The Northern Lights Lodge

by Julie Caplin

  Lucy turned to Gretchen and smiled sweetly. ‘May I have my desk back? I have quite a lot to do today.’

  Gretchen’s mouth firmed. ‘I thought I might as well take over now.’

  ‘And why would you think that? I still have a contract until Friday.’

  The dark-haired woman gave a sour laugh. ‘On paper, yes but let’s face it, if you were any good, Quentin would have offered you the job instead of me.’

  Lucy felt herself turn bright red.

  ‘Alex certainly didn’t rate you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucy, her words sharp in response to the sudden pain in her chest. That wasn’t true. He’d been full of praise in the last few weeks. ‘The new owners would be insane not to take you on.’ ‘What a great job you’re doing.’ ‘Your fantastic organisational skills.’ Last night the dark hours of the early morning, she’d picked over his words with the intensity of a miser focused on a shiny new penny. Alex had worked in some seriously big and prestigious hotels, he knew what he was talking about.

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ she said, remembering her promise to herself, this time she would fight.

  ‘Here,’ Gretchen shook out a sheet of paper with an impatient hand. It was an email from Alex or at least from an email address alex.mclaughin@theolivergroup.com. Lucy’s eyes raked over the words ‘lack of initiative’ ‘failed’, ‘lack of’, ‘poor leadership’.

  No. This couldn’t be true. Alex couldn’t have said this. He couldn’t have been so two-faced. She almost laughed out loud, when she thought of the time she’d told him he shouldn’t play poker. Alex’s face was far too expressive. There were so many times when she’d been able to read him. Surely she couldn’t have got it so wrong. Pain twinged in her heart.

  But there it was in black and white. Alex.

  Her lungs constricted. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to remain impassive. Everything had been a lie.

  ‘I’m sure you can see why Quentin is keen for me to take the reins as soon as possible.’ Gretchen flicked through another couple of pages and scowled. ‘Although to be fair, from what I can gather you’ve not had much experience. At least this will look good on your CV.’

  Lucy clenched her fists. This was so unfair.

  ‘Lucy’s a very good manager,’ said Hekla. ‘She’s the best one we’ve ever had. The lodge is so much better now that she’s here.’

  ‘I admit, it looks in much better shape than I expected …’ she gave a snarky laugh, ‘although that’s probably down to Alex being here and now he’s gone, I’ll take over.’

  ‘He’s gone?’ Lucy swallowed. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and she thought she might black out. Gone?

  ‘Back to Paris. Flew out this morning,’ said Gretchen briskly, already picking up a sheet of paper that had come off the printer. The room swam and Lucy took in a sharp breath. Alex had gone without saying a word to her. Just like Chris, he’d abandoned her without a word when he’d got found out. Goosebumps pricked her at her arms as a chill swept over her, she felt cold to the very bone.

  ‘Now, as you’re here perhaps you can explain to me why the housekeeper isn’t managing room service.’

  Lucy took a moment to process the words.

  ‘As you’re now in charge, why don’t you ask her yourself?’ As soon as she said it, she regretted her moment of spite. It was unlikely the fearsome Gretchen would be sympathetic to Eyrun’s inability to read and it wasn’t Eyrun’s fault that once again she’d trusted the wrong man. And she wasn’t going to let history repeat itself. This time she wasn’t going to be cowed into submission. This time she was fighting back. ‘Sorry, I should have explained. Eyrun and I agreed to hand the job over to Elin who wanted more responsibility.’

  Gretchen did a double take. ‘Oh. I can see why you would do that. That sounds like a good staff retention policy. I guess its difficult recruiting staff around here.’

  Hekla nodded joining in the conversation. ‘Ja, especially with the huldufólk.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The hidden folk,’ said Lucy. ‘Like elves, only more troublesome. You get used to them.’ She smiled at Gretchen. ‘You’re not in Kansas anymore.’ With that she turned around and walked out of the office.

  Hekla came running after her as she strode down the corridor.

  ‘Alex wouldn’t have said those bad things about you. He wouldn’t,’ she said desperately, her pretty face crumpling which almost broke Lucy’s heart. ‘And I can’t believe he would leave without saying goodbye. To you. To me. To everyone.’

