The Northern Lights Lodge

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?’

‘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.

‘No,’ said Alex, laughing at Hekla’s pouting face. Lucy could have kissed her for the timely interjection. Where had her sudden misery come from? She lifted her chin, quickly schooling her features to hide the brief lapse of her game face.

‘Er, Lucy,’ said Hekla with a worried expression, ‘We have a booking arriving next week.’

‘And?’ They were a hotel after all, bookings were what they wanted.

‘It was made directly with Mr Pedersen and I don’t have any details. No names. Nothing. But it’s a complimentary.’

She noticed Alex looking intrigued and again wondered why a barman was hanging around the office or taking such a keen interest in things.

‘Ah, that is odd. Are they VIPs we need to impress? Relations of Mr Pedersen?’

‘I don’t know. It’s for five rooms.’

‘Five.’ Her tongue flicked automatically to the sore on her lip. That was a lot of rooms to give away for free. What was going on?

‘All it says on the original email is that they are media.’ Hekla looked up, a happier expression on her face. ‘I think they might be press or something.’

‘Press?’

OK, she

could

 handle that. Being so close to the BBC and ITV as well as two premier league football clubs in Manchester, she was used to dealing with journalists, celebrities and footballers on a regular basis.

‘English press. A film crew.’

Oh shit! Automatically her hand went to her lip and she began to pick at it.

‘You OK?’ asked Alex, concern etching his eyes. Stepping toward Lucy, making her catch her breath, he briefly brushed his fingers over her wrist. ‘Don’t, you’ll make it worse.’

She pulled her hand away already tasting the tang of blood in her mouth. It was a bad habit she’d got into.

‘You OK?’ he asked again.

‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine,’ said Lucy conscious that the blood had drained from her face and her heart rate had sky rocketed and everything about her was probably screaming NO!

She wasn’t fine at all and at that precise moment, she couldn’t have said whether that was the unexpected effect of Alex’s gentle touch or the prospect of a film crew arriving.

She took a calming breath. She was being stupid. It wasn’t as if the film crew would be filming the staff. They probably wouldn’t pay any attention to them. No one was going to recognise her.

Chapter 8

When Lucy woke, anxiety immediately clutching at her thoughts, she lay staring out of the window at the cloud filled sky. Although it was still dark, there was an odd light to the sky. Maybe she’d stay here today, study the clouds and give into the heaviness of her body. Even though she’d been here for nearly two weeks now, it was taking her time to get up to speed. The frequent turnaround of previous managers meant that so much had been left undone. This morning just lifting the duvet seemed an effort. Minutes ticked by, turning into ten, then twenty. She squinted through the glass, was that a snowflake?

Was that why the clouds looked different today, they were full of snow? She tracked the progress of a few leisurely snowflakes, watching their gentle wayward descent. The familiar prick of childish excitement nudged at her making her wince. One upon a time the first magical sight of snow would have had her dragging her wellies on, wrapping up like a Sherpa, desperate to be out there, but the dark slush of city snow had cured her of that fantasy.

Sighing, she forced her stiff body to roll over, sliding her legs out of the bed and moving into a sitting position. She had to get up. She needed this job. She was being ridiculous. The film crew wouldn’t be interested in her. They’d be filming the sights, using the hotel as a base.

She was being ridiculous

. Repeating the words over and over, like a litany, she dragged herself into the shower.

Once she was dressed, she left her room and as she crossed through the communal area of the staff quarters on her way to the office, a loud cry accosted her.

‘Lucy, Lucy,’ called Hekla, with her usual boundless enthusiasm.

‘Morning,’ she said stiffly, conscious of the other girl’s glowing skin and shining eyes, contrasting with her own dull complexion and purpled shadowed bags.

‘Come, come,’ she said linking her arm through Lucy’s. ‘I want to show you my favourite thing. Well,’ she amended, ‘one of my favourite things.’ Dragging her along like a rampant St Bernard on a rescue mission, Hekla led her from the staff area back to the main hotel.

Helpless to resist all that enthusiasm, Lucy allowed herself to be propelled along without complaint to the long glass corridor connecting the two buildings.

Hekla stopped dead, her head tipped back and her arms stretched out wide, almost touching the glass on either side of her. ‘It feels like you’re outside, but you’re not.’ She grinned at Lucy with child-like delight, her arms flapping up and down as if she were making snow angels. ‘Look.’

