The Big Dreams Beach Hotel

by Lilly Bartlett

  ‘It’s the shape you’re worried about?’ Peter says. ‘They’re wicker. Do they know we’re English?’

  I smile at that. The new owners are bringing out the nationalists in all of us. ‘They know. They say this is how all of their hotels are decorated, and their guests love it. I did object to the upholstery, by the way. The owner wouldn’t budge.’

  ‘It’s not easy following orders when you’re a conscientious objector,’ the Colonel points out. ‘But it must be done for the good of the unit.’

  ‘Can we take the furniture now?’ the delivery man asks Rory. ‘We’ve got blankets to wrap it.’

  ‘Taking the furniture?!’ the Colonel splutters. ‘You’re not taking our furniture!’ He’s forgotten his willingness to follow orders already.

  ‘Well, technically, Colonel, it’s not our furniture. It belongs to the hotel. You sold the contents with the hotel.’

  Lill makes a dramatic sigh and stomps from the room.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make her upset,’ Rory says.

  ‘It’s not you. It’s the whole situation,’ I tell him. Then, turning to the delivery man, I say, ‘Where are you taking it?’

  ‘Auction house,’ he says.

  ‘Must you take it all?’

  He consults his sheet of paper. ‘It says here to clear the conservatory. Everything but the piano.’ Seeing the look on the Colonel’s face, he adds, ‘But we can’t clear what’s not in the conservatory, can we? We’re just going out for a fag now. We’ll come back in, say, twenty minutes?’

  I smile my thanks. ‘Colonel? Which furniture would you like to keep? We’ll move your chair into the bar for now, and anything else.’

  As the Colonel walks through the conservatory, touching every piece of old Victorian furniture, his family memories well up. ‘This was my grandmother’s wedding present from the Duke of Marlborough,’ he says, running his hand along the gleaming mahogany sideboard. It may not be to my taste, but I can’t help but admire the quality in the intricate curlicue carvings on the cabinet doors and drawer fronts, and the grape bunches and foliage carved into the pediment back. ‘Our families were great friends,’ he says. ‘Winston Churchill was the Duke’s grandson.’ He peers through the sea spray-stained window, possibly imagining sitting on ‘uncle’ Winston’s knee. ‘And I sent this to Beatrice from China.’ It’s a red lacquer cabinet with gold birds and flowers painted all over. Like the sideboard, it’s not my style, but I can see its appeal. ‘I’m afraid I kicked off her obsession with chinoiserie with that gift. Our parents always blamed me, but it made Beatrice happy. I regretted giving her that sword, though,’ he says, shaking his head at the umbrella stand by the door.

  ‘What sword?’ I ask, staring at the wrought-iron stand.

  ‘That was its stand,’ he says. ‘Daddy got rid of it when Beatrice started carrying it when she went shopping. He was afraid she’d use it one day. She wouldn’t have, though. She was a kind soul.’

  I always wondered why he’d keep such a rubbish umbrella stand. You can only lean umbrellas against it on one side. ‘I don’t want to rush you, Colonel, but we’ll need to know which pieces to move to the bar. Before the men come back.’

  ‘Righto. Let’s get my chair. Everything else can go.’

  ‘But what about the Chinese cabinet? And Winston’s sideboard?’

  His look is sad. ‘There’s no one to pass it on to, Rose Dear. No children to carry on, you see. It would only have to be sold once I’m gone anyway. I’m the last in the line. At least I can have my chair while I’m here. Unless you want any of it? You’re very welcome.’

  I’m touched that he’d give me his family heirlooms, but I wouldn’t feel right taking them. So instead, I say, ‘Maybe Lill would like something for her room?’

  ‘She has always admired the lacquer cabinet,’ he says.

  ‘It’s her style. I think it would make a nice peace offering, don’t you?’

  ‘It can’t hurt negotiations, my girl.’

  Peter and Rory carry the cabinet and the Colonel’s chair into the bar. ‘That was well done,’ Rory says to me, when we’re alone again at reception. ‘At least we’ll get to keep a few things that make the hotel what it is.’

  I like that he’s still saying ‘we’. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like a ‘we’, even platonically.