  Lucy pinched her lips hard, holding back sudden tears She couldn’t believe it either. All the fight she’d promised herself, vanished with a punch of pain. Alex had gone. The words echoed in her head, a fierce, heavy ache filled her chest. It hurt to breathe. He hadn’t even tried to fight for her, hadn’t waited to talk to her. Her plan to talk to him had been pulled out from under her. Alex had gone.

  Chapter 30

  Lucy waited at the luggage conveyor belt watching as the cases lumbered around the belt with painful slowness. She wondered what would happen if she got on the belt, lay down and gave up. Just let herself go round and round. She tried to rouse herself and be positive, but it was hard. It was comforting to think that Daisy would be waiting for her through the other side, ready to mop up the tears with prosecco and gin, once again. At least this time, apart from the puffy eyes, on the outside she looked a lot healthier, her hair had all grown back and her lip had completely healed. It was a good job the inside didn’t show. Inside she was a mess, a tangle of regret and sadness. It made her realise that the way she’d felt about Chris didn’t even come close to how she’d felt about Alex.

  With a sniff, she blinked hard. Broken hearts were fixable. Her phone beeped into action. All those irritating texts, no doubt announcing which network she was on. As if she didn’t know. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to delete them and spotted several missed calls from the same unknown number. Her heart leapt. Alex? Was he trying to get hold of her? She’d never known his number, they’d never needed to use their mobiles at the lodge because the signal had been so dreadful.

  Her finger hovered over the number wondering whether to call it. Why would Alex be calling?

  He’d left her. Gone back to Paris. He can’t have cared that much, he hadn’t even put up a fight. Somehow that was the most disappointing thing. Feeling weary and now understanding the true meaning of heartsore, she focused on the bags peering at each one. They all looked so similar, if she wasn’t careful she’d miss hers and end up with some stranger’s dirty washing.

  Just as she was grabbing her bag, her phone rang. The same number. Without hesitation she stabbed at the button to answer, adrenaline tripping through her system.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘Oh, nun on a bicycle, you’re as bad as he is,’ growled an unfamiliar voice. ‘Seriously!’

  ‘Sorry,’ disappointment had her voice stiffening and she sounded like an outraged matron from the fifties, ‘who is this?’

  ‘This is a man who can give you a job,’ said the strange voice imitating her frigid tone. ‘I’m Quentin Oliver.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Lucy, stopping dead on the concourse to a chorus of tuts and a near miss with a pull along cabin bag.

  ‘And you are a difficult woman to get hold of. I’ve been ringing all afternoon. Don’t you ever pick up?’

  Lucy was tempted to point out that she had done otherwise how would they be speaking now but decided against it. He sounded like a man short on patience and long on sarcasm.

  ‘You still there Lucy Smart?’

  ‘Yes.’ And very confused.

  ‘So, I was impressed with what you did at the Lodge. It’s a new venture for me. Small, boutique. I don’t get it personally, I want swanky, luxury and gold-plated taps. My wife, who runs her own exclusive hotel, says I’m out of date. And as I dote on her and listen to her every word, she’s been on about higgy or however you say it.’ Lucy frowned. For a ma
n whose reputation for business savvy proceeded him around the world, he sounded a tad bonkers to her.

  ‘You mean hygge,’ corrected Lucy, suddenly paying attention.

  ‘That’s the bugger. Anyhow. What you did at the Lodge, I’m interested in something similar at a new property. Can you get to Edinburgh tomorrow?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t make me regret singling you out for this job. I’m told you’re smart by name and nature. You heard me.’

  ‘Are you offering me a job?’ Was this really Quentin Oliver? For a man who was so successful, he sounded quite mad. She really wasn’t sure what to think.

  ‘Are you interested?’

  ‘I-I … don’t know. Why? You didn’t let me keep my job.’

  ‘I admit, you worked wonders but I’d already offered Gretchen the job, she’s been nagging me for her own hotel. I know you should have got it, the latest TripAdvisor reviews are through the roof and Alex certainly put in plenty of good words in for you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sleeping with him.’

