by Julie Caplin
‘I thought she wasn’t due for another week.’
‘Mix up with the dates.’ Alex winced. That had been very odd. He’d been there when Hekla took the call. Why would someone phone and change the date? Lucy must have had a change of heart, got someone to phone on her behalf and then changed her mind again? What other explanation was there?
‘Well that wouldn’t fill me with confidence. Do you think she’s any good? And I want an honest no bullshit answer.’ Alex pursed his lips and kicked at a small stone in his path. It knock, knock, knocked over the other grey stones on the shingle beach. Quentin waited on the other end of the line, the silence stretching out for Alex to fill. He knew his boss’s tactics well. Quentin hadn’t got to be the multi-millionaire owner of The Oliver Group, running a string of boutique hotels, without being extremely shrewd. He wanted an honest report on the hotel’s potential, what needed to be done to bring it up to Oliver Group standards and whether Lucy and the current staff were the right people to do that. At the moment, if he was entirely honest, he wasn’t convinced.
There was something about her haunted appearance that worried him and last night she’d been brusque and sharp, extremely unwilling to accept help. He suspected she was a loner if her stand-offish attitude was anything to go by and she didn’t look robust enough to cope with the rigors of the job. The hours were long and the role involved everything from marketing, budgeting, premises management through to managing the staff. Not to mention that a good manager was on show the whole time, making themselves accessible and approachable to guests and staff alike. Should he mention his quiet misgivings to his boss? He paused and scooped a stone and launched it skimming across the sea. It bounced three times, shall I, shan’t I, shall I?
On the fourth bob the stone sank making his decision. Nice guys finish last.
‘The jury’s out,’ he said, his words terse. It was the truth.
‘Do you think she’s got what it takes?’ pressed Quentin.
No, was the word that came to mind but instead Alex wrinkled his nose, grateful Quentin couldn’t see him. ‘I don’t know … yet.’
‘Come on,’ groaned Quentin. ‘Don’t fob me off. You’re a good judge of character. Quit pussy footing around. First impressions.’
Alex sighed, he owed Quentin so much. His boss had taken a risk, giving Alex his first big hotel to manage despite Alex being the youngest, most inexperienced candidate. And now these days they were practically, no they were family. He picked up another stone and chucked it across the surface of the sea. ‘There are quite a few issues. I need to see how she tackles them.’ Except, he thought to himself, Lucy had been holed up in the office going through paperwork for the last couple of days. If Alex was manager, he’d have prioritised making those small quick win changes that guests ‒ the guys that paid their wages ‒ actually noticed. Put more staff on at breakfast, so that guests could get out of the hotel more quickly in the mornings, make sure the bedrooms were serviced by lunchtime, have the fires in the communal areas lit by the time guests returned in the afternoons and offer one complimentary drink to guests on arrival to encourage them to visit the bar in the evenings.
‘So if you were manager what would you do? Top line.’ Relieved by the change of tack, Alex screwed up his face in thought.
The wind caught his hair, whipping it into his eyes as he turned his head to survey the building sprawling across the top of the hill behind him. The place could be fabulous. ‘Staffing is a problem. No one is managing the rotas. Everything is last minute. I’d sort that out. I’d also make an inventory of exactly what needs to be done in the hotel, because the place is looking very tired. And I’d have started on that list yesterday. I guess the bottom line is, the new manager isn’t cutting it yet.’
‘Have you seen the latest TripAdvisor reviews?’ asked Quentin, changing the subject again as he was wont to do.
‘No.’ Alex didn’t need to, he could gauge things from the guest’s reactions. They weren’t exactly raving about the place.
‘Not great. Not awful but blah … we don’t do blah. At least if they were shite, you have something to work with. Mediocrity is worse. When do you think you can pull together a detailed report on the place? I’m beginning to regret buying it.’
‘It’s not a done deal yet, is it?’
‘No but we’re getting close. Pedersen is a tricky bastard and I can pull the deal but …what do you think? It’s got potential hasn’t it? I thought Iceland would extend the portfolio in a new direction.’
