The Northern Lights Lodge Page 2

  ‘You can take a holiday then,’ said Nina.

  ‘You’d have thought so but my boss in his infinite wisdom has decided to give me a temporary posting.’

  ‘You’re not leaving Paris, are you?’ Her pretty mouth pouted and Alex felt another one of those little pangs of regret. Nice guys did finish last. He’d well and truly missed the boat with her.

  ‘Only for a couple of months. Quentin wants me to go and check out a hotel he’s planning to buy. He wants me to assess the viability of the place and put together a report on my recommendations to turn it into one of our boutique hotels.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Iceland.’

  Nina’s mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’. ‘I thought you meant somewhere else in France. Not another country. Well that doesn’t sound so bad. Isn’t Iceland supposed to be beautiful with all sorts of amazing natural wonders? Bubbling geysers, hot springs and glaciers? Being Scottish I’d have thought you’d like the idea.’

  ‘No problem with going to Iceland. It’s the job Quentin wants me to do, which isn’t that great.’

  ‘I thought you said you had to put together a report.’

  ‘Yes, but it includes reporting on the current general manager and how the place is being run without telling them who I am. It doesn’t sit right with me. The last thing I want to do is be a spy.’

  ‘James Bond,’ said Nina, sitting up straighter. ‘You’ve got the Sean Connery accent.’ She launched into a dreadful impersonation of his Edinburgh accent. ‘Ah Moneypenny.’

  ‘Well, that must mean I’m qualified,’ Alex quipped, amused by Nina’s enthusiasm, his spirits temporarily lifted.

  He was still rattled by the meeting and the conversation with his boss when he’d raised a certain disquiet about not telling the manager why he was there. His boss’s response to that had stung. ‘Thing is Alex, nice guys finish last. This is business. Pure and simple. I need someone to report back, warts and all. Without anyone sugar coating it. It’s far easier if the staff don’t know who you are. I’m not hearing great things about the management of the place. The recent TripAdvisor reviews have been shockers. With you on the ground, I’ll get a much better picture. You’ve got a good eye and you’ll be able to tell me what needs doing to sort the place out, what the staff are like and whether I can keep them or fire their sorry arses.’

  The ‘nice guys finish last’ bit kept going around in his head. What was wrong with being a nice guy? Besides, he could be tough when a situation needed it. Last week he’d thrown a customer out of the hotel’s a la carte restaurant for pinching one of the waitress’s bums, faced down a belligerent delivery driver, who reversed into the hotel gates leaving a hole big enough to drive a herd of cows through, and fired the pastry chef he’d caught hurling a frying pan at the young, barely out of school, bus boy.

  ‘Alex is going to be James Bond,’ announced Nina as Sebastian walked in and put his arm around her placing a confident, lazy kiss on her lips, completely ignoring Alex.

  ‘Hi gorgeous, mmm you taste of raspberries and deliciousness.’ He went back for a second longer, lingering kiss, which had Alex rolling his eyes.

  At last Sebastian drew back from Nina and turned to face him. Alex’s mouth twitched, he’d got the message loud and clear.

  ‘Bond, James Bond?’ Sebastian lifted a perfect Roger Moore eyebrow.

  ‘No, Nina’s exaggerating my undercover credentials. I’ve been asked to do some recon work. Quentin Oliver is looking at buying a place in Iceland and as I’m between hotels at the moment, I’ve been asked to go and survey the place. On the ground as it were.’ Sebastian would laugh his head off if he mentioned he was thinking of going undercover as a barman!

  ‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Sebastian with a sudden grin, which Alex could guess had a lot to do with how far away Iceland was. Although he needn’t have been worried, Alex had backed right off when he realised that Nina had been in love with Sebastian since she was eighteen. For a second, he wondered what might have happened, if he’d put up more of a fight for her, if he’d really thought he had a chance. Had he bowed out because it made it easier on Nina?

  As he thought about it, he gave Sebastian a broad smile, maybe the best man had won. Nina adored Sebastian and she was good for him. Possibly too good. But Alex had never seen Sebastian so settled and happy.

