The Big Dreams Beach Hotel

by Lilly Bartlett

  At the top of PK’s list is the requirement that all the public spaces in the hotel are now for hotel guests only. That means the bar, the restaurant, the conservatory and even the reception area are off-limits. But to whom, exactly? ‘Peter and Lill and the others can still use them, though, can’t they?’ I ask. ‘They live in the hotel.’

  But Rory is shaking his head. ‘My guess is no. He’s underlined guests. They’re residents, not guests.’

  ‘Then what are they supposed to do? Just live in their rooms twenty-four hours a day?’

  But I know the answer, because it says so right on the last page. ‘Hotel guests are defined as temporary paying guests. Permanent residents are not guests. He’s freezing everyone out.’

  ‘Or locking them in, depending on your point of view.’ Rory sighs. ‘I hoped this wouldn’t happen, but PK went spare when he found out about the sitting tenants. He hired a solicitor to look into cancelling the Council contracts, but she couldn’t find a way around them. So I guess they’re going to make everyone leave of their own free will.’

  ‘That’s not free will!’ I say. ‘It’s bullying. They should be ashamed of themselves.’

  That’s not even the worst of it. Not only are they barring the residents from using the hotel that they’re living in, they’re dictating how they should dress. As if the Philanskys are in any position to give out fashion advice, when Curtis wears Hawaiian shirts in meetings and PK channels The Wolf of Wall Street. From now on, skirts above the knee are not allowed in the hotel. Loud colours are not allowed. And bicycle helmets are certainly not allowed. The brothers have dismissed Lill’s and Miracle’s entire wardrobes with a single stroke of the pen. ‘It doesn’t say they can’t wear their pyjamas,’ I say to Rory, whose forehead is creased with concern. ‘Or swimming costumes. It would serve them right.’

  ‘Unfortunately, the last line covers it: Or any inappropriate attire. It’s obvious they’re targeting the residents. I can check the law, though I’m guessing they already have.’

  PK has saved the worst for last. It’s just two words. No pets.

  ‘Poor Peter,’ I say.

  ‘Poor Barry. We’ll tell everyone together when they come down. I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t know they were going to be this ruthless. If I had, I probably wouldn’t have taken the assignment. There are lots of better ways to transition a business.’

  I reach over to squeeze his hand. ‘I’m glad you took the assignment. Otherwise I’d have to do this alone.’

  ‘You don’t have to do anything alone,’ he says. ‘I promise you that. Let me see what I can find online about the legality of all this.’

  By noon, workmen have come to install CCTV cameras all over the place. ‘What are we supposed to be, the Big Brother house?’ I snap to no one in particular. ‘Will we have to take turns in the diary room next?’ The cameras will be up and running as soon as they’re installed, we learn. Not only that – these aren’t static recording cameras. They’ll beam a live feed to the Philanskys’ offices, spying on every corner of the hotel. It’s all I can do not to give them a two-finger salute when the little red light comes on.

  ‘I have good news and bad news,’ Rory says later. Luckily the cameras don’t pick up audio too, so at least we can’t be overheard. Just overlooked. ‘A dress code can be enforced, but it’s less clear whether they can restrict the residents’ access to the common areas of the hotel. Technically, they are paying guests. They’re just long-term ones. So, for now, I wouldn’t say anything about it to Lill and the others. You and I can argue with PK on their behalf. As long as everyone adheres to the dress code while we figure out whether restricting access is legal, they’re not officially breaking the new rules.’

  ‘This is all geared around trying to force the residents out, isn’t it?’ I ask, even though it’s a rhetorical question.

  ‘I think so,’ he says. ‘The residents are taking up rooms that the owners could otherwise fill with their new clientele, and for more money than the Council is paying now.’ Seeing the look on my face, he holds up his hands. ‘I don’t agree with it, Rosie. I’m just telling you what they’re thinking. They’re making a business decision. They don’t know us, so they’re not taking into account that Lill and Peter and Miracle are actual people. They’re in the way, a problem to be solved.’

  ‘And what about Barry?’ I ask. ‘Surely they can’t make Peter get rid of him.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we’ll have to talk to Peter.’

