From Silver to Diamonds

Chapter 3

The golden rays showered me with warmth and delight.

 Plane trips always made me feel insecure with nothing to hold it up in the air but acceleration and velocity. So I was relieved to be standing on solid ground after eighteen hours on the plane to France, then another two in an outrageous but remarkable private jet to Genova.

According to my last calculation, Genova lies somewhere near France and bordered by the Mediterranean Sea and apparently, we’ve arrived just in time for the Summer Fete next week, where there would be three nights of festival events along the coastal line then ending with fireworks on the last night.

My first impressions of Genova were pages long. It’s like I’ve arrived to another Florida in Europe, not like I ever been there but seen it on postcards that my pop and gran has sent during their retirement world tour. The sun was blazingly warmer than back in the place where I lived during the summer and the sea was in an irresistibly ice blue colour with pearl white ties licking the edge of the beach and then curling back away. The velvet green palm trees sway gently against the soft mild wind and somewhere nearby was a scrumptious scent of beef, cheese and tomato causing my stomach growl louder. It was Genovian hot dog that was what Mr Chevalier had told me.

Back few moments ago, I had probably one of the shocks of my lives. We were standing right outside the arrival hall waiting for a car to pick us up. I stood there awkwardly with one suited man balancing my luggage on my left and on my right, another held a gigantic black golf umbrella shading me away from the heat. If I ever saw my reflection I would probably say I looked like a bee with an itch.

 Then suddenly an imprudent shiny black limo pulled up. The windows were tinted in a dark shade of brown, so dark it was difficult to see the face of the driver from the side and was so shiny that I could make out a clear reflection back at us. The driver door clicked open; a long black trousers and heavily polished brogue stepped on to the sizzling pavement then pulled out the rest of his body into view and reported to Mr Chevalier.

I watched them. Mr Chevalier said something to the man and then went around the limo to open the door for me. I scrambled in, then Ms Gravois and Mr Chevalier came after. We waited for the suited men, one of them took the front passenger seat next to diver, while the last one who held on to my stuff before was forced to crumple up in a seat further away from us near the barrier that separated the driver and us in a spacious room more than enough to put our legs out.

It was an 8-seat limo with all the seats assembled in an L-shaped. The seats were made out of anesthetic black Nappa leather. It felt cool and comfy which made me feel quite sleepy because of the lack of sleep from the journey in the plane has worn me off, but I manage to pinch myself awake because I didn’t have the likings of sleeping in front out others especially strangers.

I sat alone on one side while Mr Chevalier and Ms Gravois sat on the side that faced towards the direction where the car is going. They both had expressionless looks in their faces as they stared ahead. Directly on the other side towards me was a low bench like surface built in and stretched alongside of the car. Set in front of me was a small 24-inch LCD sitting on the table and in somewhere low in the bench there were shelves for a dvd player, a ipod dock, a mini bar and spare small squares for storage.

 I thought to myself; Wow, is this seriously how rich millionaires lived? It’s too exaggerating and showy. How can they even live their life like this when it’s so humiliating? They seriously got to be kidding me.

“Miss Harrison,” Mr Chevalier broke my chains of thoughts.

“Yeah?” 

Mr Chevalier folded his hands neatly on his lap and gazed sternly at me with his hazel eyes.