She looks for the concierge

With evident difficulty, Camille gets up from the sunbed and looks around, still gloomy and confused.

Maybe a little session of shopping could cheer her up.
Jan even mocks her about it, assuring that he's able to guess how much she spends in a day of shopping by how kinky she gets in bed in the evening.
Now she just has to find a place with nice things to buy.

She adjusts her sarong and wraps her curly red hair under her panama.
If she has to get out of the resort though, she will probably do better to get changed, she thinks checking her outfit.
Her friends warned that sometimes locals can be very susceptible to scantly clothed women.

When Camille reaches the at the reception desk at the entrance she founds it empty.
Even rigning the bell doesn't produce effect.

Irritated she looks around.

"Damn it! I'm starting to hate this place ... it's a fucking ghost town." She grumbles leaning over the counter.

"Hellooo? Someone's there?" She says out loud, ringing again the bell.

Suddenly she freezes, having the impression that somwhere close there is someone talking.
The voices seems to come from a dark hallaway behind the counter.