The Honeymoon Hotel

by Hester Browne

  Caroline had come in specially from Oxfordshire, and Laurence had cancelled a morning’s extended dental check-up to make the only time I had free, in between emailing confirmations of canapé calorie counts to Missy Hernandez and arranging nail technicians. I was secretly relieved I didn’t have time to think too hard about what I was going to say, because my heart was flip-flopping back and forwards on the decision every quarter hour. But I had to do it. I had to.

  ‘If this is about your bonus …’ Laurence began nervously.

  ‘… you’ve picked a punchy time to negotiate it,’ Caroline finished for him. ‘I can’t say I’m not impressed, though. Have you been on another management course?’

  ‘It’s not that.’ I fidgeted with my watch. I’d made notes and gone over and over my reasons, but now Caroline and Laurence were sitting behind the desk, the way I remembered them from my very first interview, surrounded by black-and-white photos of film stars and memorabilia of the hotel’s glamorous past. They’d given me my first chance. They’d supported me and encouraged me. But at the same time, I could see that they’d let the hotel dictate their lives and ruin their marriage, and much as I respected them, I couldn’t let it happen to me. I had to be bigger than my job. I had to have a life outside it.

  ‘I don’t know how to put this,’ I said, ‘but I’ve been offered a promotion, with another hotel. I’ve decided to take it. I’m giving you my notice, starting from Monday. I’ll get this big wedding out of the way first, and obviously I’ll work with my replacement to make the handover as smooth as possible.’

  My confidence wobbled when I saw the shock on Laurence’s face, and the disappointment on Caroline’s.

  ‘But we were going to promote you!’ said Laurence.

  I did feel a twinge of guilt about that; but at the same time I knew the goal posts would have shifted again, come deadline time. They always did, with Laurence.

  ‘You keep promising me promotions but the goal posts always move,’ I said. ‘This job is on the table. With no strings.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie,’ said Caroline. ‘What can we offer you to make you stay?’ She spun round to eyeball her ex-husband, who quailed in his chair. ‘Did you negotiate the bonus for her target? I hope you weren’t mean with it.’ She turned back to me. ‘We’ll double whatever it was. What if we formally offer you the position of manager right now? Because it’s yours.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I said. This was agony. ‘I just think … maybe it’s time I set myself a new challenge. I love working here, but …’ I swallowed. I was on the verge of tears. ‘I need to feel appreciated for what I know I can do.’

  Laurence coughed. ‘You’ve had a hard year, and I know we don’t show our appreciation enough. But, Rosie, you understand this hotel. You bring so much of yourself to your job.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the problem. I feel, Laurence …’ It was all too late. ‘I feel as if you take it for granted that everyone loves this hotel so much that they’ll sacrifice everything for it. Social life, relationships, free time, promotion …’

  I glanced at Caroline. Laurence had lost the one woman who properly understood him because he’d made her put his stupid hotel first, instead of their marriage. And I’d started to turn into an automaton too, telling brides what kind of weddings they should have, to fit the hotel’s demands. Joe had shown me that.

  ‘The Bonneville’s a wonderful place,’ I said, ‘but it shouldn’t be more important than people. Nothing should.’

  Caroline looked taken aback, but then her expression melted into a sad one. Laurence just looked taken aback.

  ‘I understand what you’re saying,’ she said gently. ‘There’s nothing we can say to make you stay?’

  You can make your son come back, I thought. And wave a magic wand. And fill the sky with magic wishing helicopters.

  I didn’t say that, obviously. I shook my head and tried to look like the slick business professional I didn’t feel like inside.

  And then there was a brief knock on the door, and to everyone’s surprise, Joe barged in. When he saw the three of us – particularly me – he stopped but, to his credit, didn’t back out. He stood in the doorway, filling it with his off-duty checked shirt and jeans.

  ‘Oh, here he is,’ said Caroline sarcastically. ‘They seek him here, they seek him there. They seek Joe Bentley everywhere. Where did you get to? There are five dogs back at Wragley Hall missing their walker.’

