By IMOGEN EDWARDS-JONES and ANONYMOUS First, she lifted the lid on the hotel and fashion industries now Imogen Edwards-Jones has teamed up with an insider at an exclusive island beach resort to expose the outrageous demands of the super-rich. Mr McCann's arrival is nothing if not stylish. Most VIPs take a beautiful 55ft yacht on the final leg of their journey to our six-star tropical island resort. Not Mr McCann: he's hired a big, shiny sea plane to whisk himself and his young 'girlfriends' over from the mainland. Imogen Edwards-Jones exposes the outrageous demands of the super-rich at an exclusive island beach resort As hotel manager, it's essential that I'm at the jetty to greet them. After all, the last time Mr McCann, the owner of a US TV station, was here his bill came to a quarter of a million pounds. You can see why the mega-rich come here. Our South-East Asian island has a six-mile coastline, 15 sandy beaches and 20,000 palm trees. Each detached villa has direct access to the beach and a host to attend to guests 24-hours a day. Prices ranging from £750 to £3,000 a night help us turn over more than £30 million but, amazingly, we do not make a profit. It costs a fortune to look after our guests in the style to which most of them have recently become accustomed. There are 800 staff half of them are local, the rest are Indians, Sri Lankans, Thai, Filipinos and a few Brits like me. I've been in the hotel business for 20 years and here for the past 18 months. My girlfriend Kate runs the resort's boutique. Liz Hurley was 'low maintenance' when she stayed on the island during a photoshoot In that time, though, I've put up with some of the richest and most demanding guests I've ever seen. With barely a few hours' notice, we've had to find Jimmy Choo shoes, a specific Napoleon brandy, hand-made wedding rings and prostitutes. On one occasion we had to fly 650lb of fireworks on a Lear jet at a cost of £22,000. In this bizarre world, I've learned that nothing is impossible. Dressed from head to foot in white linen, with a heavy gold watch and chomping on a cigar, all 5ft 2in of Mr McCann walks towards me with a grin. "Good evening, Mr McCann," I say. "It's very nice to have you back." By the looks of it, he seems to have brought one, two, three...six of his "daughters' friends" along for the ride. "Ladies," I say, knowing they are anything but. "Welcome."