you can guess what I need next from you!’ He looked at her expectantly.

‘No idea. Not more blood, I hope?’