‘Nah. He’s starting to catch on that I’ve got bad news whenever you’re with me. You’re a harbinger of doom.’
Chef reacts like anyone who’s just been told his entire role is changing, whether he likes it or not, and that if he can’t pull his socks up then he’ll lose his job. I’m just glad he doesn’t have a knife in his hand when I tell him. His language does prove that he really was in the military, though. ‘Would you kiss your mother with that mouth, Chef?’ I say.
‘Beg your pardon, Rosie, but that’s bollocks.’ He glances again at the menu that PK sent through. ‘Sea foam clouds? How the bloody hell am I supposed to put sea foam clouds on a plate?’ His brow creases over the ridiculousness of the very idea.
I totally agree with him, but if I don’t look like I believe in what we’re doing, I’ll lose whatever tiny bit of credibility I still have. After Flamingogate and the uniform fiasco, that’s probably not much. ‘I’ve looked up a recipe, actually,’ I tell him. Maybe if he knows it’s not that difficult, he’ll stop giving me dirty looks. ‘A foam is just a liquid that’s been whipped up with a hand mixer and some … I forget what it’s called.’
‘Lecithin,’ he says.
‘That’s right. See? You already know. Chef, won’t you please at least try? Think of it this way. If nobody comes to the restaurant, then they’ll have to rethink the whole stupid – the whole idea.’
He crosses his arms. ‘And I’ll have worked for a month – it is a month, right? That’s how long I’ve got to jump through all these hoops? I’ll have worked for a month to prepare a menu that nobody eats. Rosie, I just want to cook food that people like to eat. Is that so hard to understand?’
‘Can’t you see it as a challenge? PK says they’re running a big marketing campaign to get the punters into the hotel. You’ll have a whole new clientele. Isn’t that exciting?’
‘Are you excited?’ he shoots back.
Of course I’m bloomin’ not. ‘We’ve all got to try, Chef.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. You’re not having to invent foraged essence of anything. Jesus, give me the good old days when au jus was pretentious. Now get out of my kitchen.’
I’m getting kind of tired of always being the bearer of bad news. ‘You’re the change manager,’ I tell Rory when I stomp back to reception, ‘so why aren’t you the one telling everyone about the changes? You offer to come with me, but you should be doing it instead of me.’
He looks surprised. ‘Rosie, did you want me to? I can, of course. Sometimes managers leave the whole thing to me, and other times they like to be the one to deal with their colleagues because they know them so well. I’m sorry, I assumed you wanted to do it.’
Typical. When I have the slightest go at Rory, instead of getting shirty, he comes back all nice and accommodating. It’s infuriating. ‘It is probably better coming from me,’ I concede. ‘It’s just easier coming from you. Easier for me, I mean.’
He laughs. ‘Well, at least let me be there when you have to do it, okay? That way they can lash out at me. I don’t mind. I know this isn’t easy.’ He checks the corridor. Then he envelops me in his arms. ‘It’ll be uncomfortable for a little while yet. Then once you’re up and running, it’ll be okay.’
‘Do you support all your clients like this?’ I murmur into his chest. ‘Because I have to say it’s probably going above and beyond.’
‘You’re the only one,’ he says.
‘Right back at you.’ It doesn’t really matter how we’re labelled. We’re together and this feels good. And easy and normal and relaxed and fun and, and, and. Though I’m not getting carried away again.
Chef is still cross with me on Saturday, but he does come with us to Scarborough Spa. Lill’s been talking about seeing this act for ages. She seems honestly keen for the show, which I find admirable. If I’d struggled as much as she does to get on stage, watching a contemporary who was doing it would be the last way I’d want to spend my Saturday night. But then she is a true professional.
The Colonel, bless him, keeps trying to take her arm to help her over imaginary rough ground. ‘I am perfectly capable of walking!’ she finally snaps.
‘She speaks!’ the Colonel says. ‘Finally, a thaw in relations.’
‘Only to tell you to stop pestering me.’
‘It’s progress, my dear Lillian. At least you’re coming to the table, and that can only help in peace treaty negotiations. I am a patient old soldier. The Treaty of Versailles wasn’t decided in a day.’
