Читать книгу The Northern Lights Lodge - Julie Caplin - Страница 10

‘He’s very cute,’ observed Hekla, showing Lucy into the guest lounge she’d glimpsed briefly last night.

‘Who?’ asked Lucy, pretending she didn’t know who was being referred to.

‘Alex. The barman. Very cute.’

‘Mmm,’ responded Lucy, with a non-committal twist of her lips. ‘I hadn’t noticed. How long’s he been here?’

Hekla gave her a startled look but Lucy lifted her chin with the regal tilt she was known for … rewind … had been known for. Once upon a time, her reputation for being a boss you wouldn’t mess with preceded her.

‘Only two weeks. I don’t think he plans on staying long either. I think he’s just passing through.’

Lucy had met plenty of people like Alex in her career. Always on the move, travelling around the world. The hospitality industry relied on people like him.

‘Shame, because he’s very popular with the guests,’ said Hekla with a sly grin. ‘Perhaps you could persuade him to stay longer.’

Lucy shot her a quelling look as if to say ‘you’ve got the wrong person here’.

OK, so you couldn’t miss how cute Alex was, in fact he probably had the monopoly on cuteness with those warm brown eyes and the super cute crinkles around them. Lucy was driven not blind, but for the next two months her focus was going to be on being the very best manager The Northern Lights Lodge had ever had, so that Mr Pedersen would be begging her to stay and she was not going to be noticing anyone no matter how … ‘Oh, Oh, Oh!’

Her thoughts were brought to abrupt standstill by the spectacular view showcased by a run of floor-to-ceiling windows which took up one entire wall of the room.

‘Wow,’ she breathed, crossing to the window. ‘This is…’ Directly below was a steep drop and it felt as she were in mid-air. Some clever architect had designed the building to maximise the views and the contours of the hillside. Away to the right the rugged coastline snaked away disappearing behind a slender spit of land that poked out like a snake’s tongue, topped by a series of pillars of rocks that in this light looked like ancient rough-hewn chess pieces. To the left, folds of crag-topped hills filled the skyline each getting bigger and bigger until they finished in a majestic snow-capped peak. No wonder people believed in elves and trolls and other mystical creatures. There was definitely a Lord of the Rings sense of sorcery about the landscape. It was easy to imagine cloaked horseback riders racing across the meadows down by the sea. With that longish dark hair, Alex had a bit of the mysterious Aragorn about him.

And where the heck had that thought popped up from? Focus, Lucy. Last night’s northern light display had messed with her head, she decided.

‘We will have snow this week,’ said Hekla following Lucy to the window as they looked out at the heavy white clouds which were broken up by patches of blue that allowed sunbeams to dance across the sea making the waves glisten and sparkle.

Lucy turned back to survey the room, frowning slightly, her eyes scanning the polished wood floors and colourful rugs and the high beams criss-crossing the apex of the roof. The stylish sofas with their beech legs and deep teal blue upholstery were the same ones she’d seen on the hotel’s website, along with the numerous lamps casting a soft light in the room. But something was missing. It took her a second to work it out. Where were the cosy throws and inviting cushions? What had happened to the books and carved sea-birds arranged on the low open shelves? Perhaps the previous management had brought them in as window dressing for the photo shoot…

‘I think we should get some throws and cushions to put in here,’ she said, wishing she’d thought to grab a notepad and pen from the office. ‘You know, more hygge?’ Back in Bath, Daisy had been obsessed with the Danish way of keeping cosy and had a fine collection of soft furnishings as well as a special pottery mug for the expensive China tea she treated herself too.

Hekla’s face brightened. ‘We have huggulegt here in Iceland.’ She turned a slow circle in the room. Then she frowned. ‘There were some,’ she rubbed her fingers together and then stroked the fabric on the sofa, ‘very luxurious cushions.’

‘Velvet,’ suggested Lucy, remembering the jewel bright colours from the pictures.

‘Ja, that’s right. Lots of velvet cushions and colourful throws. I don’t know what happened to them.’

‘Oh, this is lovely,’ said Lucy, distracted by the beautiful shine of the burnished chestnut wood of semi-circular bar in the next room. A young man glanced up from his task of putting away glasses on the shelves suspended above the bar. Behind him on the stone wall, stylish shelves of varying lengths were offset at different points and on each one bottles were arranged in attractive groups, interspersed with little pots of herbs in polished brass planters that glowed in the subdued lighting.

