Hotel By The Loch

by Iris Danbury

  ‘Ah! The signorina will aid me! How is it that I am to cook when all is cold as ice?’ Carelessly, he laid his hand on the side of a small oil-burning stove that had sometimes been used for emergencies. With a wild yell he leapt into the air. ‘Mamma mia!’ he shouted. ‘I am scorched!’

  A torrent of Italian curses poured from his lips while his assistant applied first aid.

  ‘The electricity will be on as soon as possible,’ Fenella assured him. ‘In the meantime, do simple dishes.’

  But this was evidently the wrong thing to say. Ernesco declared that he had to supervise the cooking of food for an army about to descend on the hotel. No electricity. No food would be ready.

  He sat decisively on a chair, crossed his legs, folded his arms and glared at Fenella.

  ‘So much for the marvellous lunch,’ Alex teased Fenella when they were safely out of earshot of the kitchens. ‘You’d better come up to my house if you want to eat.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s not as simple as that. I must go and ask Mr. McPhail, the foreman, when he can switch on again.’

  ‘In about ten minutes it will be safe,’ he told Fenella, ‘but I’ll send a man to attend to the kitchen. In any case the kitchens are on a separate circuit with a cut-out, so the chef need not be without the juice. He can carry on, but I’ll send a man just to make sure before they all blow themselves up.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ Fenella trotted back with the good news to the kitchen and Ernesco planted a beatific expression on his face.

  ‘You shall have scampi meunibre and poulet chasseur for lunch!’ he declared in a spirit of generosity all the greater since he did not have to pay for the food.

  Well, at least that was one troublesome problem settled, thought Fenella as she rejoined Alex in the hall.

  Alex sighed loudly. ‘This is a crazy idea of yours, Fenella, to be fiddling about answering telephones and running messages.’

  ‘You’d prefer me to be in London working in a fashion house?’ she queried.

  ‘Not particularly, but at least I’d know where to find you sometimes. This way you’re within a couple of miles of our house, yet whenever I ask you to come out, you’re never free. Are you doing it to spite me?’

  Fenella laughed. ‘Why should I do that? It’s only all this rush and bustle before we open. After that, I shall have a fixed routine, settled hours and so on. Be patient!’ she scolded.

  ‘I’ve always thought of Alex as a model of patience!’ Miriam’s voice broke in behind Fenella. ‘Sometimes it doesn’t really pay to be too resigned and long-suffering. If I were you, Alex, I’d show Fenella—’ she stopped speaking as the reception telephone shrilled again.

  ‘I’ll answer it,’ said Fenella, hurrying into the office.

  Concentrating on the call from Edinburgh, Fenella could not see whether Alex and Miriam remained in conversation, but a moment later Miriam passed the office window and smiled at Fenella.

  The call was from Cameron giving instructions for the teams of men. Fenella made notes, repeating his messages so that no errors could creep in. Then Cameron asked for McPhail to be put on the line.

  Fenella dashed out of the office, cannoned into Alex who wrapped his arms around her. ‘Sorry, Alex, but I’ve Cameron on the phone and he wants the foreman. Could you get him quickly, please?’

  ‘McPhail? Dammit, you’ve got me running messages for you now!’ he exclaimed. ‘All right, I’ll do my best to get you the right man.’

  Later in the morning when dealing with the gale wreckage had settled down into steady repair work, Alvaro, the head waiter, informed Fenella that she and Mrs. Erskine were to be served lunch in the restaurant.

  ‘No doubt you will invite your friend, too?’ He courteously indicated Alex.

  The three eventually sat down, as Ernesco had promised, to a sumptuous lunch. Alex was suddenly in the gayest of moods. ‘First time I’ve ever had such a good lunch on the house,’ he-said, raising his glass to Miriam, then to Fenella.

  All through the meal Fenella was trying to intercept glances between Alex and Miriam that might confirm or deny Laurie’s warning. But Miriam was pleasant enough and Alex looked no more ardently at her than he did at Fenella.

  After lunch Alex said he would clear off and find Angus to help him with the half-submerged boat in the loch.

