Page 16 of Just the Beginning

Rick shook his head. ‘I had no idea. You always seemed so sophisticated compared with the local girls. Always so stylish and put together. I can’t say I was ever a connoisseur of high fashion, but your clothes always looked fantastic.’

A shocked gasp escaped her. ‘You can’t be serious?’

Rick shrugged. ‘I was a teenage boy from the back of beyond, what did I know? But, yeah, I thought you had it all.’

‘One of the only subjects I really enjoyed at school was textiles because I learned how to sew my own clothes. I would raid the charity shops and look for things I could adapt to fit me or pull apart and create a new outfit from scratch.’ She sighed. ‘When Drew came along, I guess I was all too willing to be swept off my feet. I liked being looked after, and though it shames me to admit it, I liked the idea of money being no object.’

‘I can see why that would appeal.’ He said it more out of politeness than any specific understanding of her experience. There’d been times when he was sure his parents must have struggled with feeding and clothing four voracious teenage boys who’d been on a permanent growth spurt, but Rick had never felt like they’d lacked for anything growing up. Sure, they didn’t jet off on foreign holidays, but that was because his parents had always both worked and the summer was the busiest time in the Quay. And who needed Spain, anyway, when there were miles of golden sandy beaches on the doorstep? Rick had learned to swim and sail and there had always been endless places to explore. They’d built dens in the sand dunes, scrambled up and down the cliffs with no sense of personal danger, until Ed’s accident at least. They’d gone from rock pooling to crabbing to deep sea fishing trips and loved them all.

‘Can you? Because when I look back now, I wonder what on earth I was thinking.’ She shook her head. ‘Truth is I was only thinking about myself.’

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, not sure what to say. It was clear Anya was still wrestling with the demons of her past, and there was nothing he could do to help her with that. ‘But thingshave changed and now you’re thinking about Freya and what’s best for her. Didn’t you say before that she’s all that matters?’

Anya nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. Sorry, I shouldn’t be dragging you into all my drama, you’ve already gone above and beyond, helping me find a job so quickly.’

Though he didn’t like to hear her talking herself down, Rick couldn’t deny he was relieved at the opportunity to turn the conversation back onto safer ground. ‘Like I said to you on the phone, it’s the best of both worlds. It gives you a bit of time to settle in and it helps Davy carry on working, which is what he wants to do.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll be much of a help, but I’ll give it my best shot.’ Not exactly a statement of confidence on her part, but at least she was willing to give it a go.

‘Great. And don’t worry about Uncle Davy; you’ll find a way to handle him, I’m sure. Now, speaking of helping, shall we have a look at your cook books and see if you can find an idiot-proof recipe for me?’

10

Two weeks on the job and Anya was ready to quit. Rick’s prediction that she’d find a way to handle Davy hadn’t shown any sign of materialising so far, and she felt almost as out of her depth as she had when she’d had to learn the hard way how to manage all the accounts and bills at home after Drew died. It didn’t help that Davy had very specific ways of doing things, some of which he’d clearly been doing since he’d opened the hotel in the years before computerisation.

Anya glared at the battered red leather ledger open in front of her. The post book, Davy had called it as he’d dropped it on the desk on her first day. Every item of post that arrived had to be logged in it and then she was required to sit with him while he decided what needed to be done and write down that instruction in one column and then update it when the action had been completed. On the opposite page to the post records, she was required to write down every phone call and every guest request and again update the action taken column when it had been dealt with. Steve, the night manager, had no truck with the book and left sticky notes on the inside edge of thedesk with any messages, so it was Anya’s first task of every day to transfer them to the book.

And then there was the diary that had to be filled in with any bookings she took, even though there was a perfectly adequate electronic system. Anya’s second job of the day was to go through the computer and check to see if Steve had added any bookings overnight, or if anyone had booked directly via the internet.

When she’d suggested it seemed like a waste of effort to duplicate everything, Davy had given her a ten-minute lecture about a bad storm in the seventies that had left the Quay without power for a week. It had been on the tip of her tongue to point out that the grid would’ve been updated in the past fifty years and no one would want to stay in a hotel without any power anyway, but she’d decided to keep her mouth shut and do as she was told. She needed the job too much to start making waves and at least the repetition gave her something to do other than supply Davy with endless cups of tea, which appeared to be one of her other main duties.

The amount of fluid he consumed in a day was staggering; just thinking about it made Anya cross her legs. And, of course, Davy wasn’t a dunk-a-bag-in-a-mug kind of tea drinker. He insisted on a pot being brewed with properly measured out loose tea. Fed up of getting a mouthful of bits in the dregs of her cup, Anya had brought in her own supply of tea bags and hidden them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet that Davy had allocated to her.

