Chapter Four
H e’d forgotten to count the sun umbrellas. Rico shuffled back across the terrace, still mulling over his list. Twenty-five wicker tables, one hundred chairs, and one hundred threadbare sets of seat cushions. It wasn’t exactly vital information, was it? If Lakeside was to stay afloat, he had to find a way to increase takings this summer. Even if Dad wanted to sell up, who was going to buy a failing business? And as the bar seemed to be the most successful part of the entire hotel at the moment, it might make sense to spruce that up a bit and try for a few more guests there. A weekly live music night? Karaoke? A ‘get your tenth drink free’ card for the locals? He had to find something, because he did not want his home sold off from under his feet. If Dad was serious about moving to Lugano, getting a new manager in to run the hotel for them was the only way forward, as far as Rico was concerned.
Someone called his name, and he looked up to see the summer barman sitting with the two English guests again. Didn’t the guy have work to do? A glance round the terrace told him no one was waiting to be served, but that was no good either, was it? Rico trailed over to the table, trying to fix a pleasant expression on his face – not an easy job when you were worried sick .
‘Hello, there. How can I help?’
The two girls glanced at each other and laughed.
‘Sorry,’ said the fair-haired one. ‘Alan didn’t say you were English too. I’m Stacy and this is Emily.’
Rico shook hands. ‘Rico. I’m half English – I have dual nationality.’ He hurried on before anyone asked about his family. Even now, talking about Mum wasn’t easy, especially here in her hotel. ‘What’s the problem?’
Alan answered. ‘Emily here could use a wheelchair. She’s recovering after a knee operation and wheels would help her see more sights. Any idea where she could get hold of one?’
Tears shot into Rico’s eyes and he froze, blinking hard to keep them in. A wheelchair… they had a wheelchair right here in the hotel. Somewhere. Mum had used one for the last few weeks of her life and Dad had insisted on buying the best he could find. Rico scratched his head, pretending to think while he fought for self-control.
‘We have one in one of the storerooms,’ he managed at last. ‘I’ll look it out for you right now, shall I?’ Anything to get away from the three people sitting gawping at him while memories of the worst time of his life were passing in front of his eyes. He turned away, coughing to cover his emotion.
Stacy pushed her chair back. ‘Brilliant. I’ll come with you and collect it.’
She was standing beside him before he had the chance to say no.
Alan beamed enthusiastically. ‘Yes, take Stacy. She’s a nurse, she’ll know about wheelchairs.’
Rico nodded at Stacy. She looked the type to be a nurse. She looked – caring, yes. She was gorgeous, too, with blonde wavy hair framing lovely soft blue eyes, but that was neither here nor there with him in imminent danger of bursting into torrents of tears and looking like the biggest plonker she’d ever come across. He led the way back to the entrance hall, glancing at the reception clock as they passed. Dad should be back soon; he wouldn’t want to cross the lake after dark.
Stacy followed him into the storeroom off the front hall, and they stood gazing over piles of boxes and sundry bits and pieces. There was bed linen, bar stools, glasses and a leather armchair here, but no wheelchair. Had Dad got rid of it? Surely not. He’d said at the time they should keep it in case a guest ever needed one. It must be either in the boathouse storeroom or the cellar. Rico closed the door again, frowning.
‘We’ll have a quick check downstairs while we’re here, but I have a feeling it might be in the boathouse,’ he said, leading the way to the stairwell.
The cellar floor was windowless, and Rico clicked on the light. Hell, it was years since he’d been down here. The space consisted of two rooms with thick metal doors and stone walls, plus what must have been ninety per cent of the dust in North-East Switzerland. Had the cleaners forgotten about this place?
Stacy was beside him, her eyes wide. ‘Wow – is this one of those nuclear shelters you hear about?’
Rico shrugged. ‘It used to be. Not sure how safe you’d be here nowadays, though.’
The first room was empty, apart from the three ancient washing machines that were relics of the days when they’d done their own laundry. The second held an unhappy little collection of old tables and chairs, but no wheelchair.
Stacy was still staring around. ‘I don’t know if I’d want to survive a nuclear war, you know.’
Rico banged the doors shut again and turned back to the stairs. ‘Me neither. But I’m sure life would be more precious if we knew we were about to lose it.’