She stops our progress to shoot the Colonel a withering look. ‘I think you’ll find that led to World War Two.’
But the Colonel just smiles and murmurs, ‘Clever Lillian.’
He’s talked of nothing but this outing for days, and the Colonel isn’t usually the excitable type. Lill does seem to be softening a bit, and none too soon. The poor Colonel. He only wants his life to go on the way it always has. It won’t really matter whether he technically owns the hotel or not, as long as he can read his paper in the conservatory and chat with the residents and guests and pursue Lill with a glass of whisky in his hand. So far, we’ve kept the worst of the Philansky brothers’ changes from him, but he’s going to notice when Chef stops serving us lunch so he can concentrate on desiccating pork chops or fileting meringues or whatever the set menu is supposed to deliver. That will be a blow.
It’s a good thing that I didn’t realise the full implications of PK’s set menu pronouncement while we were face-to-Skype. I wouldn’t have been able to hold my tongue about it, and then he’d have another reason to accuse me of being obtrusive.
We’re going to be a dinner-only hotel as of December 1st. That means no more lunches made by Chef. I can see why PK and Curtis are doing it, but what are the Colonel and Miracle and the others supposed to do? Lunch is their main meal of the day.
I’ll just add that to my list of things to sort out.
‘Barry looks pleased to be out,’ Rory says to Peter as we walk along the seafront road towards the Spa.
He does, too. He’s prancing along, which takes some effort for a basset hound. Every few steps his nose points skyward and his ears flop back. I can smell the sea too, although not as well as him – the pungent aroma of algae swirling around us on the offshore wind. It’s putting a spring in all our steps.
We’re protected from the wind, though, tucked in beside the ivy-covered bluff that runs along this part of the beach. Further back towards the hotel, the land flattens out and the parade of games arcades, cafés and ice-cream parlours clutter the seafront. But here it’s quiet and a bit wild. It’s the part of the beach that I like to come to sometimes to stare at the sea.
‘It’s been all work and no play for the poor boy,’ says Peter. ‘The routine’s coming along, though. We should be ready in time.’
‘Do you have an audition date?’ Lill asks.
‘We’ll aim for one in November. Barry’s been a star.’ He reaches down to stroke his dog. ‘He needs this night out.’
‘You do too, then,’ Miracle points out. ‘Barry’s not doing all de work.’
‘No, but I’m the one who made the decision to try out for the show,’ Peter says. ‘I did talk it over with him first, of course, and he had no objections. But it was my choice to put us through all this.’
‘I’m sure Barry will be as happy as you are to try out,’ I say.
‘Oh, I’ve no doubt,’ say Peter. ‘This dog was born for the stage.’ His gaze upon Barry’s broad back is one of pure devotion.
‘So was his owner,’ Lill adds.
‘His human, if you don’t mind,’ says Peter.
‘Right. His human.’
But not everyone is as pleased as we are that Barry is with us. ‘Sorry, no dogs,’ the teenage ticket attendant says when we meet him at the venue door.
‘It’s all right.’ Peter smiles. ‘He’s allowed in.’
‘No, he ain’t. You’ll have to tie him up outside.’
‘Tie him up!’ Peter s
ays, as if the boy is talking about leaving his gran on the kerb.
I put a steadying hand on Peter’s arm so he doesn’t get too worked up. Even though he’s wearing his helmet, it’s not nice when he has a sleep attack away from the hotel. People stare at him like he’s some kind of freak, instead of a regular person with an unfortunate condition.
‘He can’t come in,’ the boy says again, this time more kindly. ‘He’s a dog. Besides, he ain’t got a ticket.’
His attempt at humour falls flat with us.
Lill steps in. ‘Listen, doll, it’s okay for him to come in with us. We know the manager. We’ve got his say-so.’ That seemingly settled, she goes to pass the boy, who makes the mistake of grabbing her arm.
‘Take your hands off me, young man! I will not be manhandled.’ Heads turn in our direction.
‘Is there some problem?’ A middle-aged man in a suit hurries over.
