Listen to Your Heart
Page 1
Listen To Your Heart
by
Mona Ingram
©2013 Mona Ingram
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction.
names, characters, places and
incidents are either the product of
the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
It was snowing as the cab approached Whistler Village; lazy flakes that floated slowly to the ground, covering the dirty patches with pristine white. Morgan smiled to herself. The new layer of snow represented a fresh beginning; one that she’d been looking forward to for some time now.
The hotel had offered to pick her up at the bus depot, but she’d declined. She wanted to discover Whistler on her own; to savour those all-important first impressions by herself.
“How about here?” The cab driver pulled into Mountain Lane. “This would be a great spot to walk in, if that’s what you really want. The Zimmerli is right through there.” He pointed to a well-lit lane.
Morgan hadn’t changed her mind; she wanted to walk in, to absorb the atmosphere slowly. She paid the driver, shouldered her backpack and started walking, her large suitcase trundling behind over the cobblestones. The lane was well used, judging by the number of footprints. Mid-November and Whistler was already busy.
The air was crisp and the snow squeaked underfoot. It was magical. A corny description, she thought to herself, but true. There was no other way to describe it. A golden glow up ahead told her she was getting close to one of the squares and she slowed. She only had one chance to see it for the first time, and she didn’t want to miss anything.
An abrupt turn and there she was...standing in a perfect little alpine village. “Whistler,” she said aloud, then looked around furtively. It wouldn’t do to get caught talking to herself on the very first day. She stood still and took it all in; loving it, hoping that she wasn’t going to wake up and find out she’d been dreaming.
Shops lined the main streets. Jewellery, snowboarding gear, fur coats, brandy, smoked salmon and a million souvenirs...all were offered for sale. The peak Christmas season was still a little over a month away and yet every restaurant and bar appeared full, spilling music and revellers into the cold night air. Then she remembered; it was Saturday. She smiled to herself, knowing that those with the biggest hangovers would ski the double black diamond runs tomorrow to prove how macho they were. It was the same at ski resorts everywhere.
She turned another corner, went over a small faux-bridge and there it was. She recognized it from the website, from the brochures, and from studying Google Earth. Zimmerli Boutique Hotel. The eleventh and most recent addition to the chain of exclusive hotels that had been started in Italy. Lit by soft spotlights tucked into the shrubbery, the building glowed warmly against the midnight blue of the sky. She allowed herself a moment to admire it.
Broad, shallow steps led up to the lobby. Miniature evergreens in black ceramic pots flanked the steps. Each tree sparkled with tiny white lights, enticing visitors to enter. This was what she’d wanted; to see it from the point of view of an arriving guest. So far she liked what she saw.
The lobby was minimalist and elegant. Morgan recognized the restraint it must have taken not to turn it into a kitschy copy of a European ski lodge. But then this hotel was owned by Zimco, a company known for quality and discreet, professional service.
She left her suitcase by the porter’s desk and crossed the lobby to the registration desk.
The young man behind the counter greeted her warmly. Behind rimless glasses, he had compelling dark green eyes.
“Good evening and welcome to the Zimmerli Hotel,” he said.
Her first instinct was to wonder what he’d done wrong. She’d worked in Banff long enough to know that nobody wanted the Saturday night shift. He must be in someone’s bad books.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to make out the name on his name tag. Her eyes were tired from a long day of travel and she leaned forward to squint at the letters.
“Adrian,” he said with a faint smile. He looked behind her as though expecting to see someone else.
She gave him her best hundred watt smile. Might as well; it looked like they’d be working together. “Hi Adrian, I’m Morgan Dempsey.”
“Yes,” he said, still looking toward the door. “Mr. Lewis isn’t with you?”
“Mr.?” She tilted her head as though she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Oh, you mean Dale Lewis.”
“Yes. Mr. Lewis did not come with you?” He spoke with a slight accept. Could be French, she wasn’t sure. Could be anything, actually. Zimco, the corporate giant that owned the Zimmerli and its sister hotels, drew on employees from all over the world.
“No, he didn’t.” She’d love to hear more of his accent, but she’d better explain. “You see, Dale is female, and she got delayed back at The Lake.”
He looked up, frowned. “Lake Louise, right?”
She was tempted to say that nobody in the business called it by its full name, but managed to bite her tongue. “Yes.”
“She is coming, though?”
“She’d be here with me right now if her supervisor hadn’t been in a minor accident. You know what housekeeping’s like, with everything so physical. Dale volunteered to cover her shift until Monday.”
“Ah, I see.” He looked at his computer screen as though it had some explaining to do. “Dale. An odd name for a woman.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that. The last time somebody made a remark about her name, she threatened to rip out his tongue and...well...never mind what she said she’d do with it.”
He tried to hide a smile but failed. She took the opportunity to study him more closely. A small horizontal scar sliced across the bone underneath his left eye socket, starkly white against his tanned face. Dark brown hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, but otherwise he was buttoned up. She became aware that he was studying her as well and looked down at the registration form.
