by Iris Danbury
‘I suppose he’s some kind of architect,’ muttered Fenella. ‘Well, he’d better architect windows and doors and floorings pretty soon in the extension.’
Miriam, totting up her household accounts, looked up. ‘You don’t realize, Fenella, that—’ then she stopped.
‘Go on. What don’t I realize?’
Miriam sighed. ‘That success or failure here doesn’t really matter now.’
‘How can you say that?’ demanded Fenella. ‘My father will still have to manage the place—when he’s better, that is. He’ll still be responsible for running the hotel, even though he no longer owns it.’
Miriam remained silent and Fenella went out to walk off her ill-humour. Visiting her father in the afternoon soothed and calmed her, for she was beginning to understand the magnitude of his burdens during the last few months.
‘You don’t have to worry now,’ she told him affectionately. ‘I can help you.’
‘But you’ve your new job to start soon,’ he reminded her. ‘Not for a few more weeks. Time for me to help straighten out the mess.’
She had already quietly told her father that she knew of his financial difficulties from Alex first, then from Miriam who had filled in the gaps. He seemed relieved, so she did not reproach him for not having told her sooner.
She left the hospital about five o’clock and began to drive home in her small red car. As she turned in through the gates of the Gairmorlie, a car stood in the drive and a tall man was pacing impatiently to and fro.
Fenella alighted and glanced questioningly at the stranger who now approached her.
‘This is the Gairmorlie Hotel, I believe?’ he said.
‘Yes, but I’m afraid we’re not yet open for hotel guests. We’re shut in the winter.’
He glanced at the closed front door. ‘I can see that,’ he retorted, and Fenella now recognized his accent as Canadian.
‘If you want a room for the night or even a few days,’ she suggested, ‘you could try the Trachan Arms. The village is only about a mile down the road.’
Even in the twilight she could see that he was glaring at her. Apparently he was not at all grateful for her helpful suggestion.
‘I don’t know who you are,’ he said after a pause, ‘but you’d better tell someone that I’m intending to stay here.’
‘I’ve told you that we’re not ready,’ she declared. She was a tall girl and although her head was high in indignation she had to tilt it backwards to return his scowling stare. ‘And I’d better tell you that I’m Fenella Sutherland and this is my father’s hotel.’
‘My name is Ramsay,’ he announced. ‘Didn’t you receive a letter from my company to say that I was coming?’
‘Yes, but no date was mentioned.’ Then the force of his words struck her. ‘Mr. Ramsay? Cameron Ramsay? Oh, then you’re the architect or surveyor or whatever your title is.’
He nodded. ‘So now perhaps we can go inside? When I arrived about half an hour ago I walked in, but there was no one about.’
She pushed open the front door. ‘We don’t expect people to walk in at this time of year,’ she said coldly. ‘If we’d known which day you were coming, we’d have been ready.’
She switched on lights in the entrance hall and the lounge. ‘I’ll have a room prepared for you as soon as possible.’
‘What time is dinner?’ he asked.
Fenella was momentarily at a loss. ‘I’m not sure. Miriam—Mrs. Erskine—she attends to the meals now, although she’s really the receptionist. Apparently she’s out somewhere. If you’re hungry I can probably find you something quickly.’
‘Thanks.’ He managed to make the single syllable sound as sarcastic as anyone else’s three sentences. ‘I haven’t eaten since noon and I drove past the hotel for several miles without noticing it.’
‘Oh, then you must have gone through the village. If you’d stopped, anyone could have told you where the hotel was.’
He gave her a searching look. ‘I wonder how many other people have driven past the place without seeing it.’
‘Very few,’ she retorted. ‘If they really want to stop here there are plenty of boards along the road, telling them about the hotel.’
‘I’ll go and bring in my suitcases,’ he snapped.
For a moment Fenella stood motionless, seething with resentment. Then she remembered that he was probably ill-tempered because he needed food. She dashed through to the kitchen to see if Miriam had left anything in the process of cooking, but nothing had been prepared. Fenella set about heating soup and cutting sandwiches. When she went out to the hall again Mr. Ramsay was prowling about restlessly.