  ‘I have no problem with going to Iceland. Like Nina said, I’m used to a northern climate. It’s the undercover element of it I’m not so keen on.’

  ‘Why not?’ Sebastian shrugged. ‘You need to remember it’s business. It’s easy to be ruthless when something you really want is at stake.’ Was there a knowing look in his eye as he stared at Alex?

  And then he flashed Alex a warm, approving smile. ‘There’s no one else I’d rather have on the team, mate. I know why Quentin Oliver’s asked you. Better that it’s you. You’ve got integrity and you don’t bullshit anyone. You don’t suffer fools that’s for sure. If the current manager is an idiot, are you seriously going to have a problem reporting back on that? You hate coasters and people who don’t pull their weight. If this guy is any good, he’s got nothing to worry about.’

  Chapter 3

  ICELAND

  Lucy’s thoughts came back to haunt her as she stood outside the firmly closed front doors of The Northern Lights Lodge, in total darkness, her breath huffing out in a great cloud of white as the cold nipped at every last one of her extremities. This was a terrible idea. Why had she listened to a perky recruitment consultant with her eye on commission? Why hadn’t she remained in Bath with Daisy?

  She almost laughed out loud, mild hysteria threatening to take hold of her. Because you were desperate. You knew it was a terrible idea and you were right. You should have trusted your own instinct.

  Blinking furiously, because bloody tears were not going to help, she hammered on the door for the third time, stupidly crossing her fingers, as if that would help, and praying that someone would answer. Why had she let the taxi driver drop her at the bottom of the path? She should have made him wait but no the taxi had roared off, twin brake lights vanishing into the distance leaving her totally alone. On the journey here, she’d seen two cars. Two! Both going the other way.

  Why hadn’t she stayed the night in Reykjavik?

  With a shiver, she glanced around into the total blackness, the only light from her phone. There was absolutely no sign of life, not human anyway. As she got out of the taxi, after a two-hour drive in the pouring rain ‒ it hadn’t stopped raining since the plane landed in Reykjavik three hours ago ‒ there’d been a low growl to her left and the glow of yellow eyes when she swung the torch on her phone in that direction. Did they have wolves in Iceland? The pathetic beam of light caught the flash of a tail as something slunk away which made her extra wary as she’d traipsed up the path, picking her way over the stones, her suitcase complaining with each jolt and dip.

  Now standing outside the wooden doors trying to peer through the side lights, she could see the place was in complete darkness. Above her she could hear the rustle of the grass on the roof or was that more creatures lurking. There were far too many Lord of the Rings images dancing fancifully in her head. With a last burst of energy, she wrenched on the ornate iron scrolled door handle, with that fruitless bang-your-head-against-a-wall hope that she’d got it wrong and the door had been open all along, even though she’d tried it umpteen times already. So much for everyone leaving their doors open, which she was sure she’d read somewhere about the country. She banged her fist on the door, before looking at her phone and the rapidly dwindling battery. Sinking to the floor, she slipped off her gloves, which weren’t going to cut it in this climate, and phoned the only contact number she had. Mr Pedersen, the hotel owner, currently in Finland, was the man who’d officially hired her, but he’d given her the number of one of the hotel employees. For the second time, her call went straight through to voicemail and this time she listened with growing despair t
o the message in a stream of what she assumed was Icelandic, a volley of harsh syllables and guttural sounds.

  Taking a deep breath and hoping she didn’t sound too panicky she spoke. ‘Hi, this is Lucy Smart from the UK. It’s eleven o’clock and I’ve arrived, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone here.’ She’d sent an email with her date of arrival and had received one back in confirmation from someone called Hekla Gunnesdóttir. Her hand shook, her grip so tight on the phone. ‘I wonder if you could give me a call back,’ she asked with restrained politeness when what she really wanted to say was, ‘Where the fuck is everyone?’

  Of course, she was polite, she thought grimly, she was going to have to work with these people. Making a good impression was imperative. More than a good impression, she needed them to keep her on after the two months. She had to survive at least a year here to make her CV viable again. Besides, she had nowhere else to go.

