The Girl at the Spa Ch. 01

Dad had re-started his Chiropractic Clinic from a house in London once Mum had taken him for almost everything. But he was always in the right place at the right time with the right product, and it just seemed to go his way. He studied his craft even more and found several niches that he made his own. This saw his house became a much larger Clinic that he took out a long lease on and this time took on staff rather than partners. With the extra room he was able to offer the occasional two or three-day 'recovery sessions' - detoxes really - along with his Chiropractic. This would include exercise, massage, acupuncture, hot rocks, aroma therapy and all that alternative jazz, but his space was limited as were the facilities.

Mum was outwardly supportive and happy that things had finally started to go well for him, but I could see that she actually wasn't. When one of the senior partners in her firm told her how fantastic he felt after going to McNair Chiro and that Mum should think about visiting him about her lower back problems. She demurred, until another partner that had known her for years was making cutting motions across her neck and tapping her ring finger.

Mum noticed and admitted that he was her Ex. She then had to bring him and his firm down of course, and hinted that part of the detox wasn't just about clearing out their systems of the wrong 'foods' hinting that other substances and liquids were involved!

This was no damage to his business such was his skill and prestige, and within weeks his next big break came after talking shop with an older lady that had been recommended to him. After he had cured her of almost crippling back pain, she offered him a free weekend at her 'retreat in the country' and he took her up on it. This was 'The Spa', a former holiday camp turned into an alternative health centre in the seventies and badly in need of updating.

From his first visit he loved the place and after carrying out some of the updating works would borrow The Spa from the now cured client and latterly friend, the lovely, slightly batty old lady universally referred to as 'Grandma'.

Grandma was a great believer in Homeopathy, Eastern philosophies, meditation, yoga and natural healing, and she approved of his now refined 'recovery session/detox' business model, so he began to rent the whole place from her for June, July and August each year. She would take his money and fly to India (her spiritual home) and (so everyone said) would eat curry, drink lassi, meet some Yogi's, meditate and smoke an awful lot of marijuana.

I never have found out why it's called The Spa, because there is no natural spring or anything that you would expect from such a name. It was called The Spa when Dad started working from there and has been ever since. In the second summer there Dad met Grandma's granddaughter Meghan the most excellent masseur, they married two years later.

The business model and the site were an instant hit, and Dad offered it to some of his more respected, at the very least richer clients. Most of the Spa's new footballer, rugby player, jockey and athlete clients tended to keep quiet about my Dad because he was so bloody good at his job and they didn't want their opposition taking advantage of him and his skill. Also, with internet betting taking off many of them didn't want word to go out that they had a fitness issue, so Paparazzi hanging around wasn't ideal, and the natural security and remoteness of The Spa was ideal.

Naturally secure and remote wasn't the half of it.

Built into a small plateau with high cliffs around it, all Dad needed to do was install electric gates and CCTV cameras at certain points to ensure total discretion for his visitors. The three blacked out cars that he rented just added to it.

He struck gold when he was introduced to his first 'footballer's wife' by her husband. She went to The Spa and had the full detox treatment of Dad's magic manipulating hands, Meghan's massage, the hot rocks, acupressure, aromatherapy, yoga, exercise sessions and relaxation with added tall bronzed male instructors, good food well prepared and sauna she was in paradise. But most of all she loved the absolute discretion of the place born of the great security. She told ALL her friends of course, but told them not to tell anyone else.

Suddenly his door was being knocked off of its hinges by a string of C and B list celebrities competing for space with the athletes and professional sportsmen. One of the B-listers suddenly became an A-lister and during one of her 'finding herself, life Detox' moments after breaking up with her B-list boyfriend she was Sunday Supplement reported as being at The Spa.

From that Sunday everyone wanted to be treated by Dad at Port George, including more A-listers. Dad only had twelve weeks, and eight cabins. Demand soon outstripped supply and of course the price went up accordingly.

The Spa was so well received by his clients that by his second year he had sold out his next three summer seasons outright. He asked Grandma if they could enter into a partnership.

"No," she said having an idea of the money involved, "But I'll sell it to you?"