“Are you new here, too?” She scribbled her signature on the card. The hotel provided free accommodation for two nights and a generous meal allowance; she wasn’t about to pass that up.
“I’ve been here a few weeks,” he said, then glanced at his watch. “The restaurant is open until ten, so you have lots of time. You must be hungry.” There was that little smile again.
“I’m starving.” She was dying to ask where he was from, but he seemed a little reserved and she told herself not to pry.
“Where are you from?” she blurted out. So much for minding her own business.
“I’m from Switzerland.”
“Oh, you’re Swiss,” she said, all smiles. “I wondered about the accent. So I guess you worked at one of their hotels over there?” She made a broad gesture. “Zimco?”
“I worked at their hotel in Klosters.”
“Hmmm. Klosters. Wasn’t that the place Princess Diana made famous when she took Wills and Harry skiing?”
He gave a wry smile. “We like to think it was famous before that, but yes, that’s the place.”
“What was it like living there?”
“I lived in Davos.”
She nodded as though that made perfect sense. All she knew about Davos was that there had been a G-8 Summit there some years ago.
“Where will you be working?” he asked tentatively.
It was the perfect opportunity. Ever since she’d been accepted into the concierge training programme, she’d been on cloud nine. It had been her dream forever.
Adrian blinked once, twice, three times. She couldn’t read what was going on behind those eyes, but something had startled him. He shot a quick glance toward the alcove then looked down at his computer screen. “Ya, I see,” he said, his accent becoming more pronounced. If it got any thicker, he’d be wearing lederhosen and yodeling.
“How long have you worked for Zimco?” she asked.
He blinked again and seemed decidedly uncomfortable. “It feels like I’ve worked for them all my life.” He shrugged, drawing attention to his broad shoulders. “But not quite. I started working at the Klosters hotel when I was a young teenager. Clearing dishes in the dining room and on the terrace. Stuff like that.”
“Lucky you. My parents wouldn’t let me get a job in the mountains until I was eighteen. It was mostly about not wanting me to leave home, even though Banff isn’t that far away from Calgary. Eventually they gave in.” She paused for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to work in hotels, so it was inevitable.”
He gave her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher and held out a hand, suddenly formal. “Very nice to meet you, Morgan.” They shook. “Morgan. Another odd name.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you about it some time.” She pointed to the elevator. “Up there?”
“Oh. Yes.” He seemed a bit flustered. “I’ll have your bag brought right up.” He handed her the room card. “See you later.”
Chapter Two
Morgan found her makeup bag, placed it on the bathroom counter and dug out her hairbrush.
“I wonder what’s up with him?” she said aloud, brushing her hair back from her face and securing it with a clip. She stared at her reflection. “He seemed to pull back, as though I’d said something wrong.” She replayed the conversation in her mind but couldn’t think of anything she’d said to offend him. She gave her head a quick shake. “I hope he’s not going to be a pain to work with.” Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t had a proper meal all day. Time to eat.
Adrian was busy checking in a young couple when she came back downstairs. The restaurant attached to the hotel wasn’t run by the hotel, but was accessible from the lobby for the convenience of the guests. She went down a short hallway, opened a door and was met by a blast of sound.
The hostess looked up and beckoned her over. “Hi, you must be Morgan; I’m Tess. Adrian called and said you’d probably be coming down.” She nodded toward a large table in the corner. “I thought you might like to sit with some of the gang in the casual section. Come on.”
Morgan followed and was greeted exuberantly by the assortment of people around the table.
“Settle down, people. This is Morgan. She’ll be working at Zimmerli.” She turned. “What department?”
“Front office.” Morgan smiled.
“Okay,” said Tess. “You all can introduce yourselves. I have work to do.” A broodingly handsome specimen lounged with a foot up on an adjoining chair and she slapped it down. Morgan got the impression that there was an ongoing struggle between Tess and the man.
A puddle of snow had melted on the chair. He man wiped it off with a napkin and indicated that she should sit. “Welcome,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m Rob.” Dark blue eyes rimmed with slate grey studied her from beneath dark brows. He picked up a glass of beer and held it for a moment, then drained it. His Adam’s apple bobbed and her attention was drawn to a gold chain around his neck. She found herself wondering what his chest looked like and forced herself to drag her eyes away.
“Hi, Morgan.” A man with a welcoming smile leaned across the table and offered his hand. “I’m Chance Larson.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the street. “I work in the ski shop next door.”
“And I’m Karen.” A young woman with a bright smile and long dark hair stuck out her hand. “I’m in the front office at Zimmerli as well.”
The rest of the people around the table worked on the lifts and one worked for the Village, keeping the walkways clear of snow. She didn’t try to remember their names; there’d be plenty of time for that later.
“So, Morgan. Where are you from?” Chance smiled again, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. He placed a hand flat on his chest. “I’ve spent time in a lot of places, but I’m originally from Lake Louise.”
