Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1927
C lara
I am dragging my feet. As the lunch hour nears, it is all I can do to muster the energy to trek down to the locker room for Louisa’s lunch. I trudge back up the stairs to the lobby to help my sister to the pastry kitchen.
Before ducking my head into the lobby, I take a moment to collect myself. I lift a hand to my head, ensuring my hair is neatly tucked into a bun. The heat emanating from my forehead catches me by surprise. I’ve been so busy pushing through my weariness that I haven’t considered I might be coming down with something.
Smothering my displeasure at the thought of falling ill, I let out a slow breath and gently push the door open. I slip through the small opening and glance around the room. With only a couple of guests engaged at the reception desk, I stride into the lobby, doing my best to remain out of sight with the help of the oversized, dark wood columns that anchor the lounge area.
I am halted in my tracks by the sight of Louisa chatting animatedly with Mr. Barnes. I suppress the urge to call out to her. There is little I can do without making a scene. I didn’t make it clear to my sister what kind of man Mr. Barnes is, and now here she is, on full display, seeming to enjoy his attention on her.
When Mr. Barnes lowers himself to inspect Louisa’s ankle, I feel the fire of outrage grip me by the throat. I am unable to say or do anything as I catch the disapproving glare of Mr. Reynolds, the new registration desk manager, who has clearly asserted himself as head of everything when it comes to the lobby and quite likely anywhere else his eagle eyes may fall. I turn on my heel and push through the door, into the comfort of the back-of-house hallway. I narrowly miss a collision with Ms. Thompson as I march into Cookie’s pastry kitchen and unceremoniously drop Louisa’s sandwich on the counter.
Knowing my emotions are far from in check, I offer a subdued apology and a quiet excuse of being in a hurry, and then I head toward the stairs, back to the eighth floor. Climbing one floor at a time, I remind myself that Louisa is more than capable of taking care of herself. But her misplaced admiration of Mr. Barnes concerns me. That and his status as a Hollywood director, which is sure to overrule even the most sensible thoughts in my sister’s head.
By the time I reach the third-floor landing, I am out of breath and feeling decidedly unwell. I grip the stairwell railing as the chilled concrete space causes my head to spin.
I have barely recovered myself when the stairwell door opens. Seeing me, William steps forward and places a steadying hand on my shoulder.
“Clara, are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I am fine. What are you doing here?” I move toward the next set of stairs, William’s hand dropping from my shoulder.
Ignoring my ill-mannered question, he presses on. “You don’t look so well.” He joins me on the stairs. “Are you sure?—”
“Yes. I am quite sure.” My tone is unusually sharp and riddled with impatience. I don’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on the steps in front of me.
“I am glad I ran into you, then. I was hoping we could finish our conversation. About dinner?”
Even though I know I shouldn’t be angry with him, my head swims with contrary emotions and I find myself unable to locate a suitable response. The image of Mr. Barnes and Louisa dashes through my memory, and I am gripped by the fear of something beyond my comprehension.
“I have to get back to work.”
“Surely, you have a minute to?—”
I stop moving and meet his eyes, cutting him off once more. “This is my job, William.”
He drops back a step, lowering himself away from me. “Of course. I apologize for overstepping.”
Stomping up the stairs, I feel far less bold than I imagined I would. Instead, guilt at my harsh words and unkind manner consumes me. By the time I reach the eighth floor, I am winded and full of regret.
I spend the remainder of the workday trying to stay upright as fatigue and remorse thrum through my veins.
I’ve never been so grateful for five o’clock to arrive. I push my cleaning cart into the linen cupboard and spend the final few minutes of my shift restocking the cart while explaining to the evening maid the events and requests of the day.
Given that most of the hotel’s guests braved the weather in order to attend today’s parade, they are now quietly settled in their suites with warm drinks and happy memories.
Miss Smythe stops me on my way to the locker room. “You look a tad pale, Clara.”
“I’m sure it is nothing. I just need a good night’s rest is all.”
“If you say so, but I think you should know that Miss Roberts went home early today. Ms. Thompson thinks she may be coming down with the flu.” Rebecca shrugs as though to say, “What are you going to do?”
“Winter is definitely upon us now. Anyway, get that rest, even if it is simply to ward off a potential illness.”
“Thank you. I will.”
I gather Louisa’s and my things from the locker room and head toward the pastry kitchen, where I expect to find my sister waiting for me.
Instead, I find Cookie with a hand on each hip. I sense I’ve done something to perturb my friend, though I haven’t the slightest clue what it could be.
“There you are, Clara. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I place my things on the small table nestled against the wall and tug my toque onto my head. I smother the exasperated sigh that is ready to unfurl and force on a pleasant expression. “Was there something you needed?”
