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Romantic Escapes
Romantic Escapes

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Romantic Escapes

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Helpless to resist all that enthusiasm, Lucy allowed herself to be propelled along without complaint to the long glass corridor connecting the two buildings.

Hekla stopped dead, her head tipped back and her arms stretched out wide, almost touching the glass on either side of her. ‘It feels like you’re outside, but you’re not.’ She grinned at Lucy with child-like delight, her arms flapping up and down as if she were making snow angels. ‘Look.’

Outside the snow which lit up the twilit sky, had started falling in earnest with huge flakes floating down like feathers settling on a gentle breeze. In a slow waltz, they danced and whirled, swirling around the glass structure like delicate ballerinas, almost hitting the glass and then at the last second spinning away as if teasing death before they escaped. Entranced Lucy’s looked up through the glass ceiling, the sight almost dizzying, as the concentration of layer up on layer of flakes seemed to be coming down in never-ending torrent strings.

It was like being in an inside out snow globe, she thought, as those less fortunate flakes, doomed to an early eclipse, hit the glass with tiny pfft, pfft sounds, as the ice crystals splatted against the surface.

‘I’ve never seen such huge snowflakes,’ said Lucy in sheer wonderment, as she followed the path of one which she could have sworn was the same size as her hand.

‘Hundslappadrifa,’ beamed Hekla. ‘We have a name for this type of snow. In translation it means dog’s feet snow.’

Lucy clapped her hands in delight. It was the most perfect description. ‘I love that. Although, I guess we won’t be able to go to Hvolsvöllur this morning.’ The snow had settled fast in the last half hour, a good inch already rounding off the edges of the fences and rooflines outside. She’d been looking forward to getting out of the hotel and seeing a bit of Iceland, even if it was only the nearest town twenty minutes away.

‘Of course we will,’ said Hekla. ‘In Iceland, snow doesn’t stop us. Petta reddast.’

‘What does that mean?’

Hekla grinned. ‘I’ll tell you in the jeep on the way.’

Buckled in, cocooned in the warm fug of the car, they drove along the straight road towards the lights of the town glowing in the distance like a beacon.

‘Will we be alright?’ asked Lucy dubiously looking at the thickening layer of snow which was building quickly.

‘Ja,’ said Hekla, with blithe confidence patting the steering wheel. ‘This baby will get us there and back with no problems.’

‘At home, everything would have ground to halt already,’ observed Lucy, thinking of last winter and the mass influx of snow-clad travellers turning up at the hotel in Manchester unable to get home.

‘Ha, this is Iceland. We’re made of strong stuff. Like I said before, petta reddast, it’s a saying we have. Everything will be OK. Living here, we have a belief that we can do things. There is always something to face, the storms, floods, snowfall, ice and volcanoes. It is the land of heat and fire, but we Icelanders, we can do great things. We have self-belief. Remember our football team,’ she turned with a sly smile haunting her mouth. ‘We beat the English, a small team from a country of 340,000 people. Our manger was a part-time dentist.’

‘I remember,’ said Lucy dryly, thinking back to Chris’s cocky pre-match dismissive attitude to the threat of the Icelandic team and his irate howls at the television during the match when Iceland scored two goals to England’s one.

‘It is a positive attitude,’ she cast an arm towards the scene outside. ‘It is hard living here, you have to survive. The Vikings that came here from Europe had to carve out a life. It breeds a toughness but also a team spirit. Together we can make things happen. For example, Elin, believes that she will write and publish her book, Freya will be a great actress one day and Brynja trains for the marathon. All of them believe that they will succeed.’

‘And what about you?’ asked Lucy.

‘One day I will travel. As a child I went to many places with my parents but I want to do what you’ve done, travel to a new country and work in a good hotel.’ Hekla grinned. ‘But I want to make The Northern Lights Lodge, the best hotel before I leave. I’ve lived in many places but this is the place that feels like home. I want people who come here to see how wonderful my country is. I want them to remember their stay here for ever.’

‘You and me both,’ said Lucy. ‘I hope you don’t plan to leave too soon.’

Hekla shrugged. ‘It depends on the new owners.’

‘New owners?’ The words croaked out of Lucy’s throat in sudden alarm. ‘What do you mean?’