‘The restaurant part is closed,’ she explained, ‘so would you mind having your food in our little room at the back?’ She offered him the choice of whisky, beer or tea to drink.
‘I’d rather have coffee,’ he said, and she frowned at his determination to be awkward. Well, he’d have to put up with one of the instant brands. There was no time to grind beans and percolate a pot of fresh coffee.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said when she returned with the coffee, ‘I’ll see about your room. You’d better have the one we usually keep aired for occasional guests, friends who stay a night or two here.’
At that moment Miriam entered, her face flushed, her manner agitated.
‘Oh, Fenella, I’m—’ she broke off as she saw the stranger rise.
‘This is Mr. Ramsay, Miriam,’ Fenella introduced. ‘Mrs. Erskine is our receptionist and book-keeper.’
‘Mr. Ramsay?’ echoed Miriam. ‘From the company?’
‘Yes.’
‘But we didn’t expect you for days!’ Miriam said.
‘Evidently not,’ he retorted drily.
Miriam turned towards Fenella. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but I had an urgent telephone call to Jamie’s school. He’s had a slight accident.’
‘Serious?’ queried Fenella.
‘He fell out of a tree and fractured his wrist,’ replied Miriam. ‘So I had to go with him to the hospital and wait while they set the bone in plaster. They’ve kept him in for one night to settle him down and I’ll collect him tomorrow. Or you could do that.’
‘Of course, but it was a wonder that I didn’t see you there at the hospital.’
‘By the time I was ready to leave you’d apparently gone, so they said. I had to wait for Mr. Macpherson to bring me home.’
During the conversation Mr. Ramsay had been glancing from one girl to the other. Then he spoke. ‘I take it, Mrs. Erskine, that you live in the hotel all the year round?’
‘Yes, of course,’ returned Miriam, slightly surprised by his question.
‘I see.’ Then he turned towards Fenella. ‘I should like to see your father if he’s available.’
She stared at him. ‘My father is in hospital at Fort William. He’s quite seriously ill and must on no account be disturbed by any kind of business worries. He had a heart attack three days ago.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Sutherland,’ he said, but to Fenella there seemed little sympathy in his tone. ‘In that case perhaps Mrs. Erskine will let me see the account books and registers.’
‘Now?’ asked Miriam.
‘In half an hour, shall we say, Mr. Ramsay?’ interposed Fenella. ‘Mrs. Erskine has spent the last few hours in some anxiety over her son Jamie and she needs a breathing space and something to eat.’
‘Of course,’ he conceded.
Miriam was on her way to the kitchen, but Fenella called, ‘Could you let me have the keys of the linen cupboard?’
‘They’re on the hook in the reception office,’ Miriam replied. ‘You’ll see which one. They’re all labelled.’
Mr. Ramsay was resting his elbows on the table. ‘So you keep the keys conveniently labelled for anyone to walk in the hotel when you’re all out. I could have filled my car, I suppose, with stolen linen and half the contents of the wine cellar.’
‘If you’re that sort of person,’ she said slowly,
‘I suppose you could.’
For a few seconds they glared at each other, her tawny eyes flashing with anger. Then she marched out of the room. Upstairs she pummelled the pillows viciously into shape and longed to make this objectionable intruder an apple-pie bed or fill it with toads. She hoped that his first night at Gairmorlie would be made hideous by abominable dreams. If there were any question of putting flowers in his room she would have chosen deadly nightshade.
By the time she arrived downstairs again Mr. Ramsay and Miriam were in the reception office examining the account books.
Fenella prepared herself a snack and made some fresh coffee. Evidently Mr. Ramsay was making a meticulous inspection of the accounts and the future bookings, but probably he needed to know how he could supervise the building work before the first visitors arrived.
At last Miriam came into the little sitting room.
‘Mr. Ramsay has gone up to his room,’ she said.
