The Northern Lights Lodge. Julie Caplin
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on. ‘Let me go and make the call.’ She stood up from her desk looking a little awkward. Lucy suspected she usually made her calls from the phone on the desk but wanted some privacy to try and persuade the client to take someone on with a three-year gap on their CV.
For the last year, she’d been Assistant Manager for the flagship hotel of a big chain in Manchester having worked her way up through the company during the previous two, until said big chain sacked her for gross misconduct. Lucy gritted her teeth at the memory of the heartless HR storm trooper of a woman Head Office had sent up from leafy Surrey to deliver the killer blow. Of course, they hadn’t sacked Chris.
For a minute, self-pity threatened to swamp her. Job application after job application, rejection after rejection. Not one single interview. Every time she got another rejection, the bleakness grew, like a shadow spreading in the setting sun. Her bank account was running on empty, she was rapidly running out of sofas to bunk on and, the end of the road, holing up in Mum and Dad’s two up, two down terrace in Portsmouth, was looming large. And there was no way she could do that. Mum would want to know why. The truth would kill Dad. Lucy gnawed at her lip, opening up the ulcerous sore already there. For some reason, she’d taken to chewing the inside of her lip and it had become a horrible habit over the last few months that she couldn’t seem to shake.
‘It … it is live in?’ asked Lucy hurriedly as the girl was about to leave the room.
‘Oh Lord yes, no one in their right mind would look at it without accommodation.’ Her eyes suddenly widened as she realised she’d probably said far too much. ‘I’ll be right back.’ Rather tellingly she’d scooped up the file to take it with her leaving Lucy alone in the office.
‘Are you sure it’s the right thing to do?’ asked Lucy’s best friend, Daisy, shaking her head, an expression of diffidence on her face, as she stared at her laptop screen. ‘You’re massively over-qualified for this. It’s only got forty-four rooms,’ she paused. ‘And you hate snow.’
‘I don’t hate snow. It’s not so nice in the city when it goes all slushy and black,’ protested Lucy thinking of childhood snow. That first winter fall when it was clean and crisp and begging for virgin footsteps, snowball fights and snowmen.
‘Hmm,’ said Daisy, disbelieving. ‘You’d only just acclimatized to Manchester. Iceland will be far worse. Although,’ she wrinkled her forehead, ‘it does look very nice.’
Lucy nodded, nice was an understatement. According to the gallery of photos on this website it looked gorgeous. The outside, with its turfed rooves and hotchpotch of buildings was dwarfed on one side by a snow-covered hillside strewn with the dark shadows of craggy outcrops and, on the other, a wild rocky coastline where foamy waves crashed onto a narrow shingle beach. The beautifully photographed interior showed stunning views from each of the lodge’s windows, several huge fireplaces and cosily arranged nooks with furniture which invited you to curl up and doze in front of a warming hearth. It all looked fabulous. Which begged the question, why hadn’t the job of General Manager been snapped up before? Her teeth caught at that damn sore on the inside of her lip and she winced.
Daisy mistaking her sudden intake of breath, gave her a stern look. ‘You don’t have to take it. You know you can stay here as long as you like.’ Her eyes softened. ‘I really don’t mind. I love having you.’
Tempting as it would have been to stay in Daisy’s cute one man flat in Bath, Lucy had to take this job. ‘Dais, I can’t sleep on your sofa forever and if I don’t go for this job, it probably will be forever.’
A familiar gloom threatened to descend again dragging her down. She swallowed ignoring the panic beating like the wings of a bird inside her heart and glanced at Daisy. How did you admit that you no longer thought you were capable of doing a job? She was so trapped by indecision at every turn, constantly questioning her own judgement.
Should she go for this job? The brief Skype interview seemed a mere formality, a quick check to make sure that she didn’t have two heads or anything, conducted by a woman who hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself and didn’t seem to care as to whether she could do the job. Which was just as well because all Lucy’s stuffing had been well and truly knocked out of her, and if she’d had to sell herself she’d have withered on the spot.
Daisy put an arm on hers jolting her from her thoughts. ‘Don’t take it. Something else will come up. You can create your own‒’
Lucy raised a hand to stop one of Daisy’s characteristic pithy quotes and lifted a pertinent eyebrow and her best friend had the grace to smile weakly.
‘Ok.’ Daisy clenched her petite little hands into fists. ‘But it’s so f-fu flipping unfair. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Daisy Jackson! Were you about to swear then?’
A dimple appeared in the other girl’s cheek as she smiled like a naughty pixie. ‘Might have been. But it makes me so mad. It’s so …’ She made a ‘grrr’ sound.
‘You see, another reason I need to get out of here. You’re making animal noises too. I’m a bad influence. And it was my fault. No one’s fault but my own … and Chris’s for being a grade A shit.’
‘It wasn’t your fault! Stop saying that,’ said Daisy, her voice shrill with indignation. ‘You can’t blame yourself. It’s Chris’s fault. Although I still can’t believe he did it. Why?’
Lucy’s jaw tightened, they’d been over this a thousand times over the course of the last sixty-two days and numerous glasses of prosecco, wine, gin and vodka. Rumination and alcohol hadn’t provided any answers. It was her fault, for being so utterly, utterly stupid. She couldn’t believe how badly she’d got it wrong. Four years. A flat together. Working for the same company. She thought she knew Chris. One thing was for sure … she would never trust another man as long as she lived.
‘It doesn’t matter “why” he did it. I need to move on and I need a job.’ Lucy gritted her teeth. Going to Iceland was a terrible idea but she was all out of options.
PARIS
‘Here you go.’ Nina slid the coffee cup across the table towards Alex and handed him a plate with a gorgeous looking confection on it. ‘On the house. I want your opinion, it’s my latest idea. Raspberry Ripple Éclair. It might cheer you up,’ she added with a smile that was underpinned with a smattering of sympathy.
Alex felt a touch of regret. Nina was lovely. His plans to get to know her better had been well and truly scuppered by a prior claim. Sadly, she’d been in love with his mate Sebastian forever and he had to admit as he looked at her now, requited love had put a gorgeous bloom on her cheeks. You couldn’t begrudge anyone that shiny happiness. He took a bite of the éclair and groaned.
‘Wow, that’s good, Nina. Really good.’
‘Excellent, now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’
He rolled his eyes, as she pulled up a chair and sat down ignoring the outraged glare from Marcel, the manager of the patisserie. Nina might officially run the place, but Marcel definitely wore the trousers in this business partnership, ruling the roost with silent, stern officiousness.
‘Who said anything was wrong? asked Alex, trying to sound blithe.
‘I have brothers. I have a Sebastian. I know when the weight of the world is bowing those broad shoulders. You have a distinct droop about you,’ she declared with a knowing grin.
He glanced left to right at both shoulders and she gave a peal of laughter.
‘I’m a wee bit pissed off. The new hotel opening is delayed and the manager lined up to take over from me has already rocked up.’ Alex was due to take over the running of a brand new, minimalist, uber trendy boutique hotel on the other side of Paris any day now, except during the