Dad bought the place for a song, plus a regular pension he sends out to Grandma who lives in a houseboat on a long quiet Kashmiri lake for most of the year and like a memsahib of the empire moves to Shimla to escape the heat of the summer.

She lives in some grandeur there and along with the interest that she gets from the lump sum and the monthly pension Dad sends her representing the other half of that lump sum. She also has an income from some of HER former Spa guests who fly out to the Punjab to spend some time with her and receive guidance which is, according to Meghan, turn up at Grandma's place, strip down to T-shirts, drink lots of lassi, eat an awful lot of curry, meditate (fall asleep generally) and smoke marijuana when they wake up.

Using the quite significant deposits paid by the elite clientele he attracted and a mortgage on his place in London, Dad refurbished The Spa so Grandma probably wouldn't recognise it. The Indian styled bungalows that were a left over from the holiday camp were completely refurbished and brought up to what the elite would want and he added a couple more bungalows and turned the other buildings into therapy rooms, offices and a professional kitchen and large dining room.

In his second year of ownership, he bought the abandoned farm next door on the same plateau from a local family and applied for planning permission to build another eight bungalows. The council committee grumbled about the disappearing local culture and green space but were reminded by the architect the amount of money each of the new bungalows would bring into his business and by implication the local community - per week. They all looked again, and one of them coughed. The architect said that no trees were being cut down as this was old very poor-quality grazing land that almost nothing would grow on.

"Is this REALLY how much each bungalow makes a week?" said the Planning Committee Chairman used only to caravan holiday parks and farmhouse and barn conversions to holiday lets.

"Yep," said the architect, "Of course most of the income is derived from the therapy that the applicant carries out. He employs local people in all of the service and office jobs, and is also training local young people to be therapists. He supplies his kitchens from local farms and market gardens and he's worked with some of them to upgrade to fully organic produce within the next five years."

"All in favour?" said the Chairman. It was passed unanimously.

Dad paid off the mortgage halfway through the fourth year, knocked down two buildings and installed a pool.

He now lives permanently at The Spa with Meghan, and has his staff operate the London Clinic and Dad goes there to meet special clients. Dad is of course raking it in, and lives extremely well on it. So, I might add, do I.

Alice led me through to a large sitting room and there was my Dad.

"Special Visitor," said Alice.

"Richie!" said my Dad leaping to his feet and coming across to hug me, "How was your trip?"

"Excellent, other than Mum ringing me to bitch about me leaving the ugly sisters at home on their own."

"Her problem not yours mate," said Dad.

Meghan came across with a huge smile on her face and hugged me too. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years as she hardly ever came to London with Dad. Since I'd last seen her, I must have had a growth spurt or something and I noticed that I could now see down the front of her white billowing shift dress and her large still shapely breasts and the dark brown nipples crowning them, unfettered by a bra as always. She turned to put down her spectacles and it pulled tight across her hips and I guessed that she wasn't wearing panties either.

"Alice Darling," said Meghan still holding my hand, "would you be a love and make Richie some tea?"

"Of course," she said with a smile and headed for the kitchen returning with a tea tray five minutes later. She had a bit of a long face, and handed a phone handset to Dad.

"Sorry Ralph, thought you'd want to take this one."

"Let me have it," said Meghan, and she walked out of the room chatting.

Dad poured the tea and Alice disappeared for a few moments; on the patio with the most fantastic view of the coast and the Bristol Channel, Meghan was pacing up and down and discussing something of great import.

She pressed a button, and came back in.

"Mateo has hurt his tricky calf muscle training for a summer friendly, wants you to come and 'save his career', his words Darling, not mine."

I saw Dad's shoulders drop.

"It's bloody typical," said Dad, "No bugger it, tell him to contact Paula, she's on duty in London."

"He's asked for you specifically Ralph," said Meghan "He's already told Paula that she isn't up to it, and he said that Sean doesn't like him."

"Richie has just got here!"

"And Richie will still be here when you get back, it's just a Day's work Darling, and staying friends with that hooligan alone for the rest of his career will probably be more than enough to pay for all of Richie's tuition five times over!"

Dad had already paid for my five years at Cambridge.

"Shit," said Dad.

