Chapter 27 #2
‘I didn’t actually say we’d have a party,’ I protest, but he’s already gone, handing out foil-wrapped potatoes as he goes.
‘Want me to take some more photos for you, Rosie?’ Agnes says, seeing me standing there uncertainly on the edge of the room. ‘All the other influencers are busy filming each other.’
‘No, that’s OK, Agnes, thanks,’ I say gratefully, not wanting to take her away from her work.
All the same, she’s helped remind me about the publicity I promised Dante this would give the hotel, so I pull out my phone and start to make my way around the room, taking photos and videos of everything, from the delicious-looking food to the rain that’s started lashing the large windows that line the ballroom.
Ian was right: this is going rather well.
So well, in fact, that by the time I’ve finished uploading my content, I’ve almost convinced myself that this was a really good idea of mine, after all.
And I’m sure Hunter, and Dante, and maybe even Sabrina will think so too once they realise what great – and, most importantly, authentic – publicity the villagers are creating for the hotel.
On my second lap of the room, I find Daniel Foster sitting on the floor in a corner, looking so miserable that it doesn’t feel right to just keep walking, no matter how much I want to.
‘Hi, Daniel,’ I say, stopping in front of him. ‘Everything OK down there? Where’s Bex?’
‘Upstairs, getting changed into something more suitable for a ballroom,’ he says, picking moodily at a frayed spot on the leg of his jeans. ‘So we can take some more fucking photos. I’ve been dismissed until then. I’m surplus to requirements, apparently.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s . . . Would you like some potatoes?’ I ask brightly, realising he’s more than a little bit tipsy. ‘There’s lots of potatoes. It might do you good to, er, line your stomach.’
‘You’ve no idea what it’s like, being an Instagram husband,’ Daniel says, ignoring me. ‘I feel like I’m invisible sometimes. No one cares about the guy behind the camera, do they? All they care about is Bex. She’s the talent. I’m just—’
‘Ken?’ I venture, slapping my hand over my mouth as soon as the words are out. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’
‘No, you’re right,’ Daniel says stoically. ‘That’s exactly how it is. They even refer to me as Mr Bex, like I don’t even have a name. I think you’re the only one who understands me, RR.’
‘Um . . . RR?’ I crouch down beside him, wincing as the alcohol fumes on his breath hit me full in the face, confirming that he’s been sampling some of Ian’s home brew.
Quite a bit of it, it would seem. That explains why he’s slumped against the wall, his face looking strangely naked without a camera attached to it.
‘RR? Wrong Rosie?’ he clarifies, looking at me as if I must be particularly slow not to have got this.
‘But “wrong” doesn’t start with an . . .
actually, that’s beside the point,’ I tell him, sitting down beside him and doing my best to angle my face away from the stench of alcohol.
‘I do understand what it’s like to feel invisible, actually,’ I go on.
‘But you can’t complain about the way people treat you when you go around calling them names like Wrong Rosie, Daniel.
And I thought you enjoyed taking photos, anyway? ’
‘Sorry, RR,’ he says quickly, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes.
‘I mean R. And I do enjoy it, mostly. I’m just sick of everything having to be a photo opportunity, though.
Everything. I just want my wife to smile at me sometimes when I don’t have a camera in front of my face. Is that really too much to ask?’
‘I guess not,’ I reply carefully. ‘I think Bex is the one you should be speaking to about this, though. Do you want me to go and find her for you?’
I start to get to my feet, but Daniel’s hand darts out and he grabs hold of my forearm.
‘No! Don’t tell her what I said,’ he says hoarsely.
‘Please, RR. Just forget it. Bex needs to win this competition. The Face of the Chrysalis thing. We need the money. And if this sale goes ahead, then the contract could be worth even more than we thought. Sabrina hasn’t been being honest with us,’ he goes on, leaning earnestly towards me, his special-brew breath almost making me gag. ‘We can’t trust her, RR. You hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ I assure him, trying to speak and hold my breath at the same time. ‘And I don’t particularly trust Sabrina, to be honest. But what do you mean “if the sale goes ahead”, Daniel? What sale?’
A familiar flutter of excitement starts up in my chest at the sound of the word ‘sale’, although I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about shopping.
‘The sale of the hotel,’ Daniel hisses importantly, glancing over his shoulder as if he’s worried someone might be listening in.
‘To WanderNest. I heard Dante talking about it on the phone a couple of days ago. It’s all very hush-hush, apparently – well, you can imagine; the place isn’t even open, yet.
But he said that if the launch goes well, they’ll probably make an offer. ’
‘WanderNest?’
I sit back on my heels, dumbfounded. WanderNest is one of the biggest hotel chains in the world. If they buy the Chrysalis, I can’t help but think they’d be even less likely to want to trade with the village than the Laird does.
A cold knot of anxiety replaces my earlier feeling of hope.
‘Are you sure about this, Daniel?’ I ask, hoping this is just some kind of alcohol-induced fever dream he’s been having.
‘Of course I’m sure, R. What do you take me for?’ he replies indignantly, his face flushed. ‘I told you, I heard Dante talking about it. He said they’re just waiting to see how the launch goes before they finalise their offer.’
I rock back on my heels, trying to take this in.
So Izzie and Ian were right; the Laird’s nephew is planning to sell the hotel after all.
And it sounds to me as if I was right about his identity, too.
I have to tell Hunter.
There has to be something we can do to stop this.
I squint harder at the faces in the crowd, wishing yet again that my eyesight was better, because I’m sure Hunter must be here somewhere, but I still can’t see him.
Just as I’m about to go and see if he’s in his apartment, though, there’s a commotion from the hallway outside the ballroom, and a small boy comes bursting through the double doors, his eyes wild with terror.
‘Ghost!’ he screams, his voice surprisingly loud for his size. ‘There’s a ghost in the lobby!’