‘This boy won’t let us take our seats,’ Lill says. ‘Are you the manager?’ Her question sort of contradicts her claim from a minute ago, but the boy doesn’t look like he’s noticed. ‘We’ve come to see Shirley.’ Lill makes it sound as though we’re having tea with her good mate, Shirley, who also happens to be tonight’s headline act.
It has put the manager on his back foot. ‘But the dog …’ Then he drags his eyes from Lill, who does look spectacular in her bright-red wool coat and white boots. Her blonde bob is perfectly coiffed and her false lashes are so long and thick that she could be in a Rimmel advert. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he says to Peter. ‘You did my daughter’s birthday party last year. Sorry, I should have recognised Barry. It’s all right, son,’ he says to the attendant, ‘Barry is welcome.’
‘Sheesh,’ Lill says as we make our way to the seats. ‘That dog’s got more influence around here than me. Maybe he’ll put in a good word at my next audition.’
‘He’s the Dogfather,’ Rory says, though nobody but me laughs.
The singer – our bestie, Shirley, as I’ll now always think of her – is good, but I think Lill is better. Still, it’s an enjoyable few hours and we’re all on a high when we leave.
‘My children would have loved that,’ Miracle says, holding the door open for the Colonel. He might be spry, but with his cane in one hand he does sometimes get stuck in doors. ‘I’ll have to bring them the next time she’s on. Does she perform in town a lot?’
‘She gets around,’ Lill says. ‘It helps that her son is one of the biggest booking agents in the country. She’s got offspring in high places. The rest of us fight over the scraps.’
‘You’ve got a better voice, though,’ I tell Lill. ‘You should be the one selling out the Spa, not her.’
‘Thanks, doll, but if it was just about talent, then I’d be known by my first name too, like Dusty, Petula and Cilla. I just never quite got the right break. Lord knows, I did try. I changed my name and everything.’
This is news to us all. ‘What was your real name?’ Peter asks.
Lill shakes her head. ‘My parents named me Betty. Betty Rainbolt, but I’ve been Lillian Raines for so long that she doesn’t even seem like me anymore. Nobody was ever going to make Betty Rainbolt famous. Now I’m starting to wonder about Lillian Raines too. But never mind. I’ve got another audition next week. I’ll just have to be head and shoulders above everyone else.’ When the Colonel takes her arm to cross the road, she doesn’t snatch it back. It’s not exactly a special relationship yet, but at least Lill is no longer amassing troops to repel the Colonel at the border.
Lill is a total inspiration. Here’s someone who’s worked since her teens to do everything she possibly could to rise to the top of her profession. That meant decades of sacrifice when I’m sure she’d have preferred to slack off and, thanks to the insecurity of showbiz life, here she is now in her twilight years, living in a run-down hotel on the Council’s purse and still having to go to every audition she can find. Yet she never seems to want to live another way. Not only does she have an absolute belief in herself, she’s one of the most energetic people I know, of any age. She goes for what she wants, no matter what’s in the way. She’ll climb over it or go around or tunnel underneath.
And here’s me, worrying about whether I should apply to keep my own job just because it might tie me to Scarborough when Rory moves on? Did I learn nothing in New York? I could have been fluent in French and eating croissants every morning for breakfast if I hadn’t stepped aside then.
Instead of just admiring Lill, I chide myself, I should be taking a leaf out of her book.
‘I’m applying for my job,’ I tell Rory as we walk back. It sounds a little more aggressive than I planned. Sod it, I’m feeling a little more aggressive than I planned.
‘I didn’t realise you might not,’ he says. His eyes look positively owlish as he scrutinises my face from behind his thick lenses. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’
The question floats between us on the cold, salty air. If he can’t see why, then I’m not going to be the one to admit it. I don’t like even thinking that I’d consider giving up my job just to stay with a bloke. Women didn’t burn their bras in the sixties for me to give up opportunities like this. ‘I was just thinking I might want a change,’ I say instead. ‘It doesn’t matter. Because I am applying.’
He smiles. ‘You can always turn it down, or leave later, if you decide you do want something new. That’s the good thing about working in hospitality. It’s easy to chop and change.’
