‘Can we go somewhere where we can talk? Please? It’s important.’
Cal sighed before reluctantly shutting the book. ‘Fine.’
‘A History of London and its Buildings,’ I read aloud from the book’s cover as we walked towards the front desk. ‘Well, that sounds like the most boring book of all time. Is it by that Nicholas Huntley writer you’re creepily obsessed with?’
‘No. His book is about tanks.’
‘Oh yeah. That other really interesting topic. Why would you bother reading a book about London’s buildings? Why don’t you just go around and look at them?’
‘Because it’s interesting to learn about their history and architectural detail,’ Cal huffed, filling in a form for Mr Grindle, who was still staring at me dubiously. ‘The Royale is mentioned in this, you know.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the hotel is an important historical building with incredibly intricate architecture,’ Cal explained, looking at me as though I was mad.
‘Well, duh, you can see that just by standing in the lobby with all its gold archways and the paintings and stuff. You don’t need to waste your time reading that old thing.’
Going out of the library, I saw a particularly giggly Ella and Olly talking to each other nearby. Before they could see us, I quickly grabbed Cal’s arm and pulled him sideways into the nearest doorway, which turned out to be a cleaning cupboard.
‘Why are we in here?’ he asked, accidentally kicking over a mop as I squeezed in next to him.
‘Because we can get some privacy.’ I shrugged, trying to act as though this was all planned.
‘Sure.’ He sighed. ‘And it has nothing to do with you not wanting your friends to see you with me?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Why don’t you just tell me why you need my help so we can get this over with?’
‘I’m here to offer you a proposition. You need a topic for your stupid journalism competition thing, right? What if I told you I had the best topic, which would guarantee you winning the top prize? Even better than Prince Gustav.’
Cal snorted. ‘I’d be very surprised.’
‘Trust me, you’ll want to hear me out,’ I insisted.
‘Go on, then.’
I took a deep breath. ‘An exclusive interview with the biggest pop star in the whole world, Skylar Chase.’
He looked impressed. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘There’s no way anyone else in your stupid competition is going to get access to that kind of public figure, is there?’
‘And Skylar Chase told you she would let me interview her?’ he asked, looking doubtful.
‘I haven’t asked her yet, but we’re friends,’ I added hurriedly when he raised his eyebrows, ‘she’ll say yes, I’m sure of it.’
‘OK, so what’s the catch?’
I took a deep breath. ‘You may remember that I went to a fashion show on Friday . . .’
‘Yes, I remember trying to stop you and you not listening and then getting in loads of trouble. Like I predicted.’ He folded his arms.
‘That’s the one.’ I nodded. ‘Well, Mum is now saying I can’t go to the Christmas Ball.’
‘Woe is you.’
‘I know, right? Mum doesn’t think I’m responsible. I have to persuade her that I am. Then she’ll let me go.’
‘And you think I can help you with that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not the right person to persuade her otherwise. I happen to completely agree with her.’
‘I don’t want you to talk to her. I want you to show me the ropes of the hotel.’
He blinked at me. ‘What?’
‘The hotel. I need you to show me how it all works. Who does what and when. What makes the hotel tick, blah blah blah. You know, all the boring stuff.’
‘I’m sorry –’ he shook his head – ‘I’m confused.’
‘OK, it’s really not that hard to understand. Mum thinks that I don’t care about responsibilities and the hotel and –’
‘You don’t,’ he interrupted.
‘Right, because I’m a normal teenager.’ I was beginning to get impatient. This had better be worth all the hard work. ‘But I’m going to learn to. Audrey is too busy to help me and she said you’re the next best person to ask. You know how the hotel works and you know everyone, and she said you’d make sure we didn’t get in anyone’s way. Plus, you have nothing better to do.’
‘What makes you think that?’ he said defensively.
‘Because you have no friends and you just sit around with your dad all day.’
‘That’s it.’ He went to push open the door of the cupboard.
‘Wait, wait, I’m sorry!’ I said hurriedly, stopping him. ‘That sounded bad. What I meant was, you’re . . . uh . . . passionate about the hotel. Look, you even read books about its architecture and stuff.’
