Chapter Twelve
The Carleton had probably seen better days, but it was still clinging bravely to some of its former elegance. The reception hall was quite spacious. The wooden floor was slightly scuffed, but the chandeliers swinging from the ceiling were sparkling clean. To one side there was a carpeted lounge area with a small bar that served drinks and snacks.
Its best feature was undoubtedly its view of the bay, spread like a wide swathe of blue silk out to the distant horizon. The sky was the same vivid blue, with just a few cotton-wool puffs of white cloud like peaceful grazing sheep.
A young girl maybe a few years older than Bez was sitting at a computer behind the reception desk. She looked up with a trained smile as Vicky approached.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Could I see Mr Slade, please?”
The receptionist picked up the phone. “Who shall I say?”
“My name’s Victoria Marston. I don’t have an appointment — but if it isn’t convenient at the moment I could make one.”
“Okay.” The girl exchanged a brief conversation with the person on the other end of the phone, then turned back to Vicky. “He’ll be out in a few minutes, if you’d like to take a seat.”
“Thank you.”
She chose not to sit down — instead she strolled across to gaze out at the sea. She never seemed to tire of it — that feeling that beyond the horizon it went on for ever, lapping the distant shores of Africa and Australia and Antarctica, home to whales and penguins and giant squid.
A couple of seagulls were soaring in the high blue sky, swooping down to the waves to snatch up an unwary fish. She watched them for a few moments, smiling to herself. They looked so joyful and free — no taxes, no mortgages to worry about.
A door behind the reception desk opened, and the manager came out. “Miss Marston? I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Will you come through?”
“Thank you.”
He beckoned her past the reception desk and into a lobby at the back. Here the hand of time had taken its toll — the carpet was almost threadbare, the once-cream paint on the walls dulled to a yellowish tinge, with brown fingermarks around the door frames and light switches.
His office, with its spectacular view of a whitewashed wall and a row of overflowing bins, was just sad. Barely big enough for a desk, a couple of chairs, a metal filing cabinet and a set of bookshelves rammed with lever-arch files, it probably never got even a glimpse of the sun.
Mike Slade looked to be in his fifties, but he was still quite a good-looking man. His hair was neatly trimmed and touched with grey, as was his beard, and his eyes were grey and gentle behind his glasses.
He smiled uncertainly. “I’m sorry — did we have an appointment?”
“No.” She felt a little sorry for him. “I just popped in on the chance you might have a moment to see me.”
“Of course, of course.” He took off his glasses, wiped them with his handkerchief and put them back on again. “Well, sit down, my dear, sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you.” She guessed that the offer was as much to make him feel comfortable as her.
He leaned out of the door to call to the receptionist. “Kerry, could you fetch me two teas, please?”
“Okay, Mike.”
“Now.” He moved round behind his desk and sat down, smiling again. “What can I do for you?”
Vicky smiled back — she found herself liking him. He was a bit like her stepfather — kindly, but always slightly harassed, as if afraid he’d forgotten something important. “I heard you may need a temporary assistant manager soon, to cover for maternity leave.”
His pale eyes lit up at once. “Oh, yes — oh, yes, indeed. Indeed we do. And you’re looking for a job, Miss... ah...”
“Marston.”
“Marston, Marston.” A line creased between his brows. “Any relation to... ?”
“Molly Marston — she was my great-aunt. She left me her cottage.”
“Oh, yes, indeed.” He beamed in delight. “Old Molly — well I never. She was quite a character. She fought a long battle with the council over the regulation banning dogs on the beach. I remember her standing up in the council meeting and telling them they’d do better to ban families as they were the ones who left all the litter. She was right, of course, and she won in the end.”
Vicky laughed. “That sounds just like Molly!”
The door opened and Kerry came in carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits. “Here y’are then, Mike.” She put it down on the desk. “Anything else while I’m up?”
“No, thank you, Kerry. But could you just ask Lisa to step in here, please?”
“Right you are.”
Vicky glanced from one to the other, suppressing a smile. The total lack of formality between them gave the whole place an air of warmth, friendliness. In spite of the slightly run-down air, this seemed to be a nice place to work. Much nicer than working for Charlotte Thorington.
And then Lisa walked in.
Oh. Tom’s wife. Vicky’s heart thumped. Maybe she should have connected the heavily pregnant woman at the cricket with the assistant manager due to go on maternity leave, but she had never even thought of it. Though she had done nothing wrong, except in her dreams, a sharp stab of guilt twisted in her gut.
“Hi, Mike — you wanted something?”
“Ah, Lisa. This is Molly’s niece. Miss Marston.”
“Please, call me Vicky.”
“Oh, yes.” The young woman smiled warmly. “I saw you at the cricket, looking after Arthur Crocombe. That was very kind of you.”
