Chapter 6 #2
The road narrowed still further and Evie swung into a parking space.
“This is my space. Can’t go further into the village or we’ll be stuck.
Tourists do it sometimes of course. They ignore all the massive notices and try and park on the quay when the tide is out.
Then the tide comes in and they’re annoyed that their car is filled with seawater.
They seem to think we put the warning signs there for our own entertainment. ”
Abby undid her seat belt. “You said no one in head office replied to you. Who did you contact?”
“Do you know them all?” Had she been indiscreet? Yes, she probably had. She didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. “Forget I said anything. It was unprofessional of me.”
“Not at all. You were being honest, and honesty is essential if a business is to run smoothly.”
“My email probably went into spam or something.” She didn’t mention that she’d emailed more than once and left a voicemail.
“Between you and me, I haven’t had much to do with anyone at head office.
They’ve pretty much left us to get on with things ourselves, which is a compliment, obviously.
They must have been happy with the way things were or they would have said so. ”
“But you would have liked more support.”
“After Gerald collapsed, it would have been helpful. Everyone was in a bit of a state—everyone loves Gerald, you see. I have to be sensitive about suggesting any changes. Gerald had his own way of doing things and the staff feel it’s disloyal to do things differently.”
“But there are changes you would make?”
“Some, yes.” Evie grabbed Abby’s luggage from the car.
“Lately I’ve been feeling as if the place needed a bit of a change in strategy, you know?
And I’m only acting general manager, obviously.
I didn’t want to overstep my remit, although I’m not entirely sure what my remit is.
A bit of everything, I think. I even wrote a memo outlining what I thought we could do to improve things and make more money—we’re missing opportunities—but I don’t think anyone bothered to read it. ”
“Did you talk to them about it in person?”
“No. I didn’t want to hear all the reasons why my ideas wouldn’t work. I thought it was easier to send a memo.” She paused, wondering how honest to be. “I’m not great with conflict. Particularly when it’s people I’ve known forever. How about you?”
“I think there are situations where being direct is appropriate, and I don’t usually have a problem with that.”
“You don’t worry about it damaging relationships?”
Abby gave a faint smile. “No,” she said. “That concern isn’t generally top of my list. But I probably don’t have the same close relationships at work that you do.”
“I suppose that’s inevitable as you move around a lot.”
And Abby wasn’t a manager, Evie thought. It was different. “That memo you sent—I’d like to read it if you’d be willing to share it.”
“You would?”
“Yes. It’s your vision for the hotel, and I’m going to be part of the hotel.”
If only her permanent staff were as interested. “I’ll send it to you. The woman who called was a bit vague, but she said you were a sort of trouble-shooter—that you go wherever you’re needed? That must be fun. You can find yourself doing pretty much anything?”
“Yes.” Abby took the case from her with a smile of thanks. “My role is varied. It’s interesting.”
“And you get to see a lot of hotels, which means you can take the best of what you see and apply it elsewhere.” Evie gestured to a steep, narrow street.
“We have to go this way. It’s a bit uneven underfoot.
Forget vicious rocks and dangerous tides—I always thought that this street was probably the biggest hazard the smugglers faced.
Imagine walking up this after a bottle of rum or two.
They probably all had broken noses. Will you be okay in those shoes? ”
“I’ll be fine.”
They walked together down the steep, narrow lane, the wheels of Abby’s case bouncing over the cobbles.
“It’s not for everyone but I love this place.
In summer it’s swollen with tourists, but in winter it’s mostly locals with a few hardy longterm visitors.
” Evie paused outside her cottage. “This is where I live. My dad is right next door. If you need anything at any time, day or night, just call me or knock on one of our doors. We’re here to help. ”
Abby studied the cottages. “You live next door to your father?”
“Yes. My cottage used to belong to my grandmother, although I’ve gradually done it up to suit my taste. I adored Granny, but not her interior design choices. She had a thing for porcelain cats.” Abby gave a wistful smile. “You’re close to your dad.”
“Yes. My mother died when I was born, so it has always been the two of us.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Dad and I are close and I have what feels like a million proxy mothers in the village. How about you? Family? I assume you’re not married.”
