Passport to Happiness. Carrie Stone

all morning – there’s loads of jobs on this site. You should see some of the places listed.’ I can hardly believe it myself.

      ‘You’re supposed to be on holiday, enjoying yourself, not sat in the hotel on the internet thinking up some crazy escapade purely because you have shit luck with men.’

      As much as I love Amy, and I do love her because she’s my little sister, it’s not quite the happy enthusiasm I was expecting. She could be a little more supportive. But then, this is Amy who met her childhood sweetheart Jack at sixteen. Eleven years later they’re happily married, with two children, a lovely house and a dog. She’s never really been in a position to understand life being crap. Not that she’s had it easy, but she most certainly hasn’t had it like me; she’s never been heartbroken or had the rug pulled out from under her feet, nor has she had to work every hour under the sun to put a poky roof over her head. She’s content with her life, never aspiring for more, just happy and peaceful with her lot.

      ‘This isn’t about men though, Amy. This is about me.’ I walk across to the window of my room, pushing aside the curtain to peek at the view and simultaneously re-adjust my earphones. ‘I just feel like I need to try something different.’

      ‘Well, whatever. Just don’t go handing in your notice whilst you’re there – this Switzerland trip was random enough. I reckon you’re having a mid-life crisis.’

      My Wi-Fi signal isn’t the best and the line crackles, but I can hear the disdain in her voice.

      ‘I’m not bloody having a mid-life crisis. If anything I’m closer to a quarter-life crisis thank you very much and anyway, it’s just an idea. It doesn’t mean I’m sacking off my job and floating off to India to ride elephants next week.’

      ‘Good, because Jack has a work colleague he wants to introduce you to. He’s apparently a really lovely bloke, so you never know…’ She breaks off and I immediately feel irritated but before I can butt in, she’s off on one again. ‘Oh, and Lily made a clay rabbit for you at school. Although it looks more like a rat.’

      I soften at the thought of my niece Lily and feel my annoyance vanish. ‘How sweet. OK, I’ll pop round next week. I’ve got to go, I’m off out soon.’

      ‘Thank god for that, go get your head cleared of this moving abroad crap and enjoy your vacay. Send me some pics.’

      I bite down on my tongue and cheerily agree, before saying a hurried goodbye and hanging up.

      ‘Well, that’s put a dampener on that,’ I mutter to myself, closing my laptop and wondering if Amy is right. What the hell am I thinking? I mean, yes, the teaching site I found has tons of jobs abroad, but do I really want to spend a year in Azerbaijan even if the salary and package is ridiculously generous? I sigh, letting the truth sink in. Probably not.

      I decide to head out for lunch and after a quick pit stop via the concierge desk to catch up with Frederick, I find myself heading towards the shops. I’ve got my dinner date later and as much as I know it’s highly unlikely anything will come of it, or that Emir will even show up, I can’t help but get excited at the prospect of dinner with such a handsome, intriguing man. I decide to throw caution to the wind and really enjoy myself. This holiday is the perfect opportunity to do whatever the hell I like, and no one will ever be any the wiser.

      A couple of hours later, armed with my purchases, I head back to the hotel to prepare for Emir. I’ve managed to spend a vast amount of money on my credit card, but I’ve got a gorgeous navy dress and new make-up to show for it. I set about the lengthy process of making myself look as attractive as possible, even adding some hastily bought tinted moisturiser to heighten my tan. The final outcome is better than I could have hoped for and as I study my reflection, I grin happily. The Swiss water has been amazing to my hair and it sits in bouncy long curls, framing my oval face. The dress accentuates my cleavage in a delicate way and stops just above the knee, making me appear slimmer and taller than I really am. My eyes are complimented by lashings of mascara and my mouth is tinted with nude lipstick. Jay had always said I reminded him of a curly-haired Rachel Weisz and it strikes me tonight, that perhaps he was right after all.

      ‘That’s as good as I’ll get,’ I mutter aloud, padding across to my makeshift wardrobe to collect my coat. I glance at the clock and am happy to see that I’ve just ten minutes until our agreed meeting time downstairs. My stomach does a somersault as I consider, for the hundredth time, that he might not show up and this has all been in vain. Then I rebuke myself – it’s his loss if he doesn’t and if that’s the case I’ll just go to the hotel restaurant and treat myself to some lobster and champagne.

      And try not to have a meltdown and cry into my bubbles.

      I bravely collect my purse and walk to the door, giving one final plea to whoever is out there in the sky to make sure I don’t get stood up.

      Emir is leaning against the un-manned concierge desk as I head out of the lift and even from this distance I can see that I wasn’t wrong in remembering him as drop dead gorgeous. I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s actually there and as I fidget one last time with my dress, he spots me and breaks into a smile.

      ‘Hi.’ He leans in to kiss my cheek and I’m overcome with a waft of his strong woody aftershave. ‘It’s good to see you again. You look very nice.’

      ‘Thank you.’ I survey his outfit choice and reluctantly notice it’s a bit more casual than I was expecting. Gone is the business suit I’d first seen him wearing and in its place are jeans and a wine-coloured jumper. I suddenly feel a little overdressed but the thought is swept away as he grabs my hand and ushers me confidently out of the hotel.

      ‘I’m parked a little out of the way, near to my office – it’s a thirty-minute drive to my hometown of Zug, but the restaurant is booked for seven so we’ve plenty of time.’

      We make chit chat as we walk to his car and I discover he’s a director at a multinational insurance company and has lived in Zug for over eight years. He’s also been single for all eight of them and I can’t help but wonder why. As we approach a gunmetal-grey Porsche, he gets out a key fob and unlocks the vehicle.

      ‘This is me.’ He gestures to the passenger side. ‘Excuse the mess as you get in. Just put the files on the floor.’

      I try not to look shocked as I open the car door and see the interior littered with what appears to be paperwork and food wrappers, and instead scoop his files onto the footwell as instructed.

      ‘I’m good at what I do workwise but I do have a tendency to be untidy outside of the office.’ He grins, and I notice that both the leather dashboard and gearbox have what appears to be some kind of sticky drink covering them.

      ‘I can’t say I’m the same – I’m a bit of a clean freak.’ I don’t add that it’s already annoying me to have to sit amongst such a dirty interior in my new dress.

      ‘Clean freak or control freak?’ he asks with a chuckle as his mobile ringtone interrupts us. He answers with Bluetooth and I’m immediately surrounded by a loud female tone, speaking in what I recognise as Spanish. I try not to feel disdain as he launches into conversation, occasionally glancing sideways at me as he clearly tells the woman at the other end of the line about me. I hear my name mentioned twice and notice by the car display that almost twenty minutes has passed by the time he ends the call.

      There is no explanation of who was calling or an apology when he finally turns to look at me and begins to point out the passing sights. I can’t deny they’re beautiful views, but it bothers me that he doesn’t find it rude to answer a long call in another language without a simple ‘excuse me for that’. I wonder if I’m being pedantic or overly ‘English’ and try to get back into the excitement I was feeling at the beginning of the date. But it’s already rapidly seeping away, replaced by a dread that perhaps he’s just going to be like all of the other disastrous dates I’ve been on lately.

      We approach a sign for ‘Zug’ and I feel relieved that we’ll soon be out of the car. As we drive further into the area, I notice a glistening