Outside the snow which lit up the twilit sky, had started falling in earnest with huge flakes floating down like feathers settling on a gentle breeze. In a slow waltz, they danced and whirled, swirling around the glass structure like delicate ballerinas, almost hitting the glass and then at the last second spinning away as if teasing death before they escaped. Entranced Lucy’s looked up through the glass ceiling, the sight almost dizzying, as the concentration of layer up on layer of flakes seemed to be coming down in never-ending torrent strings.

It was like being in an inside out snow globe, she thought, as those less fortunate flakes, doomed to an early eclipse, hit the glass with tiny pfft, pfft sounds, as the ice crystals splatted against the surface.

‘I’ve never seen such huge snowflakes,’ said Lucy in sheer wonderment, as she followed the path of one which she could have sworn was the same size as her hand.

‘Hundslappadrifa,’ beamed Hekla. ‘We have a name for this type of snow. In translation it means dog’s feet snow.’

Lucy clapped her hands in delight. It was the most perfect description. ‘I love that. Although, I guess we won’t be able to go to Hvolsvöllur this morning.’ The snow had settled fast in the last half hour, a good inch already rounding off the edges of the fences and rooflines outside. She’d been looking forward to getting out of the hotel and seeing a bit of Iceland, even if it was only the nearest town twenty minutes away.

‘Of course we will,’ said Hekla. ‘In Iceland, snow doesn’t stop us. Petta reddast.’

‘What does that mean?’

Hekla grinned. ‘I’ll tell you in the jeep on the way.’

Buckled in, cocooned in the warm fug of the car, they drove along the straight road towards the lights of the town glowing in the distance like a beacon.

‘Will we be alright?’ asked Lucy dubiously looking at the thickening layer of snow which was building quickly.

‘Ja,’ said Hekla, with blithe confidence patting the steering wheel. ‘This baby will get us there and back with no problems.’

‘At home, everything would have ground to halt already,’ observed Lucy, thinking of last winter and the mass influx of snow-clad travellers turning up at the hotel in Manchester unable to get home.

‘Ha, this is Iceland. We’re made of strong stuff. Like I said before, petta reddast, it’s a saying we have. Everything will be OK. Living here, we have a belief that we can do things. There is always something to face, the storms, floods, snowfall, ice and volcanoes. It is the land of heat and fire, but we Icelanders, we can do great things. We have self-belief. Remember our football team,’ she turned with a sly smile haunting her mouth. ‘We beat the English, a small team from a country of 340,000 people. Our manger was a part-time dentist.’

‘I remember,’ said Lucy dryly, thinking back to Chris’s cocky pre-match dismissive attitude to the threat of the Icelandic team and his irate howls at the television during the match when Iceland scored two goals to England’s one.

‘It is a positive attitude,’ she cast an arm towards the scene outside. ‘It is hard living here, you have to survive. The Vikings that came here from Europe had to carve out a life. It breeds a toughness but also a team spirit. Together we can make things happen. For example, Elin, believes that she will write and publish her book, Freya will be a great actress one day and Brynja trains for the marathon. All of them believe that they will succeed.’

‘And what about you?’ asked Lucy.

‘One day I will travel. As a child I went to many places with my parents but I want to do what you’ve done, travel to a new country and work in a good hotel.’ Hekla grinned. ‘But I want to make The Northern Lights Lodge, the best hotel before I leave. I’ve lived in many places but this is the place that feels like home. I want people who come here to see how wonderful my country is. I want them to remember their stay here for ever.’

‘You and me both,’ said Lucy. ‘I hope you don’t plan to leave too soon.’

Hekla shrugged. ‘It depends on the new owners.’

‘New owners?’ The words croaked out of Lucy’s throat in sudden alarm. ‘What do you mean?’

Hekla gave her a startled look. ‘You know, the hotel is for sale.’

‘For sale?’ Panic clutched at Lucy, her stomach clenching in fear. A change of ownership often meant a change of management. ‘What now?’

‘Ja, there is a prospective buyer. They are negotiating but Mr Pedersen said that it is likely that things will be signed in December.’

Lucy swallowed hard. December. Her contract was up in December. At her sharp indrawn breath, Hekla looked at her.

‘Don’t worry. They will need a manager.’

‘Yes but…’ Not necessarily me. Now the short-term contract made perfect sense, she realised with a sinking heart. Not the probationary period she’d assumed because they were taking her without proper references but short term because they wouldn’t need her.