  ‘Tell Ramsay he’s lucky that his neighbours will rally round when he’s in trouble,’ Alex pointed out. ‘I shall expect mutual help from him when I lose my sheep in a snowdrift.’

  ‘You can count on getting it,’ promised Fenella.

  ‘How you girls dote on the man!’ Alex pinched Fenella’s cheek. ‘There’s Laurie always singing his praises and she’s only met him a couple of times.’

  Fenella merely laughed and turned away in time to see Miriam’s face, darkened with anger, as she stood watching Alex walk out of the hotel.

  Apparently aware that Fenella was watching her, Miriam recovered almost immediately. ‘If you’ve not too much to do this afternoon, perhaps you could help me with the bedrooms in the new wing.’

  ‘Certainly. I’ll just warn someone to listen for the telephone. Then I’ll come along.’

  Fenella thought it almost a miracle that the rooms in the extension had been made ready in so short a time.

  Corridors of bedrooms stretched in tidy formation, instead of turning corners and going up and down short flights of stairs as in the older part of the hotel.

  Adequate service rooms were placed strategically so that chambermaids had the shortest distances to cover with their trays of early morning teas and breakfasts.

  ‘These small kitchenettes are a vast improvement on the little cupboard-like places we had in the other building,’ Fenella observed, noting the easily stacked shelves, the fitments to hold supplies, the neat electric water-heaters. Close by there were service lifts for laundry baskets, visitors’ baggage and the general use of floor service.

  Fenella giggled at the memory of an incident last summer.

  ‘D’you remember, Miriam, when that girl from Glasgow fell down a whole flight of stairs with an enormous trayful of crockery?’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ returned Miriam. ‘The stair carpet needed quite a bit of cleaning after she spattered it with the remains of about ten people’s breakfasts.’

  ‘Well, it can’t happen here,’ prophesied Fenella happily.

  ‘You mean it ought not to happen,’ corrected Miriam.

  Contrary to Fenella’s expectations, the rooms were not exactly identical except in size. Each had its individual colour scheme and furnishings. All possessed either a shower or private bath, the wardrobes and dressing tables were built-in unit fitments varied to suit double or single rooms.

  ‘I see now what a difference this makes to the spaciousness of a bedroom,’ Fenella observed as she carried a pile of linen into the room where Miriam was inspecting for dust or a gritty wash-basin. ‘Put all the pieces along one wall and you have all the rest of the space for the beds and to dance about in.’

  ‘If you feel like dancing about late at night or early in the morning,’ murmured Miriam.

  Fenella discovered that while today everyone pitched in to do any task needed, there were definite ranks among the hierarchy over which Miriam would in due course preside from her eminence as housekeeper. A young woman named Jill would take charge of the whole of the first floor and Cameron had promised Miriam an additional floor-housekeeper for the second floor as soon as possible.

  The chambermaids had been provided with smart white coats instead of the usual striped print dresses and white aprons. Later, Miriam said, they ·would be measured and fitted with elegant sapphire blue dresses for afternoon and evening wear.

  ‘Cameron wants to get away from this idea of feudal subservience. If the girls know they look smart and attractive, then they work better.’

  ‘One for the girls and two for himself,’ observed Fenella, but Miriam had gone away to another room.

  Fenella was glad to be so ful
ly occupied this afternoon, for it gave her no time to worry about whether the conference would take place at all. How on earth could Cameron rebuild the pavilion in time?

  Soon after six o’clock he returned from Edinburgh. Behind his car came three large lorries laden with poles, and piles of grey canvas. Fenella ran out to greet him, to give him her regrets at his ill-luck, but he had already slammed himself out of his car and was talking to McPhail. He waved her away and she retired disconsolately to the background, watching the men scramble out of the lorries, then stand by to wait for instructions.

  Another man joined McPhail and Cameron and there was much angry discussion from Cameron and head-shaking from the other two.

  ‘D’you think I’ve been all the way to Edinburgh to get this marquee and then have you say you can’t erect it?’ Cameron shouted at them.

  McPhail walked away in the direction of the pavilion which had been partially repaired, but the roof was now completely taken away.