Right on cue the whoosh of the revolving door caught her attention and in came Jim the postman.

‘Morning, Anya! Bloody filthy out there; you’ve got the right idea staying inside today!’

Jim had greeted her like a long-lost friend on her first morning,though she was pretty sure they’d never met before, and he wasn’t the only one. Most of the people she passed in the street greeted her by name, even though she had no idea who half of them were. Obviously the local gossip network had been engaged and everyone knew about poor Ryan and Helen’s niece. She shoved aside the thought; she had no time for a pity party. Moving to a small village had its ups and downs and, as she hadn’t had any choice in the matter, there was no point getting her back up at the idea of everyone knowing her business. It was just the way things were in the Quay.

Turning her attention back to Jim, Anya finally registered what he’d said and frowned past him to see heavy rain battering the pavement outside. The large stone portico kept the front of the hotel sheltered so she hadn’t noticed the change in the weather since she’d arrived an hour earlier. ‘Goodness me, it’s raining cats and dogs out there.’

‘Joys of the English summer,’ Jim said, chuckling like he’d told her the funniest joke in the world. ‘Here you go, love, not too much today.’ He plonked a small stack of envelopes on the top of the counter. ‘How’s his lordship this morning?’ he asked, looking past her to the open door of the office where Davy was lurking, doing whatever it was he did to keep himself busy all day. The banter between him and Davy had a pattern to it and Jim had added Anya into the routine without hesitation.

‘Grumpy,’ she said, not bothering to keep her voice down.

‘That’s because you stewed the bloody tea again,’ Davy growled. ‘If you don’t buck your ideas up, you’ll be out on your ear.’ It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened her with the sack in her short employment, not even the second or the third. The first time he’d said it, she’d apologised so much he’d ended up telling her it was only a joke. Not exactly her idea of amusing, but she was starting to learn that Davy’s bark was much worsethan his bite and he actually seemed to like it when she pushed back.

‘Give the poor girl a chance, Davy!’ Jim protested. ‘It’s a miracle you’ve found someone who’ll put up with you.’ He winked at Anya. ‘Right, best get on, no rest for the wicked and all that. See you later, Davy!’ He called out the last bit in a louder voice.

‘Not if I see you first!’

Beaming from ear to ear, Jim tugged up the hood of his bright red jacket and stomped off and out into the squally rain. His top half might be protected but his shorts-clad legs had been left to fend for themselves against the elements. Was there something in the post office contract that stated all postal workers were required to wear shorts whatever the weather, because it had been the same at home, though she’d never learned the name of the chap who’d delivered their post even though she’d given him an envelope every Christmas with a card and a twenty-pound note in it.

Speaking of contracts, she still hadn’t signed hers yet. She’d arranged to have lunch with Chloe in the café and she and Issy were going to look over it with her. As Rick had predicted, they hadn’t said anything other than of course they’d be happy to do it when she’d plucked up the courage to ask them via the WhatsApp group Chloe had set up. They’d invited Kat to join them but she’d declined, saying one of the baristas had quit with no notice, so her dad was short-handed. If Gavin Bailey was anything like Anya remembered, he was short-tempered too. Which was probably why the barista had walked out.

Anya reached for the envelopes and sorted them so they were all face down before slitting each one open at the top using the ancient letter opener Davy had presented to her like he was bestowing some great honour. She pulled out each bit ofpost, stapling together any loose pages and paperclipping the envelopes to the back of each item. Davy had shown her exactly how he liked the post to be presented, and again it had been easier to go with the flow than raise any arguments. She eyed the dreaded ink pad, one thing she was determined to get rid of because it was impossible to use without getting red dye all over her fingers, then turned the dial on the date stamp and proceeded to stamp up each of the half-dozen letters. Most of them were bills and invoices. Once she’d written each one up in the book she’d have to go through the email inbox and see if anything had come in that way, print it off and add it to the book. She might not have much, if any, work experience but even she could organise an inbox better than what she’d seen so far. She would give it a few more weeks to really find her feet before making any suggestions. In the meantime she would get on with it and be grateful she had a job.

The storm had blown out as fast as it had blown in and bright blue sky greeted Anya when she left the hotel for her lunch appointment. There were plenty of people about, most in T-shirts but a few were still wearing lightweight waterproof jackets as though expecting to be caught out again. The ocean beyond the harbour walls spoke of the earlier winds, the tops of the waves still ruffles of white. Colourful sails stood out against the blue-green of the water and she could hear the faint zip of engines from a pair of jet skiers carving circular wakes.

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