‘It’s got great potential. It needs managing properly,’ said Alex. ‘Why don’t you wait until I’ve done some more digging?’ he suggested even though skulking about the hotel and poking into things when no one else was around was not something he enjoyed. He hated this undercover crap, but on this occasion it had to be done. He knew that directly asking questions often sent staff into defensive mode, covering things up, so you couldn’t get a real picture and more importantly, if anyone found out that the Oliver Group were interested in buying the lodge, it would stimulate a lot of speculation among competitors, many of whom might want to get in on the action and no doubt push the price sky-high. ‘I’ll send my report over in the next couple of weeks. I still need to find out more about what goes on in housekeeping.’
‘Not a lot judging from the reviews. I should have got you on the job,’ said Quentin.
‘That would have been difficult as you don’t own the place yet and besides, I’ve got a nice five-star hotel waiting for me in Paris. How’s it coming along? Any progress.’
‘None, and that’s giving me a shitting ulcer. Those wanking bureaucrats. Won’t cut through the red tape. There’s still some doubt about the age of the skeleton. All work has stopped. It’s going to be at least four months before we can get the floor down there re-laid and dried out enough to open the hotel.’
‘Well at least I’ll get to see the northern lights while I’m here.’
‘I’ll want you back here to oversee things. Don’t get too settled there.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good.’ And with that Quentin terminated the call.
Alex stared back at the building perched on the edge of the small cliff over the seashore. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but maybe one day he could come to a place like this. It was outside his usual type of hotel but there was a certain rustic charm and otherworldly magic to the place that intrigued him. Although working in Paris had been a challenge and never a dull moment, he realised that the new hotel would be more of the same. Smooth sophistication. Nothing too unexpected. No adventure. It was a long way from where he’d started, as a barman in his family owned hotel, a small but highly prestigious former castle on the outskirts of Edinburgh which one day would be his. When that day came it was his dream to create a hotel that would rival the famous Gleneagles. Until he took over from his mother, at a time considerably distant from now, he was garnering the best possible experience he could.
With a sudden start, as if the reminder came with a physical, punch he realised that he’d missed the sharp, freshness of the open air, the wheeling cries of seagulls overhead, of being outdoors all hours of the day and through it all, whatever the hour, the scent of the sea air. Home, even after years in France, Switzerland and Italy, was still the Leith shore in Edinburgh, where his abiding memory was the sound of the waves whispering in his ear. Sitting here on a damp rock in Iceland, the familiar song of the sea brought back a sense of community and home. He’d missed this, the rhythm of the waves, the blustery wind and the wide expanse of sky. Being in a city, he’d missed the hills and the rocky crag behind him now was a welcome reminder of Arthur’s Seat. It was surprising how much he didn’t miss Paris and how quickly this magnificent scenery and the rustic lodge was starting to feel more like home … Which was all totally ridiculous because he had a great job waiting for him in one of the best cities of the world. Coming somewhere like this would be a backward step. Not something that he would ever consider.
Chapter 7
Hekla appeared in the office, carrying two mugs of coffee. Lucy, who had spent the last four days attempting to turn her desk from chaos into order and failing miserably, looked up gratefully.
‘We need to get a coffee machine in here,’ declared Lucy looking at the drips of coffee running down the mugs where it had slopped over the sides during the trip back from the kitchen on the other side of the hotel.
‘Great idea,’ said Hekla, almost bouncing on the spot. ‘Why don’t I take you to Hvolsvöllur, some time? One of those machines that makes hot chocolate and tea too.’
She took a quick slurp of coffee and pulled a face. ‘Hot coffee would be so much nicer, although Erik might not give me cookies.’ She dug in her cardigan pocket and pulled out a napkin wrapped bundle. ‘Loganberry and walnut. Still warm …’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘They were.’ She looked around the office and winced.
‘I know, I know, it’s a mess,’ said Lucy wearily, wanting to bash her head on the top of the desk at the sheer amount of neglected paperwork. The previous manager, who had lasted six weeks, had been a proponent of piling rather than filing and in the second pile under her desk (there were three piles under there as well as the four on top of the desk) she’d found a dozen overdue invoices.