Hekla gave her a startled look. ‘You know, the hotel is for sale.’

‘For sale?’ Panic clutched at Lucy, her stomach clenching in fear. A change of ownership often meant a change of management. ‘What now?’

‘Ja, there is a prospective buyer. They are negotiating but Mr Pedersen said that it is likely that things will be signed in December.’

Lucy swallowed hard. December. Her contract was up in December. At her sharp indrawn breath, Hekla looked at her.

‘Don’t worry. They will need a manager.’

‘Yes but…’ Not necessarily me. Now the short-term contract made perfect sense, she realised with a sinking heart. Not the probationary period she’d assumed because they were taking her without proper references but short term because they wouldn’t need her.

‘Petta reddast,’ reminded Hekla gently. ‘It will work out. I think already you have good ideas. You have good experience, ja?’

Lucy nodded. She did have bloody good experience. The best. She could make this work. Maybe she needed to believe in herself, she always had done before. Everything had been fine before that damned video had gone viral, until head office had fired her, before Chris had shafted her so well and truly.

Hvolsvöllur was even smaller than Lucy had expected, the town sitting in a flat vale with a few roads. Red rooved houses lined the roads as Hekla drove through, pointing out where her cousins had lived, an uncle, her school friend’s mother’s house. It seemed as if Hekla knew everyone in town. She knew exactly where to go to buy the coffee machine that had been their principal purpose and within half an hour they were done.

‘Would you like to stop in the tourist shop, Una Local?’ she asked. ‘It has some nice things.’

‘That would be nice,’ said Lucy gloomily. ‘I might have to buy Christmas presents to take home with me.’ Something for Daisy who’d been so good to her this past year and her Mum and Dad who thought this was a great adventure and had no idea what had driven her to make such a radical career change.

Hekla shook her head. ‘Petta reddast. You are an Icelander now. A solution will come.’

‘I hope so,’ muttered Lucy, who until now deliberately hadn’t thought beyond mid-December.

‘It will,’ said Hekla, with what Lucy now thought of her as Viking Princess resilience.

The shop wasn’t the prettiest building, it looked more like a series of three airport hangers, painted red, yellow and blue with a large puffin painted on the front door, but inside the white airy space was filled with well-displayed traditional Icelandic crafts and gifts on little wooden tables. Fairy lights were strung around the ceiling and Lucy did a double take at the sight of a bicycle suspended on its side and the various ornaments dangling from the spokes of the wheels. On the walls, hanging from hangers on hooks, there was a fine selection of the heavy wool jumpers she associated with Northern Europe, the necklines decorated with the familiar Scandinavian knitted patterns, along with woollen poncho style tops, scarves and hats. There were pretty watercolours of puffins, photographs of hardy Icelandic ponies, papier mâché trolls, printed cushions and colourful tea-towels. Everything, although eye-wateringly expensive, was beautifully made and Lucy could have spent a fortune. In one corner there was a Norse Viking figure made of sheepskin, with a knitted helmet around which a couple of tourists crowded taking selfies with lots of laughs and smiles. Even Lucy had to smile at the sight of the big shambling figure.

Hekla had already struck up a conversation with the sales lady as Lucy wandered around. She stopped again beside a display of puffin watercolour pictures. Simple but effective, she thought, they would look perfect in the guest lounge. She picked one up and carried it towards Hekla.

‘You’re going to buy a picture?’ she asked.

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’d really like to display a couple in the hotel, we could direct guests here to buy them, if,’ she turned to the sales lady Hekla had been chatting to, ‘you’d be interested.’

She was interested, in the sort of bite-your-hand-off sort of way that Lucy had hoped for and it didn’t take long for them to sort out a mutually satisfying arrangement that had her humming to herself as they carried three paintings out to the car, with the promise of more to come which could be picked up in a couple of days.

‘Nice work,’ said Hekla, ‘that is a good idea.’

‘Yup,’ said Lucy with a mischievous smile, feeling a sense of achievement. ‘Free decorations for the walls. The guest lounge is lovely but it needs more. We never did ask Eyrun about what happened to the other things.’

‘No, we didn’t.’ Hekla’s airy response made Lucy giggle.

‘You’re scared of her too.’

Hekla tried and failed to keep an innocent face before giggling back at her and nodding.

