Page 72 of Too Busy for Love

‘Can I borrow this picture?’ I’d asked. ‘I’d like to see if I can get it enlarged and enhanced and then, if you’ll give your blessing, I’d like to hang it behind the reception desk when we reopen.’

‘I think that’s the loveliest idea ever,’ she’d told me as she’d gently prised the photo out of its mount.

30

‘That looks stunning,’ Ella breathes as the last panel of the new reception desk is carefully screwed into place. We’re opening in just under a month and the advance bookings are already starting to come in.

‘Doesn’t it?’ I sigh happily. Work on The Mermaid has continued at speed and, to everyone’s surprise, we’re actually ahead of schedule. It took a bit of negotiation, but in the end I was able to persuade Abby to let me have a brand-new reception desk made in art-deco style. The wood is dark with a deep lustre, and the inlaid brass pattern contrasts with it perfectly. The craftsman who made it also took care to design the desk so that the flatscreen computer monitors will be hidden from the customers’ view unless they practically climb over the counter, thus preserving the period feel.

Another little detail that I’m particularly delighted with are the key cards for the rooms. BudgetWise had fitted all the bedroom doors with key-card locks, but the plastic cards just didn’t suit the rest of the décor. But, after a lot of head scratching and online research, we’ve come up with what we think is the best compromise. We have a set of brass keys, each attached to awooden tag with the room number engraved on it. They will look absolutely in keeping with the rest of the lobby when we hang them on the hooks behind the reception desk. The clever bit is that the wooden tag is actually the key; guests simply need to hold it against the panel on the door to unlock their room.

Across the lobby, the vintage-style lifts are also operational, looking like they’ve been there since the day the hotel first opened. Sparkling chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, and we’ve even managed to get a new doorstep installed outside, withThe Mermaidinlaid in it in brass lettering to add a bit of extra pizzazz. I’ve spent hours on online auction sites, picking up art-deco knick-knacks for the rooms and public areas. The kitchen is fully installed to Emilio’s exact specifications, and he’s bringing his team down in a couple of days’ time to give it a test run. He’s also assured me that the hiring process for the kitchen and dining room is all sorted. I did meet his head of HR, a somewhat frosty woman who made no bones about the fact she considered Margate to be the back of beyond. After no more than ten minutes examining the space, she hotfooted it back to London and we haven’t seen her since. Apparently, she conducted all the interviews online. We haven’t announced our partnership with Emilio yet, but we’ve got the press release ready to go. The plan is to drop it just over a week before opening to create an extra buzz.

‘Right,’ I say to Ella. ‘Just one more thing to do.’

I carefully extract the framed picture of Reginald and Annie, hanging it carefully on the wall behind the desk, in a gap specifically left for it.

‘That’s such a lovely touch,’ she tells me. ‘Has his daughter gone back to America yet?’

‘Yes, she flew out last week. I think she’ll be racking up the airmiles while the probate process goes through, but she’spacked up his room and got things under way. I never knew there was so much paperwork involved when somebody dies.’

‘It’s a shame he didn’t get a bigger send-off.’

She’s right. The attendees at Reginald’s funeral consisted of Jeannie, a couple of people from the retirement home and me.

‘I think that’s probably what happens when you live to that kind of age. Everyone who would normally come to your funeral is already dead.’

Our somewhat maudlin discussion is interrupted by John, who emerges from the lift, holding his phone out in front of him like an unexploded bomb. ‘Flops, you need to see this,’ he says. ‘It’s just been on the radio news, and it’s breaking online.’

He hands me the phone. The headline of the article isFamous Chef Arrested, accompanied by a picture of Emilio. My pulse starts to race as I read the article, holding the phone at an angle so Ella can see it too.

Acclaimed Italian chef Emilio Marcuso, owner of the Marcuso chain of restaurants, was arrested by the Metropolitan police this morning. The charges against him include tax evasion, fraud and modern slavery. Details at this stage are scarce, but it is alleged that Mr Marcuso has employed a number of illegal immigrants in his restaurants, declaring full minimum wage for tax purposes while paying them a fraction of that amount. All Marcuso restaurants were raided in a co-ordinated sting operation involving several police forces and the fraud squad. We will bring you more details as they emerge.

I’m barely at the end of the article before my phone starts ringing. It’s Abby, of course, and she’s apoplectic.

‘Have you seen the bloody news?’ she explodes as soon as the call connects.

‘John’s just shown me the article.’

‘Is he there?’

‘Yes, Ella too.’

‘Put me on speakerphone. We need to brainstorm this.’

I press the button. ‘I think we can all agree on the first thing we need to do,’ I tell her. ‘We need to cut ties with him.’

‘Whoa, hang on a minute. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?’ Abby asks.

‘No smoke without fire,’ John replies. ‘Big cheese like him, they’re going to make sure their case is pretty much watertight before they move.’

‘And, from our perspective, it doesn’t really matter,’ Ella adds. ‘He’s tainted goods now. Even if he’s innocent, people will suspect him. It’s not good for brand image.’

‘And the last thing we need is my name anywhere near another person accused of wrongdoing,’ I tell her.

This does at least make her laugh, albeit grimly.

‘What is it with you, hotels and criminals?’ she asks.

---