Page 43 of Another Lucky Number

‘Fine.’ She gives in. ‘We’ll see you at lunch.’

‘Sure… if I don’t die of embarrassment before then.’ I give a last hopeless shake of my head and push open the door to the ladies loos.

Chapter Nineteen

Five minutes later, I’ve changed and I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in the toilets (a.k.a. the ladies powder room).

‘Ohman,’ I groan out loud.

The bottom half is inoffensive: a knee length black pencil skirt which almost fits me, but the blouse is hideous – on me anyway. It’s like someone knocked over a bunch of tins of paint and this was the result. I suppose some people pay hundreds of thousands of pounds for this kind of design when it’s on canvas, but when the canvas is a fair-skinned Scottish woman, whatever appeal there is becomes quickly lost. It’s also about three sizes too big for me, causing it to billow around my waist like a poorly erected tent.

Swallowing thickly, I drag my horrified expression away from the mirror and pick my way across the atrium with my legs feeling like they’re no longer attached to my body. I can’t bear to make eye contact with anyone around me.

‘Ah, there you are. This way, Emma.’ Charnice, who looks a million times better than I do in the uniform, gestures for meto walk through a door to the left of the solid wood reception desk.

I pull it open, make my way through the small office and back out again into the space behind reception.

‘Are you OK?’ She asks me. ‘You look a little… unhappy.’

‘I’m fine,’ I reassure her, fully aware that this isn’t her fault and also not wanting to disrespect the important role she plays in the effective running of the resort. This is definitelynotabout that.

‘Shall I tell you a bit about the resort and what I do while we have some quiet time?’

‘Sure, sounds good.’

‘This is where all of the guest reservations and information is held.’ Charnice gestures to one of three computers in a row. ‘We have an active record of everyone staying with us, as well as information on upcoming and past bookings. Normally there is at least two of us here, but my colleagues are in a meeting just now.’

I peer at the screen with growing interest. ‘You’ll have an active record for me then.’

‘Yes. Let us look you up as an example so I can show you.’ She taps my surname into the search field.

‘Wow, you remember my surname? That’s impressive. I suppose it’s your job to know who everyone is.’

Charnice looks at me and smiles. ‘Shall I share a secret with you?’

‘Go on.’ I lean in, thinking she’s about to pass on some amazing memory trick that I can use in the future.

‘When your friends asked if you could come and work with me this morning, I looked up your details and memorised them.’

‘Aha. And there was me thinking you had a photographic memory or something.’

‘Sadly, no. I would love to be able to address every guest byname, but we have around four hundred checked in today alone.’

‘That’s a lot of people.’

‘It is,’ she says. ‘I do know the names of some guests: those who return to us regularly, but that is all.’

She clicks out of my information, then gives me a demonstration of the room allocation system, along with an overview of the resort from an operational perspective. After a few minutes, an older couple, perhaps in their sixties, approaches the desk. Their clothing and the hand luggage they’re carrying make it obvious that their stay has come to an end.

‘Good morning, sir, ma’am,’ Charnice greets them. ‘You are checking out?’

‘Unfortunately.’ The man, who has a southern English accent, gives a despondent sigh. His wife looks equally flat.

‘Have you enjoyed your stay with us?’

‘It’s been wonderful. Will be a shock returning to normal life, won’t it, Betty?’

His wife nods.

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