‘I can’t believe I’m bothering to listen to you.’
‘Cal, I wouldn’t ask for your help if I wasn’t desperate,’ I whined. ‘All you have to do is spend a few evenings and weekends teaching me how it all works.’
‘No small task with your attention span.’
‘I know you love a challenge,’ I said hopefully. ‘And in return, you’ll get an interview with Skylar Chase. Most proper journalists don’t get that opportunity. And I have to prove to Mum that I’ve made the effort to learn about the hotel.’
‘Why are you so desperate to go to the Christmas Ball?’
‘It’s my favourite time of year. You know I love it.’
‘Yeah, but right now you’re telling me you’re willing to actually do some work around the hotel and spend your free time learning things, which isn’t really your style. So why are you this desperate to go?’
I shuffled my feet, knocking over a basket of bleach bottles.
‘Ethan Duke asked me to go with him. You know. Like a date. And I can’t cancel on Ethan Duke. ’ I bit my lip. ‘So? Will you help me?’
I gripped his arm gently as he didn’t respond. ‘Cal? Pleeeeeeeeease?’
I gave him the biggest puppy eyes I could muster.
‘Fine.’ He sighed grudgingly. ‘Stop looking at me like that. You’ll damage your eye sockets.’
‘YES!’ I whooped. ‘Thank you. You won’t regret it.’
‘Wanna bet?’
‘When do we start?’ I asked eagerly.
‘We need to ask all the different team managers when it suits them for us to shadow,’ Cal informed me. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve sorted a plan.’
‘Cool. Great idea. I’m excited to . . . you know . . . get to work.’
‘Right, I’m sure,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
I followed him back out into the corridor at the exact moment Mr Grindle happened to be walking past from the library. He stopped in his tracks and observed us emerging with a stunned expression on his face.
‘Trust me, Mr Grindle.’ Cal sighed, walking past him. ‘You really don’t want to know.’
‘No, not this one.’
Cal and Amy, one of the housekeeping staff, shared a glance.
‘What do you mean?’ Cal asked.
‘Can’t we do another room?’
‘No,’ Cal answered. ‘Amy needs to do this room, so this is the one we’re helping her with. What’s wrong with the Sapphire Suite?’
‘Ohhh,’ Amy said, her eyes widening in understanding. ‘This was Prince Gustav’s room.’
Cal laughed and put his hand out for her to pass him the heavy, old-fashioned room key.
‘Come on, Flick, it’s not like it’s haunted.’
He was still chuckling to himself as we walked through into the large suite. I shuddered at the memory of the last time I’d been here, when those burly security men had dragged me out.
‘Want me to go and get your selfie stick so you can vlog about this moving experience to your millions of followers?�
�� Cal asked, chucking the keys on the dressing table.
‘Whatever,’ I huffed, glaring at him. ‘I can’t vlog now I’m grounded, can I? Vloggers are meant to have interesting, glamorous lives. I’m stuck in here with you.’
‘So grateful,’ he murmured, sharing a look with Amy.
I settled myself on the sofa and kicked off my shoes as Amy began to unload the pile of linen from her trolley and on to the bed.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Cal asked me. ‘You need to help Amy with the sheets.’
It was only the first day of him showing me the ropes and I already felt VERY tired of the whole thing. It was also obvious that he was revelling in the opportunity to boss me about.
Cal had thought it a good idea to start my ‘Royale education’, as he pompously put it, with the housekeeping team on Saturday morning, so I could learn how everything looks so perfect all the time. He introduced me to Amy, who told me she’d worked at the hotel for three years, which was weird as I’d never noticed her before, and then we’d spent ages in the laundry room while Amy yapped on about her daily routine at Cal’s request. I had stuck it out even though the laundry had an overpowering lavender smell, and I even managed to only yawn once the whole time she was talking, which was wildly impressive considering the topic.