  Ten minutes later after anxiously watching her phone as she paced up and down to keep warm, the battery died. The rain had stopped which was little consolation as she considered her options, all of which seemed in short supply. One; walk down the road and see if she could find any kind of settlement nearby despite the complete absence of any lights in the near vicinity, two; stay put and hope that someone had listened to her message or three; break in.

  Scudding clouds streamed across the night sky, periodically revealing pockets of a star laden universe. The number of the pinprick lights was astonishing. No light pollution here. Lucy had never seen so many stars and in one brief break in the clouds thought she might have seen a shooting star, although she was so cold, she also might have been starting to hallucinate.

  Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark and the cold had numbed her fingers and toes, she decided to circle the building. Maybe she’d find an unlocked door. With a shiver she walked along the front of the building. How long did she wait before she picked up a stone and broke one of those amazing floor-to-ceiling windows?

  As she rounded the corner of the hotel, the ground level started to fall away quite steeply and she stumbled as her ankles felt the sharpness of the sudden decline but she could however see a faint glow as if there was a light on around the next corner.

  Carefully she began to pick her way down the steep slope, slipping and sliding on loose scree. Each crunch and skitter of stone echoed noisily making her jumpy and disorientated. Every now and then she paused and thought she could hear water lapping but the sound bounced around in the darkness and she couldn’t quite determine where it was coming from. Cocking her head to one side, she listened carefully and took another few steps forward. Ah, wood. She was on some sort of decking and then she stepped into thin air.

  As she stumbled forward, arms flailing like spokes on a spinning bicycle wheel, she registered the glint of water and tensed for the cold as she pitched in face first.

  If it weren’t for the weight of her clothes and the unexpected shock of falling headfirst into shoulder deep water, the warm, no, piping hot, water, might have been quite pleasant, except for the rush of water up her nose and swallowing a great mouthful. Yeuch, Lucy shoved her head up to the surface spluttering and gagging. That was disgusting. Her head felt even colder in contrast to the cosy cocoon from the neck downwards. The heat flooded Lucy’s fingers and ears with sharp pain, like pins and needles, as a flashlight came bobbing around the corner and tracked its way across the stony ground to land full on her face.

  ‘No using the hot springs after nine p.m.,’ called a deep voice, brimming with amusement as the light came closer and closer. Lucy muttered to herself, ‘Kill me now,’ feeling at a distinct disadvantage under the nearing dancing spotlight.

  Her sodden parka had wrapped itself around her like a duvet weighted with rocks, her ankle boots were almost floating away with each step and her jeans had a stranglehold on her legs as she floundered towards the edge.

  ‘Here, there are steps,’ said a second singsong voice with a musical up and down inflection, using the torch to guide her along the wooden edge towards a set of steps that rose up out of the water.

  Lucy put her shoulders back and waded through the water towards the wooden handrail with as much dignity as she could muster given she was close to tears.

  Lights suddenly came on illuminating the whole area. She was in the equivalent of a small swimming-pool sized hot tub surrounded by wooden decking, with two sets of steps descending into the water. Above her on the side were two figures, wrapped up against the cold night air.

  ‘Are you alright?’ asked the taller of the two, crossing quickly and holding out a hand, stepping forward to grasp her arm and help her counter balance the weight of her ten-ton coat.

  Kind eyes, thought Lucy as she caught a glimpse of concerned brown eyes above a tartan woollen scarf while she let him haul her up the steps.

  ‘Let’s get you inside quickly before you start to chill down. That heat isn’t going to last long.’ Kind voice too. The slight Scottish burr was soft and gentle, a rather wonderful contrast to his firm and decisive hold as he pulled her forward and steered her off the decking.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, subtly shaking off his grasp, even though for some contrary reason she didn’t want to. Kindness had been in short supply in her world for a while. ‘I’m fine,’ she added, with more of a sharp bite to her voice. After everything she’d been through this year, she was never taking anything at face value again. Kind was as kind did or whatever the phrase was.

  ‘I’m Alex.’ The man’s hand still hovered by her side as if ready to catch her. ‘And this is Hekla. I’m so sorry there was no one to check you in. We weren’t expecting any guests today.’