  Lucy winced. Hadn’t Alex worried about that very thing. ‘I find it difficult to believe Alex put in a good word for me. Gretchen showed me an email. I think poor choice, limited managerial skills were a few of his descriptions of me.’

  Quentin laughed. ‘You gotta hand it to her, she’s a minx that one. That email was the first one Alex sent me. He’d only been there five minutes. You riled him good and proper the first week. I knew straight off with that email, that things weren’t right. He is never that quick to judge. Christ when I’ve asked him before to give me an opinion, I promise you, he’s slower than a tortoise. Mind you, give him his due, the tortoise always takes the race out from under the hare. That’s our Alex. Deliberate, takes his time but he’s always spot on the money.’

  Lucy raised an eyebrow at the unflattering and somewhat surprising description of Alex as she sat down on one of the benches in the baggage reclaim hall beginning to wonder if she was in the middle of some weird dream.

  ‘So, tomorrow. Edinburgh. Can you meet me there?’

  Daisy was waiting at the barrier with an A4 piece of paper that said Welcome home, in bright pink Sharpie surrounded by a couple of daisy doodles. The home-made sign among the more professional Mr Azia, Mr and Mrs Rhodes and The Mitchell Family notices, brought a smile to Lucy’s face or maybe it was the rather bizarre telephone conversation.

  ‘Hey babe,’ said Daisy, throwing her arms around her. ‘You look amazing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lucy her hand immediately straying to her hair.

  ‘Told you it would grow back.’

  ‘In this case I’ve never been happier with an “I told you so.”’ Lucy thought back to the panic she’d felt that first night in Iceland. Now she had money in her pocket. A reference. And a possible job offer. She ignored the ‘and a broken heart’ the voice in her head helpfully added.

  ‘Bummer, you didn’t get the job. The hotel sounded lush.’

  ‘It was by the time I’d finished with it,’ said Lucy, shaking her head. ‘But I’ve had the most bizarre conversation with the man that didn’t give me the job.’

  ‘Hold that thought, until we get in the car, I’ve got to remember where the heck I parked,’ said Daisy leading her out of the terminal. ‘Then tell me all.’

  As they negotiated the airport concourse, car park and initial drive out onto the A38, Lucy filled Daisy in on her conversation with Quentin Oliver. ‘Well it sounds to me, like he’s offering you a job,’ said Daisy, pulling out at a roundabout to the blaring horn of the car that had right of way.

  ‘I think that’s pushing optimism a bit far. At most I’d say tomorrow is an interview.’

  ‘Job,’ insisted Daisy obstinately, ‘no one drags you all the way to Scotland for a chat.’ She turned her head to face Lucy to emphasise her point, reminding Lucy of Hekla’s driving. Then she stamped on the brakes stopping the car from going into the back of the one in front of them at a roundabout. ‘Maybe Alex put in a good word. Have you spoken to him?’

  Lucy gnawed at her lip, careful not to break the skin. ‘Believe it or not, we never gave each other our mobile numbers. I only swapped numbers with Hekla and Brynja this morning when I left.’

  ‘So,’ Daisy winced. ‘Have you any idea where he’s gone?’

  Lucy let out a grinding laugh. ‘I’m assuming he’s gone back to Paris, to his fancy hotel.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Go to Edinburgh to see what Mr Oliver has to say.’

  ‘I bet he offers you a job,’ said Daisy, with her usual loyal optimism.

  ‘Hmm, I wouldn’t bet on it. He’s eccentric but very well connected and hugely influential. So I’d be mad not to at least go and meet with him.’

  ‘Well as long as you’re sure he’s not going to sell you into the sex trade or anything?’

  Lucy gave a brittle laugh. ‘As he’s paying a fortune for me to travel first class on the train tomorrow, I’m thinking he’d be making quite some investment.’

  ‘First class. Hmm. You see to me, that sounds like a serious business proposition.’

  ‘Hmm, but why me? We’ve never even met. And if he thought I was any good, he would have given me the job at the lodge.’

  Chapter 31

  With plenty of time and only a small overnight bag, Lucy decided it was as easy to walk to the hotel even though there was a bitter wind blowing. The six and half hour journey from Bristol Temple Meads to Edinburgh Waverley had given her far too much time to think and now she needed to clear her head before meeting the bombastic Mr Oliver.

