Chapter 3
NICK
Small problem, my arse. I snort out a scoffing laugh and they both look at me.
‘Signore, please…’ says the concierge, holding his hands out imploringly. Fair – from what I can tell, it’s not the hotel’s fault.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter.
‘How small?’ She glances between us, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
The concierge turns back to her. ‘Well…’ he begins, dragging out the word.
‘The room’s double-booked,’ I explain, talking over him. I’m not trying to be an arsehole – but the news isn’t going to be any better if he keeps stalling.
He shoots me another look, more pointed this time. Yep – he thinks I’m an arsehole.
‘Ah, it’s not so simple,’ he counters – also fair.
‘Can’t you just give him a different suite?’ she asks the concierge.
‘No, there is nothing else. I am sorry, we are fully booked.’
‘Oh, okay,’ she says, her brows creasing. ‘Can you give me a sec? I need to get dressed – then we’ll figure this out.’
Without waiting for a reply, she closes the door, and the concierge and I wait in awkward silence. To her credit, she’s quick, opening the door less than a minute later wearing shorts and a T-shirt.
‘Come on in,’ she says with a wave of her hand. We follow her out onto the balcony, and she folds her tiny frame into an egg-shaped chair that’s hanging from the ceiling. Staking her claim or playing hostess? It’s hard to tell but either way, she seems unfazed.
‘Okay, so the suite’s double-booked?’ she asks the concierge – a far cooler cucumber than I was at reception ten minutes ago. More evidence that I probably am an arsehole.
‘Sì,’ he begins, taking a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘The booking was made by True North and—’
‘So, they double-booked the suite?’ she interjects.
‘It’s one booking, reserving La Dolce Vita suite for Delaney Cole—’
‘Yep, that’s me.’
‘And Nicholas James,’ he finishes, nodding towards me.
‘And that’s me,’ I say, right as she says, ‘Exactly.’
Her eyes fly to mine, her mouth falling open. ‘Wait, what?’
She squirms in the chair, struggling to get out, and it swings wildly. I reach over to steady it, and she finally lurches free, scrambling to her feet like a baby giraffe taking its first steps.
‘Did you say that your name is Nicholas James?’ she asks, her eyes narrowed.
‘Yes – I mean, I go by Nick but, yeah, that’s my name.’
‘Nick?’ She gasps. ‘Oh, the card…’
I start to ask what that means when she claps her hand to her forehead and says, ‘This doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Signorina, I assure you—’
‘My boyfriend is Nicholas James,’ she says, cutting him off.
A weighty hush descends as the three of us stare at each other, mouths gaping.
‘He’s Nicholas James as well?’ I ask after a long beat.
‘Uh-huh,’ she replies.
‘So, if True North sent me here…’
Her eyes get even wider. ‘Oh my god!’
She rushes back inside and I go after her. When I get to the door, she already has a phone to her ear, the ringtone audible. Her eyes find mine and we wait out the rings. Eventually, the call goes to voicemail.
‘Hi, babe, it’s me,’ she says, turning away. ‘Call me as soon as you get this.’ She faces me and wags a finger in my direction. ‘Now you,’ she says – meaning I should phone Pippa.
‘Right.’
Only I don’t want to have this conversation in front of the Californian woman – Delaney – especially if this situation is as fucked up as it seems. I return to the balcony and head to the far corner for some privacy, then make the call.
‘Heya,’ Pippa chirrups after only two rings.
‘Hey, Pip. So… have you arrived?’
‘Almost there – so excited, darling. Can’t wait to see you.’
‘Er… same.’
‘Are you already there?’ she asks.
‘Sort of.’
She sniggers. ‘What do you mean, sort of?’ she asks, right as a car horn blares.
‘Pip, where are you?’
‘I’m on my way to the hotel, silly.’
‘Which hotel?’
‘Nordlys Retreat.’
‘Which is where?’
‘Nick, you’re being very strange.’
‘Look, I know it’s bonkers me asking, Pip, but where’s the hotel? What country – what city?’
