CHAPTER SIX
When I returned to the hotel, Angie, Liz, and Rhonda were sitting in the office.
“How did the interview with Harper go?” I asked them.
“Very well,” said Liz. “Harper is a perfect fit for the program that Angie and I are working on.”
“She’s really excited about the idea of blending an older crowd with younger people. She told us she’s spent time in the bar almost every day for a week, checking things out,” said Angie.
“She’s taken several marketing classes and wants to work with us on a variety of things but will gladly tend bar until we’re ready to focus on them.” Liz laughed. “She also understands about our having family responsibilities. She’s the oldest of five children. All her younger siblings are boys.”
“I know you think she and Chet are together,” said Angie. “But they’re not. We found out they’re just friends who are temporarily sharing a motel room.”
“Interesting,” I said. “I like them both.”
“I’m excited that it’ll be up to Liz and me to carry on with the hotel after you and Mom decide to retire,” said Angie. “We’ve talked about it for years, but this project seems like a fresh start to our involvement now that our families are complete.”
“Yes, four are enough for me,” said Liz. “I want each of them to feel special.”
“They are special,” said Rhonda with feeling. Like me, she’d wanted to have lots of children but couldn’t. Rhonda had only Angie for years until she married Will and had been surprised to have two more children with him.
“Is Harper working the bar tonight?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Angie. “We know the hotel is busy with the special dinner and the wedding, and with Chet already working here, Harper was delighted to be asked to begin.”
“She filled out some paperwork and will go to the HR office tomorrow to take care of the rest,” Liz said, rising. “I need to go home. The Ts have dentist appointments.”
I chuckled. ‘The Ts’ is what we sometimes called the triplets rather than speaking all three names. Olivia, Emma, and Noah.
Angie left with Liz , and Rhonda and I sat a moment before leaving to go to the front of the hotel to greet the Ambassador and his wife.
From the first time guests arrived at the hotel, Rhonda and I made every effort to greet them ourselves.
It was part of the vision we had to change Rhonda’s seaside estate into a small, upscale hotel that welcomed guests as if they were arriving to our home.
And with guests like the Ambassador, it was something we felt we needed to do.
“How’s the cooking coming?” I asked Rhonda as we left the office a few minutes later.
“I’m impressed with Chet. He’s very organized. And we agree on special seasoning.”
“Any reaction from Jean-Luc about the two of you in charge of this dinner?” I asked.
Rhonda shrugged. “We’re being very careful to stay out of the way of the other staff. I’m sure Amelia had a positive talk with him. He’s so happily married to her sister, Jean-Luc would do anything to please them both.”
“Few people can say no to Amelia,” I said. We never wanted to upset Jean-Luc enough to leave. Aside from being a talented chef, he’d become a dear friend.
We stood at the top of the hotel’s main entry staircase and waited while a white limousine pulled up to the front.
“Here goes,” said Rhonda, descending the staircase quickly, her rose caftan flowing behind her.
I kept pace, and when the driver opened the back door of the limo, Ambassador Enrico Ferrara emerged. He was a heavy-set man of average height with black hair and a mustache.
He turned and helped a tall, attractive, blonde woman out of the car and stood a moment while she fussed with her brown-linen dress before turning to face us.
“Welcome to The Beach House Hotel,” I said, stepping forward to shake hands.
“Enjoy your stay here,” Rhonda added, smiling at them. “I’m Rhonda Grayson, and this is my business partner, Ann Sanders.”
The Ambassador introduced himself and his wife, Catarina, and they both indicated a beautiful young woman exiting the limo. “This is our daughter, Philippa.”
Blond like her mother, tall, and with an alluring figure in a short, blue sleeveless sundress that complimented her, Philippa said hello as if it were a duty, nothing more.
I saw a frown cross her mother’s face, but nothing was said about her daughter’s lack of excitement.
Without missing a beat, Enrico said, “Your hotel comes with a high recommendation from the vice-president. I look forward to our visit, though it’s shorter than I would wish.”
“We’re delighted to have you and your family,” I said. “We’ve placed you in the Presidential Suite.”
“Excellent,” Enrico said. “I’m sure we’ll find it very suitable.” He held out his hand. “Come, Catarina.”
Rhonda led them up the stairs.
I turned to Philippa. “Let me show you to where to go.”
Philippa made a face. “Thanks. My parents made me come with them. I was supposed to stay in New York with friends.”
“I understand the visit here will be a short one. Perhaps you’ll be back with your friends soon,” I said.
Philippa shook her head. “They want me to return to Italy with them in a couple of weeks to take care of some family business. An old-fashioned marriage idea.”
From the top of the stairs, Enrico turned to us. “Philippa, are you coming?”
“Be right there, Papa,” said Philippa and emitted a long sigh.
I walked with her up the stairs, wondering how Liz would’ve acted if I’d tried to arrange a marriage for her. No, I didn’t need to wonder, I knew she’d be furious.
Next to me, Philippa moved with grace, though I could tell by the thrust of her chin she was still feeling defiant.
