Chapter 30
30
‘That looks stunning,’ Ella breathes as the last panel of the new reception desk is carefully screwed into place. We’re opening in just under a month and the advance bookings are already starting to come in.
‘Doesn’t it?’ I sigh happily. Work on The Mermaid has continued at speed and, to everyone’s surprise, we’re actually ahead of schedule. It took a bit of negotiation, but in the end I was able to persuade Abby to let me have a brand-new reception desk made in art-deco style. The wood is dark with a deep lustre, and the inlaid brass pattern contrasts with it perfectly. The craftsman who made it also took care to design the desk so that the flatscreen computer monitors will be hidden from the customers’ view unless they practically climb over the counter, thus preserving the period feel.
Another little detail that I’m particularly delighted with are the key cards for the rooms. BudgetWise had fitted all the bedroom doors with key-card locks, but the plastic cards just didn’t suit the rest of the décor. But, after a lot of head scratching and online research, we’ve come up with what we think is the best compromise. We have a set of brass keys, each attached to a wooden tag with the room number engraved on it. They will look absolutely in keeping with the rest of the lobby when we hang them on the hooks behind the reception desk. The clever bit is that the wooden tag is actually the key; guests simply need to hold it against the panel on the door to unlock their room.
Across the lobby, the vintage-style lifts are also operational, looking like they’ve been there since the day the hotel first opened. Sparkling chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, and we’ve even managed to get a new doorstep installed outside, with The Mermaid inlaid in it in brass lettering to add a bit of extra pizzazz. I’ve spent hours on online auction sites, picking up art-deco knick-knacks for the rooms and public areas. The kitchen is fully installed to Emilio’s exact specifications, and he’s bringing his team down in a couple of days’ time to give it a test run. He’s also assured me that the hiring process for the kitchen and dining room is all sorted. I did meet his head of HR, a somewhat frosty woman who made no bones about the fact she considered Margate to be the back of beyond. After no more than ten minutes examining the space, she hotfooted it back to London and we haven’t seen her since. Apparently, she conducted all the interviews online. We haven’t announced our partnership with Emilio yet, but we’ve got the press release ready to go. The plan is to drop it just over a week before opening to create an extra buzz.
‘Right,’ I say to Ella. ‘Just one more thing to do.’
I carefully extract the framed picture of Reginald and Annie, hanging it carefully on the wall behind the desk, in a gap specifically left for it.
‘That’s such a lovely touch,’ she tells me. ‘Has his daughter gone back to America yet?’
‘Yes, she flew out last week. I think she’ll be racking up the airmiles while the probate process goes through, but she’s packed up his room and got things under way. I never knew there was so much paperwork involved when somebody dies.’
‘It’s a shame he didn’t get a bigger send-off.’
She’s right. The attendees at Reginald’s funeral consisted of Jeannie, a couple of people from the retirement home and me.
‘I think that’s probably what happens when you live to that kind of age. Everyone who would normally come to your funeral is already dead.’
Our somewhat maudlin discussion is interrupted by John, who emerges from the lift, holding his phone out in front of him like an unexploded bomb. ‘Flops, you need to see this,’ he says. ‘It’s just been on the radio news, and it’s breaking online.’
He hands me the phone. The headline of the article is Famous Chef Arrested , accompanied by a picture of Emilio. My pulse starts to race as I read the article, holding the phone at an angle so Ella can see it too.
Acclaimed Italian chef Emilio Marcuso, owner of the Marcuso chain of restaurants, was arrested by the Metropolitan police this morning. The charges against him include tax evasion, fraud and modern slavery. Details at this stage are scarce, but it is alleged that Mr Marcuso has employed a number of illegal immigrants in his restaurants, declaring full minimum wage for tax purposes while paying them a fraction of that amount. All Marcuso restaurants were raided in a co-ordinated sting operation involving several police forces and the fraud squad. We will bring you more details as they emerge.
I’m barely at the end of the article before my phone starts ringing. It’s Abby, of course, and she’s apoplectic.
‘Have you seen the bloody news?’ she explodes as soon as the call connects.
‘John’s just shown me the article.’
‘Is he there?’
‘Yes, Ella too.’
‘Put me on speakerphone. We need to brainstorm this.’
I press the button. ‘I think we can all agree on the first thing we need to do,’ I tell her. ‘We need to cut ties with him.’
‘Whoa, hang on a minute. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?’ Abby asks.
‘No smoke without fire,’ John replies. ‘Big cheese like him, they’re going to make sure their case is pretty much watertight before they move.’
‘And, from our perspective, it doesn’t really matter,’ Ella adds. ‘He’s tainted goods now. Even if he’s innocent, people will suspect him. It’s not good for brand image.’
‘And the last thing we need is my name anywhere near another person accused of wrongdoing,’ I tell her.
This does at least make her laugh, albeit grimly.
‘What is it with you, hotels and criminals?’ she asks.
‘Hey, don’t pin this on me!’ I retort.
‘Hm. Tell me, is there anyone in your industry that isn’t a crook?’
‘Yes. Me, for starters.’
She sighs. ‘I know. What are we going to do, though? We’ll never get another chef lined up in the time we’ve got.’
‘Push back the opening?’ John suggests.
‘No. We need to get open and trading,’ Abby tells him. ‘We’ve already got advance bookings. It’ll do no end of harm if we start cancelling them.’
‘Open but without the restaurant at first?’ Ella offers.
