Page 31 of Too Busy for Love

As if to emphasise how unremarkable my arrival is, he turns his attention to the newspaper that’s lying open on the kitchen table, turning the pages until he finds the crossword and grabbing a pencil from the pot on the windowsill behind him. Flicking the kettle back on, I pull a mug out of the cupboard, add a teabag and I’m just about to retrieve the milk from the fridge when my mother bustles in.

‘Beatrice, what were youthinking?’ she exclaims.

‘Sorry?’

‘Not only did you use the guest entrance, but Mrs Evans informed me that you also shared a taxi from the station. Do you have any idea how inappropriate it is to accept hospitality from our guests? Especially as she nearly recognised you. I thought we agreed you were going to keep a low profile.’

‘I tried, but what was I supposed to do? If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably still be at the station.’ I glance angrily at Dad, but he’s oblivious, his nose firmly in the crossword.

‘You might as well have stuck a banner on the hotel announcing your arrival,’ Mum scolds. ‘Heaven help us if that woman puts two and two together. Please tell me you paid your half of the fare, at least.’

‘No. She offered. She said she could claim it on expenses.’

‘It’s still not right.’

‘Nice to see you too, Mum,’ I mutter sarcastically.

‘Don’t be like that. Of course we’re pleased to see you, darling. It’s just that the manner of your arrival was ratherunorthodox, and it threw me. How are you? You look like you’ve put on weight.’

I sigh. I wasn’t expecting the red-carpet treatment, but this is a new low, even for them. The shorter my stay here, the better.

11

I was first put to work in the hotel the day after my thirteenth birthday. Mum and Dad had researched it carefully to make sure they weren’t falling foul of any laws and, to be fair, I didn’t mind. I started as a pot washer, but I graduated to preparing the rooms for the arrival of guests over the summer holidays. I loved it, and I took a great deal of pride in my work. They also paid me fairly and monitored my hours to make sure that I wasn’t working more than I should be. As I grew, they gave me more responsibility and I was a regular behind the check-in desk by the time I went away to university. It’s therefore no surprise that I’m expected to pitch in now that I’m back; in fact, I’m delighted to have something to do. What is a surprise is that Mum is studiously avoiding giving me anything that might bring me into contact with actual guests.

‘It’s for your own good,’ she told me firmly when I asked about it. ‘I’d hate for a guest to recognise you and say something nasty. We got away with it once; best not to tempt fate.’

What this means is that I’m back at the bottom of the heap, cleaning rooms and preparing them for guests, sorting out laundry and stuff like that. Although I don’t mind the work, itdoes mean that I have quite a lot of downtime in the evenings. Normally, I’d be helping to serve dinner, but that’s obviously forbidden, so I’ve largely spent them in my room, sending my CV to various agencies, transferring the pictures from the camera to my phone, scrolling through them and fighting the temptation to message Jock. I did get in touch with a couple of my old school friends who still live locally and we talked about organising a night out, but Mum practically hit the ceiling when I mentioned it to her. I may be an adult, but I’m well and truly grounded while I’m here. Mum’s made it perfectly clear that one of the conditions of me staying is that I remain completely out of sight.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table with Dad when my phone rings on Thursday afternoon. The caller ID tells me it’s one of the agencies I’ve registered with and I nearly drop it in my haste to answer.

‘Beatrice Fairhead,’ I say in my most professional voice. Dad raises his eyebrows, obviously curious, so I slip out of the kitchen and head for my room.

‘Beatrice, it’s Alice from Baxter Associates. Is now a good time?’

‘Yes, absolutely.’

‘Great. I’ve put your CV in front of a number of potential employers, but it seems that finding you a position is proving rather more difficult than I predicted when we spoke at the beginning of the week.’

This is not the news I was hoping for, and my spirits instantly plummet again.

‘Oh? How come?’ I ask. She told me there were loads of vacancies on Tuesday, so I’ll be quite annoyed if it turns out she was leading me on.

‘Your CV is impressive, there’s no doubt about that, but everyone I’ve sent it to is understandably nervous about employing someone with an association to Hotel Dufour. It’s asmall world, Beatrice, and they all know about what was going on there.’

‘But you explained to them that I wasn’t a part of it, didn’t you?’

‘Of course I did, but they’re risk-averse. You know as well as I do that reputation counts for everything in this industry. However, the good news is that I do have an idea, if you’re prepared to think outside the box a little.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I rang a friend of mine at an agency that specialises in providing hospitality on film sets, and she’s got something she thinks might be perfect for you.’

Mum has joined Dad in the kitchen when I walk back in a little while later. They’re trying to act nonchalant but it’s obvious that they’re desperate to find out who was on the phone.

‘I’ve got an interview,’ I tell them.

‘Of course you have, darling,’ Mum gushes. ‘You’re so pretty and charming and clever. Is it one of the big London hotels?’

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