“Oh really? My roommate is there right now. She’ll be here in a couple of days. I grew up in Calgary and I’ve been working in Banff.”
“Great.” Chance hiked his chin toward Rob. “Rob grew up in Squamish, just down the road, but we don’t hold that against him. He’s a ski instructor.”
So that accounted for the amazing tan. She glanced sideways at Rob but he didn’t seem to be following the conversation. His attention was focused on a group of women at a nearby table.
“And Karen is from Vancouver.” Chance gave her that amazing grin. “Hotel Vancouver, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m hoping to travel and I thought working for Zimco would be a good way to do it.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Morgan looked up at the server. “Sorry, I haven’t even looked at the menu. Just bring me a hamburger and fries, please. Oh yes, and a pot of tea.”
Karen pushed her cup away and sat forward with her elbows on the table. “So you met Adrian? What did you think?”
Morgan shrugged. “He seems nice enough but I must have said something to offend him. He was friendly and smiling at first and then he kind of backed off.”
Rob turned away from the women who were now eyeing him with interest. “He’s a loser.”
“Oh Rob, shut up. Just because he doesn’t like to ski.” Karen gave him an annoyed look. “There are other things in the world besides skiing.”
“Well, we agree on that.” He gave Morgan a smouldering look.
Karen waved him off. “Ignore him,” she said brusquely.
Not an easy feat when he was looking at her like that. His gaze lingered on her for a long, suggestive minute and then he rose and sauntered across the restaurant to the table of women. He moved like a predator and it occurred to Morgan that he was precisely that. He grabbed an unoccupied chair from a nearby table and straddled it backwards to the delight of the women.
“The man’s an alley cat.” Chance’s tone was non-judgmental. “But you’ve gotta give him props for going after what he wants.” He smiled as Rob proceeded to charm the women, then returned his attention to Morgan. She got the impression that nothing ever bothered him. “Don’t pay any attention to what he says about Adrian. The guy’s all right.” He paused. “Although it does seem odd that someone who grew up in Switzerland and worked at ski resorts all his life doesn’t ski.”
“I grew up in Calgary and worked in Banff for the past four years and I’m not much of a skier. Now my friend Dale, she loves to ski.” She looked at Karen. “She got delayed at the Lake; she’ll be working in housekeeping.”
“She’s the assistant housekeeper? I heard somebody was on the way.”
Morgan nodded. “Yup. We’ll be rooming together at the Lodge.”
“The Lodge.” Chance picked up his cup and drained the last of the coffee. “That was a brilliant move on the part of Zimco to buy property and build a no-frills apartment building for staff. Finding a place to rent has historically been the hardest thing about working here in the winter. Rents are astronomical.”
Morgan turned to Karen. “You live there?”
She nodded. “Yes, and so does Chance. They rent their surplus units to people who work in the Village.”
“What’s it like? I mean I know what they told me, but reading about it on paper and reality are generally two very different things.”
Karen and Chance exchanged looks and Karen answered. “It’s pretty much as advertised. The u
nits are small and compact. Small fridge, microwave, two-burner stove but no oven, small bedrooms and a small sitting area. The common area downstairs was a good idea. Big screen television, one of those electric fireplaces, comfortable chairs and a few tables for when people order in pizza or Chinese food.” She glanced at Chance. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“I like it. And there’s a laundry right on the ground floor so you can read or watch television while you wait for your laundry.”
“Sounds like they thought of everything.”
“They did, but a lot of us have got in the habit of meeting here after work.” Chance looked up. “Hey, Tyler. How’s it going?” A tall man in chef’s gear stood at the table.
Karen looked up and blushed prettily. “Hi, Tyler.” She glanced back into the formal section of the dining room. “They let you out.”
He winked at Karen. “Yeah. Can’t keep a good man down.” He spoke with a broad Australian accent. “And who have we here?” He extended a hand toward Morgan. “Tyler Brockman, Sous-Chef extraordinaire. Welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel.”
“Jeez, Tyler. Give her a break. She just arrived.” Chance shot her an apologetic look. “Somebody came up with the name last winter and it kind of stuck.”
Morgan couldn’t help glancing over at Rob. “Is it true?”
“Nah.” Tyler set down the coffee mug he’d brought with him. “And even if it was, I don’t think you’d have to worry.” His eyes sparkled with good humour and Morgan was charmed.
“In that case, I guess I’ll stay.” She laughed and stuck out her hand. “Morgan Dempsey,” she said. “Just arrived from Banff.”
Tyler bobbed his head. “Nice enough place, but Whistler’s got better pow.” He sat down in the chair that Rob had occupied.
“Tyler’s a rider,” explained Chance. “One of the best amateurs around.”
Morgan realized that she was probably one of the few employees not here primarily for the skiing or snowboarding. “So, Tyler,” she said. “Is it true that once a person starts snowboarding they rarely go back to skiing?”