Page 2 of Resisting Mr Black

Saliva fills my mouth and my gut twists with nausea at the mention of his name. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to think about him because whenever I do, it brings all the dark memories from our time together rushing to the surface.

I force myself to focus on the bride and groom in the Orangery in a bid to distract myself from the unwelcome memories pricking at my mind. Her arms are draped around his neck, and they’re gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes as the flash of a camera from across the room captures them in their loved-up state. Happiness and envy prickle at my skin competing for first place, and envy, I’m ashamed to say, is winning.

“Ahhh, Lucy, there you are.”

I’m snapped out of my self-indulgent trance as George, the assistant manager comes bustling up to us. He swipes a hand across his shiny bald head, looking harassed. “Can we have you back on reception, please? It doesn’t look professional.”

“It’s been dead for an hour,” Lucy replies bluntly. “I’m bored stiff.”

“Yes, well even so.” He smooths a hand down his green and white striped tie and laughs nervously. Even though George has basically run the place these past three years, confrontation isn’t one of his strong points. “There really should be someone on reception at all times.”

Lucy heaves a weary sigh, as if to signal she knows he’s right. “Are you okay, George? You seem a little… on edge.”

“Nothing to report here,” he laughs a little too loudly. “I’m tickety-boo. I’m fine, I’m fine.” His voice falters slightly as he forces a weak smile. His bushy grey eyebrows draw together as he turns towards the Orangery as if he’s looking for a distraction, and his eyes light up when he spots the wedding guests. “Ah yes, the wedding.” There’s a surprised note to his voice as if he’d forgotten there was a wedding booked today. “Is everything okay, Sophie?”

“Absolutely perfect.” I give him a reassuring smile and can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. George has always been a fussy, anxious manager, but since we learntof the elderly hotel owner’s death six weeks ago, the future of the place has been uncertain, and he’s worse than usual.

“Wonderful, wonderful.” He clasps his hands together. “It’s nice to see we’ve so many bookings for the summer.”

“Yes,” I agree. “We’re certainly going to be busy.”

It’s not difficult to understand why Gladstone Country Manor is a popular wedding venue. The three-hundred-year old Georgian manor house in the heart of the Surrey countryside provides a scenic setting for weddings with its beautiful period features and manicured, “Capability Brown" designed grounds.

I can only pray that whoever takes over the hotel is able to honour the bookings. Weddings are, after all, the primary source of income.

George’s brows furrow. “Pity we don’t know who’s going to be running the place.” He rubs his hands together. “Anyway,” he exclaims with far too much enthusiasm, “I doubt the whole thing’s been sorted out yet. Wills and things all take time and I’ve not heard a peep about it, so I’ll just keep turning up until I’m told not to bother.” His laugh sounds forced and does nothing to ease my nerves about the situation. It would be awful to have to cancel on all those couples I’ve worked with to plan their happy day. Including Lucy.

George catches my worried look. “I think I’ll go and take a look at the grounds and make sure they’re all shipshape. We’ve not had our usual grounds maintenance team the last few weeks, and I don’t think the new ones are deadheading the roses in the courtyard garden.”

“Bloody hell,” says Lucy as we watch him scuttle off. “He’s a nonstop joy at the moment. Aren’t we all worried about what’s going to happen to the hotel? Aren’t we all worried about our jobs?” Her brows arch. “Not to mention the fact I’m due to get married here very soon. If it wasn’t for the fact we’d lose out on our deposit and I don’t trust anyone else to plan the wedding apart from you, we’d have tried to find another venue.”

I’d be buggered if I got made redundant. My wage only just covers the bills, food, and rent. Okay, so my rent’s not that high, but then I’ve got a matchstick box-size apartment in a cruddy part of Fulham to level it out.

“Anyway,” Lucy breezes. “I’d better get back to my post before Mr Pedantic comes back.”

“I’ll come with you.” I glance at my wristwatch. Three thirty. The photographs will be coming to a close soon and I’ve left the timetable for this evening with reception.

“Ahh yes.” Lucy slaps the palm of her hand on her forehead remembering. “I knew I’d forgotten to tell you something.”

I roll my eyes. In the sixteen years I’ve known her she’s always had a brain like a sieve. “Your phone’s been ringing loads. Magda’s been trying to get hold of you.”

My rent’s paid up to date. What could my landlord possibly need to get hold of me for?

Two

The oak-panelled hallway is darker and cooler, and I can practically hear my body sigh in relief at the change in temperature as my heels click across the tiled floor.

“Yes, I see why I was needed back at my station,” Lucy mutters sarcastically, as she slips onto the chair behind the small oak reception desk. “It’s heaving in here.”

I scoot behind the desk and locate my clipboard. Running my finger down the itinerary for the rest of the day I can see I was right. Photographs are due to end at three forty-five with exterior shots at the front of the hotel. At four o’clock, the wedding meal commences in the Summer Room.

“I’m still not completely decided on what we should all dress up as on my hen-do.” Lucy places a biro in her mouth and chews the lid. “School girls, Playboy bunnies, or nurses. What do you think?”

I frown. She’s chosen each theme to get male attention which she adores, and I hate. “Err, how about none of the above?”

Lucy opens her mouth to argue her point but is cut off by my mobile phone lighting up and vibrating against the desk. It’s Magda. Again. “Please, bloody answer it,” she wails. “It’s been doing my head in.”

“Hi Magda, what’s up?” My brain whirs to try and fathom what the hell it is she wants. In the three years I’ve rented the tiny flat above her florist shop she’s never needed to call my mobile.What the hell’s happened?

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