Chapter 11
Alexandra
Abby had missed their meeting.
Alexandra tapped her fingers on her desk and checked the time again.
It was five minutes after the time they’d arranged, which in itself was enough to annoy her because she valued punctuality,
but given all the other things that had happened over the past few weeks, annoyance was warring with concern.
Three weeks had passed since Abby had arrived in Cornwall and during the first few days everything had appeared normal. She’d
sent daily reports, each one detailing the current situation in the hotel in a factual, logical manner.
Alexandra had filed each one carefully.
It was during the second week that things had started to change. Abby had been increasingly slow to answer emails, and she’d
rearranged their regular meeting twice.
Her reports were less frequent and the last one she’d sent, a few days before, had been glowing and effusive, so much so that Alexandra had wondered whether her daughter’s email might have been hacked. It didn’t read like anything her daughter would have produced.
Abby was analytical. She focused on facts. Her first couple of reports had done exactly that and Alexandra had found them
interesting and useful reading. But something had changed, not least her daughter’s devotion to punctuality.
She was about to give up when her phone rang.
It was Abby.
She answered the call expecting to see Abby at her desk. Instead the background was blue skies with a few wispy clouds.
Her face was pink and she was smiling. “Hi, Mom. I’m sorry! I lost track of time.”
Lost track of time?
She happened to know that Abby scheduled her time down to the minute, at least when she was working. She was ruthlessly organised
and efficient.
But not today apparently.
“Where are you?”
“I’m on the cliff.” She sounded out of breath. “I went for a run with Evie—she’s gone now. I’m on my own. It’s stunning here!
Let me show you what I’m looking at.” She reversed the camera and Alexandra saw those familiar cliffs, the sparkle of sea
and a carpet of wild flowers.
Her mouth dried. She knew those cliffs. She’d once walked them in an agony of indecision, her turmoil as great as the sea
that had thrashed at the rocks far beneath. It was a reminder she hadn’t wanted or needed.
Shaken by the memory, she forced herself back to the present.
“Evie. Evie Hamilton, the acting general manager?”
“Yes, she has been so welcoming and friendly. Everyone has. She’s the daughter of Edward, the concierge. He’s amazing.”
Abby didn’t use words like “amazing.” Abby used factual terms. He can secure a table at any restaurant in the area. He is well versed in local history. He’s always punctual. He builds a
rapport with the guests. Observations that were measurable.
“It sounds as if you’ve successfully developed relationships.”
“We’ve been spending time together. I’ve written a detailed update. I’ll email it to you when I get home. Evie has plenty
of great ideas.”
“Does she have what it takes to run the hotel successfully? Because current numbers would suggest not.”
“The short answer is yes, definitely, but it’s complicated. I think there are decisions to be made. I’ve put more in the report.
It doesn’t help that her position is temporary. I think that’s something we need to look at urgently.”
“But you feel the place is viable.”
“Yes. More than that. I think it has the potential to be one of the most important hotels in the group. Mandy said yesterday
that—”
“Mandy?”
“She’s the head housekeeper. She has been here a long time. We were turning over a room together and she was telling me that
she remembers a time when the hotel had close to a hundred percent occupancy over the summer months. Extraordinary. I think
we can achieve that again. Luca is doing excellent things with the restaurant. If they’re not drawn in by the views and the
charm of the village, the food should do it. We have to persuade people that dining in the restaurant is more pleasurable
if you treat yourself to a night in the hotel afterwards. It was Evie’s idea. I think it’s a good one.” She was breathless,
almost babbling as ideas tumbled out of her.
Alexandra was struggling to keep up. “Luca is the new chef?”
“Not so new. He’s been here for a few months now and he’s particularly good at harnessing commercial opportunities.
Afternoon tea is almost a religion here.
He’s embracing the potential of that and also revitalising the evening menu in the restaurant.
It’s innovative, and he’s keeping the focus on locally sourced produce.
I think we should extend that ethos throughout the hotel.
Sylvie, who deals with all the procurement, was telling me about a local company that make organic soaps and shampoos—we’re going to source samples and if they’re good I think we should consider offering them to guests. ”
“We use the same brand across the whole hotel group.”
“But maybe we should rethink that. As Evie said, guests come here to experience all that Cornwall has to offer. We should
be giving them that.”
Evie, Edward, Mandy, Donna, Sylvie, Kristina, Luca—Abby dropped names into conversation as if they were old friends. Alexandra
had rarely seen her daughter so energised. And rarely heard her talk about individuals with such passion.
Clearly she’d started to form relationships with them.
Alexandra hoped that wasn’t going to cause her a problem.
“Draw up a plan and send me your recommendations.”
“I intend to, although I still have weeks to go of course. It would help if I knew exactly what you’re looking for. What your
long-term intentions are.”
Alexandra ignored that question. “These people that you describe in such detail—do they know who you are?”
Abby’s smile faded. “No, not yet. And I’m still not comfortable with that. We’ve become friends, and—well, I need to find
a way to tell them. Obviously that part won’t be easy, particularly as I’ve almost been here for a month.”
“Don’t do it yet.” She didn’t want to complicate things. And she knew, without a doubt, that if they knew who Abby was, it
would complicate things.
“But—”
“It’s important to me that you stay under-cover.”
“All right.” Abby said it grudgingly. “I have a day off tomorrow. I thought I might go and see the house where you grew up.”
Alexandra kept her expression neutral. “I doubt it even still exists. There has been a lot of development around that area.
It was a long time ago.”
“Talking of a long time ago—I wanted to ask you something. Is it possible that you were at the hotel at the same time as Edward,
the concierge? Evie mentioned that he’d worked there for thirty years, but I don’t think that’s right. Our records show twenty-eight.
But I’m wondering if they’re wrong.”
An email pinged into her inbox. A name she didn’t want to see.
A name that made her hands shake.
It was a good thing she was sitting down because she knew without testing them that her knees felt like water.
“Mom?”
She stared at the email without opening it. She was a grown woman. It was ridiculous that she should react like this. She
could handle it. She would handle it.
Panic ripped through her, together with emotions that she’d not felt in a long time. It was like being back there again and
she was feeling all the same things.
Her heart was hammering. Her skin felt clammy. Was it her heart? It felt like something terrible was happening.
“Mom?”
Abby’s voice cut through the clouds in her head and somehow she managed to answer.
“I have a work issue I need to deal with urgently. I didn’t expect this meeting to overrun.”
“It’s my fault, I know, for keeping you waiting. Again, I apologise. But before you go do you remember—”
“I’ll speak to you next week. Keep sending those reports.”
“But—”
Alexandra cut the connection and closed her eyes. The pain in her chest grew worse. Breathe. Breathe. Everything was fine. It wasn’t her heart, at least not in a physical sense. It was panic. And she was mortified that her mind and body could betray her like this.
She’d really hoped this wouldn’t happen. She’d told herself that it wouldn’t. Forced herself to think positive thoughts. She’d
constructed a good life for herself, one she controlled.
But she’d forgotten that life had a nasty habit of waiting until everything seemed calm and well before punching you in the
face.
She opened her eyes and stared at the email again.
Her finger hovered and then she deleted it, the way she’d deleted all the others.
She hoped it would be enough.