Spellbinding Spirit (Greenview Manor Tales #5)
2. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Sebastian
A door falls shut somewhere in the building and the noise echoes down the corridor as I descend the staircase towards reception.
“But I have a reservation,” the angry voice of a middle-aged woman greets me as I make it back to the desk where Harry, one of my night porters, is frantically typing on the keyboard. He’s giving his best customer service smile but the fact that he’s continuously typing is a dead giveaway. He’s buying himself time because when we came on shift this evening, the day staff confirmed that we were fully booked and were not expecting anymore arrivals.
It doesn’t happen often that some of our team mess up a booking but it does happen, and if we are then fully booked it can be a costly mistake, because we have to book them into one of our competitors. Especially as there aren’t many other hotels of our standards around, and so we usually end up paying for their full stay and add some kind of bonus like a free meal or a spa treatment to it.
“Good evening, madam,” I say as I step behind the desk. Harry breathes a sigh of relief; he knows with me back from my rounds, I can take over and he won’t have to deal with any possible overbooking.
“Mrs Brown has booked a double room for two nights.” His voice is calm and matter of fact—we train our staff to deal with situations like this by not causing more alarm to guests—but I know him well enough to detect a slight panic in it. I guess he hasn’t found her booking by some kind of miracle.
“Yes, and he is saying you don’t have a reservation. I booked it myself, I know I did. You even charged my card,” Mrs Brown snaps at me whilst tapping angrily on the counter with her acrylic fingernails.
“Let me have a look. Can I please see your confirmation email?”
“My confirmation?” she scoffs.
“Yes. The number on it will help me locate your booking,” I explain. She’s staring at me angrily almost like she’s waiting for me to back down, but even if I wanted to, I can’t. We don’t have rooms, so at this stage I need to find out if one of our staff has cocked up, in which case we are responsible to find her an alternative room, or if she made a mistake. We will still help her, but we definitely won’t pay.
“Let me see,” she finally mumbles when I don’t give in to her stares. Whilst she’s scrolling on her phone to find the email I write on a piece of paper out of her eyeline: Call Morely Hotel. The Morely is not far from us and has nice rooms and helpful staff. Harry gives me a nod and disappears into the back office. Let’s hope the Morley is not full as well.
“Aha, see, I told you. I booked a double room with jacuzzi. Here.” She holds out her phone to me. Jacuzzi? The only rooms we have with a jacuzzi are suites, certainly not double rooms.
I scan the confirmation on the screen. The price looks odd as well. One hundred and fifty pounds? None of our rooms start on less than three fifty. I scroll back up on the screen. It definitely says Greenview… wait—
“Madam, this is a reservation for the Greenview House Hotel in Newbury. We are called Greenview Manor Hotel.” I point at the address on the screen.
“What?” she snaps and rips the phone from my grasp. A gentleman sitting on one of the sofas behind her barks out a laugh. “But we wanted to stay here,” she says angrily like I made the booking for her.
“I understand. But unfortunately we are fully booked tonight. I would also point out that the Greenview House Hotel will probably charge you if you don’t check in.”
“That’s ridiculous. Where is Newbury?”
“Berkshire, I believe.”
“Berkshire!” she shouts . Lady I can’t move the bloody hotel just because you can’t read.
“Darling, didn’t I tell you it was odd that the hotel was so cheap?” her husband joins us and basically signs his death warrant because his comment results in Mrs Brown ripping him a new one. One thing is crystal clear: everyone and the world is at fault for this mistake, just not her.
“Well what are we supposed to do now? We need a room. We can’t drive four hours to Berkshire. It’s nearly midnight!” she screeches.
“I’m afraid we’re fully booked,” I shrug. Harry, who has returned from the back office, gives her a cautious smile.
“Well, well—” This has finally rendered her speechless and she seems unable to come up with yet another reason why her problem is my problem.
“Leave these poor people alone. You’ve been rude enough today,” her husband says sternly. He clearly has had enough of her as well. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he nods and drags his wife with him towards the exit.
“The Morley has rooms,” Harry whispers to me once they’ve disappeared from view.
“Up to you if you want to tell them,” I say. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in this business because I love providing customer service. I’ve been a night manager at the Greenview Manor Hotel for five years and have been working in the hospitality industry for over twenty years. I always go out of my way for guests but not if they’re rude, obnoxious twats.
Some guests treat hotel staff like personal servants and I’ve been in the business too long to take that lying down. Guests don’t realise that if they treat us like shit we can make sure that their stay won’t be a special one—without ruining the hotels reputation of course. We would never do that to Tommy, the owner.
“Fine but only because he was nice,” Harry sighs and sprints out of the building after them.
This is one of my last nightshifts before I move to the day shift as Front of House Manager, and I will miss my team of night porters. All of them are students from the local university and I couldn't have asked for a better team. They’re hardworking, provide excellent customer service, and genuinely enjoy working here. They also know I don't mind if they study for their courses or work on essays once their tasks are done. If there are no events the next day that require setup, we're usually done by two or three in the morning. I typically spend the rest of the shift entering reservations or reviewing occupancy reports left by the Front of House Manager, whilst the night porter on duty with me uses time time to catch up on his or her studies.
“He gave us a tip. She was pissed though.” Harry grins and waves a twenty pound note in the air.
“He gave you a tip,” I correct him. All the night porters earn a lot less than I do so the last thing I want to do is take their tips away.
“I don’t—”
“No, it’s yours. I wouldn’t have gone out and told him,” I wink.
“Thanks Sebastian.”
“No worries. Let’s start the end of day,” I suggest, and we both fall back into our routine running reports and closing down the day on the computer system before preparing the bills for tomorrow’s check out.
Cat
Anything to report?
A grin spreads on my face when a text from my favourite person in the world comes through.
Me
Does a snotty guest who can’t read count?
Cat and I first crossed paths in our 20s, back when she was temping at a quaint old hotel in Surrey where I managed the night shift. She was knee-deep in her studies of parapsychology, a subject I found amusingly peculiar at the time. But she grilled me on all the supposed ghost sightings at the hotel where we worked. Fast forward two decades, and Cat's a professor at Kent University delving into the mysteries of parapsychology by day and chasing spirits by night. Her passion for ghost hunting is alive as ever.
Cat is a popular university professor, guiding her students to challenge any and all paranormal activity and look for logical explanations. But come nightfall she traipses around old buildings that are supposedly haunted, calling out for spirits. I've joined her on a few of these ghostly escapades and I'm always fascinated how professional but also passionate she is about her work.
Cat is my best friend, the kind you can count on through thick and thin. But that's all we are, just friends. Well, there was this one night when things got a bit more than friendly, but that was a decade ago, a one-off moment we both put down to chance.
Sure, I think she's gorgeous with her luscious dark hair and those deep brown eyes that light up any room. When she talks about her parapsychology work I find myself lost, not in her words but in the sheer passion that radiates from her.
However, we've settled into being just friends and that's alright by me. I’ve seen the guys she dates, all professors of this and doctors of that. I can't compete with them. Besides, she lives down south and I’m up here—I’m not really into long-distance relationship. So, we are keeping things firmly in the friend zone. That's us, Cat and Sebastian: just friends.