At the top of the stairs, we entered the hotel, and I led Philippa across the lobby to the staircase leading to the private Presidential Suite.
She turned to me. “Can you show me to your beach?”
“Of course,” I said. “If you come this way, you’ll see the pool area and beyond it the beach. The hotel provides chairs and offers some sports equipment.”
“Thank you,” said Phillippa. “I’m supposed to meet a friend from New York there shortly. No worries. I can find my way around from here. I appreciate your time.”
Satisfied that she seemed happier, I left her and went to the office to talk to Rhonda. She needed to be warned of the situation between Philippa and her parents. I had a feeling that family problems would end up in our lap.
In the office, Rhonda told me that Enrico had requested space for two more dinner guests, making it ten instead of eight. “I told him no problem. We have plenty of food.”
“I had an interesting talk with their daughter,” I said, filling her in on the details of my conversation with Philippa.
“It does seem strange,” said Rhonda. Her eyes lit. “Unless it’s something dictated by one of the mafia families in Italy.”
“Maybe so,” I said, uneasy about the idea. Every time we did something for Amelia Swanson, we ended up in trouble.
As if she’d read my mind, Rhonda said, “I hope we don’t end up in another mess caused by our dear vice-president.”
“Me, too. Vaughn is very understanding of my time commitment to the hotel, but he doesn’t like it when Amelia pulls us into situations that could put us at risk in any way.”
“Thank God, the Ambassador’s family is here for just a couple of nights,” said Rhonda. “You’ll have to pay close attention at dinner, though, and listen for any details that might help us understand the situation.”
“Private dinners at our hotel are known for our being discreet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be listening to what’s being said.”
“Far better it’s you than me who handles these dinners. You know if I heard something I didn’t like, I’d react before thinking,” said Rhonda.
It was true. Oftentimes, it was necessary for me to pretend I hadn’t heard a secret or some other piece of information no one else should know about.
“I’ve got to go,” said Rhonda “We’re sending wine and a special welcome basket to the Presidential Suite. I want to make sure it’s just right. I’m calling Annette now to tell her about the two additional guests.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s early but she and I don’t like any last minute surprises.”
I walked to the Social Events office where Lorraine’s wedding business was located, along with offices for Lorraine’s assistant, Lauren, and an office for Annette, who handled a lot of our social events not associated with an in-house wedding.
Lorraine looked up from her desk and waved as I went to Annette’s cubicle. She was on the phone. I waited until she was through and then asked her about the staff for tonight’s private dinner.
“We’re all set. The bartender and two waitresses are ready to go. I just got off the phone with Rhonda , I’ll hire one more waitress to handle the enlarged group. I know how important these dinners are.”
“Thanks. I understand you’ll be working the wedding this weekend. It’s another important event for us.”
“Oh, yes, I know. The mother-of-the-bride has made that abundantly clear.” Annette shook her head. “I personally don’t care how much money someone makes, or how important someone thinks they are, there’s no need to be obnoxious about it.”
“I’m sorry. Some of our weddings are so sweet, others, not so much.”
“Yeah, this is one of those others,” complained Annette.
I laughed, but I knew Annette would be unerringly polite and competent, so I could only give her a pat on the back and say, “Thanks.”
I went to the private dining room, one of my favorite rooms at the hotel. Soon after we opened, we realized we needed a place where meetings and dinners, sometimes secret ones, could be held. We turned a conference room into a luxurious dining room that could be used for both.
I opened the door and went inside.
The palest of gold silk covered the walls of the room, giving it a touch of warmth that enhanced the long, wooden, dining room table surrounded by carved wooden chairs with seafoam green velvet seats.
The matching sideboard had many uses, including storage of extra supplies.
A large mirror with a gold frame hung above it, reflecting the image of palm trees outside the window.
A warm walnut wood bar sat at the far end of the room, with enough space between it and the dining room table for people to gather. We had the furnishings and equipment to remove the dining table and replace it with round tables for a less formal affair.
This evening, a crisp white tablecloth covered the long table. Gold-rimmed ivory chinaware, sparkling crystal glasses, and shiny silverware were in place for eight.
A waitress arrived with two additional place settings and quickly rearranged the table. A houseman appeared with two extra chairs.
I checked my watch. Danielle from Tropical Fleurs should deliver the table centerpiece soon. The photo she’d texted looked fabulous.
When I heard her outside the door, I opened it to let her in. Usually, one of her helpers delivered the flowers, but on special occasions, Danielle herself brought them.
Danielle entered and placed a stunning centerpiece on the table. Pieces of driftwood on a long, green dish were covered with a number of red and white orchids with added touches of greenery.
“Oh, it’s even lovelier than the photo,” I said. “I don’t know how you do it. A bit of the tropics and Italy too. Thanks so much.”
“I wanted to do something that would do justice to this room. It’s a favorite of mine.”
“I love it, too,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”
Danielle departed, and I left to go to my office to wait until it was time for me to welcome people to the dinner. Having a few minutes alone in my office was a way to prepare myself to greet my guests and spend an evening with them.