‘Petta reddast,’ reminded Hekla gently. ‘It will work out. I think already you have good ideas. You have good experience, ja?’

Lucy nodded. She did have bloody good experience. The best. She could make this work. Maybe she needed to believe in herself, she always had done before. Everything had been fine before that damned video had gone viral, until head office had fired her, before Chris had shafted her so well and truly.

Hvolsvöllur was even smaller than Lucy had expected, the town sitting in a flat vale with a few roads. Red rooved houses lined the roads as Hekla drove through, pointing out where her cousins had lived, an uncle, her school friend’s mother’s house. It seemed as if Hekla knew everyone in town. She knew exactly where to go to buy the coffee machine that had been their principal purpose and within half an hour they were done.

‘Would you like to stop in the tourist shop, Una Local?’ she asked. ‘It has some nice things.’

‘That would be nice,’ said Lucy gloomily. ‘I might have to buy Christmas presents to take home with me.’ Something for Daisy who’d been so good to her this past year and her Mum and Dad who thought this was a great adventure and had no idea what had driven her to make such a radical career change.

Hekla shook her head. ‘Petta reddast. You are an Icelander now. A solution will come.’

‘I hope so,’ muttered Lucy, who until now deliberately hadn’t thought beyond mid-December.

‘It will,’ said Hekla, with what Lucy now thought of her as Viking Princess resilience.

The shop wasn’t the prettiest building, it looked more like a series of three airport hangers, painted red, yellow and blue with a large puffin painted on the front door, but inside the white airy space was filled with well-displayed traditional Icelandic crafts and gifts on little wooden tables. Fairy lights were strung around the ceiling and Lucy did a double take at the sight of a bicycle suspended on its side and the various ornaments dangling from the spokes of the wheels. On the walls, hanging from hangers on hooks, there was a fine selection of the heavy wool jumpers she associated with Northern Europe, the necklines decorated with the familiar Scandinavian knitted patterns, along with woollen poncho style tops, scarves and hats. There were pretty watercolours of puffins, photographs of hardy Icelandic ponies, papier mâché trolls, printed cushions and colourful tea-towels. Everything, although eye-wateringly expensive, was beautifully made and Lucy could have spent a fortune. In one corner there was a Norse Viking figure made of sheepskin, with a knitted helmet around which a couple of tourists crowded taking selfies with lots of laughs and smiles. Even Lucy had to smile at the sight of the big shambling figure.

Hekla had already struck up a conversation with the sales lady as Lucy wandered around. She stopped again beside a display of puffin watercolour pictures. Simple but effective, she thought, they would look perfect in the guest lounge. She picked one up and carried it towards Hekla.

‘You’re going to buy a picture?’ she asked.

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’d really like to display a couple in the hotel, we could direct guests here to buy them, if,’ she turned to the sales lady Hekla had been chatting to, ‘you’d be interested.’

She was interested, in the sort of bite-your-hand-off sort of way that Lucy had hoped for and it didn’t take long for them to sort out a mutually satisfying arrangement that had her humming to herself as they carried three paintings out to the car, with the promise of more to come which could be picked up in a couple of days.

‘Nice work,’ said Hekla, ‘that is a good idea.’

‘Yup,’ said Lucy with a mischievous smile, feeling a sense of achievement. ‘Free decorations for the walls. The guest lounge is lovely but it needs more. We never did ask Eyrun about what happened to the other things.’

‘No, we didn’t.’ Hekla’s airy response made Lucy giggle.

‘You’re scared of her too.’

Hekla tried and failed to keep an innocent face before giggling back at her and nodding.

‘She terrifies me. That’s why you’re the boss. You have to ask her.’ Hekla threw her a challenging glance. ‘Two shots. Tomorrow night.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Tomorrow. We are playing card games in the staff lounge. Drinking games.’ Hekla’s face wreathed in mischief. ‘Dares. If you don’t ask Eyrun, you have to drink two shots.’

Lucy laughed. ‘And what do you do, if I do?’

Hekla shrugged. ‘I guess I have to drink two shots.’

‘Does this happen often?’ asked Lucy.

‘The evenings are long and dark, we like to get together. The card games are Elin’s idea. She and Brynja and Freya are all good fun. And Brynja’s boyfriend, Dagur and Gunnar are so funny. Olafur can be a bit sulky sometimes but then he forgets and he’s nice. And new Alex is fun too and very easy on the eye as they say.’