  Chapter 9

  It was the morning after the Christmas party in New York, and I couldn’t believe I’d actually pulled it off. Chuck and I had snuck out of our pilfered hotel room, back down to the lobby and out the door without anyone seeing us.

  First, though, I got to wake up beside him. He looked so gorgeous as he slept that I felt dizzy just staring at him. In sleep, his usual cheeky expression was gone, replaced by a beautiful innocence that took my breath away. I’d never been so close to that kind of manly perfection.

  And that was just his face. He also had a six pack under his shirt – the only type I’d ever seen before was on a shelf at the off-licence. He did all the exercise and I was getting the reward!

  Our first night together was incredible, mind-blowing, if-I-could-have-one-last-shag-before-the-world-ended-this-would-be-it amazing. There was none of the usual first-time awkwardness of misaligned body parts and bumped foreheads. We fit together perfectly and he seemed to know exactly what I wanted. Chuck was a dirty- mind reader.

  His hooded eyes lazily opened. ‘Good morning,’ he said. His voice was gravelly from sleep and probably a bit too much to drink.

  ‘Good morning.’ Self-consciously I put the sheet up to my mouth so he wouldn’t get a whiff of my morning-after champagne breath.

  But he pulled the sheet down to kiss me. His breath was at least as bad as mine. That made me feel better. ‘What a treat to wake up like this,’ he said. ‘I’d like to do it every day.’

  ‘Then it wouldn’t be a treat.’ Now why did I have to be so literal? ‘I mean it would just be the norm if you did it every day.’ Rosie the Pedant.

  ‘I wish it could be the norm,’ he said.

  Did that mean it couldn’t be?

  ‘I don’t think we could risk living in the hotel, though,’ he went on. ‘As comfortable as this bed is. I need to get some of these sheets. Egyptian cotton?’

  Ah, so it was the bed he was admiring. ‘Three hundred thread count,’ I said, because I’d been the one who ordered them for the hotel. Last night we’d whispered loads of things to each other – uninhibited, romantic, secret things – and now we were talking bed linen. I enjoyed a good thread count as much as the next woman, but I wanted intimacy with Chuck, not domestic conversations.

  ‘Would you mind if I showered first?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure everyone will be in late this morning, but I’m supposed to meet with my boss first thing and I’ll need to pick up a new shirt and stuff. I didn’t plan on last night.’ He kissed me again. ‘Or I would have worn better boxer shorts.’

  I looked at his rumpled tux on the floor. ‘What about a suit? Or will you be dressing formally for work today?’

  ‘I changed at the office last night. My suit’s still there.’

  More practical talk. This was going in the wrong direction. ‘I don’t have to be at work till this afternoon,’ I said, ‘so I can shower at home. You go ahead.’

  That’s what I said, though my mind was screaming Don’t leave this bed!

  He turned on his phone, checking the time. ‘I didn’t realise it was so early.’ He turned it off again. ‘I’ve got some time, if you do?’ His cheeky grin was back.

  ‘I’m not doing anything special,’ I said.

  ‘Well, let’s see if we can do something about that.’

  See what I mean? He was a dirty-mind reader. There was no more talk of bedding either.

  I didn’t dare try using one of our hotel rooms again. I still couldn’t believe that I’d had the cheek to do it in the first place. That wasn’t me. I was no rule-breaker. I was the one Digby always made fun of for be
ing such a stickler. In one lusty night, I’d gone from never even jaywalking across the road to stealing luxury hotel rooms.

  I blamed it on the love. I was so deep in it that I couldn’t think straight. The whole thing seemed like a one-chance-in-a-million miracle. I’d have done anything to be with Chuck.

  Andi kept me on the evening shift, so dating like normal people was out of the question. Chuck took long lunches most days, though, and we packed entire dates into the two hours before I had to be at work.

  ‘I always wish we had more time,’ he said, tracing his fingers over my thigh as we lay together in bed. (You didn’t think we were having lunch every day for two hours, did you?) We were getting a lot of use out of his club membership. It was only a few subway stops from both his work and mine, though the bills must have been costing him a fortune.