  Joe shoved his hand into his messy blond hair. It had grown since I’d seen him last; it was falling into his eyes. ‘Yeah, sorry, Mum, I just needed some space.’

  ‘Your mother’s been very worried,’ said Laurence.

  ‘And very understaffed,’ she added. ‘I had to let Alec show that couple round. They’re not getting married at Wragley Hall now, you won’t be surprised to hear. Although the groom is coming back for an extreme survival stag weekend.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here,’ said Joe. He looked directly at me, and I felt a shiver run across my skin. ‘I know Rosie’s understaffed for the wedding at the weekend, since I – since I walked out, so I’m back to help with that.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ I said at once, feeling my face turn red and hot. ‘It’s all under control.’

  ‘No, that’s a good idea,’ said Caroline. ‘You need to pick up as much from Rosie as you can, Joe, while she’s still here.’

  ‘While she’s still here?’ Joe glanced up, surprised. ‘Why? Where’s she going? Have you poached her, Mum?’

  ‘If only.’ Caroline seemed genuinely sorrowful. ‘I’m sorry to say Rosie’s working out her notice and leaving us.’

  Joe turned to me, and I couldn’t read his expression; it was guarded, but his eyes moved quickly over me, as if he wanted to say more but didn’t know how. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said stiffly. ‘I hope it’s nothing … we’ve done.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘Just an offer I couldn’t refuse.’

  An awkward, sad silence descended on the room, and I tried to think what Ellie or Helen would say now. Or Emily. Emily would have some charming way of diffusing tension. I wished I could be more like Emily.

  ‘So …’ Laurence opened the globe-shaped cocktail cabinet. ‘Anyone fancy some wheatgrass? I know I do.’

  ‘If it’s okay with everyone else, I’ve got to make some calls,’ I said, and excused myself.

  *

  I heard the door open, and the rustling sound of footsteps following me down the carpeted corridor.

  ‘Rosie? Wait.’

  I stopped without turning, then felt Joe touch my arm. The skin tingled where he touched it. Maybe he felt it, because he drew his hand away almost at once.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me, is it?’ he asked. ‘Please don’t leave on my account. I’m thinking of going back to the States, in any case.’

  ‘Are you?’ A cold breeze went through me. I made myself look at him, a forced cheerful expression on my face.

  He nodded, and bit his lip. ‘It’s one option.’

  I knew I should say something, but I didn’t know what. He seemed to be struggling with the right words, and my own track record in that department was so woeful that I’d only make it worse.

  ‘You don’t have to help tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I meant it about everything being under control. I can see it’d be painful to be—’

  ‘I’m not going to try to stop the wedding, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t think you were,’ I lied.

  Had Emily written that letter to him? I’d forwarded some mail on to him at Wragley Hall, but nothing that looked like a life-changing, heart-breaking love letter.

  ‘I want to be there to help you.’ Joe held my gaze for a long moment, then said, ‘I’ll pick up the schedule for tomorrow from Gemma.’

  Then he turned and walked off. No apology, no explanation, nothing.

  Charming.

  You’re doing the right thing, I told myself. The right t
hing.

  *

  I know I said that I liked a few tiny details in a wedding to go wrong so I could fix them, but I’d ironed out every possible snag in Emily Sharpe’s wedding so firmly that when the day finally dawned, there were no tiny details that could go wrong.

  No. Just whacking great enormous ones.

  The day got off to a brilliant start when I checked with Helen and Dino that the wines for the evening meal had been set aside – and we discovered that the suppliers had delivered ten cases of hazelnut liqueur, not the exquisite Tokay Benedict had requested to go with the pudding. Dino went into a very Italian meltdown, Helen had to re-source the wine, which, it turned out, was quite rare, and – I’m cutting this short, you understand – the upshot was that Wynn and his trusty Volvo were dispatched to a warehouse in Wembley to collect it.

  That was the first cock-up, all before I’d had the special bridal breakfast of fresh croissants and coffee in silver pots sent up to Emily and her attendants, getting ready in fits of giggles and tears in the bridal suite. I took the trays up myself on a cart, partly to wish them well for the day, but also to check that there wasn’t anything I needed to nip in the bud there.