He reaches for my hand. I put it in my coat pocket.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘People will see.’
‘So what? We’re not a secret. Are we?’ When I don’t answer, he stops me. ‘Rosie? Are we supposed to be a secret?’
‘Well, if we were,’ I whisper, ‘then you’re doing a terrible job of keeping it, aren’t you?’ The others have stopped because we have. ‘No, we’re not a secret. I just don’t want to make a big deal, if that’s all right with you. We are working together. It’s unprofessional.’
‘Oh, come on, it’s romantic,’ he says. ‘A job throws us together and we get on like a house on fire. I, for one, think that’s pretty great. Don’t you?’
Everyone is looking at us. Lill has an eyebrow cocked in question. Miracle’s face splits into a grin. ‘Are you two …?’ she asks.
The Colonel answers for us. ‘They’re fraternising. At ease, everyone, they’re off duty. Perfectly within the rules.’
Technically, I guess he’s right. I reach for Rory’s hand.
‘I don’t think I’ll come to the pub with you,’ I tell the others. ‘This is the road to my house,’ I explain, hoping Rory will get my unsubtle hint.
‘I can walk Rosie home,’ he says right away. ‘If that’s all right?’ His eyes are searching mine.
‘It’s all right,’ I say, squeezing his hand tighter.
Chapter 15
Well, I didn’t expect that. And by that I mean one of the best nights of my life. Rory had walked back with me to my parents’ house. That felt weird, not because it was Rory, but because I’d realised, as I let us in the front door, that I’d never brought a bloke home before. I mean for non-platonic purposes. So even though I’m twenty-eight, and my parents are hundreds of miles away in France, and they probably wouldn’t mind Rory being there, I felt myself seizing up with nerves.
Rory, of course, was his usual relaxed self as he followed me from room to room, admiring the house and its decor. ‘I love these old cottages,’ he said. ‘There’s a real sense of all the people who’ve lived here before.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I’d said, thinking of my parents. That wasn’t helping.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ I asked. ‘I haven’t got any beer or wine. I think there might be some spirits, though, and I’ve got half a lemon in the fridge.’
‘A cup of tea would be great,’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m nervous!’ I blurted out. ‘I’ve never had a bloke back here.’ I took a deep breath. ‘It’s all ri
ght. I’ll calm down in a minute.’ I just had to remember that this was Rory. Nice, normal, no-reason-to-be-anxious Rory. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Do you want to take your coat off?’
He laughed. ‘As long as I’m allowed to stay, thanks.’
Filling the kettle, getting down two unchipped builders’ mugs and adding the teabags – all the little rituals I could do on autopilot – helped to calm me. I’m home, in my kitchen, I thought. There was no need to freak out. I was in control. Just because I’d asked Rory in for a drink didn’t mean he had to spend the night. If I didn’t want him to.
But who was I kidding? Of course I wanted him to.
Rory, being typically Rorylike, made it so easy.
Which was why anyone out and about early this morning would have seen us walking, hand in hand, to work together.
But being colleagues means I need to have a split personality now. As much as girlfriend-me wants to spend the day canoodling with Rory under the office desk, work-me needs him with his clothes and his business head firmly in place. We still have a job to do.
There are curls of fax paper littering the floor when I unlock the office. ‘PK has been busy,’ I say, stooping to gather them up. ‘Has he got something against email? He can Skype, so he knows how to use a computer.’
‘His brother still uses a pager,’ Rory reminds me. ‘Their tech skills are Jurassic. What’s wrong? What’s it say?’
I glance from PK’s scrawled handwriting to Rory. ‘It’s a list of rules for the hotel. Flippin’ heck, Rory, this is bad.’
With our heads together, we read every awful pronouncement. ‘He can’t do this,’ Rory mumbles. ‘We’ll check the law, but he can’t do this. I don’t think he can do this.’
‘He can’t? Or you think he can’t? Which is it, Rory?’
‘Well, I don’t know yet, do I? I’ve just said we need to check the legal position.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to attack you. It’s just what I’ve been afraid of ever since the Colonel sold up.’
The Big Dreams Beach Hotel Page 14