one or two staffing ideas for Greece. We are two flotilla reps down. Zack and Jaimie have eloped together and there isn't a budget to replace them."
"No problemo," said Elvis. "Tomorrow okay? Say after lunch, 3pm? Moira, give me a few minutes and then wheel in the first one will you?"
"Elvis, I do hope you've had a chance to look through the forms for Jill's 360 degrees feedback forum. I know she's put a lot of effort into this year's appraisal."
"I doubt it," Elvis muttered. He loathed the process of listening to his employees for an hour at a time declare how brilliantly they had performed last year, how essential they were to the business, and the biggest hoot of all, what their objectives were for the coming 12 months. He smiled as he recalled that these always involved going on expensive courses, and never being more productive through spending less time on Facebook or eBay. Still, it was his role to spend the next three hours looking interested so as to not come across as de-motivational. He had better start by looking at the forms.
"Five minutes should be enough," he said.
Moira looked skyward, passed the sheets to him, and then left the room with Bernard.
Elvis put the appraisal form to one side. Instead of reading it, he got up and went to the mirror. He checked himself thoroughly, first his front and then his back. He sighed. There was no avoiding it, he concluded miserably, there was definitely work to be done. Then he peered searchingly at the reflection of his puffy face. He focused on the hairs growing out of his nose and tried unsuccessfully to pull them out with two fingers. He winced with pain and not for the first time rued that his nose and ears were the only areas of his body hair that remained jet black.
Three hours later, Elvis' spirits had not improved. The afternoon had panned out exactly as he thought it would. All three appraisees duly thought their last year's performance had been exemplary. All three, thought that any problems in the company must be down to the management. All three, true to form, thought their performances would be enhanced by the company sending them on various courses.
"Ready for home darling?" Naomi asked as she opened the door.
"Too bloody right," replied Elvis. "I've had the most extraordinarily dull afternoon. You?"
"Good thanks, I've been chatting through some changes to our online marketing strategy with Neil, the IT guy."
"Sounds fascinating," said Elvis unenthusiastically.
"It was actually, you don't understand that side of things."
This was true. Elvis was a complete ignoramus when it came to the internet. He neither Tweeted nor Facebooked nor FaceTimed nor Instagrammed. In fact, he had no idea what those things were beyond believing that his colleagues spent far too much company time engaging in them. The only time he used the internet was to order his custom-made cowboy boots from the US, and Moira helped him with that.
Elvis looked at his wife of 30 years. He glanced sideways at the photo on the wall and couldn't help comparing the woman before him with the younger version.
"How come you look so much better than I do?" he asked her. "Look at that photo. You've hardly changed, but me, well, look."
He stood up and twirled around.
She paused before answering.
"We all get older dear, and, well, you've got rounder too. Perhaps you could try a little more exercise and a little less alcohol? Maybe you need a hobby. Why don't you come down to the tennis club on Sunday? They're always looking for new members."
"Can't stand tennis. Rugby's my game. As for beer, I hardly touch the stuff," he replied grumpily.
"I don't think enjoying hospitality at Twickenham counts as exercise nor watching the Five Nations on TV, and don't tell me, you've only got to look at a pint of bitter and the pounds pile on. Anyway, come on, time for dinner."
Elvis's spirits rose.
"Thank God, at least it's Thursday."
Thursday was their Indian takeaway night. The same every week. Chicken Madras for him, Korma for her. Pilau rice between them, though Elvis got the lion's share. Sag aloo, because Elvis recognised the need for a balanced diet, and Keema Nan to fill any remaining gap.
An hour later, at home, Elvis became aware of a nagging pain in his chest. He said nothing to Naomi assuming that it would disappear whilst he drank his habitual bottle of red wine after the meal. But the pain did not subside instead, if anything, it intensified, and he was feeling sweaty too.
When he was convinced he had pains up his arms as well, he spoke.
"I'm not feeling too brilliant," he told Naomi.
"Why doesn't that surprise me? Next door's Doberman savours his food more than you do. The way you bolt it down you'd think you were expecting the alpha male to come and take it from you."
"I am the alpha male around here," retorted Elvis defensively, holding in his stomach to prove the point.
"Of course you are dear."
"Although I'm really feeling quite poorly Naomi."
"Don't tell me," she said. "You think you're having a heart attack."
Chapter Two
Jock opened a can of beer. It was his fourth of the day and his fifty second of the week, but then it was Friday.
"I'll sneak a wee rest, before the storm so to speak," he said to himself sitting his weary frame on a lounger placed on the decking outside the Sailaway building. He looked to his left towards the ever-busy quayside where, as usual, ferries and fishing boats were fighting for space with the visiting yachts. Nidri, although surrounded by stunning mountains, could not be said to be picturesque. Even the town's greatest fans would not describe it as traditional in any sense of the word. Usually described in holiday literature as "lively," particularly during the peak months of July and August, it had once been a sleepy fishing village but that was a long time ago.
Adjacent to the quay Jock could see a line of tavernas all promising authentic home cooked Greek cuisine. The smell of roasting meat reached his nose, and his tummy rumbled reminding him he hadn't eaten yet. Jock leaned back and sighed.
"Aye," he muttered, "Nidri's might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it sure beats a grey day in Meadowbank."
Jock looked after Sailaway's fleet of tired looking holiday boats based here. Every week, between May and the end of October, they ferried holidaymakers around the calm blue seas of the Ionian, its beautiful islands and quaint harbours. The company brochure promised a sailing holiday to remember and it usually delivered.
Jock looked at the boats gently bobbing up and down as he drained his can.
"Right, onwards and upwards," he said out loud.
It was Friday, changeover day. A crazy day when all twenty boats would return from their time away. Unlike some charter companies, Sailaway, did not return to the home base on the night before the holiday ended. It prided itself on giving its clients the maximum possible time at sea. The returning flotillas would arrive back at Nidri at midday, followed a few hours later by the expectant new arrivals. Jock and his crew had precious little time to turn the boats around. It was
