IT’S work time in Barbados. David Lloyd, a compact, intense figure, is pacing the floor of his office in baggy blue swim shorts, setting out his options. Should he sell the Next Generation leisure-club chain he set up with his son, Scott? Should they hang on and buy others? “The clubs are not actually for sale in the proper sense, it’s just something that might come up,” he says. For Lloyd, a man who grew up near Southend and normally prefers Essex bluntspeak, that’s oddly non-committal.

He pauses, as if seeking a better turn of phrase. “They’re not up for sale unless a good offer comes in.”

He laughs. Outside his office, part of his home in the luxury Sugar Hill residential development on the island’s west coast, the swimming pool awaits. Beyond the boundary hedge, waves lap on to Sandy Lane beach. It’s a warm day, slightly overcast, 29C. Did I mention the golf course, just up the road, where he is due in an hour? Lloyd, 57, the former tennis pro who has already made one fortune from leisure, has worked hard for his wealth. A scrapper on court, where he never had the strokes or the looks of his younger brother, John, he has proved similarly tenacious off it, scrabbling to build not just one chain of large-scale sports clubs, but two.

He floated his first chain, David Lloyd Leisure, in 1993, then sold it to Whitbread in 1995, pocketing £20m in the process. He lost the rights to his name — his single biggest regret in business — but ploughed on undaunted with Next Generation, and a host of other ventures.

Now reports are circulating that Lloyd and 30-year-old Scott, who heads day-to-day management of Next Generation, are about to sell the chain, in which they hold a 10% stake. That might make the family another £20m.

Lloyd says they have simply appointed advisers to study strategic options for the future, and it could cover a range of different things. “There’s going to be some form of amalgamation in the market, and I really do think it’s pretty open,” he says.

With his fringe still cut long over a lined, tanned face, Lloyd may look like a man on permanent holiday but he never is. Just look round. Sugar Hill, a five-year development of more than 90 villas and apartments built close to tennis courts and golf courses, is tagged a David Lloyd Resort Community. He owns 44% of the company behind it.

Sir Cliff Richard’s holiday home, popular with the prime minister, is part of it. And there are still spaces.

“Yeah, we’ve got 12 tennis villas left, ranging in price from $500,000 to $700,000 (£285,000 to £400,000) in price,” says Lloyd, happy to get the plug. The big houses, $3m to $7m, have already gone.

Lloyd is likely to have made a lot more money from Sugar Hill than from Next Generation, which has 14 clubs in Britain, including two Harbour Clubs, all of which have soaked up large amounts of cash in a difficult fitness market. Industry rivals say valuations of £200m cited for Next Generation are highly optimistic.

They point to other pressures on Lloyd. The clubs, large edge-of-town sites with indoor tennis courts and pools, cost upwards of £10m to build, and are not making big profits. The Lloyds’ co-investors in Next Generation, who include the Irish horseracing clique of Dermot Desmond, John Magnier, JP McManus and Michael Tabor, would now like to see some return. Lloyd is recently divorced, too, splitting up from his wife of 29 years.

Does that mean he needs to raise cash for alimony? “No, that has all been settled amicably, no lawyers,” says Lloyd in a telephone call from his office. As for his shareholders: “They are very nice people, we can take our time.” The future of Next Generation is just a pure business decision.

The problem is, who would buy it? The chain is a natural fit with competitors David Lloyd Leisure and Esporta, which both run large-scale clubs, but neither may have the money to expand right now. Is he looking for a third party to come in and pull everything together? Lloyd, you suspect, will always have an eye for an opportunity. He was like that as a kid, selling balls, rackets and gut-string when moving round the tennis circuit. The eldest of three sons of a textile-company chief whose business crashed, Lloyd knows all about keeping his options open.

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