“Now hold up my book and smile… More than that… No, lift your chin so you don’t look pouchy… There, you see, that’s much better.” Marguerite, who had taken charge as usual, was orchestrating the situation like Steven Spielberg. Nodding at Sophie to begin, she called out, “Anyone else wanting their photo taken with me, just form an orderly line over there to the right. Everyone will get their turn!”
Sophie hid a smile and got on with the task at hand, taking care to shoot only from the most flattering angles, as ordered by Marguerite. Resplendent in a bright orange silk dress teamed with zebra-print shoes, Marguerite had actually given a hugely entertaining after-dinner speech. The guests had enjoyed the evening and been thrilled to have the opportunity to meet her. All in all, it had been a good night for the charity.
If less so for Sophie herself; after agreeing to pop in for an hour or two, she’d subsequently been forced to turn down an offer to spend a far more lucrative evening at a silver wedding celebration in Port Isaac. But that couldn’t be helped; you took the work as you were offered it.
By ten thirty, when all the photos had been taken, Sophie was packing away her equipment when she became aware of someone standing behind her.
“Oh, hello.” Glancing around, she saw that it was Josh Strachan.
“Hi.” He paused, as if waiting for more. When it didn’t arrive, he said, “Cross with me?”
“Would it make a blind bit of difference?” Sophie clicked shut the fasteners on the camera case and straightened up. “This is your hotel…well, partly. It’s up to you who you take on.”
“I know.” Josh gave her a measured look. “What happened to your friend? Did she go back to Birmingham?”
“No. Nothing to go back to, remember? She’s still here.”
“Where’s she staying?”
Two could play at being cool. “On my sofa.”
“Has she found work?”
“Yes.” Sophie wondered where this was headed. “She managed to reschedule the interview she’d had to cancel in the first place in order to come here.”
“And she got the job.”
“She did. Excuse me a second…” Waylaying Marguerite as she swept past in a cloud of orange silk and Guerlain perfume, Sophie said, “I can send you tonight’s photos by Monday, if that’s okay.”
“Perfect. Thanks so much for doing this.”
“And I’ve been here since nine, so I’ll email you my invoice at the same time.”
“You’ll invoice me?” Mascaraed lashes batted in surprise. “Oh, no, darling, I’m the guest of honor here tonight! Just send the bill to the charity; they’ll take care of it!”
And she was gone. Sophie suppressed a sigh, because the tiny strapped-for-cash charity hadn’t requested her services and would regard any form of invoice as an expense they couldn’t afford. Which meant she was going to be even more out-of-pocket.
“Where?” said Josh.
“Where what?” Distracted, she dropped her keys.
“Where’s Tula working?”
“At the Melnor Hotel.”
You could tell he was unfamiliar with the name by the way he didn’t flinch. “And is she enjoying it?”
“No,” Sophie said evenly, “of course not. She’s hating every minute. It’s way over on the other side of St. Carys, out on the road to Bodmin, and no one in their right mind goes there.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s an awful drug-infested drinking den for the troublemakers who’ve been kicked out of everywhere else.”
Josh said, “If it’s that bad, why’s she working there?”
“Why do you think? Because Tula’s a grafter who always pays her own way, and anything’s better than no job at all. Plus,” Sophie concluded pointedly, “she wasn’t allowed to work here.”
He looked at her. She looked back at him. He really did have incredible cheekbones. Okay, and a pretty amazing mouth too.
“She’s your friend,” said Josh. “You’re bound to defend her.”
“I’m not defending her. You asked; I’m just telling you the truth. If you’d taken her on, you wouldn’t have regretted it.”
“Ooh, there you are.” Dot came rushing up to them. “Lovely! Have you asked her yet?”
Josh shook his head. “I was just about to.”
“About Tula?” Sophie feigned innocence. “I was just telling him, she’s working over at the Melnor.”
“Oh my goodness.” Unlike her grandson, Dot was entirely up to speed with the situation. “Oh dear.”
“In fact, I’m just on my way over there now to pick her up.”
“I thought she had her own car,” said Josh.
“She does. But by the time she’d finished her shift last night, someone had smashed the passenger window and nicked the stereo out of it.”
“Poor thing, how awful! But maybe that means she might…you know…” Dot looked meaningfully at Josh.
Reading between the lines, Sophie said, “What happened?”
“We took on a French guy,” Josh began.
“Ahem, you took on a French guy,” Dot retorted. “And this morning he didn’t turn up to begin his shift. When I checked his room, he’d packed his belongings and left.”
“Why?”
“Well, he was quite an intense young man,” Dot confided. “Took his wine knowledge very seriously. According to the other restaurant staff, he got rather upset last night when a couple customers pretended to be wine-tasting experts and started banging on about top notes of grilled hummingbird and base notes of panda’s armpit. It seems he felt they were being disrespectful. Anyway, he’s gone.” She didn’t look too distraught about it. Raising her eyebrows at Josh, she waited expectantly for him to speak.
Sophie did too. This was fun.
“Fine,” Josh said at last. “So do you think your friend Tula might be interested in coming to work for us?”
Yay!
“She told me she wouldn’t work for you if you begged her on your knees.”
His face fell. “Really?”
“Not really.” Ha, winding people up was brilliant, especially when they deserved it as much as he did. Watching him relax, Sophie said, “But it’s up to her, not me.”
“Will you ask her?”
“Why don’t we drive over to the Melnor now?” She kept a straight face. “You can apologize first, grovel for a bit, then ask her yourself.”
***
The Melnor Hotel, modern and unlovely, stood on its own outside St. Carys, like the outcast who hadn’t been invited to the party. Music was thudding from the building as they drove into the parking lot to join the scattering of motorbikes, vans, and vehicles with that uninsured look about them. Teenagers in hoodies were hunched along one wall, smoking and swigging out of cans.
“Park over there, under the light,” said Sophie.
“Bloody hell.” As Josh switched off the engine, a fight spilled out of the bar. Scuffling men rolled over in the dirt, yelling and punching and swearing at each other. “Do you want to wait out here while I go in and get her?”
What, and miss all the fun? thought Sophie. Not a chance. She hopped out of the Audi and said, “No way. I’m coming in with you.”
The hotel bar was what kept the Melnor in business. Well, that and the drugs Melvyn and Noreen sold to their customers. The younger ones hanging around outside the entrance were enveloped in a cloud of pungent cannabis smoke. Inside, the bar held more customers knocking back pints. The linoleum floor was sticky with spilled drinks, the lighting came from overhead fluorescent tubes and the nicotine-stained walls were bare. Leaning against this side of the bar were people in various stages of inebriation, Melvyn and Noreen among them. Behind it, Tula was working at the speed of light, pouring fresh pints and clearing away empty glasses while simultaneously avoiding the attentions of the leering bald man attempting to get a good look down her top and defusing an argument between several huge, terrifying-looking drunks.
Alongside Sophie, Josh murmured, “Jesus.”
“Noreen, who are them two?” A scrawny woman had spotted them, and gave the landlady a nudge. “Undercover cops?”
Eyes swiveled in their direction. Among this clientele, Sophie realized they looked as ludicrously out of place as a couple royals—William and Kate, maybe—popping in for a swift half-pint.
Then Tula glanced up from her work and did a cartoon double take at the sight of Josh.