Chapter 7 #2
For Bex and Daniel, though, this is no laughing matter.
I watch, fascinated, as they set their professional-looking camera up on the tripod, then go outside with their suitcases, only to walk back through the front doors a few seconds later, cooing with appreciation as they pretend to see the interior of the hotel for the first time.
They do this another five times before I finally get bored and turn to Hunter . . . who isn’t there. Once again, he’s managed to disappear on me, almost as if he was never there to start with.
Or as if he were a ghost.
The thought reminds me of the figure I thought I saw on the stairs last night, but I shake off the chill that runs through me at the memory and head out into the hotel grounds, muttering a quick apology to Bex and Daniel for ruining shot number six in the process.
Once outside, I walk down the steps, then turn and look up at the hotel.
The building is so beautiful it almost doesn’t seem real, with old stone walls rising up from the immaculate grounds and turreted rooftops which remind me of Rapunzel’s tower; although hopefully without anyone trapped inside them.
The long driveway stretches out before me, and, through the mist which is still hovering over everything, I see Zara and Millie taking it in turns to photograph each other posing in front of the gates at the bottom of it.
Which reminds me why I’m here.
Ignoring the feeling of foreboding that’s still following me, I find a large stone in the driveway and prop my phone up against it, switching on the self-timer, then racing back to the top of the stairs to pose for the camera.
I keep on doing this until I’m red in the face and uncomfortably sweaty, but when I scroll back through the photos in my camera roll, I realise I’ve got the timing all wrong, and most of the shots just show me either racing towards the steps with my backside the main focus of the photo, or reaching out to pick up the camera again, looking like I have five chins.
This influencing business is much harder than people think it is.
There’s not much I can do about it, though, because Zara and Millie have finished their photo shoot at the gates and are now making their way towards me.
I really don’t want them to witness my pathetic attempts at content creation so I hold up the phone and snap a quick selfie with the castle in the background.
When I check the shot, I see that the castle appears to have dropped in from the set of a Disney movie, while I look a lot like someone’s thumb got stuck in front of the lens.
It’s too late, though; the influencers are almost upon me, so I turn and make my way around to the back of the building, uploading the photo to my feed as I go.
Just checked in to the hotel of my dreams for a bit of rest, rejuvenation and rediscovery, I type into the caption box, feeling pleased with myself for remembering to add one of the key messages from the information pack. So far, the Highlands are everything I hoped for and more!
Then I tag the hotel and add my #ROSIESUMMERS tracking code, before hitting publish, with a heavy feeling of doom in my chest that’s completely at odds with the perky caption I’ve just typed.
So far, the Highlands actually aren’t ‘everything I hoped for and more’. In fact, so far my stay at the Chrysalis has been one humiliation after another.
I can’t admit that to my Instagram followers, though. That’s not going to win me the competition; or any friends, for that matter. So I’m just going to have to pretend to be having the time of my life, instead. What’s that they say about faking it until you make it?
That’s what I’m going to have to do.
The back of the hotel is even more impressive than the front, with the grounds leading down to a little private beach which is covered with the kind of flawless white sand I didn’t think existed outside of the Caribbean, let alone in Scotland.
It’s peaceful out here, so I take my time as I wander among the flower beds, stopping at one point beside a large, circular pond, the surface of which is so still it looks almost like glass.
I’m just thinking how amazing it would look in a photo, and how annoying it is that I don’t have a handy Instagram husband, like Bex does, to take one for me, when the sound of chopping breaks the silence, and I follow it instead, down one of the narrow gravel paths that wind between the flower beds, and all the way to the entrance to the maze, in front of which I find Hunter Stuart attacking a defenceless little tree with an axe.
‘Oh no, don’t!’ I cry out before I can stop myself, making Hunter stop abruptly, the axe still raised above his head.
The position has made the T-shirt he’s wearing ride up, showing a thin slice of a very toned stomach which makes my mouth feel strangely dry.
The fleece top he had on earlier this morning is lying by his feet, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat on his brow in spite of the early morning chill.
He looks like some kind of outdoorsy action man – part lumberjack, part Highland warrior – and I lick my lips nervously, trying not to stare at the way the muscles in his arms flex as he lowers the axe.
‘Stop what?’ he asks, in a dangerous tone, glowering at me.
‘Um, well, stop attacking that poor tree,’ I reply, pointing at it stupidly. ‘It’s so cute; like a little Christmas tree.’
‘It’s like a falling-down Christmas tree,’ Hunter replies grimly. ‘One that would probably break you in two if it fell on you, Rosie Winter.’
‘Oh. I . . . didn’t realise,’ I say, wondering if he absolutely has to sound quite so pleased at the prospect.
‘It got damaged in the big storm we had last week. If I don’t take it down, it’ll take someone else down in the next one, and then we’ll get ourselves sued,’ he goes on, raising the axe again as if he’s done with this conversation. ‘So I’m not sure “cute” is the word I’d use for it.’
‘Got it,’ I mutter, feeling like the silly city girl he so obviously thinks I am. ‘It’s a killer tree, not a cute one. I’ll bear that in mind.’
I’m just about to slink off again, having annoyed him for long enough, when something occurs to me.
‘Er, I don’t suppose you’d do me a quick favour, would you?’ I blurt, crossing my fingers tightly behind my back for luck.
Hunter lowers the axe again with the air of a man whose patience is being sorely tested.
‘Depends what it is,’ he replies warily. ‘And how quick it is. Some of us have real work to do here.’
‘Oh, it’ll be quick,’ I assure him, wishing I hadn’t asked if this is how he’s going to be. ‘Seconds, really. All I need you to do is take a photo of me next to that lake over there. One photo. Well, maybe two if the first one doesn’t work out.’
‘I’m a gardener, Rosie, not a photographer,’ Hunter points out, his mouth settling into a straight line. ‘Wouldn’t you be better off asking one of the influencer lot?’
‘No. I don’t trust them,’ I confess. ‘I don’t really trust anyone in this place.’
‘Not even me?’ he asks. ‘Am I still on the list of suspects, then? Och, don’t look at me like that,’ he goes on. ‘I know you were thinking I might have done the clothes-stealing thing earlier.’
‘Well, you do like winding me up,’ I point out. ‘And you know how important my clothes are to me. I don’t think you’d have shut me in the sauna, though,’ I add, shivering at the memory. ‘That wouldn’t be a very good joke, would it?’
A small line appears between Hunter’s eyes.
‘No, it wouldn’t. The door was just stiff, though,’ he says, sounding almost as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is me. ‘I went over and took a look at it this morning. It’s probably just because it’s brand new. There’s bound to be some teething problems.’
I nod, remembering what Agnes said about ‘Danger Night’, and how we influencers were basically a test crew, here to help the hotel iron out any potential problems before launch day.
Well, you have to hand it to me, I’ve definitely done that.
‘So, will you take the photo for me?’ I ask, desperate to change the subject.
I hold out my phone and he takes it with a world-weary sigh.
‘Lead the way, then,’ he says, putting his axe carefully down on the ground. ‘Let’s get this over with.’