Chapter Six
‘ D ad – lunch!’ Rico set the pot of spag bol on the table, then poured sparkling water into two glasses. They were eating in the flat because he wanted them to have a proper talk, and up here they were less likely to be disturbed than down on the busy terrace.
Ralph Weber came in from the balcony and sat down heavily in the chair opposite. The dark circles beneath his eyes were less pronounced today, but yesterday’s whisky-induced good mood was gone too. It had probably been replaced by a headache, thought Rico glumly. Fingers crossed Dad would be up for discussing the future of the hotel.
He served them both a generous portion of spaghetti and passed his father the Parmesan. They ate in silence at first, because – how was he supposed start a conversation about the hotel’s future? Rico sat racking his brains, then almost choked on his spaghetti when his father started for him.
‘I’ve been thinking about the hotel,’ said Ralph, pushing his half-eaten plate to the side. ‘If you don’t want to take it on, Rico, the only option is to put it on the market.’
Rico stalled for time by sipping his water. He and Dad hadn’t seen each other since Easter, when his father came to Berne for a few days. Everything had seemed normal then, apart from the aching hole in both their lives, but now, here in the hotel, there was no hiding from the truth. Lakeside had changed. Dad had changed. For instance, the family language had always been English. Like most hoteliers, Ralph spoke it perfectly, and until now, Rico could almost have counted on his fingers the number of times in the past ten years when he and Ralph had used Swiss-German when they were alone together. But this time, Dad hadn’t uttered a single word of English since his arrival in the hotel yesterday. What had happened to make him so determined to get rid of the place where their family had been so happy? Was he depressed? Rico swallowed – he’d have to be careful. Antagonising his father would only make things worse.
He spoke slowly. ‘I thought you were planning to find someone to run it for you – for us. Surely that’s the best way?’
Ralph shrugged. ‘If I do that, I’d still have to travel back and forward from Lugano to make decisions and oversee things here. I want a clean break, son.’
Rico pushed his chair back. For the life of him he couldn’t stop the anger – and hurt – from taking over. ‘Well, I don’t! This place is home, and you know how much Mum loved it. What would she be saying to you now?’
He regretted the words the moment they were out. That wasn’t fair; Dad had lost his entire life-plan when Mum died.
A pause, then Ralph replied, his voice deeper than usual. ‘I loved living here too, Rico. And I think your mum would say, “do what makes you happy, Ralph”. Don’t you?’
Rico sat down again. He’d asked for that, hadn’t he? ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just… I don’t want to lose the hotel.’
‘We’re on the same song sheet, son. Neither of us wants to lose Lakeside, but we don’t want to run it either, do we? ’
Rico was silent. This wasn’t going well. Dad seemed determined that the hotel wasn’t going to be part of their lives any more. Of course it must be difficult, going it alone after running the place with Mum all those years. Rico wiped one hand over his face. Who was he kidding? Mum had done eighty per cent of the running of the place, and all the decision making. She’d loved it, too. She’d had the vision and Dad had been the grafter, and now no one was in charge. It was a case of too many Indians and no chief.
Rico met his father’s eyes across the table. ‘I still think we should find someone to run it in the short term. I want to do my master’s degree, and then – we’ll see.’ If he was working in the area, he’d be able to keep an eye on the hotel. He could combine it with running his own business.
His father stood up and gathered the empty plates. ‘This discussion’s getting us nowhere. Let’s adjourn for today.’
Rico shuffled his feet under his chair. Getting nowhere was right. ‘Okay. Meantime, I’ll try to work out what’s been going wrong here and how we could improve things. That’ll help whether or not we sell up in the end. We can talk later – so please, Dad, lay off the whisky today, huh?’
Ralph rubbed his forehead. ‘Don’t worry.’ He dumped the plates in the dishwasher and trailed out to the balcony.
