Katy Colins - Destination Chile

I was going to be fine, but today, today was not that day.

CHAPTER 5

Auspicious (adj.) – Attended by good fortune; prosperous

I was battling through storm Bertha, or whatever the weather presenters had named this one, as I made my way from the warmth of our shop to go to a lunch meeting. Luckily, I knew the person I was meeting quite well, otherwise they would have taken one glance at the drowned rat look I seemed to have adopted and called off any business arrangement right then and there. My umbrella was probably doing more harm than good as I gripped the handle with my icy hands, finding it hard to breathe as cold gusts choked my throat.

I’d called him earlier as I glanced out of the window at the apocalyptic street scene to see about changing the date of this meeting, but he was adamant that we had to meet today, the sooner the better he’d said. I was now rushing behind schedule to meet Rahul, the part-time tour guide who I’d met when I’d travelled to India. He was back in Manchester and had booked us a table in Rocco, a fancy Spanish restaurant that had recently opened not far from the bank, so at least I could nip in there and do some business admin and not feel so guilty about being out of the office for what would basically be a gossip session with a friend.

I half tumbled into the elegant room, which was full of white, starched-linen tablecloths, industrial steel and exposed brickwork, with splashes of deep red and blood orange. It was less quaint, Mediterranean tapas, and more hipster, Brooklyn loft. The large glass door slammed shut behind me, making the other diners turn and tut at the wild-haired woman with watering eyes and wind-slapped cheeks who’d stumbled in with all the grace of a charging rhino.

‘Good afternoon, do you have a reservation?’ The maître d’ asked, able to hide his look of disgust on his Botoxed features.

‘Georgia!’

I was saved from having to reply as Rahul strode over and pulled me into an enveloping hug, filling my nose with citrus aftershave.

‘You made it! Come in and let’s get you warmed up.’ He nodded his thanks to the maître d’ whose face lit up like the Blackpool Illuminations at being so close to this demi god. Subtle, mate, real subtle. Although, to be fair, Rahul was a hottie. There was no denying it. Wearing a tight but perfectly fitted pale grey suit and white shirt that could have been starched along with the tablecloths, he was a sight for sore eyes. His head of thick, dark hair only offset his tanned complexion and made his light-olive eyes appear even brighter. He did not look like he had been out in the same weather that I just had, more like he had teleported himself in, as not a hair was out of place.

‘Sit down, sit down.’ He pulled out a chair for me as I flinched at the heat coming back to my frozen body. My fingertips started to tingle and I felt the colour rush to my glacial cheeks. ‘So, how are you?’

‘Cold, windswept, but happy to see you again! It’s been ages,’ I said, winding my scarf from around my neck, managing to almost choke myself in the process. Classy, Georgia, really classy.

‘I know I know, but better late than never, hey?’ He flashed a pearly white smile. ‘So how’s everything going at work? The last time I saw you was when that article about you and what happened with the Indian tour had just come out.’ He shook his head in disbelief at how much time had passed since then. ‘What was it? Farting during a yoga class?’

‘Yeah, my “unusual management technique”,’ I said, indicating air quotes with my fingers and laughing. ‘Although it seems to have paid off, as we’re doing really well, thanks.’

I still couldn’t believe just how much our profits had risen since that, and subsequent, media coverage. The power of the press. At the time I had been beside myself, preparing for the absolute worst, thinking the stinging poison pen of journalist Chris Kennings would damage our brand beyond recognition and put us out of business. I mean, I did fart on the poor fella; what else did I expect from a ruthless national journalist to get his own back?

Thankfully, the review was mostly positive and had since led to increased bookings in nearly all of our tours. If I was honest, it really had been the catalyst for our sudden growth, allowing us to take on Conrad and, seeing our healthy bank balance, had planted the seed of the potential London expansion in Ben’s mind.

‘Crazy how things work out. The moments you dread the most can turn out to be the ones that make you,’ I mused, shaking my head.

‘Well, however it came about, it is still amazing news!’ He chinked his glass to mine.

We ordered from an eager young waitress, who was nailing the fishtail-plait look and was as unsubtle as the maître d’ in swooning over Rahul. As soon as the braided beauty had simpered away to give the chef our order, Rahul unbuttoned his suit jacket and leant forward.

‘How about Ben? How’s he?’

I spluttered on my drink, causing the liquid to go down the wrong hole, and coughed ungracefully. ‘Excuse me. Erm, yeah, he’s fine. Great.’ I thought back to the last few days; he’d never mentioned his evening out with his ex, Amazing Alice, and I hadn’t known how to bring it up without him knowing that I’d been snooping.

Rahul began telling me about this model named Marli he had started seeing. ‘Hence I wanted to meet you for lunch. I’m desperate to go out for a meal with a girl who actually enjoys decent scran.’ His eyes creased up.

‘I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I said, taking a bite of crusty bread weighed down with salty butter, suddenly very aware of how many glorious calories I was about to ingest.

He laughed. ‘You should, seriously. Marli is great and we’re having a lot of fun.’ He winked. ‘But, man, dating a model is tough.’

‘Oh, poor you,’ I said, with my mouth full on purpose. ‘Excuse me while I get out my violin.’

He let out a deep roar of a laugh. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know, woe is me. I hadn’t realised just how much work it takes to look that good. I keep telling her that eating carbs after 4 p.m. won’t mean she’ll wake up like the Nutty Professor – not that she listens.’ He wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a sip of water before continuing. ‘Obviously, being able to stuff my face with the finest Argentinian steak was only part one of my plan in meeting you today. I also have a very exciting proposal for you,’ he said, baring his perfectly straight, white teeth.

‘Don’t tell me it involves sadhus?’ I smiled, thinking back to when we were in India together and he’d encouraged us to ask three wise men wearing hardly any clothes for a blessing for our future. Instead of bestowing their years of knowledge and imparting their wisdom on me, one of the long-haired dudes had hacked up a load of phlegm at my feet. I guess actions do speak louder than words sometimes.

‘Hey, that was a blessing in disguise!’ Rahul let out a heavy laugh. ‘I mean, maybe that was the key to you becoming so successful, all because of a holy sadhu clearing his throat.’

‘Er, yeah, maybe.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘So, go on. What’s this “project” that was so urgent for you to see me about?’

Rahul leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘So, you know that as well as giving tours in Mumbai I also live the glamorous life of a TV producer…?’

‘Yeah.’ I’d picked up another piece of bread and dipped it into the dish of glassy oil that dribbled down my chin after I’d taken a bite. Bugger.

‘Well, as part of this I get to attend pitch meetings for new television shows that are hoping to be commissioned.’

‘Mmhmm…’ I was struggling to see what point he was trying to get to here, as I was too busy dabbing the greasy oil stain from the front of my blouse with the napkin I’d sloshed with water.