Shit, why on earth had he spouted all that? It was true, as his mother’s unbearably hopeful eyes at the start of the treatment that was only ever palliative had shown him clearly, but there was no need to say it to this girl, nurse or not.
She squinted up at him. ‘I guess so.’
Rico ushered her outside again. Get a grip, man. Try to look like you’re the guy in charge, not some wet extra. ‘Next up, the boathouse storeroom. The wheelchair must be there. We’ll fish it out and I’ll give it a clean for you.’
He strode along the narrow side path between high rhododendron bushes. Stacy’s head was swivelling from left to right, then she laughed up at him.
‘Heavens, this is well hidden! Your hotel could be in a kids’ adventure story. Ancient nuclear shelters and a secret path to the boathouse… Do you have many boats?’
‘One cabin cruiser, but it spends the summer moored at the jetty and winter in the boat storage place further up the lake. This area here didn’t originally belong to the hotel, but Dad bought the plot years ago to prevent anyone building something awful right next door, and the boathouse came with the land. We use it for storing things we never need.’ And how he wished they’d never needed that wheelchair.
His heart thumping, Rico pulled out his keyring and unlocked the huge wooden door at the near end of the grey stone building. Seeing Mum’s chair again was going to rake up even more memories, and knowing him he’d be blubbing on Stacy’s shoulder as soon as he laid eyes on it. He should have come here alone, but it was much too late now.
Inside, the boathouse was dim, open to the lake at the far end. Water sloshed up the middle channel, and a platform ran along the three remaining sides.
Stacy’s eyes were soft as she touched the stone wall. ‘What a fabulous old building. I love the way the lake comes right up inside. You should turn it into a sauna, or something.’
Rico grinned in spite of himself. ‘It’s an idea, but I’m afraid it would be an expensive one.’
He selected the storeroom key, and she stood back to let him open the door. And there it was. Rico pulled out the wheelchair, its narrow blue seat folded for easy storage. He pressed the sidebars to set it up properly, Mum’s wheelchair, and oh, God . He grabbed the handles, did a swift about-turn, and pushed the chair out into the sunshine. Stacy was gaping at him, but he mustn’t let her ask about it, he mustn’t.
‘What kind of nurse are you?’ he said wildly. Anything to fill the time on the way back to the hotel. Look at her face; concerned didn’t come into it. She’d seen how upset he was. Hell.
Stacy followed him back up the path. ‘I trained in Manchester and staffed for a while in a thoracic surgery unit there, but at the moment I’m working in our family stationery shop.’
She didn’t sound too cheerful about it.
‘Didn’t you like nursing?’
She pulled a face, holding the hotel door open while he manoeuvred the wheelchair into the hallway.
‘I did, but… it was so hard, dealing with what the patients have to go through. Life can be tough. Or maybe it’s me that has to toughen up.’ She put a hand on the wheelchair. ‘Was this…?’
Rico took a deep, shaky breath. ‘My mum’s. Before she died last spring. Pancreatic cancer. I’ll get a cloth for the chair. ’
Not trusting himself to continue, he abandoned the chair in the front hall and strode into the staff cloakroom, where he wiped his eyes on a paper towel. This was dire, but he had to do it. Splash your face and get back out there, man.
When he returned, Emily had joined Stacy beside the wheelchair, and they stood by as he wiped and polished. Awkwardness was hanging over him; hell, he should never have blurted that out about his mother and then disappeared like that. Heaven knows, he should be used to telling people about it by this time. Being back here was doing his head in, that was it.
He gave the chair a last wipe, and stood straight. ‘All ready to use,’ he said to Emily, who was looking doubtfully at the wheelchair. ‘Shall we keep it in the office behind reception for you? You obviously don’t need it to get around the hotel and grounds.’
This went down well with both girls.
‘Exactly,’ said Stacy, putting her arm round her friend.
‘Emergency use only. Thank you, Rico.’ Emily was smiling again.
The two girls moved away, the light catching the ring on Stacy’s engagement finger as she pressed the button for the lift. Rico stood clutching his cloth in both hands. What a lucky guy her fiancé was.
‘Rico!’
Rico spun round as his father’s voice boomed out from the front door. He stepped over and hugged the older man, his heart sinking. The smell of whisky was so strong it was almost intoxicating. Was his father drunk?