“I... um... I enjoyed chatting to him.” Vicky was struggling to keep her breathing steady. “He has lots of fascinating stories.”
“Miss Marston — Vicky — was enquiring about the cover for your maternity leave,” the manager explained.
“Really?” Her eyes, a pretty grey, lit up. “Oh, that’s great! We were getting worried that we wouldn’t be able to find anyone, weren’t we, Mike? Most people seem to want full-time — you know it’s only part-time, right?”
“Yes. But . . .”
“And if that doesn’t put them off, they don’t want temporary. Or they don’t want to be tucked away down here.” Those grey eyes danced. “We’re not exactly the Las Vegas of the South West Peninsula. More like somewhere between the middle of nowhere and the back of beyond!”
Mike chuckled. “I’m afraid so.”
Vicky was squirming inside. Lisa seemed so open and friendly — she really liked her, while at the same time she wanted to hate her for being married to Tom.
“This little bundle is due at the end of June.” Lisa stroked her hand over her bump, smiling that secret smile of all pregnant mothers. “So I’d really like to start my maternity leave in two weeks. Would that be okay with you?”
“Yes. But...” Vicky drew a breath. “The thing is... I don’t have any relevant experience. I’ve never worked in a hotel. I’m... I was an estate agent.”
Lisa laughed, shaking her head. “Well, that’s probably good experience — it’s mostly about dealing with the public and being organised with paperwork. It’s not that complicated — you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
“And I doubt if I’ll be able to supply you with a reference. I left my last job for...” She hesitated. “Personal reasons.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Mike assured her. “You’re old Molly’s niece — that makes you almost family. Look, if you have time, why don’t you let Lisa show you around, give you a general outline of the job? Then you can sit down and sort out the details — wages, National Insurance number, that sort of thing.”
“Um... yes, that would be fine. Thank you.”
Vicky felt as if her head was spinning. So much was happening so quickly. She owned a cottage. She had more money in the bank than she had ever had in her life. She had thrown over one job, and now she had another.
Lisa had eased herself carefully to her feet. “Mike, don’t forget you need to speak to the council about when they’re going to be starting the repairs on Pear Tree Road.”
“Don’t worry — I’ll get onto it.”
“And next weekend it’s the Three Counties Amateur Ladies’ Tournament.”
“Ah, yes — I have that in my diary.”
Lisa laughed softly as she led Vicky back to the reception hall. “As you can see, one of the most important parts of the job is keeping an eye on Mike. He’s a sweetheart, but he sometimes needs a bit of a reminder about things. The guests love him.” Her eyes danced. “Actually some of them love him rather too much!”
“Right . . .”
“So you’ve decided to stay?” They were strolling across the reception area to the dining room. “Tom said you were planning to sell the cottage.”
“I was originally. But I really love it here — the countryside, the sea. If I can find a way to pay the inheritance tax I’d really like to keep the place.” She smiled. “Aunt Molly left me some jewellery, and I was able to sell that to help pay for the work that needs doing. But I need a job. This is ideal as a stopgap, but I’ll need something permanent.”
“What do you want to do?” Lisa asked with genuine interest. “Will you go back to being an estate agent?”
Vicky shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’d like to do something different. Work for a charity, maybe.”
“That would be interesting. Well, as you can see, this is the dining room. We do breakfast, and guests can have a packed lunch if they want it. And we do dinner, for hotel guests and the general public.”
“Oh, yes — I had dinner here on Saturday, with... a couple of friends.”
“Was it good?”
“Very good.”
Lisa nodded, pleased. “Thanks for the positive feedback! The kitchen is through here.” She pushed open another door into a bright kitchen full of gleaming stainless-steel worktops and appliances. “Chef comes on at four.”
“Right . . .”
They walked back across Reception to a short corridor with two wide sliding doors. “These are the wheelchair-accessible suites.” She opened one of the doors. “There’s no guests in this one at the moment. They’re both equipped with a fixed-track hoist system, here and in the bathroom, adjustable beds, adapted equipment. And each has a separate room for the carer.”
French windows led straight out onto the terrace with its view of the bay. The room was charmingly decorated in shades of peach and cream, with gleaming mahogany furniture and a delicate chandelier light-fitting.
Vicky smiled as she gazed around. “It’s lovely.”
“Isn’t it? We wanted these rooms to be at least as good as all the others. They can be booked out to non-disabled people, but it’s best to book them last in case they’re needed. Okay, shall we go upstairs?”
The two of them fell into an easy conversation as they strolled around the hotel. “We’ve got forty-two rooms,” Lisa explained. “Three on the first floor are suites, and there are two singles, besides the two downstairs. Thirty-one of them are occupied at the moment — that’s around seventy per cent occupancy. It usually averages about eighty, eighty-five during high season.”