‘Good! I’ve had enough of him for one night,’ was Fenella’s wrathful answer.
Miriam smiled tolerantly. ‘Oh, don’t judge him by his first appearance after a long and tiring journey.’
‘Why? Is he in delicate health or something? He’s undoubtedly Canadian or else he’s lived in Canada a long time. I should have thought he’d be tough enough to cope with a few hours’ car-driving.’
Miriam did not reply and Fenella continued, ‘Well, thank goodness we shan’t have him here for very long, I hope. As soon as the alterations are finished we shall see the back of him.’
Miriam glanced up, a troubled look on her face. ‘Fenella, there’s something you ought to—’
The telephone rang before Miriam could finish her sentence and Fenella answered.
‘Oh, yes, Alex! I’m glad you rang. Yes, my father seemed a little better today, but the nurses say that his progress is likely to be rather slow ... poor Jamie has fallen and broken his wrist, but he’ll be home tomorrow. I’ll fetch him when I call at the hospital. And we have a visitor from this hotel company. Surveyor or something like that. I hope he’s going to work fast to get everything cleared up in time for the opening date...’
‘What’s he like?’ Alex asked.
‘Odious!’
She heard Alex laugh.
‘Well, nothing seems to please him, and he’s only been here a couple of hours.’
‘It’s his job to find fault and have it put right,’ Alex pointed out. ‘All right, I’ll come over some time tomorrow, probably in the morning.’
‘Fine. I could do with a little moral support if I have to escort this ogre around the place.’
‘It seems that he’ll be the one who needs protection,’ Alex commented.
Fenella laughed, put down the phone and swung round to share Alex’s joke with Miriam, but the girl was not there.
Almost immediately there was a knock on the door and Mr. Ramsay entered.
‘I came a minute or two ago, but you were busy telephoning.’ His accusing tone made a telephone chat sound like a criminal offence. Fenella reddened. How much of that brief conversation had he heard before he withdrew?
‘Was there something you wanted?’ she asked as calmly as she could.
‘My bedside lamp has failed. Perhaps you could find me a spare.’
‘Certainly,’ she answered crisply, and went out to the cupboard under the stairs. She had some difficulty in finding a sixty-watt and was aware of his critical impatience.
When he took the lamp he said, ‘Thank you. I’d like breakfast at eight o’clock if that’s not too early.’
‘Not in the least,’ she answered coolly. ‘Miriam and I are not lie-abeds. There’s plenty to do here even when the hotel is shut.’
He gave her a curt ‘Good-night, Miss Sutherland,’ and went upstairs.
She comforted herself with the reflection that eavesdroppers should never expect to hear any good of themselves. At the same time she must not go out of her way to offend the man or the consequences might not be too helpful to her father.
Next morning when Fenella was helping Miriam to prepare breakfast, she said, ‘I didn’t remember to ask him last night, but do you suppose he wants it served in his room?’
‘Heavens, no!’ exclaimed Miriam. ‘Mr. Ramsay was up hours ago. By now he’s probably made his inspection, written his report and has it ready to post.’
‘Oh, I see. He certainly means business. One of these efficiency experts, all charts and plans and loads of instructions for other people to do the real work.’
‘Probably that’s what he’s paid for,’ Miriam reminded her.
Promptly at eight o’clock Mr. Ramsay came into the hotel, thoughtfully took off his gumboots, put on well-polished brown shoes, then appeared at the kitchen door.
Miriam picked up the tray. ‘Everything’s ready, Mr. Ramsay,’ she said. ‘I’ve set a place for you in the sitting room.’
‘You needn’t have troubled,’ he said. ‘I could have had it here.’
Miriam smiled and shook her head, leaving him no choice but to follow her into the snug.
When Miriam returned, Fenella said, ‘How did you know what he wanted to eat? He might have been one of those people who can’t face porridge and eggs and bacon.’
‘I asked him,’ Miriam replied simply.
