The next morning, when we get downstairs, there’s no sign of Mitchell having been at the breakfast table. Annie, the waiter, shakes her head at my enquiry. No, he hasn’t been at all, this morning. I must have really done it, if he doesn’t even want to come down to eat. I only hope I can find a way to apologise without seeming to be meddling in his private affairs, which he is very jealous of. And rightfully so.
As Danny eats his sausages and eggs, I watch him lovingly. He’s done a magnificent job with both Mabel and the Christmas tree decorations. He puts so much love into what he does. A wave of guilt washes over me. I’m spending so little time with him. How the hell did I get myself cornered like this? Me and my bloody habit of offering time I simply don’t have. I should’ve booked a family suite so Mum and Dad could’ve come down and stayed with us. But then there would have been the four of us without a room, even if at the time I didn’t know that. I know he misses them, and is making the best of things.
‘You don’t mind, darling, that I’m working so much?’ I ask, gently pushing the hair back from his face.
‘Mum, it’s okay. I know you’re busy helping Mitchell and that’s good.’
I beam at him. ‘You are a lovely boy, you know that?’
Danny rolls his eyes and grins at me. ‘Yes, I know, Mum – you tell me every day.’
‘And I love you to the moon and back.’
‘Me too, Mum. But take a break now, okay? Stop worrying about me.’
My little man. ‘Okay, my darling. I’ll try.’ I leave him to finish his breakfast and take two coffees, one for me and one for Laura, to Reception.
‘Morning, Rosie, that’s a gorgeous tree you and Danny put up.’
‘Thanks, Laura. Has Alex been? I need to discuss the contract we have with his mum’s bakery.’
‘Oh?’
‘We need to bring the costs down. Do you think you can get them to give us a better deal?’
I sit down at my desk and take a sip, but it tastes like metal to me. How odd. I read somewhere that that’s what people can taste before a stroke. I wouldn’t be surprised, what with all the stress I’ve had these past few years.
‘I’ll try,’ she says with a shrug.
And now just as I’m hoping to finally nail that promotion, Susan drags me through this gauntlet of uncertainty, suspicion and frustration, just so she can sack someone over the holidays for the sake of calling herself the HR Manager. No wonder my job is making me ill.
Why is it that all my other friends can chill? Look at Liz. She’s so cool and calm and… almost, dare I say it, happy?
‘Rosie, are you okay?’
‘Of course,’ I answer.
‘Are you sure? You look… tired.’
‘I’m fine. Now let’s get down to business. What’s up?’
She shrugs. ‘The usual. The hens had a pool fight over who gets dibs on the boys in the stag party, breaking a few chairs.’
‘Pool? We have a pool?’ How could I have not known this?
‘Pool table.’
‘Ah.’ That’s the first thing that should go, I think. Along with the card table. In fact, there is too much attention on that kind of stuff and age bracket. What we need is, I decide, something completely different and useful.
*
‘You want to put in a kiddie park and a crèche?’ Mitchell sits back in his chair as if I’d struck him, pure annoyance seeping into his dark features.
I nod. ‘Just a private one, for staff and guests.’
‘Oh, good. For a minute I thought you wanted to open a public one…’
I can’t help but roll my eyes at his sarcasm.
‘And you want to do this because…?’
‘To give staff – and guests – peace of mind.’
At that, he sits back, linking his fingers behind his head, a look of mock wonder on his face. ‘Did you know, Rosie, that there is such a thing as babysitters?’
‘Yes,’ I say, like you say to idiots, without wanting them to know what you think of them. ‘But this would be an extra service that would put you a cut above the rest.’
He lowers his eyes, thinking. So I strike the iron while it’s hot. ‘Plus it would be great for staff. Look at Mary, the sous-chef. She’s had to run home twice already to her youngest because her babysitter wasn’t available, giving Russell a heart attack. Staff will appreciate their workplace more, and be happier and more productive if they know they can nip down on their coffee break to see their babies, rather than slash their family budgets on help, or spend the whole time on WhatsApp talking to their babysitters and asking them to send them pictures or videos, thus being only half as productive.’
Mitchell’s brow creases in surprise as I catch my breath. I hope my fast-talking is also convincing.
He looks at me in surprise. ‘They do that?’
I shrug. ‘I know it’s not right, but if your kid was running a high fever, wouldn’t you want an update as often as possible?’
His face softens at the idea of his own kid, I can see it clearly. But alongside the tenderness, there is also doubt. ‘Er… I don’t know that it’s a good idea, Rosie. This isn’t London where people don’t have time for family, you know.’