‘She terrifies me. That’s why you’re the boss. You have to ask her.’ Hekla threw her a challenging glance. ‘Two shots. Tomorrow night.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Tomorrow. We are playing card games in the staff lounge. Drinking games.’ Hekla’s face wreathed in mischief. ‘Dares. If you don’t ask Eyrun, you have to drink two shots.’

Lucy laughed. ‘And what do you do, if I do?’

Hekla shrugged. ‘I guess I have to drink two shots.’

‘Does this happen often?’ asked Lucy.

‘The evenings are long and dark, we like to get together. The card games are Elin’s idea. She and Brynja and Freya are all good fun. And Brynja’s boyfriend, Dagur and Gunnar are so funny. Olafur can be a bit sulky sometimes but then he forgets and he’s nice. And new Alex is fun too and very easy on the eye as they say.’

Back in the car on their way to the hotel, Hekla reminded her of their dare. Lucy shrugged. She’d never backed down from a challenge, even so she was going to have to steel herself for another run in with Eyrun.

‘Eyrun?’ Lucy called, cross with herself for being so timid. She was in charge here for heaven’s sake. Despite the dull rhythmic thud of towels in the huge dryer, there was no sign of the Head of Housekeeping. Lucy let out a small sigh of relief

Was it any wonder Eyrun rarely left her little cave, there was something rather soothing about the somnolent thrum of the dryers? The warm dry air made her feel pleasantly dopey and relaxed and she closed her eyes for a few minutes just letting herself be for a while. Hekla’s positive attitude and talk of petta reddast this morning had given Lucy food for thought. She’d always been organised and successful through hard work and diligence but, before now, she’d never had to face much adversity.

All the angry bees that had been buzzing in her head for so long, keeping her awake at night with their what ifs and if onlys, had taken flight, leaving a welcome nothingness in her head. The cycle of constant recriminations and fear of doing everything wrong that had hamstrung and exhausted her the past year had dissipated for once, and with Hekla’s words taking root, she was thinking about being more resilient. Not letting Chris win. She’d needed to take charge, assert her authority and not just with Eyrun.

When the dryer had finally finished its cycle, the quiet of the Lodge echoed in her ears, so silent and still she could almost hear the soft buzz of the dust and fibres settling.

For a second, she gave into the quiet atmosphere, slouching against a trolley, her head resting on the metal handle.

As she drooped over the trolley, she saw the sliver of light widen as the door opened very, very slowly.

Someone slipped in and with furtive intent looked around, overlooking her in the dark corner. The male figure moved forward towards the other room which housed the huge industrial washing machines and a couple of floor-to-ceiling storage cupboards. She watched as he carefully pushed the door too behind him, leaving it an inch open.

What on earth was he up to? And who was it? Lucy felt uncomfortable spying but as someone in the hotel had been playing unwelcome games, she felt justified even though there’d been no repeat of the dead mice or any other tricks recently. Was she about to catch the culprit in the act? She grabbed an armful of sheets from a nearby trolley to give her a reason for being here and creeping forward to the doorway of the stockroom, she peeped through the gap.

Alex! What on earth was he doing in here?

For a few seconds she watched him as he sifted through a pile of duvet covers, poked at the stack of pillowcases, opened a few cupboards and crouched down to take a closer look at the washing powders and cleaning fluids on the shelf.

Lucy pushed open the door making as much noise as she could.

He whirled round, his handsome face a picture.

Handsome. For God’s sake, Lucy, he’s nice looking, that’s all. But there was a distinct flutter in her stomach.

For what felt like a second too long they stared at one another, with that momentary now what of a pair of gun slingers facing each other.

‘Alex!’ Her voice was an octave too high. ‘Fancy seeing you here? Are you helping out with the laundry now?’

‘No, I was …’ he looked around as if hoping inspiration might jump up and slap him in the face.

‘You look as if you were looking for something?’ she asked, tensing as she realised she was desperate for him to be honest about what he was doing.

‘Er yes … some cloths. For the … er … kitchen. Tea-towels.’

Lucy narrowed her gaze at him, before pointedly looking towards to the room behind them and the shelves by the door, neatly stacked with smaller cloths and tea-towels, used by the kitchen.

