Everything With Plums

Well, I’m back at work now, and the weekend all seems even MORE dreamlike. The place we went to was called The Grove. It says on its headed notepaper that it is ‘one of the leading hotels of the world’. Well, it just made me long to be rich. For ever.
When I woke on Saturday Michael was sitting up in bed in a bathrobe, all washed and shaved, tapping away at his laptop. I immediately ran to the bathroom for a long session of using all the complimentary soaps and stuff. And redoing my makeup. When I came out he said we had to rush off to breakfast at once as he had a session booked for me in the Spa.
That Spa! I could happily live in it. I felt a bit full of breakfast when I went in (I was down as ‘Miss Danielle Mazzini’ which was odd, and everyone kept addressing me as ‘Danielle’, which I went along with quite happily. Why not?) I lay in the jacuzzi, I had a sauna, and I half-heartedly did aquarobics with a load of other women (Whose pasty, elderly husbands were lying on beds round the pool, reading newspapers.) The women were obviously first wives, because they were all middle-aged, and quite worn, but with lovely, expensive hair. They were – and this was so comforting – mostly stouter than me. Well, very slightly. I’d been so scared they’d all be supermodels or trophy yummy mummies. After an hour I started a series of insanely expensive treatments intended for Danielle, like mud wraps and facials and foot massages. I was treated as if I was a very precious object – a designer handbag, maybe – and polished and wrapped reverently. Showers were run for me, and I was told not to go to the trouble of picking up my knickers, because of course they would do that. It was amazing. In between I lay in a darkened relaxation room, drinking ginger tea and listening to a tape of goat-herds tinkling bells by the sea.
I finally left about 5, feeling all pink and beautiful and massaged and creamed and de-toxified. Michael had told me I could go anywhere in the hotel and grounds and just have anything to eat or drink I wanted, all I had to do was give my room number and sign my name. (I gave Danielle’s, to avoid confusion.) Wow! It was so great! I had a special detoxifying smoothie, just to round up any last remaining toxins, followed by salad and champagne in the Stables restaurant. (The place has lots of restaurants, all with annoying names.)(If you decide not to have a sweet there, to be slimming, and just order coffee, it comes with a chocolate brownie on the side. Or a ritzy chocolate.) Then I wandered back up to the room, all the staff smiling and greeting me and asking if there was anything they could do for me? I spent ages trying to look incredible. I just wished I’d been able to pack properly, as I’d chosen quite stupid stuff, the way you do, if you are in a hurry. My shoes didn’t really match my long black silk dress with the bow on it. And the dress was a bit tight, despite all the saunas. It looked sausagey.
And finally Michael came back, as I was watching the widescreen TV, lounging on the bed nibbling on the contents of the mini-bar – and we made love. He was very kind. And seemed rather sad. But it was sort of disappointing. He asked me if I wanted to go to the restaurant or have room service, and we settled for room-service, so we could stay in bed. (Caviare, fois gras, lobster and plums. Practically everything on the menu came with plums or plum coulis, it was really hard to avoid them. (There was even a plum on the bedside table, in a stylish, Tate Modern fruit bowl.) The rest of the weekend was a blur of saunaing, and de-toxifying, and having golfing lessons from the golf teacher, and lying in the huge bed feeling incredibly grateful to Michael, and wanting to make him happy, but…well… failing. It’s never really happened to me like that before. Sometimes he actually looked like he was crying. And I wanted to make this good for him, but it seemed that I couldn’t.
Anyhoo, last night he dropped me and Mirabelle back at my flat, and the place seemed so, so shabby and dirty and cheap compared to the hotel. Even the bedclothes. The sheets were really heavy at The Grove, and smelled of some delicious, light perfume…