"Anyone home?" said an excited voice with a thick Black Country accent. "We're a bit early but we thought, what the heck, our old mate Jock will be pleased to see us."
In the doorway stood a man and a woman in their forties. They were wearing extremely tight matching yellow cycle shorts and T shirts, though there was no obvious sign of bikes. From the expectant looks on their sunburnt faces it was clear to Jock that he was supposed to know them. "Barry and Brenda from Birmingham," said the man obligingly as he removed his sunglasses. "As I said I know we are a bit early, but this year we are on a twin centre holiday. We've spent the first week self-catering in Lefkas. It was lovely, wasn't it Bren, but they kicked us out at noon. We had a lovely lunch in Vliho, souvlaki it was, and we thought Jock will be pleased to see us. So here we are back again like the proverbial bad pennies."
"How lovely to see you both," lied Jock struggling madly to recall them. "Yes, you certainly are a little early," he added looking at the clock.
"I said to Bren, no four o'clock is not too early. Bren, I said, remember that the VIPs arrive at four o'clock. So, we will be VIPs for the day. Though without paying extra for it of course," he added.
Barry was correct about the VIP service. Clearly here was someone who knew his Sailaway holidays, thought Jock. Now that Barry and Brenda had both removed their sunglasses, and were blinking at him like hi visibility badgers, Jock was finally able to place them.
"Barry. Brenda. From Birmingham, yes? I didn't recognise you with the helmets, the sunglasses, the tan and the, um, cycling shorts. How are you both? You'd better come in."
The luminous pair were Sailaway's most loyal clients. They had been coming to Nidri for their September week in the sun for the last ten years. The week was the only sailing they did all year, living, as they did, hundreds of miles from the sea. With a sinking feeling, Jock recalled that they were also monumentally dull. Definitely not people that you wanted to get stuck with at a party, or with hours to kill before the rest of the holidaymakers arrived for that matter.
Three hours later Barry was still rattling on, mistaking Jock for someone who cared. There were unsolicited updates on every aspect of their lives, from their niece's miscarriage, to the trials and tribulations of their football team, Aston Villa. Jock tried inventing jobs that needed doing to buy a few minutes respite from the barrage of banality, but Barry tagged along. He attempted to buy their silence by plying them with the toffees a grateful couple had left for him last week, but Barry just chewed on noisily. Jock suggested they go off and have a look around Nidri whilst they all waited for the new arrivals, but of course Barry and Brenda knew the place like the back of their hands. Jock even gambled on giving them first choice on their boat for the week, but Barry said they didn't want to spoil the surprise. Nothing worked. His ears felt as though they had been battered incessantly with a heavy wet fish. Jock looked past Barry to check the time again and muttered something to himself that he thought he never would.
"Hurry up Stavros."
In Corfu town, Elvis and Naomi's flight arrived on time and upon departing the plane Elvis took and shook the steward's hand.
"Sorry about earlier," lied Elvis lest it might affect his attempts at getting the Gold Card he craved, "I was a little stressed about flying I think."
"Yes, and perhaps a little "vodkaed-up," still, no hard feelings, I'm sure you won't let it happen again."
Elvis curled his lips into a forced smile.
"It won't happen again because I shall never ever fly bloody cattle class again, can you imagine if we treated our clients like that?" he told Naomi. "Fancy trying to limit a man's drink. And on a BA flight as well. I'm not some sort of lager lout. I'm an...."
"Executive club Silver Card holder," completed Naomi, "yes dear we all know that, but frankly, from what I could see, you were a total plonker."
"Me? How can you say that? All I wanted was a vodka and tonic."
"Your sixth vodka and tonic to be precise," Naomi added.
"What was wrong with wanting a sixth vodka?"
"Nothing, it was the first five that were the problem."
Thankfully the formalities in the arrivals area were completed with surprising speed and within twenty minutes of landing the couple found themselves outside Corfu Airport looking for a taxi.
"What's the name of the place we are staying at?" Elvis asked Naomi.
Naomi pulled the information Moira had printed off for Elvis out of her handbag and scanned the page.
"Hotel Hellenica, it says here, only two kilometres from the airport and one from the ferry port for tomorrow morning. Sounds ideal. From what Moira said it's right in the heart of the city but was super cheap."
As they rode in the taxi, Elvis's flight experience continued to fade as memories of their early days in Corfu came to mind. Over the years parts of Corfu had developed a reputation for the worst excesses of lobster red, drunken Brits meandering from bar to bar seeking all day breakfasts. Elvis felt this reputation was not his Corfu which was a beautiful green island, peppered with tree covered mountains surrounded by shimmering shores. Corfu Old Town had always been a favourite of his and Naomi's, with its winding streets and twin castles built on hills at either end. As the taxi made slow progress through cobbled streets, Naomi peered out at the array of brightly lit shops with the names of many familiar fashion brands she recognised. The town was alive with people doing what people do on holiday, milling around, wandering in and out of the trinket selling tourist shops, all the time looking out for places to have dinner. Eating and shopping, she thought, the two mainstays of the tourist. She thought that she would quite enjoy a fortnight here too, relaxing and shopping, but instead she had just a few hours. Moira had discovered that there was a ferry at 5.45 in the morning, and Elvis had decided that this was the one they would catch.
Soon the taxi pulled up outside the hotel. It was a rectangular, grey, concrete building, four stories high, with ten rooms across. Each room had a balcony. Towels and swimwear hung on almost all the balconies drying in the evening warmth ready for use the next day. Naomi hid her disappointment at it being devoid of any Greek character, having secretly hoped for a white building with coloured wooden shutters.
"It's only for one night," said Elvis reading her thoughts. "I don't know about you but I'm in favour of a quick shower, a bite to eat and then bed."
"Suits me dear, but I'll opt for a long soak in the bath. I won't be seeing one of those for a while and the boat shower won't have enough room to swing a sponge bag, let alone a cat."
At Sailaway HQ on the North Hamble Business and Innovation Park, Bernard was sitting at Elvis's desk. If he was going to be managing director for a couple of weeks, he thought he may as well act the part. He had not taken up occupation of his boss' space until he was sure that all of the other colleagues had left. He lent back in the huge revolving leather armchair and spun himself around. He put his feet up on the oversized reproduction regency style kneehole desk. Yes, he thought, he was going to enjoy this week and that would start right now. Crossing to the filing cabinet, he opened the bottom draw and reached to the back, behind some files. As expected he found a bottle of whisky and some tumblers. He poured himself a glass, took it back to the desk, and repositioned himself with his feet on the desk, glass in hand.
"I could get used to this," Bernard said out loud. "Moira, come," he called imitating Elvis to a tee.
He focused on the post tray on the desk, it was full of unopened mail. Bernard picked up the pile and flicked through it. He saw from the postmarks that it had been left unopened for some time. It was unusual for any letters to get through to Elvis, as they were mostly