‘This is Dagur. Dagur, this Lucy, our new manager.’

‘Hi, welcome,’ he said, a quick, easy smile lighting up his pale blue eyes as he gave her a brief salute, making her drop the hand she’d been about to offer. It seemed that things here were a lot more casual and less formal than she’d been used to in her previous hotels, not that that was a bad thing.

After a brief exchange, Hekla and Lucy moved on again, skirting through reception down to a cleverly designed glass corridor that linked the main hotel area to another building. Somehow the ultra-modern glass construction, bridging the separate buildings, could have been transplanted from a skyscraper in Manhattan and should have been totally out of place, but worked surprisingly well in the rural landscape.

‘And this is the library,’ said Hekla, coming to a halt in the centre of the room.

‘A library,’ said Lucy, turning a slow three hundred and sixty degrees, her neck tipped backwards as she looked up at the rather grand high-ceilinged room with a balcony all around the top housing shelf upon shelf of books. She looked again, her face breaking into a delighted smile.

‘That is so cute,’ she said to Hekla, pointing upwards. All the books had been arranged by the colour of their spines to create an eclectic rainbow with shades of red, running into oranges, yellows, greens, blues and purples.

‘We Icelanders love our books,’ said a voice from behind them. When Lucy turned a dark-haired, stocky woman uncurled herself from a button-backed armchair, a book in her hand.

‘Hey Brynja,’ said Hekla with warmth. ‘This is Lucy, the new manager. Brynja is one of our receptionists. It’s her day off today.’

‘Hey,’ said Brynja.

‘I love that you have a proper library,’ said Lucy, taking another look at the brimming bookshelves. ‘And so many books.’

‘Ah, it is a big tradition for us. You have heard of the jólabókaflód.’

Lucy shook her head.

‘You would translate it as the Christmas Book Flood, jólabókaflód’ explained Hekla as Brynja nodded.

Lucy grinned. ‘A book flood? Now that sounds awesome.’

‘Everyone gives books for Christmas,’ explained Brynja, her sharp dark eyes flashing with enthusiasm. ‘Lovely to meet you Lucy. If I can help in anyway, let me know.’

‘Thank you. It’s going to take me a little while to find my feet.’

As soon as she said it, both Brynja and Hekla in complete sync looked down at her shoes.

Lucy laughed, realising that despite Hekla’s amazing command of English there were still language and culture differences between them. ‘It’s a figure of speech.’

Brynja nodded, her sharp eyes thoughtful as if she were carefully cataloguing the idiom and adding it to her own personal lexicon.

‘So you weren’t bothered by the huldufólk?’ asked Lucy, thoughtfully realising that Brynja, despite her day off, had not been planning to leave.

Hekla looked awkward again as Brynja gave her an older sister sort of look.

‘No,’ said Brynja with alacrity. ‘I might not believe but then,’ she lifted her shoulders, ‘things happen and then you think that perhaps they do exist and it would be bad to ignore them in case they do.’

‘So,’ Lucy was struggling to get her head around this. ‘What you’re saying is that people don’t necessarily believe in huldufólk but they don’t count out the possibility that they might exist.’

‘Yes,’ said Brynja. ‘That is exactly right.’

Exhausted by handover and introductions overload, along with Hekla’s boundless enthusiasm, Lucy snagged a quick sandwich from Erik, the hotel’s chef. With his huge broad shoulders and brawny frame, he looked an unlikely figure in his whites as he grinned at her from behind a huge bushy beard. When her eyes widened at the size of the half loaf of rye bread stuffed with thinly sliced lamb that he handed her, he let out a belly laugh and a stream of Icelandic, which she guessed translated as she needed feeding up. He wasn’t wrong there. Food had been low on her agenda for months.

Deciding she needed a break and some fresh air, she wrapped herself up in her newly purchased down coat, which Daisy had insisted she buy, and took the still warm sandwich wrapped in foil down to the shingle beach in front of the hotel. She ought to give her best friend a call.

Huddled into her coat, Lucy perched on one of the rocks. The bracing air around her seemed to sharpen her appetite and the delicious smoked lamb sandwich disappeared without touching the sides. It was probably the biggest meal she’d eaten in a long time, although she’d burned so much energy just thinking this morning.

‘Hey Daisy.’ Thankfully she could still tap into the hotel’s WiFi and make a WhatsApp call.

‘Lucy, how is it?’

‘Stunning, interesting … there’s a lot of work to do, but I can do it.’