‘Well, just because we choose to have our breakfast inhere while there are no visitors, he mustn’t think he can hobnob with us,’ retorted Fenella. After a moment she continued, ‘And I don’t see why you have to bow and scrape to him and wait on him.’
Miriam laughed quietly. ‘There isn’t anyone else, is there? You wouldn’t like it if he came in here and started fiddling about at the cooker.’
Fenella had scarcely finished her second cup of coffee when Mr. Ramsay brought back the tray.
‘Miss Sutherland, if you’re free this morning you might care to come round with me. I’ve made a brief inspection outside, but I want to see all the inside of the hotel.’
His tone indicated that his invitation was practically a command, but Fenella was anxious on her part to accompany him. At least she could pass on to her father whatever comments and instructions Mr. Ramsay had in mind.
She toured the bedrooms with him. He filled pages of his notebook with remarks, no doubt of shortcomings or faults. He queried the numbering of the rooms.
‘Surely it’s awkward and illogical to have 17 and 20 adjacent and 18 and 19 at the other end of the corridor.’
Fenella shrugged. ‘That’s the way they’ve always been, I suppose.’
When they arrived at a room that looked out over the incomplete extension, she turned to him. ‘Now that you’ve seen for yourself, Mr. Ramsay, how much remains to be done on the new alterations, I hope you’re going to hurry the work.’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ he replied coldly.
‘It’s going to need an army of men even to have the place looking reasonably tidy by the time we open in the second week of May.’
‘The hotel will open in the middle of April.’ He was examining a wardrobe and peering inside. Fenella was certain that she could not have heard what he said.
‘The middle of April?’ she echoed.
‘Yes.’
‘But my father never opens until well into May.’
‘Why not?’ he queried.
‘Because it isn’t worth the expense. Staff to pay for. Heating and so on.’
‘That’s why he lost money. He made his season shorter than it need have been.’
‘I don’t think you understand about hotel-keeping in Scotland, Mr. Ramsay. In large towns it may be different, but here we have only a short summer season.’
He was leaning against a dressing-table and made no reply. She unconsciously noted the breadth of his shoulders, his dark hair and long, rather bony tanned face. He glanced towards her and the light flickered in his hazel eyes.
‘My father won’t like it at all,’ she continued, ‘and at this present time I don’t want him to be worried.’
‘There’s no need for your father to have the slightest worry about the Gairmorlie Hotel or whether it opens on a certain date or indeed never opens at all.’
‘Why? My father has sold his interest to your company, but he still has control over its management.’
‘He has no control over anything,’ he told her.
‘But surely he’s to continue to manage the hotel?’
He looked her full in the face and now his eyes were hard. ‘I’m the new manager.’
‘You?’ Then she let out her breath in a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, I see. The temporary manager while my father is ill.’
‘No, Miss Sutherland. Let’s be clear about this. My appointment is for a minimum of three years. During that time I hope to put the hotel into good shape. If I’ve made a success of it, then the company will offer me some sort of promotion.’
‘But you said—I thought you were the surveyor.’
‘You assumed that. You didn’t ask me what my position was or I would have told you straightaway.’
‘But you came here unannounced so that you could spy on us,’ she accused hotly.
‘Not in the least. The company informed you more than a week ago, but I’m sorry if the exact date of my arrival was not made clear.’
Fenella felt the blood ebb from her cheeks, then flow back again.
‘My father has been cheated!’ she declared angrily. ‘He was promised—’
‘He was promised nothing except a nominal directorship which provides him with a small fee and no worry.’
‘So I suppose you’ll have the right to turn us out when it suits you.’
‘That possibility had not yet occurred to me,’ he said stiffly, ‘but of course, where you live is entirely a matter for you to decide. I understood that you lived in London at present.’
‘So I do, but I’ve always regarded this as my home. Besides, there’s my father to consider. It’s his home, too.’
‘Exactly. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t continue to live here when he’s well enough.’
She looked at him, but saw his face through a blur of unshed tears.
‘Shall we continue with the rest of the rooms?’ he asked.