“Is that good?”
“Well... Not bad. It could be better — but as I said, we’re not Las Vegas. A lot of our guests are repeat visitors — some of the elderly couples have been coming for years. They’re often here to celebrate a birthday or anniversary, so we always try to make a note of those and make something a bit special for them.”
“That’s nice. And I suppose you get a lot of people coming for the golf?”
“Yes, we do. We host several tournaments a year, too. Not the big ones, obviously, just amateurs and a couple of semi-pro. Well, that’s the grand tour.” They had come back to the lift and Lisa pressed the call button. “Let’s go down to my office and fill in the paperwork.”
Lisa’s office was next to Mike’s, the same size and with the same non-view, but it somehow seemed much more comfortable. Maybe because it was considerably tidier, and the bookshelves held several pretty trinkets — seashells, coloured pebbles and sea-washed glass. On the desk was a small vase of flowers — and a photo frame. Well, the back of a photo frame — Vicky didn’t want to see the front.
“Have a seat,” Lisa invited. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
She poured two mugs from a coffee machine on the credenza. “Milk or cream?”
“Just a little cream, please. No sugar.”
She brought the mugs over and sat down behind her desk, and opened a new file on her computer.
“Have you got your National Insurance number?”
“Yes.” She recited it from memory.
“That’s good. If you don’t mind me asking, you said there were personal reasons why you left your previous job?”
Vicky smiled wryly. “It’s not a good idea to be engaged to your boss. If you decide to break off your engagement, the job goes, the flat goes — everything goes!”
“Oh dear — it does sound like it could be unwise.” Lisa laughed. “That’s something I’ve been very careful to avoid!”
Vicky kept her smile in place. She couldn’t quite imagine Lisa working on the farm, milking the cows and mucking out the barn. But it was all too easy to imagine her snuggling up on the sofa with Tom in the evening...
A little desperately she pushed that thought from her mind. “It’s funny, in a way — it wasn’t just because I inherited the cottage. I began to realise that I wasn’t living the life I wanted. And finding out about Molly, all the amazing things she did, made me realise that being sensible was just a waste. It gave me the courage to think about what I really want.”
Lisa laughed. “Sensible?”
“That’s my mother’s thing.” Another wry smile. “I suppose it’s understandable — mothers worry.”
“We do. But you’re right — being sensible isn’t always the best way to live your life. Anyway, tell me more about Molly.” Lisa leaned forward with eager interest. “My mum told me that she used to go swimming in a purple swimsuit, every day, right through the winter, until she was well into her seventies.”
Vicky rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me at all!”
* * *
Vicky’s mind was still swirling with thoughts of Tom and Lisa as she walked up the hill from the hotel. Tom and Lisa. If she was going to stay here, living next door to them, she was just going to have to get used to it.
She could do that — of course she could. It was just a matter of... self-discipline. And finding other things to distract herself. Like working on her book. She really needed to get on with that, while she had this opportunity.
There were a few bits of shopping she needed, so she stopped at Brenda’s. The shopkeeper greeted her with a friendly smile. “Hi, Vicky. How are you?”
“Great, thanks. And you?”
“Tray beeyun, mercy.” Brenda laughed. “I’ve got French in the house morning, noon and night! Linda, this is old Molly’s niece I was telling you about,” she added to the plump woman waiting at the counter.
“Oh, ah — I heard someone had got her cottage. So you be her niece, then?”
“That’s right — well, her great-niece. My grandfather was her older brother.”
“She talked my Bethany into going for university,” Brenda declared proudly.
Vicky laughed, shaking her head. “She talked herself into it. I just gave her a bit of a nudge. Sometimes a kid’ll take more notice of a stranger than their own mum.”
“Well, anyway, she’s really keen. I used to have to nag her to do her homework, but now I don’t have to say a word.”
“It’d be a good thing, her going to university.” Linda nodded sagely. “I wish one of mine would have a bit of ambition. They don’t want to leave Sturcombe. Can’t budge ’em.”
“I don’t blame them.” Vicky smiled. “It’s a lovely place.”
“So are you going to stay after all then?”
“I hope so.”
“That’s good. Morning, Arthur,” Linda added as the old man appeared in the doorway.
“Morning, ladies.” He chuckled mischievously. “Having a good gossip, are we?”
“Of course.”
He picked up a wire basket and pottered off around the shelves. Vicky watched him a little anxiously. He seemed steady enough on his feet, if slow, and he was clearly very independent.
She wandered around the shelves herself, selecting a loaf of bread, some cheese and two pints of milk. Arthur had stopped at the shelves of tinned soup, studying them closely. He stretched up, but the one he wanted was too far back for him to reach.
“Here — let me,” Vicky offered. “Just one, or two?”