She hesitates. ‘Erm, it’s right outside Reykjavik.’ Fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck. ‘Actually,’ she says, sounding wary, ‘the cab’s pulling up now – hang on.’
‘Yep.’
I inhale deeply while Pippa pays the cabbie, wondering how in the world to break this to her. As gently as possible, I suppose.
‘Right, I’m out of the cab,’ she says. ‘Now, what’s going on?’
‘So, funny story – I’m not actually in Iceland. I’m on Capri – in Italy.’ So much for gently, but it’s not as if I had much time to prepare.
‘You’re what?’ she says with a dry laugh. ‘Are you having me on?’
‘I’m not having you on, Pip. There’s been some sort of mix-up. And there’s every chance you’re about to meet another bloke called Nicholas James.’
She laughs freely now. ‘You are having me on. Not nice, darling. I’ve been up since five to get to Heathrow on time.’
‘I promise you, I’m in Italy – that’s where True North sent me. They’ve fucked up, but don’t worry, we’ll sort it, all right?’
There’s silence on the other end, then the distinct sound of a choking sob.
‘Oh, Pip…’ I sigh. ‘How about you go inside, check in, and we’ll speak in a bit, hey?’
More silence.
‘Are you nodding?’ I ask softly.
‘How did you know?’ she replies with a sniff.
‘Call it a hunch,’ I tease. ‘I’ll chat to Delaney – that’s the other person caught up in this mess – and I promise we’ll get this sorted.’
‘All right.’
With assurances to talk soon, we end the call. I lean on the railing, expelling a long breath, my eyes fixed on the view. It’s nice, but I shouldn’t get used to it. Delaney checked in first, so it’s only fair that I’m the one who has to find somewhere else to stay till we get this figured out.
I head inside to talk to the concierge but Delaney’s alone, plonked on the sofa and staring at her phone, seemingly lost in thought.
‘Hey,’ I say, startling her. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to…’ I add hurriedly, but she waves me off. ‘So, no luck?’
She shakes her head. ‘Not yet. You?’
‘Ah, yeah – I spoke to Pippa.’
Delaney grimaces, drawing in a breath through her teeth. ‘Okay, hit me with it – where did they send her?’
‘Reykjavik.’
‘Reykjavik?’ She starts laughing, but it’s devoid of joy. ‘Reykjavik…’ she repeats to herself. ‘Man, this is one hell of a snafu.’
She bites her bottom lip, her eyes unfocused as if she’s thinking.
‘That’s putting it mildly. Er… where’s the concierge gone?’ I ask.
‘Vittorio? He went to call around – try and find you a room at another hotel.’
‘Oh, that’s nice of him – it wasn’t even the hotel’s error.’
‘Yeah, he seems like a cool guy,’ she replies with a shrug.
She really does appear to be taking this well – though I suppose it’s not confirmed that her Nicholas is in Iceland. It seems likely, but after today, I’d say anything’s possible.
‘And what about True North?’ I ask. ‘We should get in touch with them, ask what they can do to fix this.’
She holds up her phone. ‘I tried calling them. Their hotline is only available during office hours.’
‘Well, that’s bollocks – a hotline should be twenty-four hours. Wait – it is office hours,’ I say, confirming with a glance at my watch.
‘Not in Sydney – it’s the middle of the night there,’ she replies matter-of-factly.
I heave out a weary sigh. ‘Of course, they’re based in Sydney. This just gets better and better.’
‘Yeah,’ she sighs.
‘Anyway, I suppose I should—’
I’m interrupted by her ringtone, and she leaps up and goes out to the balcony to take the call. I was about to head to reception to sort a room for the night, but I’ll wait.
Taking her spot on the sofa, I send Pippa a text telling her that True North’s ‘helpline’ doesn’t open for another nine hours.
Her reply comes straight away – a crying-face emoji – and I reply with a hug emoji. Pip’s not great in a crisis and, in her mind, this will count.
I sit back against the sofa and look outside. Delaney is walking back and forth along the railing. Not pacing – her stride is more composed than that. Ambling perhaps. As I observe her, my mind starts to wander.