  It was the week before Christmas and we both felt the pressure of the separation it would mean. ‘And,’ he continued, reaching the top of my thigh, ‘I wish I’d met you in the summer when there aren’t any holidays.’

  ‘We probably would have met in summer if you’d hurried from Chicago instead of being so loyal to your old company,’ I said. Loyalty. Another thing I loved about him.

  ‘But then I wouldn’t have been so pathetically late organising the party. There’d have been space at one of our regular hotels and we wouldn’t have met. That would have been terrible.’

  I couldn’t imagine anything worse.

  ‘You know, I could cancel my ski trip if you want,’ he said. ‘And just come back after Christmas.’

  My heart leaped at the idea. It was bad enough that he had to go home to his parents in Wisconsin over the holidays, but his uni friends had booked a ten-day ski trip afterwards in Colorado. Nearly three Chuckless weeks. ‘You’ve had that planned for ages,’ I said. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t be the one to tell him not to go. That wouldn’t be cool. ‘Won’t you lose your deposit and your airfare if you cancel now?’

  ‘Yeah. And I haven’t seen my old roommate in almost two years. You’re right. I have to go.’

  Damn.

  Christmas in New York was quiet. Digby went back to his parents’ farm on Christmas Eve. He invited me to go, but I didn’t want to have a lot of plans because I never knew when Chuck would ring. He’d only been gone two days but the few times I’d missed his calls made me frantic with frustration. I’d ring straight back as soon as I saw the missed call, but his phone was always off. It was completely understandable given that he was with his family and it was Christmas. Up till then I’d always gone back to my parents’ house too, but that year I was glad I hadn’t. Aside from the astronomical airfares, having to deal with the time difference on top of such a random phone schedule would have pushed me over the edge.

  I was still working the evening shift, every night except Sunday. My phone stayed in my pocket the whole time so I didn’t miss a call. It was only when I was dealing with a guest and Andi was close by that I couldn’t answer. With each vibration in my pocket, I felt myself wanting to cry. Another missed chance.

  In hindsight, if I could have afforded it, I would have taken those days off to sit home waiting to hear from Chuck. Pathetic, right?

  It was nothing short of madness.

  We did manage to talk most days while he was away, but we were climbing the walls to see each other by the time he got back to New York in the second week of January.

  ‘I’m really starting to worry about you,’ Digby said the morning after Chuck’s return. ‘I get that a new relationship is intense, but you’re coming unhinged.’

  I peeled my eyes away from the hotel door to glare at him. ‘Then didn’t your glossy magazines tell you that it’s dangerous to challenge an unhinged woman?’ Chuck had rung me as soon as he’d landed at the airport but, much as I was dying to see him, I couldn’t very well ask him to haul his luggage and ski equipment to the hotel at nearly midnight. I wanted to, but I didn’t.

  ‘I’m serious, Rosie. This is unhealthy.’

  ‘I can’t help it if he’s amazing, Dig. You know how sometimes you just know when something is right?’

  ‘You don’t even know him,’ he said.

  ‘I do! We’ve seen each other nearly every day for two months. We’ve talked every day over Christmas and New Year’s. I know as much about him as I possibly could – about him and his family, his sister and his life in Wisconsin and Chicago before he came to New York, so, really, don’t worry about me.’

  ‘You don’t know where Wisconsin is.’

  ‘I do. It’s above Chicago, it’s on one of the Great Lakes and its major export is electrical machinery. I looked it up in case we go there to meet his parents.’

  ‘You’re insane, Rosie. Just be careful, okay?’

  Of course I was being careful. I wasn’t a fool.

  Chuck rang my mobile the next day just as I got into work. ‘Can you come outside? I can’t wait to see you.’

  ‘Come in,’ I told him. ‘Andi’s just gone out to have a haircut. Apparently it’s fine for her to have personal business during work hours. Besides, the party is finished, so you’re no longer a client.’

  ‘All the same, I don’t want you to get into trouble,’ he said. ‘One look at me and everyone will know I’m nuts about you. Come outside. We’ll go somewhere.’

  The smile on his face when he saw me was (nearly) worth the weeks apart. Until I remembered that I couldn’t just fling myself into his arms with my colleagues on the other side of the hotel’s plate-glass windows. How frustrating!