He means me. But I don’t have time for my kid because of him, and instead of thanking me, he offends me. Just when I think he may be warming up to having some genuine help on hand. Oh, the cheek of him!
‘Mitchell, you are losing patrons hand over fist because of the management. I understand it’s not entirely your fault, but perhaps, if you trusted someone else’s opinion, you might be able to make some good decisions instead of all the bad ones that have led to your hotel bleeding to death.’ There. That should put him in his place. Why am I even bothering to save this guy’s unappreciative ass? He’s really such hard work, so why don’t I just turn him over to the Johnson Hotels grinding machine?
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an inn to save.’ And I leave him sitting there, gawping at me. End of Round Two.
*
‘So how did a lovely Scottish lass like you end up on the opposite side of the Kingdom?’ I ask Sally when she stops at the desk to say good morning with a mug of steaming coffee for me.
She shrugs, studying the contents of her own brew. ‘I followed a guy here.’
‘Oh, wow.’
She looks up with a half-smile. ‘It didn’t work out.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I have my kid. He’s everything I need.’
I nod. We’re on the same wavelength, Sally and I.
‘But I’m going to night school. No offence, but I don’t want to clean the Old Bell Inn forever.’
I lean in, lowering my voice. ‘What would you like to do?’
She grins. ‘My dream? I’d like to open my own beauty spa.’
‘Yes, I can see you running something like that.’
‘Yeah? With my plain looks?’
Poor girl. She can’t see how beautiful she truly is, and how her coarse hands and tired face are the signs of how much she loves and cares for her son. It’s thanks to the hard work of women like her that the world doesn’t go to pot.
‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your looks, Sally. We’re all just stressed because we don’t like our jobs. But you have an eye for detail. I noticed you like perfection and have a flair for beautiful things.’
She smiles. ‘I do like pretty things. But who can afford them?’
‘You and me both,’ I agree.
‘And you, Rosie? Where’s Danny’s dad, if I may?’
I dismiss her delicate approach with a wave of my hand. ‘Oh, he’s… gone.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘Not dead gone, just… AWOL. He’s just in and out of our lives every few years and…’ I stop and laugh. ‘That sounds sad, doesn’t it? This uncertainty is no good for Danny. Either in or out.’
‘No, of course not,’ she agrees.
‘It’s no good for me, either. It’s taken me years to get over him, and still, every time I see him, a stab of pain rushes through me, and I always think of how we could have had it all.’ I know those are Adele’s words, but it’s like she’s in my head. Sometimes I want to ring him up and sing one of her lyrics to him, because nothing I could possibly say to him would convey all the pain he’s caused me. I had never loved anyone as much as I did him.
‘I hear you,’ Sally agrees. ‘Martin never cared for babies. If he ever showed up, I’d kick his sorry ass all the way to Penzance!’
‘Well, it’s not an issue for me as Mark is never coming back, but I would sure think of a thousand things he could try and do to obtain our forgiveness.’ The idea of him cooking and cleaning just to win me back makes me chuckle and when I share with Sally my thoughts of Mark in chains and an apron, we break into a fully-fledged laugh, Sally cackling, wiping the tears from her eyes.
And that’s when Mitchell walks by and comes to a halt, his eyebrow raised. I swear if he tells Sally to get back to work, I’m going to sock him. But he simply stares, open-mouthed, then when we wave at him, he turns on his heels and disappears into his office.
‘That one needs a kick up the ass, too,’ she says, and I snort coffee through my nose, laughing.
‘What…?’
‘The boss. He needs someone to bring him back from the dead. You interested?’
‘Me?’ I squeak. ‘My life is complicated enough as it is.’
She waggles her index at me. ‘I don’t know, I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.’
‘Sally…’
‘Just saying, love. It’s tough out there on your own.’
As if I didn’t know. More than eight years of loneliness, day in, day out, and having to leave my son to go to work, cursing Mark for leaving me all alone to fend for our child while he’d gone God knew where, but mostly for depriving Danny of his father.
So now I’d like to see Sally, and women like her, happy. I’d like something good to happen to her. So later that evening, I pull out my laptop and start looking into company policy on opening a business within the business. Sally would be over the moon.
*
‘How would you like a go at your own beauty corner here?’ I ask her the next morning. Her eyes pop open.
‘Don’t get too excited, just a tiny thing to start with.’
Sally looks around. ‘Here? Is that even possible?’