‘But the whole sodding USP was supposed to be the food!’
‘OK. Let’s step back and try to piece together what we have,’ I tell her. ‘Point one: Emilio has to go, agreed?’
‘Yes.’ She sighs again.
‘But, in losing Emilio, we also lose all the restaurant staff, because they were employed by him.’
‘I’m not sure this is helping my blood pressure,’ she complains.
‘Hang on.’ My brain is starting to recover from the shock, and all sorts of exciting possibilities are opening up. ‘He must have recruited locally, because the pay isn’t good enough for people to commute long distances.’
‘What’s your point?’ Abby asks. ‘If they’re all illegals, we can’t employ them either.’
‘OK, Abby,’ I tell her as inspiration finally strikes. ‘Here’s what I need you to do. Can you get in touch with Emilio’s people and find out who he’s recruited?’
‘What? Are you seriously saying that you want me to call them, tell them we no longer want to be associated with Emilio, but ask if we can use his team anyway? I don’t see that one going well.’
‘It isn’t our fault he got himself arrested. He’s given us no choice. As one of the recruitment agents said to me after the whole Hotel Dufour debacle, reputation is everything in this game. I’d go in hard with how he’s in breach of the contract and, if he doesn’t want us to sue, he needs to give up the team. Something like that. I know you’ll be able to pull it off. Channel aggressive Abby.’
‘I’m not aggressive!’ she protests, causing John and Ella to snort with laughter.
‘Assertive then,’ I offer.
‘Fine. What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to get us a chef.’
My hands are sweaty as I type out a message to Jock.
Hi. I need to talk to you. Are you around?
I watch nervously and, to my immense relief, the ticks go blue and I can see he’s typing.
Hi. Busy at the moment but free at 3. Are you OK?
I’m fine. Talk to you later x.
I try to keep myself busy but time seems to have slowed to a crawl, reminding me of being in the police station waiting for our bail interviews. The biggest problem I have is that I’m going to have to find a way to tell Jock that the project is still going, and come up with a reasonable explanation about why I didn’t tell him, and why he hasn’t heard anything from me for so long. In the end, I decide that I need to tell him the truth. If I fudge this, and he finds out later, it’s going to be much worse than being upfront with him.
‘Hi,’ he says when the video call connects.
‘Hi yourself,’ I reply. My heart is suddenly thudding in my chest and my stomach is a mass of nervous butterflies. I feel much more like a schoolgirl talking to her crush than a hotel director speaking to a potential colleague, and the whole sensation has caught me completely unaware. Meanwhile, the silence is starting to feel oppressive.
‘How are you?’ Jock asks cautiously.
‘Yeah, good. You?’ Come on, Beatrice. This is agony.
‘I’m OK, thanks. You said you needed to talk to me,’ he prompts.
‘That’s right.’ I seize the mental lifeline with both hands. ‘Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. So much has been happening that my feet have hardly touched the ground.’
‘That’s OK. What have you been up to?’
I take a deep breath and launch into the story, explaining about how the project was resurrected, but carefully leaving out Emilio for now. Any guilt I feel about not being completely truthful, like I’d planned, is overruled by the fact that I don’t want to hurt his feelings by making him think he wasn’t the first choice.
‘In fact, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve got a job opening that I wanted to run past you, to see if you were interested,’ I tell him at the end.
‘I see,’ he says after a pause. Am I imagining it, or has his tone of voice changed? He certainly doesn’t look happy now. Have I gone about this the wrong way? Once more, I find myself paralysed.
‘Why don’t you tell me about it,’ he suggests after a while.
‘It’s the same as we talked about before. The head chef position here at The Mermaid.’
‘Starting when?’
‘The middle of next month.’
There’s another long pause.
‘Hm.’
‘What?’ I ask.
‘I know you, Beatrice. There’s no way you’d get this close to the wire with such a key position unfilled, especially when you told me last time we spoke that food was the USP and you even got me to design a menu. There’s something you’re not telling me.’
Shit. Maybe I should have been up front about Emilio from the start after all. He looks really pissed off now. I’m losing him, I can tell, and I need to turn this conversation around fast. ‘Fine, full disclosure. I wanted you from the beginning, as you know, but Abby, my co-director, wanted a name, so she forced this celebrity chef on me.’
‘Who?’
‘Emilio Marcuso.’
‘The one that’s just been arrested.’
‘You’ve heard then?’
‘Incredibly, we have news in Scotland.’ His voice is dripping with sarcasm. ‘You are a piece of work, you know that?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Stupidly, I thought you actually wanted to talk to me because you cared about me.’
‘I do!’
‘You don’t. All you care about is your precious hotel. Face it, the only reason you called me is because you’re in a hole. What would have happened if Emilio hadn’t got arrested? I probably wouldn’t have heard from you again.’
‘That’s not true!’ I blurt. ‘I had a plan, actually…’
But it’s too late. I’m talking to a blank screen. Jock has gone and I know, without a doubt, that I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life. I look around the lobby of the hotel, but all the excitement I normally feel about this place has gone. I should never have allowed Abby and Christopher to railroad me into accepting Emilio. I’m supposed to be the expert; neither of them knows the first thing about hospitality. I should have fought harder for Jock and, crucially, I should never have kept him in the dark. Yes, my intentions were good, but the result is just the same. I’ve betrayed him, and he has every right to be angry with me. Hot tears are pouring down my cheeks now. How the hell am I going to fix this?