‘Atta girl, that’s the Lucy I remember. What’s it like then? What are the people like?’

‘So far, so good,’ Lucy said, neutrally. ‘I’ve got an assistant manager, Hekla. She’s … very enthusiastic with a real can-do attitude, which is…’ Lucy refrained from her natural inclination to say irritating, Daisy wouldn’t approve, ‘kind of refreshing.’

‘Ha!’ Daisy laughed. ‘I know you, Miss Organised and Practical. She’s irritating the hell out of you.’

‘Actually … she isn’t. She’s so friendly, she’s made me feel incredibly welcome already.’

‘She sounds adorable.’

‘Mm, not sure I’d go that far but bless her, she works really hard and I don’t think there’s been much in the way of direction over the last year.’

‘Well, if anyone can offer that, it will be you.’ Daisy’s voice held laughter and sunshine but the words made Lucy pause. The quick observation wasn’t a criticism, but it scratched at her. Predictable, organised, Lucy Smart, which could also be read as routinised, unimaginative, dull.

‘I’ll do my best.’ She softened the clipped delivery with a sigh, looking back up at the striking architecture, the combination of modern and traditional blending into the rugged landscape. ‘The hotel is … well gorgeous. It’s got so much potential but it needs a lot of TLC.’ She paused. ‘You should see the guest rooms. You’d love them. So cosy. Honey-coloured wood and then every room has a proper stone fireplace or a wood burner. Loads of sheepskin rugs everywhere and these really pretty woven wall hangings with those Scandinavian love heart patterns picked out in white. I’ve even got a wood burner in my room’

‘Hygge!’ squealed Daisy. ‘Oh I want to come. It sounds gorgeous.’

‘And another reason for my call. Tell me more about the hygge thing.’

‘Ha! I knew you’d come around one day!’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Lucy’s voice was dry with sarcasm, ‘it’s a décor theme I’m thinking of.’

‘Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. It’s a not a décor thing, it’s a mindset,’ she chided and proceeded to give Lucy a good ten-minute lecture all about contentment, well-being and cosiness, which Lucy sucked up without interruption because she thought it would go down well with guests and Hekla. It still sounded a load of old nonsense to her.

‘I’ll let you know how I get on,’ said Lucy, after Daisy insisted on her sending pictures.

‘Cool,’ Daisy laughed, ‘or hot if you’ve got a fireplace. Any nice men you could cosy up with on a sheepskin rug in front of the fire? Mmm. I might have to come over.’

Lucy groaned. ‘Trust you. I’m steering clear of men for a while, you know that.’

‘Lucy, Chris was a dick. Don’t let him turn you into a dried-up old stick.’

‘I’m not. But I’ve got too much work to do.’ She thought of the mental list she was already compiling. Paintwork needed touching up, taking the staff in hand and the cleaning in many places was not up to Lucy’s standards.

‘Apparently there has been a succession of managers. I’m the eleventh in the last year. None of them stayed put for very long.’

‘Until you arrived,’ said Daisy staunchly.

‘Yup, I think I can make a difference here.’

‘Sounds like you might have landed on your feet.’

‘Hmm, I’m not quite sure of that,’ replied Lucy, thinking of her brief introduction to Eyrun, the housekeeper, a slightly scary but diminutive lady of indeterminate age, who’d chased them away when Hekla and she visited the laundry. Eyrun had met them with a stream of angry Icelandic that even Hekla was reluctant to translate. It seemed she ruled her hot, steamy kingdom like an angry troll managing the washing of all the sheets and towels and rarely venturing out of her lair, which wasn’t terribly helpful for someone who was supposed to be responsible for the upkeep of the rooms.

‘It is a bit chaotic. I can’t figure out how the staff rotas have been done, so I’m going to have to sort that out.’ It appeared no one person was responsible for the daily rotas and matching staffing levels with guests checking in or out. Hekla had revealed that often rooms weren’t ready for new arrivals and that she and Brynja had to double up as chambermaids and waiting staff.

‘And if anyone can do the job, it’s you Lucy,’ said Daisy, encouraging as ever.

Lucy sighed. This beautiful, but rough around the edges, lodge was a far cry from what she was used to. At the hotel in Manchester she’d had a chain of command and everything ran like a well-oiled machine. Although The Northern Lights Lodge was lovely, everything seemed to be limping along like a rusty old lawnmower. There was so much she could do with the place but could she achieve enough in two months to persuade the owners to make her contract permanent?