I didn’t really think it was necessary to shadow her for the rest of the afternoon, when I’d already heard what she did in way too much detail, but Cal insisted that doing the job myself would be the only way I could really learn about it. All I did was roll my eyes when he said that and he went off on one, saying this was my idea in the first place and that I wasn’t going to impress my mum with that attitude. I went, ‘Calm down, Grandpa,’ and that just made him more annoyed and he made me push the stupid linen trolley the whole way to the room, which was really difficult because it had a dodgy wheel. It did however give me an excellent excuse when I accidentally-on-purpose rolled it sharply into the back of his ankle.
‘Amy, I think you’ve made a mistake,’ I pointed out, lifting one of the folded sheets off the pile as she stripped the bed. ‘There’s only one bed in here but you’ve put out enough linen to do the whole hotel.’
She smiled, as she shook the pillows out of their cases. ‘No, that’s all just for one bed. There are a lot of layers involved. Right, shake out the bottom sheet.’
‘Which one’s the bottom one?’ I asked. ‘They all look identical.’
‘Not at all, some of them are patterned,’ she said, coming over to show me. ‘You see this detailed stitching here in the corners?’
‘Oh yeah.’ I looked closer. ‘That’s quite pretty.’
‘They’re specially made for the hotel,’ she told me proudly. ‘You can’t buy these sheets. This one is the bottom one.’ She threw a sheet at me. ‘Shake it out and then lift it across the bed and grab the corners. I’ll help with the other side.’
Doing what I was told, I shook the folded sheet and then, taking two corners, I waved it up above my head so it would open up and spread out across the bed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. As I threw it up in the air, I accidentally let go of the corners I was holding, and it floated down over my head. It was so big that I tried to find my way out, but somehow managed to tread on it and get stuck.
‘Are you pretending to be a ghost?’ I heard Cal ask, as I started pulling it forwards over my head and face to see if that would work.
‘No,’ I replied, breathing in a mouthful of the sheet.
‘Have you never made a bed before? Seriously, what are you doing?’
‘What is wrong with this thing?’ I said, thrashing my arms about and ignoring Amy’s giggles. ‘Why doesn’t it have an end to it?’
‘You’re standing on it, you numpty.’ Cal laughed. ‘Get off it and then just pull it over your head.’
‘Who uses the word “numpty”?’ I retorted. ‘You are such a –’
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to finish the end of my sentence because, in trying to get the sheet out from under my feet, my socks slipped as I pulled it forwards and I completely lost my balance, stumbling backwards and falling flat across the bed, wrapped up in the sheet like an Egyptian mummy.
Cal was never going to let me live this one down.
They both burst into hysterical laughter and when Amy came to my aid, pulling the sheet off me, I saw that Cal was bent over double, clutching his stomach.
‘I’m sorry,’ he wheezed, as I threw him a dirty look. ‘But you should have seen yourself scrabbling about under there!’
‘I’m sure it was hilarious,’ I huffed, going into the bathroom to sort out my hair.
When I came back through, Amy fanned the sheet perfectly over the bed with barely a flick of her wrists and pulled the corners under the mattress in less than a minute.
‘How did you do that?’ I asked her, putting my hands on my hips. ‘There must be a trick to it, which you’re not telling me.’
‘Practice,’ she answered simply, fiddling with yet more sheets for the top layers.
‘How did you get it so smooth?’ I said, running my hand across the mattress.
‘We iron them.’
My mouth fell open. ‘You iron the bed sheets?’
‘Of course.’
‘All of them?’
‘Yes.’
I stared at her and Cal came to stand next to me as Amy got the gold patterned bedspread ready to lay out for the finishing touch.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ he said, helping her by stretching out the corner of the bedspread on our side. ‘Amy makes it look easy.’ She smiled at him gratefully.
I hated to agree with Cal Weston but I had to nod. There are hundreds of rooms in the hotel, including twin and family rooms and if each bed had this many sheets on it . . . well, that is more ironing than I could imagine. I watched as Amy swiftly arranged the pillows and gold cushions into a perfect arc across the bed.
I never thought I’d be so impressed by someone just making a bed. Hanging out with Cal was clearly turning me into a loser.