  ‘No. It is most strange. Did you have a booking?’ asked Hekla, in her glorious musical voice.

  ‘I’m not a guest. I’m…’ Lucy swallowed. No crying. Dripping from head to toe had put her at enough of a disadvantage as it was. ‘I’m the new manager, Lucy Smart.’ Automatically she lifted a business-like hand and then dropped it quickly as she realised how ridiculous it must look, with water dripping from her sleeves.

  ‘Oh!’ The girl’s voice echoed with surprise. ‘But you are not expected until next week.’

  ‘Everything was confirmed by email,’ said Lucy, her words quick and sharp with sudden panic, not wanting them to think she was disorganised or all over the place.

  ‘But we had a phone call yesterday saying your plans had changed and you would be coming next week.’

  ‘Well that wasn’t me,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Must be the huldufólk making trouble,’ said Hekla with a straight face, nodding. ‘But you’re here now and we’d better get you inside, quickly,’ she paused and then added with a mischievous twinkle that once upon a time Lucy might have been charmed by, ‘it is usually best to wait until daylight before using the hot springs.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting to get inside for the last half hour,’ muttered Lucy, wincing as her feet splish-sploshed on the wooden decking, the water squelching out of her favourite boots and great clouds of steam rising from her sodden clothing. Just bloody marvellous. These people were clearly her new colleagues. So much for making a good impression from the start.

  ‘But the door is open,’ said Hekla. ‘It’s always open.’ Her stalwart, sure declaration made Lucy feel doubly stupid. The door had definitely been locked. Hadn’t it? She was sure. She’d tried everything.

  ‘Well it wasn’t today,’ snarled Lucy in a heartfelt undertone. ‘Why else would I would be wandering around in the dark, trying to find my way in?’ The door had definitely been locked. Her sharp rebuttal was ruined when she slipped on the decking. She pinched her lips and ducked her head as if concentrating on her footing feeling unaccountably tearful all of a sudden.

  ‘Hey, let me give you a hand,’ Alex’s voice lowered, his tone gentle. She jerked her eyeline to meet his. Warmth and compassion lit those kind eyes as he took her elbow. For what seemed far too long they held hers with a serious steady gaze, as if h
e could see right through her to the constant shadow of misery that resided in her chest. When he gave her a reassuring smile, his eyes never leaving her face, she felt a funny salmon leap in her stomach.

  Sense warred with self-preservation and much as she wanted to shake off the firm gentle support of his arm, that prickle of awareness had unnerved her. Lucy let him guide her back up the slope, trying hard not to like the feeling of letting someone else look after her for a change.

  Slightly open-mouthed Lucy peeled off her soggy clothes, gazing around the cosy apartment room as she curled her toes into the soft fluff one of the sheepskin rugs dotting the wide-planked honey-coloured wooden floor. This was some staff accommodation and the bathroom was to die for. Steam was already billowing from the huge walk in shower with its bucket head sprinkler.

  Hekla, who with her flaxen hair clearly came from Viking Princess stock, had ushered Lucy through the hotel leaving her with an impression of wooden beams, airy, wide spaces and huge plate glass windows. Her new colleague was talking nineteen to the dozen disclosing a barrage of information, only some of which Lucy took in. Alex was the head barman. Hekla was the assistant manager. The hotel was half full, or was that half empty? The northern lights season was about to start. Other names, some of which sounded as if they were straight from Norse mythology, were mentioned; Brynja, Olafur, Gunnar, Erik, Kristjan, Elin, Freya.

  Lucy padded into the bathroom that was, thankfully, beautifully warm. It had a distinct, luxury designer feel to it with its rustic wooden shelf holding a round sink, black floor tiles and a big square shower cubicle.

  She stepped into the hot shower and let her head droop as the delicious hot water rained down on her wet hair. Way to go Lucy. How to impress your new colleagues. Why had they’d thought she was coming next week? They must think she was a complete flake. She couldn’t have got the date wrong, could she? Admittedly she’d been all over the place recently and her once famed organisational skills had done a bunk in the last few months, but getting the date wrong? No, she couldn’t have done. And the door had definitely, definitely been locked.