  I was afraid he’d say that. ‘I can’t tell him to get rid of Barry.’

  ‘We won’t. We’ll just ask him to keep Barry out of the areas where there are cameras.’

  ‘You mean the whole hotel,’ I say.

  ‘Only until we figure things out. We just have to look like we’re following the rules. I’ll be happy to tell PK that they’ll need to check the legality of barring the residents from the common areas. It’ll at least buy everyone some time while they get their solicitors to look into it. But Rosie, what kind of job is this going to be for you? Are you sure you want to keep working here?’

  Alarm bells are clanging in my head. It’s easy enough for him. As soon as the assignment is finished, he’ll be off on another one. Where else am I supposed to go? I’d have to find another job in Scarborough, and there aren’t that many big hotels here to choose from. Working at this one hasn’t done my career any favours either. Staying somewhere long enough to look good on a CV is one thing, but when it’s at a run-down hotel whose glory days ended before the Beatles’ White Album was released, it’s called stagnating. ‘What are you saying? That I shouldn’t apply for my job? Because you don’t really get to have an opinion on that, you know. Just because we’re doing whatever we’re doing. My career is my decision.’

  ‘Riiight. Rosie, why would I tell you not to apply for your own job? I’m only saying that it might not be a job you’ll want, if the new owners do everything they’re threatening. Are we really arguing about this?’

  ‘No, not really,’ I say. ‘Because I am applying.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You don’t have any say in that.’

  ‘Understood. I never thought I did. Can we go and talk to Peter now?’

  I reach for his hand as we go towards the stairs. Then I remember the cameras and shove my hand into the pocket of my pink-striped uniform. The Colonel might not think there’s anything wrong with me dating Rory, and I’m starting to agree with him, but I don’t want PK adding my love life to his list of Don’ts if he sees us.

  Barry gives a single deep woof when I knock on their door. ‘It’s just us, Peter. Rory and me.’

  Peter is still in his dressing gown when he opens the door. He tucks it closer around himself. ‘Sorry, Rosie, I wasn’t expecting company.’

  ‘We can come back when you’re dressed, Peter. Sorry to disturb you.’

  ‘No, no, come in, please. I wasn’t asleep or anything.’ He laughs. ‘For once.’

  His room is spacious and light. Being at the top of the hotel, the dormer windows face out to sea. Despite the cold October day, the window is propped open. ‘Let me close that,’ he says, slamming it shut.

  I rarely come into the residents’ rooms, but maybe I should more often. Peter’s room definitely needs a paint job and the carpet is bare in patches. PK and Curtis didn’t touch these rooms in the renovation. What seemed then like a stroke of luck that meant less disruption for Peter and the others now looks like neglect.

  Even in its decay, it’s still a pretty room. The bed, armoire, writing desk and bedside tables are all old enough to be antiques, with the more recent addition of a two-person sofa and coffee table between the dormer windows. It makes a cosy little studio flat.

  But we’re not here to admire Peter’s decorating. ‘We’ve had some news from the new owners,’ I begin. ‘They’ve given us a good idea about how they want their investment to run, and we wanted to let you know.’

  Peter sits on the edge of his bed and gestu
res to the sofa. ‘Please, sit. You’d best tell me straight out.’ He pulls his robe around him again.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing set in stone,’ Rory says, even though having it written in a fax seems pretty set in stone to me. ‘Some of the things they want to do might not even be legal. We’re checking. But one thing impacts you. And Barry.’

  Peter nods. ‘They don’t want him here,’ he says. ‘I’ve been afraid this might happen.’ He looks at me. ‘You’re evicting me?’

  ‘No! Peter, no, of course not. Like Rory said, this might all come to nothing, but it seems sensible not to stir them up if we don’t have to. They’ve had cameras installed downstairs this morning … I guess so that they can see for themselves how their investment is doing. That does make it tricky for Barry, though. So maybe you could take him out the fire exit instead of through reception? That way they’re not reminded that he’s here.’

  Peter nods. ‘Of course. I don’t want to make your job any harder, Rosie. But what if they ask you directly if he’s still here?’