“Not married,” Abby said. “So far I haven’t met anyone that makes me want to rethink my workaholic lifestyle.”
Evie laughed. “Well, don’t tell anyone you’re available or they will set you up with every single man in the village. We’d better pretend you’re married with seven children. The pub is just down there—” She gestured. “It overlooks the harbour.”
As they reached the main street the crowds thickened.
There were people wearing shorts and T-shirts, their faces red from too much sun and not enough sunscreen.
Fractious toddlers whined, and dogs pulled at their leads and panted in the heat.
“At five in the morning, this place is deserted.” Evie led Abby round to the back entrance of the Smuggler’s Inn and opened the door.
“Tristan?” She yelled his name. “Are you there or have you been trampled by tourists? He’s probably down in the cellar. ”
Abby held back. “You don’t knock or ring the bell or something?”
“I’ve known Tristan since I was five years old. His mother used to plait my hair because my dad always struggled with it. So no, I don’t knock or ring the bell. Tristan can be a bit gruff but don’t be daunted. He’s a big old softie really.” Evie yelled again. “Tris?”
“I can hear you. The whole county can hear you. And of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” Tristan emerged from the cellar carrying two large boxes. He dumped them on the floor and rubbed his biceps. There was a streak of dirt on his cheek and his dark hair was in a state of disarray.
Evie stepped forward and hugged him. “I thought you might have escaped this place and be sunning yourself on an island in the Caribbean and drinking rum from a coconut. I’ve brought you a new guest—this is Abby. She’s going to be helping me at the hotel.”
Tristan wiped his hands on his trousers. “I wasn’t expecting company. I’ve been sorting out the cellar.” He nodded to Abby. “Tristan Penrose. You’d probably rather I didn’t shake your hand given what I’ve been hauling around down there.”
Evie felt guilty for not having called to warn him that they were on their way. “Shall I grab the key and take her up? We don’t need to bother you.”
He scowled at her. “I’m the landlord, Ev. It’s my job to make guests welcome.”
“Well, currently you’re wearing your grumpy face, so you might want to rethink your approach to customer relations.”
He ran his hand over the back of his neck and breathed out. “Long day and we still have the evening to go. You know what it’s like at this time of year.”
That wasn’t it. She knew that wasn’t it. She’d known him long enough to know when something was wrong.
“How’s your dad?”
“Doing fine, thanks.” He disappeared through a door that led to the bar and returned a moment later holding a key. “I’ll get Matt to take your luggage up.”
“No need,” Abby said smoothly. “I can handle it, thank you.” Evie saw Tristan’s gaze travel from Abby’s face to her shoes. To his credit, his expression didn’t change.
“If you’re sure.” He gave a nod. “Settle in and then come and find me. There’s a small kitchen in the Lookout, but it’s not great for cooking anything substantial. I’ll arrange for you to have something to eat in the pub.”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” Abby was close to frosty and Evie didn’t blame her.
Tristan wasn’t exactly giving her a warm welcome. What was wrong with him? She wanted Abby to feel comfortable and at home. Right now she was neither. She was wary and distant and nothing like the woman who had been laughing over a scone in the garden and listening carefully to Evie’s work issues.
Evie felt a flash of sympathy. It must be daunting coming to a strange place where you knew no one. She was probably missing her friends, colleagues and family back home and Tristan being all growly and broody wasn’t exactly going to make her feel welcome.
Evie decided a rethink was necessary.
“If you have the energy when you’ve unpacked and settled in you could just come round to mine.
It will probably be pizza and salad, but you’re welcome.
” Her plans for a long soak in the bath and an hour in the garden with her book vanished into the ether, but she reminded herself that she could do that any night.
The priority right now was to make sure Abby felt at home.
“That’s a kind offer,” Abby said, “but it has been a long day and I’ll probably just take a shower and collapse into bed.”
“You definitely need to eat something before you do that,” Evie said. “The food here is amazing. I recommend the fish pie. If you’re tired, Tristan can bring it up to your room, can’t you, Tris?”
He looked at Evie and there was a gleam of something in his eyes. “If you want the room to smell of fish, sure.”
Abby gave him a cool smile. “I don’t eat much in the evenings. Usually just an apple.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “An apple?”