‘I’ll, er, ask Mitchell to check the company policy. I’m sure chains like this would welcome a chance to earn more money. And it would give you some practice until you were ready to open your own, not to mention a higher salary.’
Sally’s eyes glaze over with tears as she reaches out and takes my hands. ‘Would you really ask him? Would you really do that for me?’
‘Of course,’ I answer. How I am actually going to broach the subject with Mr Tradition, is another story. ‘Just leave it with me.’
*
‘Are you nuts?’ Mitchell says, drumming his fingers on his desk, which to me indicates he’s actually considering it, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
‘Do you know how much that would cost? I’m already down on my numbers as it is. Head Office would have my head. Where the hell do you get all these crazy ideas?’
I shrug. ‘I just think that it would be a great idea. Most hotel chains welcome the chance to make an extra quid. Why wouldn’t ours? I mean yours?’ Oh, if he only knew what HO was up to!
But he’s just glaring at me, oblivious of my mistake.
‘Why don’t you at least ask them?’
‘Because the answer will be no.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I know the company policy. They’re not exactly innovative.’
That’s the understatement of the decade. ‘That may be. But could I at least try and talk to them?’
‘You? You think they’d listen? You’re not even an employee.’
Ah, this man is killing me. ‘Well, maybe I could suggest it. They have a suggestions box or something, don’t they?’
He sits back and stares at me, and I can’t tell if it’s wonder for my enterprise or if he’s pissed off at my nerve. ‘They do.’
‘So, what do you say?’
‘Why are you doing this?’ he wants to know.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All these ideas – the crèche, the Christmas tree, and now a bloody spa.’
I shrug. ‘I’m just trying to make your inn a little more successful. I owe it to you, in exchange for your suite, remember?’
He’s studying me, not quite convinced.
‘Plus, Sally is going to night school to be a beautician. She’d be perfect for the job.’
‘Then who’s going to clean the rooms?’
I shrug. ‘You could get someone else in.’ Someone less exhausted. Someone whose heart hasn’t been broken yet. Someone willing to put up with people’s lack of respect. ‘So will you call Head Office?’ I ask as sweetly as possible. ‘For Sally?’
He sighs. More of a groan, really. ‘I’ll call Head Office.’
Bingo. At least he’ll seem proactive and maybe they will get off his back for a while. Although I highly doubt it. Still, it’s a step in the right direction. ‘Thank you!’ I cry. ‘Oh, thank you so, so much!’
‘Rosie,’ he says in a deep, gruff voice. The voice of someone not used to apologising, lest he chokes on kind words.
He lowers his eyes, embarrassed. Oh my God, is he actually blushing? He licks his lips and then, the incredible happens. He grins, and it’s as if the sun has come out on a stormy night, just to tease me with its warmth. ‘Thank you. You’re already making a huge difference to everyone here.’
And then, I can’t help but smile back. Maybe, if we can get along, we do have a shot at keeping this boat afloat after all.
He’s still watching me, his fingers caressing his chin, and I get another glimpse of his tongue as it absently caresses his bottom lip again. His lashes, no joke, are longer than mine when I’m wearing tons of mascara (I’m a natural blonde so need the extra help). He also has wickedly winged eyebrows that are very mobile. He can go from a demonic scowl to a boyish smile in half a nanosecond. Jesus, does he even know how dishy he is, with that square jaw, and the piercing dark eyes?
And then, another sexy grin lights up his face, complete with twinkling eyes – a far cry from the arrogant bastard I’d met in the parking lot.
‘I’m glad,’ I answer, about to reach out and shake his hand, but I’m still not quite sure about him. One moment he’ll be all nicey nicey and the next he’ll turn on me. He’s like the Cornish sky – extremely unpredictable. Not an easy man to please or get along with, to say the least. Because, say what you will, Mitchell is a complicated man.
‘Hey, Rosie?’ he calls after me.
I turn to make a funny face, which dies when I spot the tender expression on his face.
‘The tree looks beautiful, by the way.’
I could say ‘I told you so, Scrooge’. But I don’t. Instead, I smile despite myself. ‘You’re very welcome, Mitchell.’
And then I skip off, before he changes his mind and I say something snarky. Mum always told me you can catch more bees with honey.
*
Later that day, I give my best friend a ring to see what I can do for Sally’s beauty corner. ‘Liz? Can you check the feasibility of having a tiny spa room at the inn?’
‘You need a proper licence, I can tell you that straight away.’
‘Whatever happened to cottage industries?’
‘You still need a licence.’
‘Does the person with the licence have to be the same person running the spa?’