EXT. HOTEL BALCONY – CAPRI – AFTERNOON
Delaney ambles along the balcony railing, twirling a lock of her hair, mobile phone pressed to her ear.
DELANEY
Hey, babe. So, I hear you might be in Reykjavik?
Yeah, well, I’m on Capri.
Yep, that Capri.
She listens, then frowns.
DELANEY
Yeah, he’s here.
No, I’ll talk to them. I was waiting to hear from you first.
I know you did, but the reviews were good. This is just a fluke, Nicholas – we’ll get it figured ou—
Okay. So, what about your room?
Pippa – her name’s Pippa.
Oh, that’s good.
Yeah, okay – not good, exactly…
At least you guys get your own rooms.
No, they’re fully booked.
We haven’t figured that out yet.
I promise, I’ll call them as soon as their office opens. Okay. Talk to you later. I lo—
She lowers the phone, frowns at it, and goes inside.
I snap out of screenwriter mode as Delaney comes through the doorway and gives me a wry smile.
‘Three guesses where Nicholas is and the first two don’t count,’ she sing-songs.
From what I overheard, he blames her for the mix-up. Totally out of order, if that’s the case – I’d never blame Pippa for True North’s fuck-up. Other Nicholas is definitely an arsehole – or at least, way more of an arsehole than me.
‘I heard. Well, some of it.’
‘Is that right?’ she asks, challenging me with raised brows.
‘Not eavesdropping,’ I say, lifting my hands in surrender. ‘Just… the wind must have been blowing in this direction. Your voice carried.’
‘Ah.’ It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me – but also that she doesn’t mind.
I get up from the sofa. ‘I was going to head to reception – see how they’re getting on with finding me a place to stay.’
‘Sure – but I asked Vittorio to call when he had something. So, you can either hang out downstairs or stay here where we’ve got a fully stocked bar.’
I look to where she’s pointing, noticing the bar cart for the first time. ‘That’s… impressive.’
‘And there’s this,’ she says, crossing to an old-fashioned turntable. I forgot that Etta James was playing when I walked in on her in the bath. In a film, it would have been the perfect choice for diegetic music.
Delaney swaps out the Etta James album for Ella Fitzgerald and ‘Summertime’ fills the room. She adjusts the volume, turning it into background music.
‘What’ll it be?’ she asks, standing at the bar cart.
I’m torn.
If this were Pippa and she and (other) Nicholas were waiting for a solution to their double-booked room, would I be comfortable with her settling in for the duration, drinking cocktails while Ella Fitzgerald crooned her distinctive, evocative songs?
‘Er, I really should sort my accommodation for tonight,’ I say, heading for the door and picking up my duffel.
‘Okay.’
There’s something in her voice that makes me stop in my tracks and I turn towards her. She’s looking at the bar cart intently, her lower lip quivering.
Ah, fuck.
I know that look. I’ve seen it on Pippa a hundred times. It’s the I’m-putting-on-a-brave-face-but-everything’s-gone-to-shit-and-I-need-a-hug face.
‘You all right?’ I ask, even though the answer is clearly no.
She nods. But I can tell she’s pretending.
I drop the duffel – third time today I’ve dropped it in this exact place – then put on a bright smile.
‘Hey…’
She looks over.
‘You know how to make a Negroni?’
She smiles through a sheen of tears and nods.
I point to the ice bucket. ‘Then hand me that and I’ll go hunt down some ice.’
‘Cool,’ she says, her smile widening. She hands me the ice bucket and I’m nearly at the door when she calls my name.
I stop. ‘Yes?’
‘You get what this means, don’t you? This mix-up.’
‘Hmm… I’m not sure.’
She walks over to one of the armchairs and perches on the edge, peering up at me.
‘Well, we filled in those questionnaires, right? You, me, Pippa, Nicholas – and True North sent us here and them to Iceland.’
I edge closer, my quest to find ice receding into the background as I home in on Delaney’s point.
‘Capri’s our ideal holiday,’ I say softly.
She nods her agreement, her lips disappearing between her teeth before she releases them with a tut.
‘Yep. And Iceland is theirs.’