  ‘I didna see the job to be done,’ the other man was telling Cameron. ‘I was telling you that we would do the best we could. But yon pavilion makes it verra difficult.’

  ‘Then I’ll have the tent off-loaded,’ Cameron declared, ‘and my own men will tackle it. I must have the whole thing erected by midday tomorrow.’

  ‘Impossible!’ cried the man. ‘Hopeless!’

  ‘No!’ shouted Cameron. ‘Only a hard task that you’ve never done before. Do it now and it’ll be something to boast about at the Festival.’

  With a nod of resignation, the man walked away to give instructions to his men. Cameron waited until liaison had been made between McPhail and the rest, then he came indoors.

  ‘Any food, Fenella?’ he barked. ‘I’m starving!’

  ‘I’ll get you some immediately.’ She hurried off to the kitchen and told Ernesco to prepare something quickly.

  ‘Si, si, signorina. At once it shall be done.’ Before she had reached the new swing doors of the kitchen she could hear him bawling orders at his assistants.

  ‘I’ve asked Ernesco to make something ready for you,’ she told Cameron, who was now in the reception office sorting through the piles of letters and carbon copies of replies.

  ‘You shouldn’t have approached Ernesco direct as though he’s the proprietor of a transport cafe,’ he rebuked her, without looking up. ‘He has his proper status. Possibly because you’re young and pretty and quite unversed in the ways of hotels, he forgot to protest.’

  Fenella was stung by his reprimand. ‘You’d better tell me the correct protocol to observe,’ she said coldly, although she knew that he was tired and worried and hungry.

  ‘Ask Alvaro next time,’ he snapped. ‘If you can’t find him, then ask a waitress or find a commis.’

  ‘And while all this elaborate prestige process goes on, I suppose you’re getting so hungry that you walk into the kitchen yourself and bawl them out!’ she retorted.

  He gave her a quick oblique glance, but said no more. ‘Any other letters that haven’t been answered?’ he queried.

  ‘Only these two.’ She produced them. ‘They were about the building work, so I thought you’d better give me the replies yourself.’

  After a few moments she said in a more subdued tone, ‘I’m sorry you’ve had such bad luck with the pavilion.’

  ‘We shall survive. I’ve brought back a marquee, a Big Top from a circus. It’s lucky that it wasn’t being used for the Edinburgh Festival or one of those fringe attractions. I’m going to have it erected outside the pavilion, then it won’t matter for the time being whether the pavilion is watertight or not. The men can finish that after the conference and, what’s more, they can work inside the tent in comfort, out of the wind and rain.’

  He was speaking to her now in a quieter voice, but full of enthusiasm. Fenella was always amazed at his quick changes from bad-tempered irony to patient explanation. His flash of anger was apparently forgotten, but she knew that he expected her to remember his instructions next time.

  ‘It’s also given me a new idea,’ he continued, his eyes brightening and losing their weariness. ‘I may not be able to keep this particular tent, but I could buy another suitable one, and when we have the pavilion in proper working order, we could use the tent down by the shore.’

  ‘What will you put in it?’ she asked, striving to keep up with his rapid plans.

  ‘All kinds of things. We’ll put down a sprung floor for dancing. We could have dramatic performances there, cabaret, concerts, children’s parties—anything imaginable.’

  ‘But will people want to go there?’ she asked.

  ‘Look, Fenella, Trachan village doesn’t even possess a decent-sized village hall. It’s miles either way from anywhere. Don’t you think that people around here deserve to have some form of entertainment sometimes? I’ll make the Gairmorlie and its pavilions and tents the talk of the county.’

  ‘It sounds like Agincourt with silken tents all draped and colourful,’ she said, laughing, ‘but go on.’

  ‘Anyway, I have to remember my staff. The first thing some of them ask is where is the nearest cinema or dance hall.’

  Alvaro appeared now to say that a meal was ready for Cameron and where would he take it?

  ‘In the small bar, Alvaro,’ answered Cameron. ‘Come and sit with me, Fenella, and bring your notebook. I’ll dictate these replies.’