Back at the computer, Rico opened the hotel advertising file and nearly fell off his chair. Well. There was a simple explanation for most things, and here was the reason the numbers of foreign guests had fallen off so drastically. They weren’t advertising in English papers, websites or magazines any more. Not only that, they weren’t advertising on German or Italian sites either. In fact, they weren’t advertising at all. Bloody hell. What possible reason could his father have had to stop the ads? Such a stupid, blind, shoot-yourself-in-the- foot thing to do – was Dad trying to bankrupt them? If they didn’t advertise, there was no way for prospective guests to find out about the place; word of mouth alone wasn’t enough. As this month’s bank statement proved without a shadow of doubt. Rico sprang up to confront his father about it, then sank down again, tapping his fingers on the table.
Yelling would get them nowhere. Ralph wouldn’t deliberately sabotage his own bank balance. The most likely explanation was that Dad simply wasn’t on top of the advertising and didn’t have the energy to learn. They’d have to talk about it – but constructively.
Rico rose again and strode across the room to the open balcony door. The words never left his mouth. His father was staring eastwards towards the village, tears trickling gently down his weather-beaten cheeks.
***
Stacy flopped down on her bed and relaxed heavy limbs into the mattress. ‘I’m bushed! How does your knee feel? But wasn’t today amazing? I never imagined we’d get to go up a mountain like the S?ntis.’
It was five o’clock, almost time to get ready for dinner, and all she wanted to do was sleep for a week. It wasn’t that she’d been particularly active, so it must be all the mountain air that was making her so tired.
Emily lurched over to the table. ‘My knee’s having a fab time. Don’t forget I spent ninety per cent of the day sitting on my bum. But I know what you mean. How about we raid the minibar and have a drink on the balcony before dinner? My treat.’
‘You’re on. Will we be seeing Alan again tonight?’ Stacy lifted her arm from across her eyes to squint at her friend. She’d made an excuse to scoot upstairs as soon as they arrived back in the hotel, leaving the other two to stow the wheelchair and say goodbye after the excursion. That wasn’t matchmaking; it was just – creating an opportunity for Emmy, yes.
Emily pouted at a mini bottle of prosecco. ‘Shouldn’t think so. He did ask if we had anything planned, but I said I’d need an early night.’
Stacy rolled her eyes. Poor Alan – he was going to need all the help she could give him. ‘Oh, Emmy! Why play hard to get? Anyone can see he’s nuts about you.’
‘He’s so not. And I’m not playing hard to get, I’m being sensible. How do I know he doesn’t chat up a different girl every week?’
Stacy glared across the room. ‘You open your eyes, that’s how! He took one look at you on Saturday and fell head over heels.’
‘Rubbish. Who would ever…?’ Emily fell silent, still clutching the bottle.
And there it was. Stacy sat up. ‘Don’t you dare say a wonky knee makes you unlovable!’
‘Stace, I know what you’re trying to say. Of course a wonky knee shouldn’t make a difference. But it does. I don’t feel like me, and anyway, we’re here for a week, and Alan’s here until September. Not to mention the fact that he lives in Leeds and we’re in Elton Abbey. What’s the point of starting a holiday romance?’
‘To have fun?’
Emily gave her what you could only describe as an ice-maiden look, and Stacy gave up. There was no point in quarrelling, either. ‘Okay, okay. Are you going to open that bottle or are you just heating up the prosecco? ’
Emily giggled and poured the drinks, and Stacy clinked glasses. It wouldn’t do any harm to drop a subtle hint to Alan if she had the chance tonight, would it? She wasn’t about to let Emily fling a perfectly good bloke on the scrap heap merely because the geography was challenging and she had a limp. Alan’s home in Leeds wasn’t a million miles from theirs in Elton Abbey, and September would be here before they knew it.
The restaurant was almost deserted when they arrived downstairs an hour or so later. Mr and Mrs Johnston were there, the elderly couple who were also staying at Lakeside, and two middle-aged women – that was all.
‘I guess Monday’s their quiet night,’ said Stacy, lifting the menu. ‘Okay… cannelloni with spinach, or lake perch and chips, also with spinach?’
‘I’ll have perch,’ said Emily. ‘That was what they had in Swallows and Amazons , remember?’
They chatted about books and films all through the meal, then went out to the terrace, where a different barman took their order for coffee.