‘Time to clean the bathroom,’ Amy said, grabbing the bucket of cleaning products from the bottom of the trolley and opening the door to the en suite.
‘No way,’ I said, shaking my head as Cal gave me a knowing look. ‘No chance.’
‘How do you think they look so squeaky clean the whole time?’ he said, pushing me towards it. ‘Someone has to do it.’
‘Why don’t you empty the bins?’ Amy suggested as she folded the corner of the toilet roll into a triangle and popped it on to the holder. ‘That would be a great help.’
‘Good idea,’ Cal said brightly, searching through the trolley for two pairs of latex gloves. ‘Put these on,’ he instructed me.
‘What do you mean “empty the bins”? Where?’ I asked, taking the gloves and inspecting them.
Cal snorted. ‘You’ve never emptied the bins? Doesn’t your mum ever ask you?’
‘No.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t even know if she does them. They just get emptied.’
‘You are unbelievable,’ he said, lifting the bag out of the bin under the dressing table and tying the ends, before holding it out at me.
I stared at it in horror.
‘Come on, put the gloves on,’ he encouraged. ‘If you’re going to be in charge one day, you have to know this place, inside out.’
I reluctantly pulled on the gloves and took the bin bag, holding my nose. ‘Ew.’
‘It is NOT that bad,’ he said, leading the way out of the room.
He picked up a few more bin bags put out by another member of staff, who was cleaning the rooms further down the corridor. He yelled thanks to Cal as he passed them to me and we got in the lift.
‘How come you know everyone?’ I asked, holding the bin bags at arm’s length away from me.
‘Because I bother to talk to them,’ he said pointedly.
We went out the exit next to the laundry room and Cal gestured to the big industrial bins. I put the bags down on th
e floor and, one by one, threw them into the bigger bin.
‘Eugh,’ I yelped, as I missed and hit the edge of the bin, causing the bag I was holding to explode. I looked at the mess scattered around our feet. ‘Who do we get to clean this up?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Guess.’
‘Nooooo!’ I cried.
‘You’re wearing gloves,’ he said, pinging the bottom of his for effect. ‘Come on, I’ll help you.’
He bent down and began to gather up the rubbish, every now and then straightening up to throw it in the bin. He watched me in bemusement as I gracefully bent my knees to join him, whimpering the whole way down.
‘We’ll be done in no time,’ he said. ‘Just be careful of the mice. Look, there’s one by your shoe.’
‘WHAT?’
I screamed and leaped to my feet, running away from the bin and slamming myself against the wall, looking around the concrete madly. ‘WHERE HAS IT GONE? WHERE IS IT?’
‘I’m joking! I’m joking!’ He laughed, standing up. ‘I swear, it was just a joke. There’s no mouse!’
‘That was NOT funny!’ I yelled. ‘You gave me a heart attack!’
‘I’m sorry.’ He chuckled. ‘You should have seen your face!’
I came back over and couldn’t help but smile in relief. I guess that may have been a slight overreaction. I giggled as I bent down to pick up the last bits of rubbish.
‘Whoa,’ Cal said, his eyes twinkling. ‘Did you just laugh?’
‘So?’
‘I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh in years.’
‘Well, maybe that’s because you’re not very funny.’
‘Touché.’ He grinned. ‘I forgot you had a sense of humour. Hard to notice it these days under all those airs and graces.’
I straightened up, holding a banana skin.
‘I think my sense of humour would really enjoy throwing this banana skin in that smug face of yours,’ I said, as he took a small step back.
‘Put that in the bin, Flick.’ He gulped. ‘You know I hate bananas.’
‘That didn’t stop you leaving that fake snake in my locker when you knew I hated snakes.’
‘That was different.’ He shivered as I dangled the banana skin in front of him threateningly. ‘That was years ago. And it wasn’t unhygienic.’ His eyes shifted from the banana skin to meet mine. He couldn’t suppress a grin. ‘And it was hilarious. You screamed so loudly.’
Secrets of a Teenage Heiress Page 11