‘Of course,’ she says.
‘Okay, I’ll get her onto it, but can you pave the way for her by sending me the paperwork necessary to apply? I’ll do the rest here on my end.’
‘You really do care, don’t you?’ she asks.
‘I told you I did.’
‘Now I know why I love you so much,’ she says.
‘Thanks, Liz. Me too, you know that. Talk later.’
‘Bye.’
I scribble a note to Sally telling her she needs to apply for a licence when she’s done with her course in the spring and I put it in her pigeonhole. There must be something more I can do to help in the meantime. But I guess the most important thing is to make sure HO doesn’t close them down in the first place.
So I go back to the reviews and reread all the offensive articles and look at my list of the sixty-three bloggers, among which, the corniest-looking, Cummings And Goings: ‘To think that I actually slept their (he sure knows his grammar) makes my skin crawl. If you want to get food poisoning, lice and an STD all in one night, then the Old Bell Inn is you’re (sic) number one choice.’
Jesus. And I thought it couldn’t get any meaner, but then there’s Wanderlust, Jack Kerouac (ha), Lily of the Valleys, The Globe-Trotter (seriously?), Come Sail Away and of course, Come Fly With Me. And that’s when I have a thought, so I pull out my mobile phone and dial Liz’s number again.
‘Miss me already?’ she chirps. ‘It’s only been a couple minutes.’
‘Are you still in contact with that IT guy?’
‘Who, James?’
‘No, not our colleague, the guy you slept with last month.’
‘John?’
‘That’s him,’ I say.
‘FYI, I slept with James as well.’
‘You did? Blimey.’
‘Judge much?’
‘Of course not. Listen, I need you to contact him, not anyone connected to the company.’
‘What for?’
‘If I send you some links to some blogs, can you get him to find the IP addresses for me?’
‘Sure, no problem. I’ll get back to you ASAP.’
‘Thanks, Liz,’ I say and we ring off.
I certainly hope to come to grips with all this, but I have been here for a few days now, and as yet I haven’t managed to find anything, despite the enormous pressure Susan manages to put on me.
So, I decide to look into the inn’s accounts a little deeper. And each time I get the same result. There is some money undoubtedly missing. Has Mitchell bought something somewhere? A house, a yacht? Gold bullion? Has he gambled it away?
I call my go-to girl again. We might as well have a live feed. ‘Liz, can you do an in-depth search on the inn’s accounts for me?’
‘You think he’s skimming off the top?’
‘I don’t think so, but I just can’t explain the fact that there is money missing. I need to dig into his life if I’m going to help him. I can’t ask him directly if I don’t want to blow my cover.’
‘Why don’t you sleep with him?’
‘What?’
‘That’s how I get my info when I need it,’ she says and I can almost see her winking at me. ‘Besides, I’ve seen his picture. I think you are about to have yourself some good old-fashioned fun, my dear.’
‘Liz, really…’
‘I’m serious. He’s really good-looking, if you like that lumber-jack kind of thing, with the light beard and all.’
‘Liz,’ I say in exasperation. ‘Will you please help me?’
‘Sure, I’ll get back to you asap.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Yeah, yeah. And stop calling me, you’re distracting me from my glamorous life at Head Office,’ she mock-groans as she hangs up.
But she is right about one thing. I need to get up close and personal if I am going to make any inroads into my investigation. God, I hate the sound of that word. But personal research is what I need to do. With someone like Mitchell, in a village like Little Kettering, there’s only one way to do this.
*
‘Laura, you mentioned that Mitchell’s wife walked out on him.’
Laura looks at me, thrown by my question, but eventually she nods. I’m glad she thinks she can trust me, but at the same time I feel awful. God, I hate my job. Have I mentioned that before?
‘Yeah. She was a real piece of work.’
‘What do you mean?’
Laura rolls her eyes. ‘She was temperamental. And she had grand designs.’
She also had excellent taste in men. ‘Which were?’
‘She wanted to live in London, but they had just started this job and Mitchell didn’t want to leave. He convinced her to stay, but she hated it. And last Christmas things fell apart and eventually she moved to London on her own.’
Last Christmas, when things started going awry. Of course it was my very first thought. My only solution, really. Is it a coincidence that the money started to disappear when things started to go pear-shaped between them? Could it be that she was taking the money in preparation for leaving him? Was she building her very own nest egg?