  Although she’d been to the city a couple of times before, once for the Festival when she was a student and once to a conference, it had left a lasting impression of gothic splendour and magnificent historic buildings. As she left the station she could see the Castle perched up on the hillside away to her right. Battling against the wind she put her head down and walked up the steep incline of Cockburn Street up to the Royal Mile. She followed the street down the hill past all the tourist shops with their tartan blankets, highland cattle stuffed toys, kilts, fudge and T-shirts, all bedecked with tinsel in a nod towards Christmas, towards the Scottish Parliament and Holyrood Palace.

  She passed a few interesting looking bars, pubs and restaurants all of which looked lively and busy, a few heads decked with paper crowns from crackers. The streets were, even in mid-December, packed with tourists, wrapped up in hats and scarves with raincoats, prepared for whatever the Scottish climate could throw at them. She wished she’d adopted Hekla’s three-layer approach to the weather. During the train journey Hekla had sent her five WhatsApp messages complaining about Gretchen. Apparently Eyrun had flown into a huge rage, Kristjan was very unhappy and Brynja was threatening to leave. It gave her a grim satisfaction, although then she felt sorry for Gretchen, remembering how much of a fish out of water she’d felt when she’d first arrived.

  Her response had been. Be kind to her. She’s new. Remember how rubbish I was!

  Finally coming to the end of the Royal Mile, with Holyrood Palace in front of her and the rather beautiful contemporary buildings of the Scottish Parliament on her right, she crossed the road and after another five-minute walk she came to the hotel.

  She nodded, her GM hat on already. The location in the shadow of Arthur’s Seat was perfect. A little way out of the main city but close enough to Holyrood Palace and the Royal Mile that it would appeal to visitors. The building was one of those grand granite structures, made of large stone blocks, which looked sturdy and imposing as if built to withstand all the northern weather could throw at it.

  A fizz of excitement sparked along with a sense of calm. She could live here. Live in this city. She’d fallen in love with it before.

  Inside the hotel a weary looking receptionist greeted her.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked in a gentle Scottish accent, which immediately reminded Lucy of Alex. She tightened her fingers in a small se
lf-defensive fist in her pocket.

  ‘Yes. I’ve got a booking for one night in the name of Lucy Smart.’

  The girl suddenly straightened up, her eyes darting this way and that.

  ‘Welcome. Welcome. Yes, I have your booking right here. You’re in the honeymoon suite.’ She beamed. ‘Our best room. Has a fine view of Arthur’s Seat.’

  ‘Well, that sounds wonderful.’ Lucy gave her a gentle smile surprised at getting the VIP treatment. ‘Thank you. I’m supposed to be meeting Mr Oliver here. Has he arrived yet?’

  The girl looked ready to burst. ‘Oh yes. He’s here. He’s been here for a while.’ Her big brown eyes communicated so many messages, Lucy couldn’t decide if Quentin was inspiring terror, confusion or pleasure in the staff. ‘He’s in the Wee Tartan Room. Said to send you in as soon as you arrived.’ Her voice dropped, her eyes growing wider as she said in a hushed tone, ‘And to send in our best whisky.’

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ said Lucy firmly.

  ‘Right. Yes. Straight away.’ The girl snapped to attention with military precision. She must have been all of eighteen.

  Lucy gave her a smile. ‘Do you mind if I leave my bag here and can you point me in the direction of the ladies?’

  Freshened up, with a quick smear of lipstick and a swipe of mascara, tugging on her dress and donning a pair of heels to replace the flats she’d walked in, she left the ladies to face the intriguing and indomitable Mr Oliver.

  The Wee Room was a tartan terror and it took all of Lucy’s attention before she finally turned to greet Quentin Oliver, who was not at all what she was expecting. From his speech and gung-ho attitude, she was expecting someone quite rough and ready, well-built with a healthy paunch, certainly not this rather elegant silver fox with piercing blue eyes and a ready smile. She’d never imagined that he’d be dressed in a Noel Coward style plum velvet jacket and black polo neck, although the orange trainers were slightly incongruous.