Alex flushed, following her gaze. ‘Sorry. Not thinking. Completely forgot. You know what it’s like when you’ve worked in lots of different places. You get a bit confused every now and then.’ His gabbled speech was so unlike his usual cool, collected self, that Lucy almost felt sorry for him until he changed the subject quickly.

‘And how are you finding things?’ he asked in that cool, authoritative yet charming way as if he were the one that was in charge. ‘I hear you’ve promoted Elin.’

‘Yes,’ she said stiffly, wondering what business it was of his. ‘She’s now Assistant Housekeeper. Doing a great job.’

‘Good move.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with a touch of withering sarcasm. Had he forgotten who was in charge here?

He shrugged, with an anodyne smile that irritated her even more.

Why was it that he always managed to catch her at a disadvantage?

‘Is there anything else you need in here?’ she asked desperate to reassert her authority.

‘No,’ he looked at his watch, ‘I must be off.’ And with a quick smile, he sauntered away as if he had all the time in the world.

‘You forgot your tea-towels,’ she called with a triumphant crow, but he’d already left the room. She scowled after him, so much for her taking charge.

Chapter 9

The following morning, Lucy heard the unwelcome words, ‘Hi, I’m Clive Tenterden with See The World Productions.’

She bustled out of the office to join Brynja at the front desk.

‘We have a booking for five.’ He winked. ‘Cribs for my crew.’ He hoicked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Camera man, sound man, production assistant and grip.’

‘Good morning, I’m Lucy Smart, General Manager. Welcome to The Northern Lights Lodge. I understand you’re filming in the area and will be staying with us.’

‘Hey Lucy. Nice to meet you. This is the crew, I’ll introduce you all later. You’re going to get to know us real well over the next few weeks.’

Behind, a group of men and one woman had gathered around a mountain of black boxes and were talking quietly to one another. Alex was helping one of the men with a few cases, doubling up as he was prone to do and helping out taking luggage to rooms.

Lucy nodded smiling even though her cheeks were hurting with the effort. Few weeks? Where was the memo on that one? Was their stay complimentary? At least there was plenty of room. Bookings were still down despite the hideously expensive ads she’d signed off this week in a couple of international travel magazines.

‘I hope you’re going to have an enjoyable stay here. I’ve allocated you some lovely rooms and The Northern Lights Lodge is a great base for exploring the local area. If you’d all like to check in and get settled. Dinner, this evening, is between seven and nine in the dining room. Would you like me to book you a table?’

‘That would be great. Perhaps you could join us for dinner and we can talk about what sort of thing we need from you and the sort of access we’re going to want.’

Lucy stared at the man’s smiley isn’t-this-going-to-be-so-much fun face and tried to adjust hers into professional indifference, although inside she was starting to have the mild signs of a panic attack. Access. What did that mean?

‘You look a bit uncertain, Lucy. Don’t you worry about a thing, once you get used to the cameras, you really won’t know we’re here. You never know it might make you a star.’

Lucy froze. That was the absolute last thing on the planet she ever wanted to be.

‘Cameras?’

‘Well, just the one really but it’ll be right there, in your face.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’

Clive looked at her, a slightly worried frown on his face. ‘You do know we’re filming a fly on the wall travel documentary. Warts and all in an Iceland lodge chasing the magical aurora borealis. In between visiting the top tourist must-see sights, we’ll be filming how a local lodge is run.’

No, she did not know that. The hotel wasn’t anywhere near ready for that kind of spotlight. There was still so much to do. And … it hit her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It all came rushing back. Everyone looking at her. Sniggering behind her back. The lewd remarks. Suggestive stares. Talking about her. It would all start up again. For a minute she thought her legs might collapse beneath her. Her lungs felt tight in her chest and … and she couldn’t…

‘E-excuse me,’ she stammered, waving her hand at Brynja. ‘I n-need to check the … the … C-can you…’

To her relief Brynja stepped forward and smoothly took over, sliding the registration forms towards the man.

She backed away. She needed to get to the office. Needed to breathe. Look normal. She caught sight of one face. One of the crew. Was she imagining it or was he staring at her with one of those don’t-I-know-you expressions on his face? She ducked her head, backed up another step and mercifully felt the door behind her.