‘I could help,’ offered Hekla, ‘when I’ve finished room service.’
Lucy hesitated. ‘You shouldn’t have to do that. I need you in here.’ But there had been no choice today because not enough staff had been scheduled to cope with the number of guests checking out.
‘I need to speak to Eyrun about the room service rotas.’ Maybe in her agitated, cross mood, now was the perfect time to beard the lion in her den.
Hekla exchanged a wry look with her.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ snapped Lucy. ‘The housekeeper should be responsible for them.’
‘She … won’t do paperwork.’
‘Well, she’s going to have to,’ Lucy said, with a determined jut of her chin. ‘We can’t go on like this. You have enough to do without stripping beds and cleaning bathrooms.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Hekla, with a gracious shrug. ‘And she runs the laundry really well.’
‘Well I do.’ Lucy’s firm voice made the blonde girl smile. ‘Laundry or no laundry. I need you in here.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied before adding with a mischievous twinkle, ‘are you going to tell her?’
They both laughed as Lucy shuddered. ‘Is it ridiculous that I’m scared of her?’
‘Nrr.’ Hekla’s vehement head shake and quick down turn of her mouth was the decider.
Lucy jumped up. ‘It is ridiculous and I’m not standing for it. I’m going to go down there now, I could do with a break from blasted paperwork. Hold the fort. I’ll be back.’
Eyrun’s dark eyes flashed as she gave the sheaf of paper in Lucy’s hand a contemptuous sneer.
‘So,’ said Lucy with a determinedly pleasant smile on her face. ‘I’d like you to take over the organisation of the chambermaid’s rosters. I’ve printed some templates that you can fill in and here are the bookings for the next week. We need a proper rota. Poor Hekla is spending too much time having to drop everything to help clean the rooms.’ There was no response from Eyrun, she simply stared at Lucy with a steely gaze. ‘And we’re quiet.’ That was an understatement, bookings were down by fifty percent, year on year.
‘But,’ Lucy lied valiantly, ignoring the fear crimping at her stomach, ‘things will start to get busy soon.’ They had to, she told herself digging her fingernails into her right palm. Hekla kept dangling the northern lights’ carrot saying that things picked up later this month. Lucy wasn’t convinced. Worryingly, there was no evidence of any kind of marketing in recent months, especially when she had two months, or rather one month and twenty-five days, to prove herself.
Eyrun sniffed and turned her back, reaching into the still warm dryer to pull out a handful of towels.
‘Eyrun.’ Lucy snapped, knowing she was venting her frustration unfairly, but they needed to improve the TripAdvisor reviews, most of which said the lodge looked tired. ‘The rooms need inspecting every day. This is your job.’ Realising she was in danger of letting her temper get the better of her and forgetting all the management training she’d ever had, she took in a deep breath. Firmness. Consistency. Clear, plain speaking. You’re the boss. Stay calm. ‘I’ve compiled a check list for you.’ Lucy put down the papers on the nearby shelf and pulled out the typed list that she’d put together this morning.
‘Ok. I check the rooms,’ said Eyrun, her mouth signalling her displeasure, edging away from the piece of paper. ‘No list. Now go. I’m busy.’ She indicated the soft cloud of towels in her arm.
‘It will help.’
‘Nrr.’ Eyrun shook her head vehemently, backing away clutching her bundle like a shield.
‘You will inspect the rooms each day?’ Lucy pressed, realising that this was a minor victory even if the rotas were a lost cause.
Eyrun glowered but nodded.
‘And let me know what needs fixing, repairing or changing. A lot of the bedspreads need cleaning or replacing. You do a great job with the laundry but some of them … I think are even beyond your magic.’
Lucy almost smiled when Eyrun’s head lifted with a touch of pride. The older woman’s English was clearly better than she let on and like most people she wasn’t immune to flattery.