  He grabbed the handful of correspondence and dashed off, with Fenella following.

  Much later in the evening, Fenella took an opportunity of going out for a few minutes to watch the erection of the marquee around the outside of the pavilion. Glaring electric lights had been rigged on tall poles festooned with cables, men tugged and strained, sweated and heaved at guy ropes, working at eleven o’clock at night as though it were midday.

  Cameron was not standing by idly supervising. He, too, helped to lift poles or attach his weight to some rope or other, heave the amorphous mass of grey canvas that seemed to have a vicious will of its own and often fell in stifling folds around men’s heads.

  The men did not even seem to grumble about late hours or arduous tasks, although Fenella could perhaps guess at their thoughts. No doubt Cameron had offered them generous pay, but she was beginning to realize that the secret of his success was that he was not only willing to help, but he knew how to do most jobs as well as the men. This was why every man in his teams respected him and worked with him and not under him. In addition, they must surely admire his imaginative resourcefulness and courage when matters went wrong.

  Fenella pulled herself together. Soon, at this rate, she would be ‘doting on the man’, as Alex had said teasingly.

  Cameron and many of the men must have worked all night for by morning when Fenella breakfasted early and went out to see how much progress had been made, the Big Top was in position with even a flag flying from the topmast.

  In front, the ground was tidied, cleared of litter, matting had been spread to protect the conference members’ shoes, and a covered awning was being erected so that the visitors might keep dry between the hotel and the pavilion.

  ‘Looks like a top-drawer society wedding,’ remarked Fenella to Jamie, who admitted that he had been up for hours.

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, they put things like that outside churches so that the bridal party won’t get wet if it rains. All it needs now is a strip of red carpet.’

  Fenella had already been informed that everyone was to keep out of the restaurant all day, because Alvaro and his staff had a busy stretch ahead of them, arranging tables and seating plans, flowers and cutlery, for the inaugural dinner tomorrow that would officially open the conference.

  ‘Some of the members will arrive today,’ Cameron told her. ‘Those who come long distances, and officials of one sort or another to check that everything is in order. Do you have to see your father today?’

  ‘No, I need not,’ she replied helpfully. ‘If I can be of use here, I’ll stay. I don’t go now every d
ay to the hospital. Just several times a week.’

  She was surprised by the look of approval he gave her. ‘Check your room numbers with the names as soon as you can,’ he instructed.

  That was a sound piece of advice, she found, for there were three Mr. Browns, two with the same initial, various Robinsons and Smiths, apart from all the large number who spelt their Scottish names variously as ‘Mac’ or ‘Me’. She decided that she would have to look closely at their signatures when they signed the register.

  Even so, she was unprepared when a coachload arrived from Fort William and she had to ask about thirty men to queue up for their room keys.

  By evening she was exhausted. She flopped for a few minutes in an armchair in the snug. Cameron came in almost as soon as she had entered.

  ‘Tired out? Where’s your stamina?’ he taunted her. ‘You’ll have to do better than that tomorrow.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said faintly. ‘I’m not cut out for this hectic rush.’

  ‘I suggested that you should stick to your fashion world, if you remember, but you begged me to give you a job here.’ His voice was stern, but his expression was amused and tolerant. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll give you an extra helper from somewhere, although who can be spared I don’t know.’ Surprisingly, he gave her a couple of gentle pats on the head and even went so far as to pull his fingers down a long strand of her fair hair.

  ‘You’d better get a good night’s sleep,’ he advised. ‘Tomorrow, the deluge.’

  He went out before she could reply and almost immediately Miriam came in.

  ‘Was that Cameron in here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. He told me to brace up for tomorrow. I’m deadbeat after today. Heaven knows what will happen when the main party arrives.’

  Miriam smiled. ‘You didn’t realize what you were in for when you decided to stay here, did you? Life in London at art-school was probably not so demanding.’

  There was an unmistakable sneer in Miriam’s tone that caused Fenella to reply irritably, ‘Well, in my father’s time, you didn’t have to work like this! You had an easier time. People just came and went. There were none of these huge parties.’