“No, but I think there is something you need.”
“Cookie, it’s been a long day, and I’d really like to get Louisa and head home.”
My friend holds up a finger to stop my protest. “William mentioned that you might be falling ill. He said he bumped into you in the stairwell and suspected you were feeling poorly.”
I feel my cheeks warm at the mention of my less-than-friendly interaction with Ms. Thompson’s brother.
Chef pokes his head out of the kitchen, passing Cookie a large flask. “Thank you, Chef. I am quite sure we will be needing plenty of this, since we are already down three staff members today.”
Chef bobs his head in acknowledgement and returns to his kitchen without so much as a word.
Cookie hands me the flask. “As soon as I heard you were looking out of sorts, I went straight to work and made up a batch of my chicken soup.”
My heart warms at her generosity. “That is very kind of you.”
“You should drink that”—Cookie points to the flask in my hand—“and go straight to bed.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” I tease her with a mock salute before tucking the flask into my bag.
“I also recommend thanking a certain someone who wanted to ensure you were well.” With a twinkle in her eye, Cookie steps backwards into the shadows of her pastry kitchen as William appears from beyond the lobby door.
My heart flutters at the sight of him standing before me with a sheepish expression.
“I hope you don’t mind.” He steps forward, closing the gap between us.
“Don’t mind what?”
“Me telling Cookie that you may be falling ill.”
My chin drops to my chest. “I imagine it is you who should be upset with me. I am sorry for my rudeness earlier.”
I sneak a glance upward as his smile lights up his features. “I didn’t mean to pressure you, Clara. I suppose eagerness got the better of me. I will give you the time you need to consider my invitation.”
“Thank you.” I contemplate how much to share with him, given his connections within the hotel. “There is something else I am dealing with, and I suppose I overreacted when you saw me in the stairwell.”
William steps closer and leans his body against the wall beside me. “Is it something you wish to talk about? I am a very good listener.”
I hesitate, placating him with a meagre smile. “I’m not sure that is wise.”
“Ah, you are wondering if you can trust me.” His words tease, but his eyes convey seriousness. “Anything you share with me will remain between us, if that is what you wish.”
I check my watch and briefly wonder what is keeping Louisa, before returning my attention to William. “I have a guest who is causing me some challenges. I am uncertain of how to navigate his attention, and he often feels something like a pebble in my shoe.”
“Can you elaborate?” William’s eyes refuse to leave my own, the alarm in his voice barely restrained. “Has he harmed you?”
I shake my head lightly. “Nothing like that. Honestly, I could be misinterpreting the situation. I suppose I am not used to such attention.” I try to appear untroubled, but I sense he does not believe me. “On top of it, there is this holiday bonus competition.” Making the admission feels like revealing my soul to him. “A week’s wages is a generous prize.”
“I heard about the holiday bonus. Quite the prize indeed, but I did wonder about the ramifications of such a contest. Whether it would be detrimental to the symbiotic nature of the staff.” William raises his palms. “But that is probably the lawyer in me, examining things from all sides to ensure fairness prevails.”
I smile at his assessment of himself.
“Are you worried that you will be excluded from the competition if you say something about this guest?”
William Thompson is an exceptional listener with the ability to fill in the blanks with what I haven’t said. I lift my shoulders in concession.
“I understand. That is a bit of a predicament.” He is quiet for a moment as he considers the situation. “What I will say is your comfort should never be disregarded by anyone, including yourself. You don’t have to reciprocate anyone’s feelings or attentions, Clara. You have every right to stand up for yourself, even if it means disappointing another person.”
Louisa appears in the hallway, fatigue weeping from every inch of her. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to stay the night.” Feeling a touch lighter after hearing William’s advice, I find a teasing tone for my sister.
“Honestly, if that were an option,” Louisa says, taking her coat from my outstretched hands, “I would happily collapse in a guest room.”
William chuckles at Louisa’s response before helping her into her jacket.
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson.” Louisa angles her head to one side, appraising the man. “You seem to be our resident knight in shining armour.”
I spot the flush of colour as it rises on his face and find I am unable to hide my smile.
“Ready to go?” Louisa turns toward the door, bracing herself for the gust of cool air that is sure to greet us.
I follow her lead. Before reaching the door, I pause, turning to meet William’s gaze. “How did you know?”
“How did I know what?” His brow knits together.
“How did you know I wasn’t angry with you when I behaved so poorly in the stairwell?”
His eyes crinkle as boyish delight commandeers his features. “You called me by my first name.”
A small laugh slips through my lips. “That I did.” I turn once more to leave but am tugged back in a rare moment of knowing precisely what I want. “Actually, William, I would very much like to have dinner with you.”