Chapter 3
The airy foyer at Copperhill Mountain Lodge is crowded with guests at seven o’clock in the evening. Paul Lehto is on duty at reception, working as fast as he can to deal with the long line. People are also waiting in the seating areas, and there are suitcases everywhere.
Paul has worked at the hotel for many years, but he has never had a worse day.
He is fighting to maintain a professional smile in spite of the stress in his body. A blizzard in central Sweden has meant that every train and flight to J?mtland has been significantly delayed. Now it feels like every single guest for the Easter break has arrived at exactly the same time.
Everyone is running out of patience. It doesn’t help that the huge open fire is crackling away merrily, or that there are lanterns with candles and Easter eggs piled high with candy in every corner.
Nor that the décor, in tones of burnt reds and oranges with hints of copper, has been carefully chosen to create the right atmosphere.
People just want to check in.
They also want a scapegoat to take out their frustration on.
Paul can feel himself getting more and more irritated as they all crowd around the reception desk. No one is waiting their turn or showing the least scrap of understanding. And they are standing much too close, bearing in mind the social-distancing requirements.
It’s not our fault that the blizzard caused chaos, he wants to yell, but he bites his tongue, takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that his shift will soon be over and he will be able to get away from these spoiled fuckers.
He can hardly breathe behind his mask. The guests don’t have to wear them, but they are compulsory for all members of staff as soon as they set foot on the premises.
“Next,” he says quietly, without looking anyone in the eye.
A well-built man in his mid-thirties moves forward, followed by an attractive blond clutching a two-year-old by the hand.
“Aavik,” says the man, tilting his chin upward. “We’ve been waiting for over half an hour.”
Paul instinctively dislikes the guy, but he pushes back his dark hair and consults his computer screen.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone else approaching the desk—a woman in her fifties, marching toward him with confidence.
She is wearing leisure gear, but Paul can see that her purse costs more than he earns in a month.
He knows exactly who she is. Her name is Charlotte Wretlind, and she has stayed at the hotel many times over the past year. She stays in Silver Suite on the top floor, one of their most expensive and most elegant suites, with triple-aspect windows.
“Excuse me,” she says angrily, ignoring the other guests. “I’ve been calling housekeeping for the last fifteen minutes, but no one is answering!”
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Paul says. “I just need to finish checking in this family.”
Perhaps he ought to be more apologetic, but her attitude is too much. Can’t she see that he’s doing his best?
“I’ve been out all day, and yet the waste bin in my bathroom hasn’t been emptied,” she complains. “And there’s no toilet tissue!”
She doesn’t seem to have heard a word that Paul said. And she is standing way too close. When he instinctively steps back, she leans forward instead of taking the hint.
He manages to control himself, but herr Aavik is clearly annoyed with Charlotte Wretlind.
“You need to wait your turn!”
She ignores him and continues to harangue Paul. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
She has raised her voice, and a few of the other guests are looking in her direction. Paul’s colleague Iris glances up from her screen, where she is entering someone’s details.
Paul hesitates, he doesn’t want a scene when they’re so busy, but he can see that herr Aavik is frowning. In Sweden people wait in line, and he clearly thinks that Charlotte shouldn’t be pushing in.
And it is Paul’s job to make sure she doesn’t do that.
He grits his teeth and finishes registering the family’s key card. The two-year-old is grizzling now. The mother picks up the child and tries to console her, while giving her husband an inquiring look.
“If you’re not capable of sorting this out, then I want to speak to your line manager,” Charlotte demands. “And I’ll take the opportunity to discuss your behavior with him.”
There is no mistaking the threat. And Paul needs to keep this job, despite the fact that he is surrounded by idiots. The pandemic took a harsh toll on the hotel industry, and he knows he’s been lucky not to fall victim to the cutbacks.
“Give me a couple of minutes,” he murmurs apologetically.
Charlotte’s expression is icy. Paul sees Iris roll her eyes at his inability to handle the situation better. She is from Stockholm, a dyed-in-the-wool know-it-all. He is in no doubt that she is enjoying seeing him struggle.
“Are you deaf?” Charlotte raises her voice even more. “I have no toilet tissue in my room! Can you please sort this out?”
Herr Aavik has had enough. “I was here first!” he snaps.
Charlotte waves her hand impatiently. She might have plenty of money, but she clearly has no manners.
“How long are you going to keep me waiting?” she barks at Paul.
He hears a howl as the two-year-old begins to cry in her mother’s arms. She twists and turns, determined to escape, and flings both arms wide. Unfortunately she makes contact with a tall vase filled with pussy willow and apricot-colored feathers that is standing in the middle of the reception desk.
Before Paul can react, the vase wobbles and crashes to the floor.
The mother just manages to jump out of the way, clutching her little girl.
“For God’s sake!” she yells at Paul. “How can you have something so dangerous on display? What if it had fallen on my daughter?”
“She could have died!” the child’s father pipes up. “What is wrong with you people?”
Paul feels the sweat break out on his forehead. He can’t breathe behind his mask. He stares at the shattered vase, unable to decide whether to deal with it immediately or to complete the check-in.
Needless to say, Iris doesn’t lift a finger to help.
Everyone is staring at Paul.
“I’ve had enough,” Charlotte says. “I have never been treated so unprofessionally. Is this your first day in the job?”
Paul’s ears are filled with a rushing sound. Iris’s scornful smirk doesn’t improve matters. Suddenly his patience runs out.
“I’m doing my best!” he bellows. “Look around—you need to wait your fucking turn like everybody else!” He rips off his mask and slams it down on the desk. “Can’t you see we’re working as fast as we can?”
There is absolute silence, apart from the little girl’s sobbing.
The guests are staring at him in shock. Paul knows perfectly well that he has stepped over the line, but he is so angry that his entire body is shaking.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Erik from the concierge department hurrying over.
Erik looks shaken, but he slips behind the desk and places a calming hand on Paul’s arm.
“Pull yourself together,” he whispers. “You’ll get a formal warning if the boss hears you shouting like that.”
At that moment, the key cards are finally ready. Paul hands them over to herr Aavik, who snatches them without a word.
“I’ll take care of your bags,” Erik offers quickly. “Don’t forget to put your mask back on,” he says to Paul before heading off toward the elevators with a heavy suitcase in each hand.
When Paul looks up, Charlotte Wretlind is still standing there, looking absolutely furious.
“This will have consequences,” she hisses, before turning on her heel and storming off.