Alice appeared from behind me and put both hands on my shoulders and whispered in my ear, and I jumped a bit. She smelled wonderful.

"It's Mateo Rodriguez, he's..."

He was one of the finest players in the Premier league, world-renowned and a pain in the arse.

I turned to her,

"Rodriguez? My Dad really is Chiropractor to the stars!"

"And then some," said Meghan with a grin, "Mateo thinks your Dad has magic fingers, and can pull, twist and tug out any sprains, pains and training strains, and all manner of assorted injuries, won't have anyone else. Spoilt Mexican bastard."

"He's Colombian," said Dad, "But he's a direct introduction to some of the richest players in the Premier League and into Europe and South America; Oh, what a pain in the arse, I TOLD him we were shut down in August." He slumped in the sofa next to me and looked thoughtful, "And Meghan is right of course, it's the difference of you not having to take out a student loan." He steepled his fingers, "Fuck," said my Dad with a tone I hardly ever heard from him, "Tell him to send a car to Paddington and that seeing as we're on shut down its double time."

Meghan went back into the garden and turned on the phone, and I heard her bright chirpy voice again.

Alice, still behind me, giggled.

"Double time?" I whispered up into her lovely face, inches from mine.

"Twenty five grand rather than ten," hissed Alice with a grin. I could feel the warmth from her skin and her breath on my neck was making me goose-pimpled.

"His assistant says if you can get to St Mawgan, he'll send a helicopter."

That'll do; Ali Darling, would you drive me to Mawgs, I'll tell Mateo to buy you something nice for your trouble."

"Of course," she said with a grin.

Dad poured the tea and we all sat down to tea and biscuits, me only slightly put off by Alice sat to my right, her arm on the sofa behind me and touching me every time she leant forward for her cup and to make it worse Meghan he would lean forward for her cup or a biscuit and I would see her full breasts in her gaping dress. Dad didn't seem bothered by any of it.

"You two had better go," said Meghan putting her cup down one final time, and Dad and Alice both rose.

"I'll be back in a couple of days Richie," said Dad, "promise."

"No problem," I said, "I'll enjoy the sunshine while I'm here."

Dad stood up and walked across to Meghan and hugged and kissed her, "I'll get my grab-bag from the office, I'll see you in a couple of days Darling. You two will look after my boy for me, won't you?" He grinned across to Meghan and Alice.

"Oh yeah," they both said in unison - both with the same suggestive smiles on their pouting lips.

"Have some more tea," said Meghan, bending and pouring me a second cup and enabling me to see all the way down the tunnel of her white dress from her big tits to the hint of pubic hair at the apex of her thighs!

We chatted about my training, and she seemed quite impressed. I told her about post graduate Clinical Medicine at Cambridge and how much I was loving it. She smiled. I always got the feeling from Meghan that while she thought mainstream medicine was OK it was no substitute for the real thing.

She offered me the tour of the place, as there had been lots of changes since I was here last. We started back in reception, and it was very glamourous with the cold and cleaned coffee machine waiting to produce its next expresso or cappuccino in four weeks' time when the paying guests returned.

Then it was through to interview and treatment rooms and there was any number of massage tables, a few plastic skeletons, a few tall racks with strings across at every level, full height posters of the human musculature, bones, nerves and all the rest of that Chiropractic stuff that had so much linkage to the medicine I was learning.

"This is Alice's treatment room," said Meghan, "she's probably the only person in the place I'm willing to say is a better masseur than me! Certainly, the only one I let massage me and your Dad." I looked on the wall and there were lots of certificates outlining her Chiropractic qualifications as well.

Meghan ran a finger across a table edge, the surface covered with bottles of varying kinds, then an acupuncture steriliser, a heating unit for stones and a mess of other stuff I didn't understand or recognise. "Like most of us here she learned it all from your Dad, and some from me and Grandma of course. A natural that girl." She looked proud.

Then we were out through the sauna, and more tables. The smell of chlorinated water hit my nostrils and I knew the pool was next. But it wasn't just one pool. There were small one person therapy pools, pools with cranes for the disabled and wheelchair bound and then finally the door out to the main pool. This was now fully built in to the biggest glass structure ever, with air handling for the hot and cold days. Not that I'd known many hot days at Port George of course!