My cousin’s wife did that to him a few years ago. No one could believe what she’d done, all the while smiling and inviting us to dinner parties. And then, one day, she just went. She’d been pretending to pay their bills, meanwhile squirrelling everything away into her own accounts. Could Diane have done the same? I don’t know her, but on paper, it sure looks like it. Which would be great, because it would get Mitchell out of Dodge.
‘Does Mitchell give her alimony?’ That can be the only explanation, at this point.
‘God knows. Mitchell never talks about her. If it weren’t for their daughter, they’d never have spoken again. As a matter of fact, I think he manages to ignore her most of the time.’
‘Ah.’
‘Diane was all about money and lifestyle, whereas Mitchell likes to chill out and spend time with his kid. Take her for walks on the beach, rock pooling. Limits her computer time and encourages her to read books. He values a simple lifestyle. It’s never about the money for Mitchell.’
Never about the money. How glad am I Laura has said that? Enormously. Because, the more I learn about this bloke, the more I convince myself of his integrity. I should’ve figured Mitchell was a great dad, what with being so good with Danny.
As I’m musing on this, my mobile shrieks ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ and I hold up a finger to silently excuse myself from Laura.
‘Talk to me, Rosie,’ Susan barks as I’m seeking privacy around the corner. The thought of me working my ass off delights her to no end; I can hear it in her pauses.
‘All is well at the moment, Susan.’
‘Hmmm. No complaints? What about Health and Hygiene?’
‘We have an amazing chef whose food is Michelin quality.’
‘We?’
Shit. ‘I mean “they”.’
‘You sound mighty familiar with those people, Rosie. Remember that an inspector isn’t supposed to fraternise with the management. Read the manual, Rosie.’
Again with the blooming manual. ‘There is nothing untoward here, Susan.’ How in hell will she believe me? Even I don’t believe me. Everything indicates that Mitchell is stealing from the company. His car, his divorce costs, his child’s private education, and even the artwork hanging in his quarters all tell the story of money. But it clashes with his persona. I just can’t see him lying, cheating and squirrelling it away. It’s just not him. Not that I know the bloke, but it’s something I feel in my bones. Can I prove his innocence? Not yet. But I’ll be damned if I don’t try.
‘Did you email me your new report yet?’ Susan asks.
‘Uhm… it’s not ready yet.’ And here comes the shite-storm. Three… two… one…
‘What do you mean, it’s not ready yet?’ she barks with sheer joy. ‘Did I not ask for bi-weekly reports? That’s not very professional now, is it, Rosie?’
This time her pause takes on a menacing tone. With Susan, it’s more what she doesn’t say that should scare you, rather than what she says.
‘Yes, but ongoing—’
‘Do I need to send someone else out there, Rosie?’ she says, the threat in her voice palpable. Now that scares me. I begin to sweat profusely. If she fires me, I’m dead for this industry. I will never be able to work in this field again, even if I’m damn good at it.
‘Haven’t you found the problem yet?’
Meaning, am I ready to fire him? ‘Not yet, but I’ve got a few leads.’
‘Being?’
How can I tell her my suspicions without backing them up? ‘I’m… waiting for—’
‘Okay, so you don’t have any idea what’s going on, then,’ she concludes.
No, I don’t, truth be told, but I sure as hell am not telling her that. I want to get to the bottom of this without anyone losing their job – not Mitchell, nor Sally, nor Jeremy, nor anyone who depends on this establishment for their livelihood.
‘He seems perfectly competent to me,’ I argue. ‘And so does everyone else here. The staff is like family down here. And they all work together so well.’
She snorts. ‘Head Office doesn’t agree. We believe that he has also been stashing money into his own coffers. I want you to unmask him and sack him.’
Again with the sacking. Does this woman have no sympathy whatsoever? I understand this is a business, but whatever happened to human solidarity? I look at Sally, how hard she works to keep a roof over her boy’s head and I want to cry. I also think of Jeremy, whose only dream is to work with his beloved horses. And Laura, who is just about to take a course in hotel management. They’ll all be fired. What are they going to do? Good God, if Susan unleashes her temper and lets them all go, how are they going to survive?
After another few threats, Susan slams the phone down and a small huff of frustration escapes me. These are good people who work hard. They don’t deserve to be sacked. I absolutely have to do something for them. If she fires these people, they won’t have anything else to live on. I just can’t bear the thought. How could Head Office agree to something so horrible? It just isn’t right. When will the world stop belonging to the arrogant people who take advantage of their position?
Laura turns in her chair to look at me. ‘Rosie… what’s wrong?’ she asks.
I surreptitiously dash a hand across my eyes and blow my nose. ‘Catching a cold,’ I mutter.