  (Apart from a minor outbreak of stress rash on Emily’s sister and a missing pair of shoes, it was all fine. I’d banned mobile phones in the bridal suite, which also helped the stress levels.)

  For the rest of the morning I whizzed around, getting Nevin in place for the pre-wedding photos, ushering the hair and make-up team around, and keeping the peace between Tam and the hired-in security guys, and I thought I’d had my only cock-up when the next one reared its ugly head.

  I was on my way back up to Emily’s suite with more coffee when I heard two voices coming from nowhere. Fuuuuuurious voices. It was as if the hotel were being haunted by the Ghosts of Acrimonious Divorces Past, or the worst Hogwarts portraits ever.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ bellowed a fruity British male voice. ‘Nope, it’s stopped. I think it’s broken.’

  ‘Well, duh! That’s what happens when you press all the buttons at once, you complete … you complete … !’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve run out of words?’

  ‘Polite ones, yes.’

  I stopped, entranced despite myself.

  ‘Where’s your phone, Magnus?’

  ‘In my pocket.’

  ‘I’m not going into your pocket, if that’s what you want. Just give it to me! We need to call someone.’

  ‘If you’d let me finish … it’s in my pocket of my morning coat, which is in my room.’

  ‘It’s not a coat, it’s a jacket.’

  ‘We call it a coat. Don’t you go to any weddings with proper etiquette? Anyway, where’s your phone?’

  ‘Does this dress look like it’s got room for a phone?’

  ‘You want me to look?’

  I decided to put Chloë out of her misery. ‘Hello?’ I called at the lift doors. ‘It’s Rosie. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happened, but we’ll get you out of there in no time. Just keep calm, and don’t …’

  I’d just told two people to keep calm. The two people, after me, least likely to respond well to that suggestion.

  ‘Um, take deep breaths and I’ll be right back,’ I said.

  Tempting as it was to leave them there for a while, I dashed off to find someone who could release them before they either throttled each other or made up so violently the lift was broken forever. And yes, I did wish Joe was with me to deal with it. He could have turned a crisis into an anecdote before you could say hashtag awkward.

  *

  I was downstairs waiting on hold at the reception desk for the lift engineer – out fixing a lift round the corner – when Gemma appeared looking shell-shocked. When she deliberately waited until Emily’s hair and make-up team had gone past in a cloud of Elnett and shrieking, I knew whatever had shocked her must be bad.

  I laid my head briefly on the mahogany counter. I give up, I thought. This wedding isn’t going to be perfect. It’s going to be a complete disaster.

  But what had Joe said? That it was the little things that made each wedding special to the couple? That something would always go wrong, and that’s what made the most precious memories of the day, not all the things that went perfectly that no one noticed?

  As I thought that a funny calm spread over me, the same calm you get at the end of the day when you take a very tight pair of shoes off.

  This wedding was not going to be perfect. It already wasn’t. And how many people knew that? Not many.

  ‘Rosie?’ came Gemma’s tentative voice.

  I raised my head, steeled myself, and got my pen out to add to the growing list of things I needed to do before the afternoon. ‘Go on, what is it?’

  ‘Flora Thornbury,’ she whispered. ‘She’s here.’

  ‘What?’ The pen fell from my fingers and I scrabbled to pick it up. We hadn’t heard from Flora in months, and now she turned up, wanting VIP treatment on the day she’d blown off? ‘What’s she doing here? She’s not on the guest list.’

  ‘No, she’s in the bar.’

  ‘Why?’ It had only just gone ten. ‘Has she forgotten she’s not getting married? Is it still in her diary and the silly mare’s just trotted along here anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know. Milo’s not with her. She keeps asking for Joe.’ Gemma dropped her voice. ‘I think she might be a bit … T-I-P-S-Y.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ I said. The last thing I needed with actual, real international celebrities turning up any moment was a pissed minor British model falling around the place. Then I said, ‘Oh, great,’ with more enthusiasm. Someone with as little body fat as Flora had to pass out quickly. ‘Give her two more drinks, Dino’s strongest, then put her in a taxi. With Joe, if you have to. Kill two birds with one stone.’