Back in the car on their way to the hotel, Hekla reminded her of their dare. Lucy shrugged. She’d never backed down from a challenge, even so she was going to have to steel herself for another run in with Eyrun.

‘Eyrun?’ Lucy called, cross with herself for being so timid. She was in charge here for heaven’s sake. Despite the dull rhythmic thud of towels in the huge dryer, there was no sign of the Head of Housekeeping. Lucy let out a small sigh of relief

Was it any wonder Eyrun rarely left her little cave, there was something rather soothing about the somnolent thrum of the dryers? The warm dry air made her feel pleasantly dopey and relaxed and she closed her eyes for a few minutes just letting herself be for a while. Hekla’s positive attitude and talk of petta reddast this morning had given Lucy food for thought. She’d always been organised and successful through hard work and diligence but, before now, she’d never had to face much adversity.

All the angry bees that had been buzzing in her head for so long, keeping her awake at night with their

what ifs

 and

if onlys,

 had taken flight, leaving a welcome nothingness in her head. The cycle of constant recriminations and fear of doing everything wrong that had hamstrung and exhausted her the past year had dissipated for once, and with Hekla’s words taking root, she was thinking about being more resilient. Not letting Chris win. She’d needed to take charge, assert her authority and not just with Eyrun.

When the dryer had finally finished its cycle, the quiet of the Lodge echoed in her ears, so silent and still she could almost hear the soft buzz of the dust and fibres settling.

For a second, she gave into the quiet atmosphere, slouching against a trolley, her head resting on the metal handle.

As she drooped over the trolley, she saw the sliver of light widen as the door opened very, very slowly.

Someone slipped in and with furtive intent looked around, overlooking her in the dark corner. The male figure moved forward towards the other room which housed the huge industrial washing machines and a couple of floor-to-ceiling storage cupboards. She watched as he carefully pushed the door too behind him, leaving it an inch open.

What on earth was he up to? And who was it? Lucy felt uncomfortable spying but as someone in the hotel had been playing unwelcome games, she felt justified even though there’d been no repeat of the dead mice or any other tricks recently. Was she about to catch the culprit in the act? She grabbed an armful of sheets from a nearby trolley to give her a reason for being here and creeping forward to the doorway of the stockroom, she peeped through the gap.

Alex! What on earth was he doing in here?

For a few seconds she watched him as he sifted through a pile of duvet covers, poked at the stack of pillowcases, opened a few cupboards and crouched down to take a closer look at the washing powders and cleaning fluids on the shelf.

Lucy pushed open the door making as much noise as she could.

He whirled round, his handsome face a picture.

Handsome.

 For God’s sake, Lucy, he’s nice looking, that’s all. But there was a distinct flutter in her stomach.

For what felt like a second too long they stared at one another, with that momentary

now what

 of a pair of gun slingers facing each other.

‘Alex!’ Her voice was an octave too high. ‘Fancy seeing you here? Are you helping out with the laundry now?’

‘No, I was …’ he looked around as if hoping inspiration might jump up and slap him in the face.

‘You look as if you were looking for something?’ she asked, tensing as she realised she was desperate for him to be honest about what he was doing.

‘Er yes … some cloths. For the … er … kitchen. Tea-towels.’

Lucy narrowed her gaze at him, before pointedly looking towards to the room behind them and the shelves by the door, neatly stacked with smaller cloths and tea-towels, used by the kitchen.

Alex flushed, following her gaze. ‘Sorry. Not thinking. Completely forgot. You know what it’s like when you’ve worked in lots of different places. You get a bit confused every now and then.’ His gabbled speech was so unlike his usual cool, collected self, that Lucy almost felt sorry for him until he changed the subject quickly.

‘And how are you finding things?’ he asked in that cool, authoritative yet charming way as if he were the one that was in charge. ‘I hear you’ve promoted Elin.’

‘Yes,’ she said stiffly, wondering what business it was of his. ‘She’s now Assistant Housekeeper. Doing a great job.’

‘Good move.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with a touch of withering sarcasm. Had he forgotten who was in charge here?

He shrugged, with an anodyne smile that irritated her even more.

Why was it that he always managed to catch her at a disadvantage?

‘Is there anything else you need in here?’ she asked desperate to reassert her authority.

‘No,’ he looked at his watch, ‘I must be off.’ And with a quick smile, he sauntered away as if he had all the time in the world.

‘You forgot your tea-towels,’ she called with a triumphant crow, but he’d already left the ro