  I hesitate.

  ‘We’ll lie,’ Rory says. Then I do take his hand.

  Lill and Miracle aren’t nearly as offended by the new dress code as I was, so maybe I’m being too sensitive. ‘Whatever, doll,’ said Lill, when I told her. ‘Just so long as we can still be sociable downstairs, I’d wear a mask and feathers if I needed to.’

  I couldn’t look her in the eye. We glossed over the owners’ guests-only rules with everyone. They have no idea they’ve been banned. Like Rory said, we don’t even know if that’s legal yet so, until someone tells us, we’ll carry on as usual.

  Well, not quite as usual, I realise as I catch sight of Lill coming down the stairs later with Miracle.

  It’s weird enough seeing Miracle dressed all in black. That’s a colour I’ve only seen on her in tiny pops, as an accent within her usual colourful print dresses. She looks swamped, diminished in the drab colour. She looks lost.

  Lill, on the other hand, is anything but diminished.

  ‘Well, I did say.’ Her laughter rings through reception as she throws the end of her deep-blue feather boa over her shoulder. She looks like an OAP mermaid in her shimmery silver floor-length gown. ‘It’s not too much, is it?’ She roars again with glee. ‘The rule was No Knees, right?’

  Rory does a double-take as he rounds the corner. ‘Wow. You are a stunner, Lill.’

  ‘Thanks, doll. We’ll need to get a gown for Miracle too. Just following the rules, you know.’

  Miracle smiles. ‘As long as I don’t have to wear this much longer. They want us to fade into de background.’

  But Lill shakes her head. ‘Doll, I don’t think they want us at all.’

  We’re on a war footing now. The Colonel is in his element, planning strategy and bossing everyone around. He’s even got a white board up in his room for scribbling ideas for skirmishes, though they mostly seem to involve him drinking his whisky in a dinner jacket.

  It’s got to be a covert war. Peter and Barry are using the back stairs and Chef is learning to turn mushrooms and pickles and things into foam. If the Philanskys realise what we’re really doing, they’ll surely try to quash the revolution.

  It’s a little too covert, if you ask me, when it comes to Rory. He’s not acting as keen as the rest of us. Though he might have laughed along with Lill’s new dress code, I’m starting to wonder how dedicated to our cause he really is. When we had a Skype call with PK after the rules were faxed through, Rory wouldn’t even mention the legality of keeping the residents out of the common areas. He just talked in gadget-speak about the new cameras. Every time I tried to bring it up, Rory talked over the top of me. ‘We need ammunition first, Rosie,’ he’d said after we’d hung up. ‘You’ve seen how prickly PK can get. Let’s find out what’s legal and what’s not.’

  Well, I’m not waiting around for him to do it. I ring Citizens Advice for answers. ‘It doesn’t seem to be very straightforward, I’m afraid,’ the woman on the phone tells me when I’ve explained our situation. ‘Private clubs are allowed, and whether the permanent residents can continue to use the common areas depends on the wording of the hotel’s contract with the Council. I’m sorry we can’t provide you with a more definitive answer. You may need a legal opinion. We could point you to a solicitor, if that would help?’

  I thank her but say we haven’t really got money for that right now.

  ‘We can’t find out if it’s legal unless we hire a solicitor,’ I tell Rory, making it sound as if, somehow, this is all his fault. ‘With PK and Curtis spying on us, they’re going to start wondering why everyone’s still down here and looking like they’re about to perform cabaret. We need that solicitor.’

  Rory sighs. ‘We can’t hire a solicitor.’

  ‘It might not be too expensive.’

  ‘That’s not the issue. Rosie, we are the hotel. As employees, we’re the ones imposing the rules. We can’t pay a solicitor to see if what we’re doing is legal. That would be up to the Council to do.’

  ‘Or the residents,’ I say.

  ‘Well, not really, unfortunately. The contract is between the hotel and the Council, not the residents. They have no involvement with who the Council outsources its housing services to.’

  ‘But they could be involved, if I showed them the contracts. We have them in the files.’