  His hair had grown and his skin was sun-kissed from skiing. I just bet his muscles all had a great workout too. Mmm, muscles.

  ‘I’ve told my office I have an external meeting,’ he said, not standing too close. ‘How long can you be away?’

  We were like Cold War spies meeting in some Berlin square. ‘Not long, unfortunately. It’s just me and Digby covering the desk. We could have a quick coffee, though?’

  ‘I’ll take what I can get, as long as we’re together.’

  That was the first coffee of what seemed like bucket loads over the next few weeks. With Chuck’s schedule picking up, and our January room sales making every afternoon crazy with check-ins, we were lucky to get even a few minutes together. Plus, the ski holiday and airfares, Christmas shopping and all those rooms we’d booked at Chuck’s club before the holiday had taken their toll on his credit cards. It was a dry January in more ways than one.

  I had to talk to Andi about my schedule. Working unsociable hours was part and parcel of the hotel business, but even a small change would make things so much easier.

  ‘Andi? I’d like to go back to some days if I could.’ I’d timed my request carefully. She’d just returned from her weekly massage. Of course we were expected to cover for her, although she wouldn’t reciprocate even for me to go to the loo.

  ‘Why?’

  Maybe she wasn’t as relaxed as I’d assumed. ‘Why? Because I’d like to have a life and you’ve had me on evenings for almost three months. Isn’t it someone else’s turn yet?’

  ‘Rosie. You’re under the mistaken impression that you have a say in my scheduling decisions.’

  ‘I could quit, Andi.’

  ‘Yes, you could if you wanted to go back to England. I’m guessing you don’t want to do that. Everyone else is happy with the schedule. You don’t hear Digby complaining, so live with it. Besides, it’s only six months till you’re in Paris. The time will fly.’

  Yes, but Digby got Fridays and Saturdays off. I caught him staring at me when she said that about Paris, but I ignored him. How could I tell him that whenever I thought about our next assignment together, I wanted to cry? I’d started fantasising about getting out of it so that I could stay in New York. And if Digby knew that, he’d be the one crying.

  I was starting to get desperate. With each hurried meeting, I worried that Chuck would find it all too hard. We constantly seemed to try and fail to find time to see each other. Our schedules
were almost completely opposite, though we’d settled into a weekend routine of sorts. Chuck came to my flat on Saturdays for a blissful few hours between my waking (too early) after Friday night’s midnight finish, and when I had to leave for my Saturday shift. And we got most of the day together on Sunday, though his standing 4p.m. sports bar date with his boss back in the suburbs meant I spent my Sunday nights alone.

  I needed that time, honestly, just to do laundry and pay bills, talk to my parents and get some food in for the week. All things that had slipped down my priority list since meeting Chuck.

  So I loved getting to Friday, when I knew I’d see him for the next two days. Though going into work first was always a struggle. The closer I got to the hotel, the more my feet dragged. Eight long hours of work while everyone else was out celebrating the end of another week.

  I thought I heard my name just as I pushed through the revolving doors. Turning around to see, I bashed my forehead on the glass as it swung towards me. It was an awkward shuffle around till I got back outside.

  ‘Chuck?’ He was sitting on the low wall at the side of the entrance. ‘Did you bunk off work early?’ My first thought was Yay! My second was that I had to be behind reception in about nine minutes to start my shift.

  ‘I did. And you’re bunking off too, to use your phrase. Well, actually, you’re not going to work at all.’

  ‘Am I not?’

  He shook his head as the smile bloomed across his face. ‘We’ve got a hall pass for the weekend. I’ve gotten out of meeting my boss on Sunday and you, my darling, finally have the whole weekend off.’

  I couldn’t take in what he was saying. For one thing, part of my mind was jumping up and down and screaming. The other part was saying there was no earthly way Andi would give me the weekend off.

  It was just like Chuck to know what I was thinking. ‘I worked it out with Digby. He’s covering your shifts tonight and tomorrow. He called in sick for you. He told your boss you’ve got a stomach bug. Apparently she has some kind of paranoia about vomiting? She said she wouldn’t have let you set foot in the hotel anyway.’