‘What shall we do tomorrow?’ said Emily.
Stacy sipped her coffee, feeling the strong, sweet liquid revive her flagging brain. ‘A trip to St Gallen? The brochure said it has great shops as well as a lovely old town district. Or a spa day at – look, there’s Rico. We can ask him about the Falls of Rhine. Rico!’
He was striding over to the bar, and his face brightened when Stacy called his name. ‘Let me grab a coffee. I’ll be with you in a sec.’
‘He always looks as if all the cares in the world are on his shoulders,’ said Emily, watching Rico as he helped himself behind the bar.
Stacy nodded soberly. ‘His mother died last year, remember.’ What must it be like, to lose your mum like that? Please God she’d never find out.
Rico returned with an espresso, and sat down opposite Stacy. ‘What can I do for you?’
Stacy explained, and he shook his head.
‘The falls are spectacular, but I wouldn’t go just the two of you. Even if you get the train to the other side of the river, the station’s still at the top of a pretty steep hill. I suppose you could walk from Schaffhausen, further up-river. That’d be flatter for the wheelchair, but it’s a good couple of kilometres.’
‘Oh,’ said Stacy, seeing Emily’s shoulders droop. ‘That does sound a bit challenging.’
Rico looked from her to Emily and back again. ‘Tell you what – why don’t I take you on Wednesday? We could go in the car, and take the wheelchair. A break would do me good too.’
‘That would be brilliant!’ said Stacy, and to her amusement he blushed. Heavens, did Emily have two admirers in the hotel? Better and better.
Rico went on his way, and Emily grinned at Stacy. ‘I see you have a fan here too. Switzerland’s a great place for finding an English bloke, isn’t it?’
Stacy’s middle jolted uncomfortably. Eek. ‘Never! I was thinking you were the attraction – I’m engaged, aren’t I?’
‘You are. Has David called back yet?’
The now-usual apprehension wormed through Stacy. ‘No. I’m getting worried, Emmy. He’s working way too hard. He’ll conk out if he isn’t careful.’
‘Try not to worry – David’s tough, and things’ll improve when he’s an F1, you’ll see.’ Emily grabbed her stick and stood up. ‘I’m going for a shower and then bed. Why don’t you give him a call? He might appreciate a break from his studies.’
‘I think I will.’ Stacy walked as far as the lift with Emily, then strolled out the front door and round to the left. She would walk down the secret path to the boathouse for some privacy. It wasn’t quite dark yet.
David’s phone rang seven times, and she was about to give up when he answered. ‘Stacy?’
‘Hi. Is this a better time to talk?’ She could hear music and people talking and laughing; he must be in the pub. Good, he deserved some time out.
‘It’s a bit noisy here. Are you and Emmy okay?’
‘Well – yes.’ Stacy frowned. Did he think she would only call if something was wrong? ‘I called for a chat, that’s all. We–’
The music was louder now, and she heard David talking to someone else, ordering three pints and something she didn’t catch. A cold shiver ran right through Stacy. Was his beer more important than his fiancée?
She gripped her phone harder. ‘I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you. I thought you’d want to hear from me.’
His sigh was loud in her ear. ‘Stace, love, have a good holiday. You deserve it. And we’re engaged, not joined at the hip. A little space will do us both good. I’ll see you at the weekend.’
Horrified, Stacy disconnected before she burst into tears. What was going on? Joined at the hip? She didn’t even see him every week, these days. He’d had too much work and too little time for – oh, for months. And he’d never sounded so negative about their relationship. She sat down on a stone wall at the side of the boathouse to think. Was it unreasonable to want to chat to him while she was on holiday? Perhaps he was annoyed that she’d gone away without him – but no, that would be a small, mean thing for him to think, and David wasn’t like that. Probably he was just tired. But she was tired, too – tired of them never having enough time for each other.
She wiped her eyes, then wandered further down the path to the jetty. Lights were twinkling on the far side of Lake Constance, and the water in front of her was black-dark, moving softly against the lake bank. This was such a beautiful place. But maybe she should never have come here.