  ‘No, Rosie, you can’t show them. It’s between the hotel and the Council. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to trust me that I know what I’m doing. My assignments haven’t always gone smoothly. I’ve had unhappy people before. Believe me, it will be worse for the residents if we don’t follow the rules.’

  ‘How can it be worse, Rory, when they’re being barred from their own home?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, if you give them a legal contract that’s between two legal entities, neither of which is them, then they can’t do anything with it. You, on the other hand, would be in trouble for handing out official hotel documents. The owners will only dig in their heels if we start stirring the pot now. Let’s at least wait till they ask, okay? The best outcome will be if the Philanskys check into the legality themselves. Then they’re the ones paying for it, and chances are they’ll quietly drop the rule once they see that it’s legally questionable. Trust me on this, Rosie. The trick to a smooth transition is to avoid conflict wherever we can.’

  Trust me. Now where have I heard that before? Oh, yes, that’s right. New York. And that turned out so well…

  Chapter 16

  I couldn’t get Digby to speak to me normally after I backed out of Paris. He’d only use the utterly polite tone we reserved for pain-in-the-arse guests when we wanted to get rid of them. ‘Digby,’ I said. ‘I know what you’re doing.’

  His smile was bland. ‘What do you mean, Rosie? I’m not doing anything. Did you want something?’

  ‘I want you to talk to me. Come on, Dig.’

  ‘I am talking to you. Can I help you with something else?’

  I sighed and went back to my work. He was my only real friend in the city, and now I’d lost him. No matter how many times I told myself I’d made the right decision, it still hurt.

  At least I hadn’t thrown away my future, and maybe my friendship, for nothing. Things were good with Chuck, though I had to fight every instinct to keep from telling him what I was giving up. That wouldn’t be fair. He’d never asked me to stay. Besides, it would only scare the stuffing out of him to know how much pressure there was for us to work out. What if he told me I should take the Paris assignment after all? It was too late for that. I’d already withdrawn my application.

  I vowed to be as truthful as possible, though. Until I had to lie.

  It was still a little chilly outside, but the March sun shone strongly on the day I decided to surprise Chuck at work with a lunchtime picnic. Treats from the fancy deli cost me a small fortune, and I didn’t have a romantic wicker basket or a woolly rug – just one of those reusable jute bags and a couple of tatty bath towels.
/>
  The sleek skyscraper that housed Chuck’s offices glinted in the sun. The atrium lobby was so starkly white it made me whisper when I got to the long reception desk. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ the ponytailed young woman asked.

  ‘Sorry, I’m here to see Chuck Paulsen.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Rosie MacDonald.’

  She typed something into her computer and started scanning the screen.

  ‘I don’t have an appointment,’ I said.

  ‘He doesn’t know you’re coming?’ She sounded quite put out about this.

  I knew I should have rung first. What if he was in a meeting? ‘No, I’m sorry. Could you just tell him that I’m downstairs?’

  ‘You can wait over there,’ she said. She didn’t pick up the phone till I was safely out of earshot.

  I felt self-conscious with my giant jute bag. The receptionist probably thought I was selling something. There were a few other people sitting on the white Barcelona chairs. They all looked as if they were about to go into interviews.

  At least they had an official reason to be there. Unlike me. As the minutes ticked by, I started to regret the whole idea. What seemed terribly romantic as I was deciding over crab or mushroom pâté now just seemed impulsive and stupid. It wasn’t even picnic weather outside!

  I was just about to apologise to the receptionist for wasting her time when she called me over. ‘Mr Paulsen is sorry, but he’s tied up at the moment and can’t do the feedback form right now. He said he’ll get it to you by the end of the week, though, and he thanked you for making the special trip to pick it up.’

  ‘What is he –? Oh, right, yes, ta very much. I’ll look forward to getting it then.’

  I felt sick as I slunk out of the lobby with my stupid jute bag tucked awkwardly under one arm. He hadn’t bothered to come down to give me the brush-off himself. He had his receptionist do it. No, she wasn’t even his own receptionist, she was the receptionist’s receptionist. It was a twice-removed brush-off.