‘I’ve removed some,’ in a whistle stop tour late yesterday afternoon, when she’d finally given up on the office for the day, ‘but could you compile an inventory of what can be kept and how many new ones we need to order? You will know best. I’ll follow your guidance on that.’
A flash of surprise flitted across Eyrun’s beady eyes and she tilted her head like a suspicious blackbird.
Lucy held up the list. It was non-negotiable. There were tick boxes beside each of the items and a place for Eyrun to sign at the bottom to confirm everything had been done.
‘I’ll pin this one up on the noticeboard for you. And leave the spares here. When you run out, Hekla or Brynja can run more off for you.’
Eyrun looked boot faced as Lucy crossed to the felt pin board above the desk in the other room.
‘That’s your list,’ she said, pinning a second drawing pin to the board to secure it.
Eyrun made a small hmph noise and marched back into the first room with the dryers, dumping her load on top of Lucy’s papers and pulled out a towel, shaking it out before folding it with quick, neat precise moves.
Letting her go for a minute, Lucy stepped back and frowned, pricked by a sense of something not being right. She looked at the noticeboard. Shouldn’t there be health and safety notices, emergency numbers, fire evacuation procedures, any number of basic notices? Glancing around the room, she realised that it was a blank canvas. It stirred a memory but she couldn’t place it.
‘Grr,’ said Lucy returning to the office as Hekla looked up. ‘That went well, not.’
‘You’re still in one piece then.’ Lucy whirled around to see Alex with a teasing smile on his face. ‘I hear you’ve been taming dragons.’
‘Uh,’ she said rather stupidly, taken aback by the unexpected friendly expression. Shit, he was cute.
‘I’m not sure about taming,’ she finally replied, smoothing down her skirt, as if that might make her feel more professional. ‘I won one small battle but I don’t hold out much hope on Eyrun arranging the rotas.’
‘I could do them,’ said Hekla.
‘No,’ said Lucy with a firmness that earned a small approving nod from Alex, although what it had to do with him, she didn’t know. It earned him a scowl. ‘I’ll do them for the short term and I’m thinking about promoting one of the other girls and giving them the job. What do you think about Elin or Freya?’
Hekla grinned. ‘Elin Jónsdóttir and Freya Flókisdóttir. Jón and Flóki are my dad’s cousins.’
Lucy frowned, ‘Jón and Flóki?’
&nb
sp; ‘Their fathers. In Iceland we take the name of our father or mother for our surname. I am Hekla Gunnesdóttir. My father is Gunnar. Elin and Freya are my second cousins. You would have to choose between them. But I think either will be excellent.’
‘So, Alex, how can I help you?’ He had perched on the edge of her desk as if he had all the time in the world and he was completely at ease. And then at her question, all that ease vanished and, oddly, he seemed a little disconcerted.
‘I … er, I … um … wondered if you’d like me to do an inventory of the bar stock? And I was wondering how you were after your tumble in the pool. No ill effects? Must have been a bit of a shock,’ he asked with sympathy, and seemingly back on smooth ground. ‘I never asked if you hurt yourself.’
‘Oh, no. Well, not badly.’ Absently she rubbed her hip. ‘A bruise or two.’
‘And your boots?’
She closed her eyes, in sudden pain at the state of her favourite footwear. She’d abandoned them in the bathroom and done nothing with them. ‘Not looking so good. They’re still a bit damp inside.’
‘You need to stuff them with paper, there’s plenty in the office. Hekla,’ he shot her a grin, ‘has an ongoing vendetta with the printer, I’ve got shoe polish…’ his voice trailed off lamely before suddenly laughing. ‘Shoe polish! Super hero Alex to the rescue.’
‘That’s er…’ Lucy smiled, charmed by his boyish chagrin. Charmed and something else that made a tiny frozen part of heart melt just a little.
‘A bit boy scoutish,’ laughed Alex. ‘Prepared for every eventuality, that’s me.’
Alex’s unexpected kindness threw her and Lucy’s face sagged. ‘I … I used to be,’ she said in an almost whisper.
‘The printer does not like me,’ said Hekla with unexpected petulance, looking up from her computer.