Worst Holiday Ever (Part 3 of 4)

Richard Banks

 

I hire the conference room in the hotel and, on our first morning, give her a potted history of the club: how it was formed in 1874 by cricketers from a Methodist church; how they were founder members of the football league; and all their major honours since then, concluding with their recent friendly win over AC Milan. Then there’s past and present players and a review of English football, from the mixed fortunes of the national team to the recent and much-lamented introduction of VAR. At 12.00 we take a working lunch, and then we’re off to a little used beach at the far end of the bay where, with the help of a beach ball and several small boys, I teach her the off-side rule and the tactical formations likely to be used in the forthcoming season by Villa and their main rivals for the league.

         We are on to Villa songs and chants when who should I spot but our honeymooners, Rita and Gemma, emerging from the sea and running back to their beach towels which are drawn up close together beneath a large umbrella. They’re not, I’m thinking, be wanting to be bothered with us but being in clear sight and singing ‘Villa Through and Through’ we’re too conspicuous to ignore. They’re wearing nothing but their briefs and I’m fearing that Fidelia will be shocked out of remembering everything I have taught her but, to my surprise, she’s all smiles and taking it all in her stride. We sit down beside them, intending only to stay a few minutes, when Gemma lets on that she’s a keen supporter of the Lionesses. This is like manna from heaven, and not only is she a font of knowledge on the subject but Fidelia is clearly taking in every word. The conversation has moved on to the 2023 World Cup when my mobile rings and I have a text from Irina saying that she can’t make it this evening but will, if I’m free, drop by my hotel at 3.30.

 

.-…-.

 

Some things are too good to miss and, why should I? Fidelia’s getting a sound grounding on the women’s game and in the company of the two gals is safe from unwanted male company. I leave in a hurry pleading a family bereavement and promising to be back by five, which is never going to happen, so it’s not until six that I return to find the beach almost deserted. They are still sunbathing, and to my surprise, Fidelia is wearing rather less than she had on before. They’re getting on like a house on fire, and I’m wondering why Fidelia can’t do the same with Honora.

         Needless to say I’m not the most popular guy in Montura, but all is forgiven when I pay for a pony trap ride back to the hotel and Bacardi breezers at the bar. At 7.30 Fidelia and me are back in the conference room for a session on the Premier League, its star players, managers and owners. At ten we’re doing so well I move on to the intercity rivalry between Villa and Birmingham City, and how the only good City fan is one you’re kneed in the groin. As for the team I tell her they’re rubbish and play their matches in the next division down. They wear blue shirts and this is the colour we despise above all others. I teach her our, ‘We Hate City’ song and we are singing it at the top of our voices when Asad arrives and takes her back to their hotel.

         It’s been a long day so I return to the bar for a nightcap to find, to my surprise, Irina there looking through her messages. “Thought I see you here,” she says. “How’s you’re little protege shaping up?” This is not something I mentioned to her earlier in the day so I’m wondering how she’s found out, but found out she has.

         “There’s something you should know if you haven’t already sussed it.”

         “What’s that?” I ask.

         “Come upstairs, there’s something I need to tell you, and if you’re not too tired from your day’s work I might stay all night.”

         “Is this like a proper date?”

         “No, but it will be a very expensive one so just be glad you’re not picking-up the bill.” She laughs and gives my knee a playful tweak.  

         “OK, but let’s get the talking done now. What is it you want to tell me?”

         She pretends not to remember and then decides she does. She leans towards me and lowers her voice to a confidential whisper. “I hear that wifely rivalry may not be Fidelia’s only problem. It is rumoured that not everything has been going well in the bedroom. Indeed, it has been observed that Fidelia is more at ease in the company of women, especially those as young and attractive as herself.”

         “You mean she’s a ..”

         “I mean that whilst she will never master the violin, she can still be taught to play a lively tune on the fiddle.”

         “And you’re prepared to give her a few pointers?”

         “Of course, a sisterly tete-a-tete. After all it would be a shame if all your hard work was in vain. Who knows, between us we might produce the perfect wife.”

         This is too good an offer to refuse and I’m thinking that in addition to what Asad’s paying me there may be more to come from a grateful Faisal.

         In the morning Irina departs, and after breakfast at eight I take charge of Fidelia. We begin with a revision session, in which Fidelia gets nine out of ten, and move on to the laws of football, tactical formations and the black arts of the game including ‘over the top’ tackles and simulation. In the afternoon I knock-up a side, including ourselves, Rita, Gemma and some of the waiters, and we take on a team from the hotel next door. All goes well. Fidelia rushes around like a good un and as well as scoring a goal stamps on the foot of their centre forward causing him to limp off the pitch. She’s taking to football like a duck to water and joins in all the goal celebrations, particularly those involving Rita and Gemma. We win 6-3 and do a lap of honour in front of the dozen or so people cheering us on. Then it’s back to the Presidente where I bring my masterclass to an end with some DVDs of Villa matches. We have dinner, and at eight Irina arrives and I let them into my room where Irina can impart her womanly advice without fear of being overheard. I go down to the bar and after a couple of hours they meet me there and we wile away the time until Asad arrives. Irina departs to who knows where and I opt for an early night.

         When I awake it’s with the sense of a job well done and the expectation of rewards to come that will set me up for life. The day is mine to do as I please and with Faisal and Honora not long  off the plane I’m guessing that feedback on my stirring efforts is not likely to surface until the following day. So, after a leisurely breakfast I’m down to the beach again and after the usual lazing try my hand at waterskiing and paragliding. I do well and the guys running the rides tell me I’m a natural. Is there anything I can’t do?

         It’s not until the afternoon that I get a text from Faisal saying they’re going to the casino and that I’m invited. See you at nine, he says, and, at five minutes to, I’m walking through the front door in my best suit and lucky tie. It’s the same old faces, and those belonging to Asad and Fidelia seem very happy with life. Things are looking good and it’s not long before Faisal singles me out and takes me over to the roulette table where he scatters chips in all directions while expressing his delight that Fidelia is now a fanatical supporter, of the team that will always be his first love. His eyes mist over and he looks almost overcome with emotion. As he loses yet another spin, he pulls himself together and hugs me about the shoulders.

         “Thank you, my friend. I know it was Asad’s idea, and I will forever be in his debt, but how could he have done it without you, my friend, thank you, thank you a thousand times! I am now the most favoured of men, with one wife for the night and another to speak football to throughout the day. Could any man ask for more?”

         It seems that Irina’s extra tuition was not needed after all, but if Fidelia ups her game in the bedroom a good result can only get better. After three straight wins on the red, I’m definitely on a winning streak, but not so Faisal was the worst gambler I have ever seen. By the end of the evening he has lost 100K. But no matter, says he, tomorrow he will buy the casino. It’s been a great evening, everyone’s happy and for the first time, Asad acknowledges the success of my efforts with a discreet thumbs up.

         So, it all worked out well, and the next morning the manager of the hotel confirmed that my stay there had been extended by another week. Irina’s due back in the evening and with my new job in London, I’m thinking I might just persuade her to settle down with me in the Knightsbridge apartment that apparently goes with my new job.                                                                     

 

(To be Continued)

 

Copyright Richard Banks