Eva Mazza - Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

“Try budget,” Jen suggested, not flinching; nothing could make her flinch anymore.

“Six or twelve months, Mrs Pearce,” she politely enquired.

“Let’s try six.”

It was accepted. The receptionist launched into her welcome: “Welcome to our lodges and spa, Mrs Pearce. Please help yourself to a glass of Moët on your way to the golf cart. Gerard, your butler, will drive you to your lodge. It has a private pool.” Jen turned to a young man who bowed his head slightly. “However, if you’re feeling sociable, you can use the spa’s pool. If you’d prefer to relax at the lodge, Gerard will see to all your needs. Kindly ensure that you fill out the form letting us know what treatments you would like and what times would suit you. We can’t guarantee the exact time, but every effort will be made to accommodate you.”

Jen was about to follow Gerard when the receptionist stopped her. Her tone was less formal. “Mrs Pearce, could I suggest that you lunch in our restaurant this afternoon? Being in the lodge has its advantages, but you’ll have the whole night to retreat. It has a spectacular view and the food is out of this world. There’s limited space. Can I book a table for you?”

“I’m not feeling hungry right now. Anyway, it’s quite late in the afternoon and I’d like to relax a little before I do anything culinary. How about an early supper? Could you book me in for an early supper?” The receptionist smiled at her. Jen guessed she was the same age as Brig.

“Of course. Perhaps you can have an evening treatment. Say an hour after dinner? I can arrange for it in your lodge. Then you can fall into bed.”

“That sounds fabulous, thank you, erm…?”

“We share the same name, except I’ve kept the extra n and y,” Jenny laughed.

“Well, thank you, Jenny, it seems as if this is going to be just what the doctor ordered.” She grabbed her glass of bubbly on the way out and downed it. Gerard poured her another before driving her through the manicured gardens. The lawns were so lush it was obvious they were watered at least twice a day. Parts of Stellenbosch belied the fact that the Western Cape was experiencing the worst drought in centuries.

Her lodge looked much the same as the others she had passed: a stone and brick structure with huge windows and sliding shutters operated by a switch from inside, as demonstrated by Gerard. The swimming pool was heated slightly. The fridge was not yet stocked as Jen was required to order her drinks.

No expense had been spared. Jen’s inner interior designer revelled in the styling. Bespoke pieces were carefully and cleverly placed in the lounge, creating an eclectic mix of modern and antique, with the emphasis on luxurious comfort. Instead of colour, the designer had used texture in the soft furnishing, the different fabrics lessened the potential for the creams and whites to create a cold and uninviting space. On one wall stood a bookshelf that held a variety of reading materials. Current magazines were decoratively arranged on the coffee table. Televisions were hidden behind panels in both the bedroom and the lounge, visible only at the flick of a switch. Oh, a designer’s dream to have landed a contract like this!

“Let’s hope there are no power cuts,” Jen joked with Gerard.

“Not to worry, Mrs Pearce, we do have generators,” he said, as if these were as important as the bomb shelters in World War II.

Gerard showed her to her room, easing up a bit as he explained that it was his first day at work and that she was his first client. The bedroom was the haven Jen had hoped for. In the centre was a four-poster bed: minimalist and not loaded with decorative detail or fabric. The white-on-white dots on the percale sheets gave the room a fanciful and fun feel; the towels picked up the dotted theme in the luxurious bathroom.

“I hope you have a relaxed and enjoyable stay,” her butler recited as he took the forms for her drinks and treatments. “Your phone dials me direct, so I’m literally a call away.”

Jen walked towards the open sliding door in the lounge and breathed in the fresh mountain air, taking in the spectacular view and the vineyards in the valley below. As she finished her second glass of champagne, the lodge phone rang.

“Mrs Pearce, this is Jenny at reception. I’ve made a reservation for an early dinner at six this evening. The later sitting is fully booked.”

She wasn’t hungry, despite not having eaten anything. “Perfect,” she said, just in case her appetite returned. Then she remembered. “Um, Jenny, I don’t have clothes! My booking was an impulsive one. I saw a little boutique when I came in.”

“No worries, Mrs Pearce. If you’ll give me your size, I’ll ask them to select a few items and send them up to your lodge with Gerard. You can choose what suits you. Do you have a swimming costume?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t have underwear either!” she laughed, trying to hide her embarrassment. “And I don’t have a toothbrush. I have nothing with me except a bit of make-up.”

“Not to worry, I’m sure the boutique stocks costumes and I know they have the most exquisite range of lace underwear. Let me see what the owner and I can arrange.” Jen felt relieved. Nothing was too much for this establishment and the thought of having to recycle her clothes was one less thing to worry about.

She sat at the edge of the bed overcome by exhaustion. She organised her pillows so that she could take in the view of the majestic Jonkershoek mountain range in front of her. Then she lay down, processing nothing. The night’s events had worn her out, and this was the first time she allowed herself to relax completely. Her body clearly responded, and soon she fell into a wonderful, heavy and drool-inducing sleep.

She woke up at five feeling disorientated and switched on her phone to check for messages. The first was from Frankie: “R u ok? Was there room in the inn? (winking emoji)”. Her message had come through at twelve that afternoon. Jen replied that she had checked in and that she was fine. The next one was from John: “How much money do u think I earn?!? I see I’m paying dearly for my sin . ” Jen noticed that the word ‘sin’ was in the singular. Her lip curled into a half smile. The clever bastard. The last one was from Patty: “Jen, I just wanted to say how sorry I am. My only excuse is that I was plastered. Hope you can forgive me one day.”

Jen threw the phone on the bed just as Gerard arrived at the door to collect her for supper. The last thing she felt like. She wanted to throw up. She ran into the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat and hurled. Only bile came up. She heaved again.

Gerard was calling from the lounge. “Mrs Pearce, I hope it’s all right if I let myself in. I’ve been knocking for quite some time. Are you okay?” Jen didn’t answer. He called out politely, “If you’re not ready, I’m sure I can come and collect you later.” He had waited for an answer and when it was not forthcoming, he continued, “I did leave some clothes in the lounge for you to try on. Oh, and Jenny said to leave a complimentary toiletries bag for you.”

Poor guy . He got the worst client for his first day!

She rinsed her mouth in the basin and called back. “Thanks, Gerard, I’ve just woken up. Please come back later.”

She chose a pair of silk black palazzo pants and a black and white cotton top. She managed to tie her bob back neatly into a short ponytail. She applied some mascara and eyeliner and smoothed a little gloss over her lips, grabbed her bag and closed the door behind her. She would walk to the restaurant, she decided.

The walk was longer than anticipated, but Jen was fit, and the fresh mountain air helped clear her mind. When she arrived, the maître d’ was extremely apologetic, as it was the restaurant’s second sitting for the evening and, unfortunately, Jen had lost her table.