“I might as well have two while I’m here.” He beamed up at her. “Thank you, my luvver.”
“Do you need a hand to carry your bag?”
“No, no, I can manage, thank you.”
He returned to the counter, chatting comfortably with Brenda as she rang up his purchases. He pulled a coin-purse from his pocket and fumbled for the right change, then nodded goodbye and set off towards his house.
Vicky added some biscuits to her own shopping and went back to the counter.
“Got everything you wanted?” Brenda asked.
“Yes, thanks.”
“I heard your neighbour Bill from up the farm has been having cupcakes with his tea,” Linda remarked archly.
Vicky didn’t need an interpreter to guess the implication. She really shouldn’t be surprised that there was gossip in a small village like this. There was no point arguing about it, but she didn’t want to get involved, so she simply smiled thinly as she tapped her credit card on the reader and packed her purchases into her bag.
In the doorway she paused to put her sunglasses back on... and cried out in horror. “Oh my God! Brenda — phone for an ambulance, quick. Arthur’s had a fall.”
The old man was sprawled on the pavement, his shopping bag spilled over the kerb. She ran to kneel beside him.
“Arthur? Can you hear me? What happened?”
He groaned, trying to lift his head.
“No, don’t try to move.” She took his hand, shocked at how cold it was. “Don’t worry, there’s an ambulance coming.”
Brenda had run out from the shop, followed by Linda. “What happened? Did he trip?”
“I don’t know. Do you have something to cover him with? I know it’s warm, but he could be in shock.”
“I’ll get something.” She bustled back into the shop and was out again a moment later with a tweed coat. “Here.”
“Should we try to get him inside?” Linda suggested.
“No — we shouldn’t try to move him. We don’t know if he might have injured himself. He could have broken a hip or something.” Vague memories of earning her first-aid badge at Guides was coming back to her. She laid her fingertips against the pulse point in his neck. “He’s breathing, anyway, though his pulse is a bit weak.”
Linda had collected up his shopping from the ground. “The ambulance will be here in about twenty minutes. I’ll put these things back in the shop.”
Brenda nodded. “Good idea. Someone ought to go to the hospital with him.”
“I can go,” Vicky offered.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course — no problem.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Brenda smiled and held out her hand. “Give me your shopping. I’ll get Beth to bring it up for you later.”
“Okay — thanks.”
“What about his son?” Linda asked. “Someone should get in touch with him — let him know what’s happened.”
Brenda shook her head. “I’ve no idea what his phone number is.”
“We might be able to find out.” Vicky pulled out her phone. “Arthur told me he lives in Canada, and he’s a television producer. And Crocombe isn’t a very common name.” She pulled up the search engine. “He might have a Facebook page, or even be on Wikipedia.” It only took a few minutes’ detective work to track him down. “Ah — I’ve got him. At least his work contact. I’ll send him an email.”
Linda shook her head, bemused, as Vicky tapped in a message. “They’re a marvel, those things. My two have both got them — they’re always trying to show me how to use them, but I can’t be doing with them.”
“Everyone’s got them these days, even the little kids,” Brenda remarked. “People can even pay for their shopping direct with them. I’m going to have to get a new terminal so people can use them.”
Arthur seemed to be coming round a little more, his eyes flickering open and trying to speak. He seemed to recognise Vicky, smiling up at her as she spoke soothingly to him, holding his hand.
“I’ve emailed your son, Arthur — he’ll be getting back in touch soon, and I’ll tell him what’s happened. And the ambulance will be here in a minute.”
I hope.
It was more than half an hour before the ambulance arrived — Vicky had never been more relieved than when she saw the flash of the blue light as it came round the bend in the road.
It pulled into the kerb, and the paramedic climbed out. She put her bag down and knelt beside the old man. “Okay, what have we got? Had a nasty fall, have we?”
“About half an hour ago,” Vicky explained. “He seemed fine a moment before, in the shop — just a bit slow. But when I came out he’d fallen.”
“Did he lose consciousness?”
“I don’t think so — at least only for a few moments. His pulse was a bit weak.”
“That’s to be expected.” She was bending over him, shining her penlight into his eyes. “Arthur? Can you hear me? Can you tell me if you have any pain?”
“Arm.” It was little more than a weak groan.
“Ah, yes.” The paramedic nodded briskly. “The one underneath him probably took the brunt of the fall. Okay, Arthur, we’re going to pop you onto a stretcher and take you off to the hospital. Is that all right with you?”
He managed a nod.
“Can I go with him?” Vicky asked.
“Of course.”
The other paramedic had brought the stretcher. With infinite care they eased him onto it and lifted it onto a folding trolley.
“All right, Arthur?” They carefully laid his injured arm over his body and wrapped a blanket around him, then fastened the stretcher’s strap to keep him safely in place. “Off we go.”