She took me back out to the now silent kitchens that would cater for the most discerning and contrary palettes. Meghan flipped through some laminated diet sheets and mentioned a few names and said things like 'irritable bowel', 'coeliac', 'insists on gluten and diary free', then the TV newsreader that was a 'strict vegetarian right up until they've really chilled out then they order the chef's steak and kidney pie when no one's looking' before mentioning a very popular prime time presenter.

"Just a pain in the arse, but worships Alice, won't have anyone else touch them. They complain about the food because they can, not because there's anything wrong with it; reckon they are thinking they are getting their money's worth out of us but Alice and I get our revenge when we send out the bill, that fucker pays an extra £50 a day in service charges for the grief they give to waiting and kitchen staff..."

"And they keep coming back?" I said.

"Every year! Booked twice more before Christmas," said Meghan, "and we've already put an extra £100 on the quote because of how outrageously unpleasant they can be to any one that isn't me, Paula, Gwen, Sean, Ralph or Alice." She shook her head, "twat. I shall ban them next time; that way they'll have to go begging to Ralph and he'll put the price up again."

We walked out into the dining room with its wonderful décor and views, then out onto the balcony. This took us out and down into the secluded gardens and the decorative railings I remembered from my last visit.

The other side of the railings on this walkway was a sheer cliff drop of about forty feet down to the main road, another addition to the great security they had here, which made the camera shy and media conscious even more keen to come here for diets, 'get well' detoxes and I'm pretty sure some 'drying out' and 'cold turkey' treatments that Mum had alluded to.

Finally we were out and into the car park again just as the electronic gates swung upon and the same blacked out window Range Rover swung in.

"And here's Alice!" said Meghan, and Alice beamed me the loveliest grin when she saw me again. "Right Darlings," said Meghan in a very similar accent to Alice's, "I'll go and start dinner, can you show Richie to his room Alice, put him in the best one."

Alice grinned,

"You said I was in the best one?" She put her hands on her hips and pouted. Fuck but she looked sexy!

"Alright, the best one after yours then," said Meghan meeting Alice's big smile with one the same.

"Of course, come this way Richie!"

We went back into the reception and I grabbed my bag and followed Alice out into the gardens and along one of the covered verandas to a large bungalow.

"This is one of the most expensive ones," she said, "in fact this is the one Mateo stays in when he comes here."

"Doesn't Dad always go to him?"

"Nah, he comes here for spiritual rest, and as well as that he loves to annoy the press; the bloody paparazzi hate it when he's here and try to get pictures of his latest girlfriend or boyfriend." I raised my eyebrows, "Oh yeah, and he's brought both here with him." She grinned and pointed out to sea, "There," she said pointing out across the cliff edge with protective trees and greenery, and the large stones that had been in place since the last ice age, "There's the reason the media hate it when he and his mates come here."

"Why?"

"Think about it," she said pointing down the garden to the currently placid Bristol Channel, "They can't get level with us for photography or filming from the south, east or west, even with drones, the trees are just to thick. From that direction," she pointed north towards the sea, "they have to fly helicopters or take their lives in their hands and try to scale the cliffs. When the wind picks up even the coastguard don't fly along these cliffs because the wind blows them straight up and into the rock face, nearly happened twice since I've worked here. The trees make it even harder. Ralph had some hidden winches installed so if someone should be unlucky enough to wash up down there, he can winch them up on a special cradle. Only the Coastguard, RNLI and the Harbour Master know about it of course.

When Gra'ma owned the place she said that the Royal Marines Special Boat Service from Plymouth used to train on them, you see that big rock there?" She pointed and I looked. It was taller than the rest and I could see it had been roughly hewn into a Celtic cross, "There's half a dozen names on it, all poor boys killed on the rocks below. Every couple of years we have a few young Marines, a few older ones with beards and very heavy sun tans, and some old boys in green berets and blazers and medals and they stand to attention on the lawn, blow a bugle then throw poppy wreaths down there. Meghan always puts on a special lunch for them with lots of booze, very sad."