Safe in the office, she closed the door with a firm thunk behind her and put her hand on the door leaning over. The room went black and her chest constricted as she desperately tried to suck in air. It wouldn’t come. She tried again. And again. Her head was about to explode.

‘Lucy?’ A voice sounded as if it were coming from a very long way away. ‘Lucy. Are you OK?’

She forced herself to focus on Alex’s voice. Forcing herself inch by inch up the black tunnel. Tight bands held her chest. She gasped, trying to take in another breath that did nothing and another and another.

Hands grabbed hers and led her to a chair, pushing gently, until she sat down.

‘It’s OK, Lucy. You’re safe. You’re fine. Listen to me. You’re OK.’

She felt his hand come to rest on her stomach.

‘Next time you try to breath push out your stomach against my hand as you inhale and try to breathe in through your nose.’

He repeated the words and she tried to make sense of them. Breathe out. No inhale. Nose. She closed her eyes and listened to his voice.

‘Inhale through your nose. Push against my hand. And again. Inhale, push. That’s it. Inhale, push.’

His voice took on a gentle rhythmic monotony which was both soothing and reassuring.

‘That’s it. You’re doing fine, Lucy. You’re doing fine. You’re going to be OK.’

Gradually she felt the panic subside and although her pulse thudded furiously, she felt herself start to settle. Alex’s hand was still lying on her stomach, just above her diaphragm, and his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. She blinked up at him, trying to assimilate everything, grateful for his quiet presence. Through the door she could hear the busy reception, Brynja talking, people laughing and the sound of luggage being wheeled over the polished lava floor tiles.

‘You OK?’

Feeling dazed, she nodded, tears pricking at her eyes as shock and embarrassment set in. Her mouth crumpled as she muttered, ‘I’m sorry,’ with a little hitch to her voice. She couldn’t believe she’d made such a fool of herself. And in front of Alex of all people. The man who saw so much, there were times when she thought he should be running this place. He always seemed so together with that natural easy authority of his.

She sniffed and tried to turn away.

‘Hey,’ his voice resonated with something that made her heart ping in her chest. ‘Don’t cry.’ With gentle hands he pulled her into hug and, although she was not normally one for the damsel in distress routine, for once it was rather nice to bury her head against his chest. And when his arms closed around her, she sank into his warm hold and let the rest of the world and all its problems recede away. There was something rather wonderful about being held. No words, just another body, cocooning her and keeping her safe. Beneath her cheek, she could feel Alex’s chest lift and fall in a steady, reassuring rhythm through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He smelled good, male and clean, with a hint of cedar and sandalwood. She closed her eyes realising this was the first time she’d been held for a very long time. After what had happened, she’d shied away from other people, even Daisy. She hadn’t wanted comfort, she was too angry and humiliated for that. Too determined to put a brave face on things and show the world that she was OK, when inside she was dying of shame.

Breathing in Alex’s scent, she was grateful for his quiet steadiness, the way that he didn’t try and say anything. It demonstrated that gentle confidence he had and the unassuming authority he wore so well. Today he felt like an ancient harbour hewn of stone that had offered shelter in stormy seas countless times and would always be there to do it again. And when had she become so fanciful?

She pulled away and looked up at him. Those amber flecked eyes studied her, solemn and unblinking, radiating kindness and concern.

‘Thank you.’ She tried to summon up a tremulous smile but failed miserably. ‘Weren’t you helping with their luggage?’

‘I saw you needed help.’

‘I appreciate it.’

‘Anytime.’ His grave tone and simple response reassured her. No platitudes. No fuss. No false sympathy, just steadfast silent support as if he knew that was exactly what she needed.

‘Sorry about that I …’ she winced. The whole sordid escapade was still too raw and hideous. ‘I-I…’

‘Lucy,’ he laid a finger to her lips. ‘You don’t have to explain anything.’ He gave her arms a quick squeeze. ‘Can I get you anything? A coffee? Something to eat?’

She took in a deep breath and exhaled, shaking her head.

‘Have you eaten this morning?’

‘No, Mum. I grabbed a coffee.’ Thank goodness for the new coffee machine which had proved a big hit.

‘Coffee?’ Alex said and then tsked.

‘I haven’t had time,’ she protested, horribly aware of her untidy desk directly in her eyeline. Every day there seemed to be more to do.

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