  As I said it, out of habit, I suddenly wasn’t sure if I wanted Joe out of action. I needed him around, where he could help me out with his cool head and refusal to be wound up. A pang bloomed in my stomach. I needed Joe here, but I could never ever tell him.

  Pull yourself together, Rosie, I told myself.

  ‘Are you sure there’s no room for her? She was saying something about getting some publicity for the hotel?’ Gemma looked hopeful. ‘I recognized a couple of the friends she’s got with her …’

  ‘Think about it, Gemma.’ I gave her a Seriously? look. ‘A drunk supermodel crashing a Hollywood A-lister’s wedding – is that the sort of publicity we want?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No. So get rid of her. No, wait. Get Tam to keep an eye on her, so Emily’s security people don’t chuck her out, then get rid of her.’ I turned back to the phone, discovered that the lift engineer was going to be ‘at least another two hours’, then I hung up. ‘Wait, before you do that, does Tam still have a contact number for his mate who was in the SAS? They’re good at getting people out of small spaces, aren’t they?’

  *

  I thought that was it. Once I’d got Magnus and Chloë released from the lift – looking rather pink, I noticed, and rumpled, although I didn’t want to know any more than that – I went through all my checklists determined to find anything that could go wrong. I hadn’t seen much of Joe that morning, besides catching sight of him moving chairs or helping with wine; Emily hadn’t mentioned him either, but when I’d brought her bouquet and floral headdress in, she’d given me a private smile and a squeeze of the hand. I know, I was hoping she’d throw a tiny diva strop, just so I could see one in action, but she didn’t. Not even when Missy texted her to remind her to do the same forehead-to-forehead pose she’d done with Benedict in the famous Dark Moon wedding scene.

  The ceremony was due to start at three o’clock sharp, and at half past two I went downstairs to check in with the two registrars conducting the ceremony. They normally arrived at least an hour in advance to get everything ready, and also to scoff the complimentary refreshments we laid on. I’d delegated the job of looking after them to Gemma, who was much bet
ter at making small talk about non-religious but still spiritual music options than I was.

  I was waylaid en route by a couple of guests needing directions, and then by Laurence, who claimed not to be feeling very well, so by the time I found Gemma hovering in the hallway between the main hotel and the gardens, it was nearly twenty to three.

  ‘Where are the registrars?’ I asked, checking my clipboard. Guests were already taking their seats outside and the string quartet was playing classical versions of rom-com themes. ‘I need to run through some things with them.’

  ‘They’re not here yet.’

  A tingly sensation spread through my bones. ‘What? Why didn’t you tell me before now? Have you rung them?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ said Gemma. ‘I’ve been ringing since two. I didn’t tell you before now because I knew you’d flip.’

  I gripped my head. ‘They can’t both be held up! Aren’t they supposed to travel separately, so this doesn’t happen? Like the royal family?’

  ‘They do. Freda’s stuck on a bus, and I can’t get hold of Jan. She’s probably on the Underground. Calm down, Rosie—’

  That was the final straw, I’m sorry to say.

  ‘Calming down is not an option!’ I roared. ‘I’ve just got two people out of a lift using secret and possibly illegal SAS methods, and seven thousand pounds’ worth of dessert wine crossing Mayfair in Wynn’s Volvo! I will not be defeated by the London bloody transport system!’

  Gemma’s eyes widened as two guests walked past behind me.

  ‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ I muttered. ‘It’s … I think they put something extra in the coffee.’

  Helen suddenly materialized from behind a seven-foot arrangement of lilies and roses, phone in one hand, the wine receipt in the other.

  ‘Wynn’s unloading the booze with Dino, and I’ve got Freda on the phone.’ She stuck one finger in her ear and clamped her mobile to the other, as if she was breaking a story on BBC News 24. ‘Where are you now, Freda? She’s getting off the number nineteen and she’s walking down … she’s nearly at Shaftesbury Avenue!’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Gemma.