The Northern Lights Lodge

by Julie Caplin

  ‘In the old days it was about class and servitude,’ said Alex. ‘A lack of choice, I guess. These days there is more choice, for some people.’

  She linked an arm through his and began walking purposefully away from the geyser and along the path. ‘Yes, there’s a career path, the hierarchical climb but there’s a sense of satisfaction when a guest tells me how much they’ve enjoyed their stay or how good the service has been. There’s something about the ability to remove them from their everyday lives, the chores, the washing, the ironing. Giving them a break. And every day is different, I like the mechanics of everything working together and interlinking like a jigsaw.’

  They’d climbed a light incline passing other pools of bubbling water.

  ‘I thought coming here was a downgrade. Beneath me. But I’ve realised that actually it’s brought me back to the basics. It’s making me more aware of things. More appreciative of what I’ve got. Sounds a bit pretentious, but much more in touch with my own capabilities.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Thinking about it, you’ve made me realise, I’ve not been here that long, but already I’m really enjoying working at the Lodge. I’m starting to get lots of ideas of how to make the experience even better for guests. When I was at the … the other hotel, I was so busy, I was going through the motions. I’d forgotten why I went into the hospitality industry.’

  As they stopped by yet another lunar landscape, white steam puffing up from scattered bubbling pools, Alex looked thoughtful. ‘Why did you?’

  ‘Because, at its simplest level, I like looking after people.’

  Alex nodded, his gaze following hers. ‘I like that idea. It’s really important when I … when I’m pouring drinks I want to make sure the customer is happy.’ He shot her a quick smile and she looked away focusing on an azure blue pool on the far side of the field, before asking, ‘So you don’t think I’m talking rubbish?’

  She didn’t need to see his face, the enthusiasm in his voice said it all, ‘Not at all, I love working in the hospitality industry. I’m not sure if I could break it down and tell you why exactly. I’ve not really thought about it that much.’

  ‘I have,’ Lucy relaxed continuing to walk up to the highest point on the gravelled path. ‘Running a big hotel is like a well-oiled machine, all the component parts working in tandem to support each other. And when it all goes smoothly, there’s nothing better.’ She let out a little sigh. ‘And I haven’t felt like that about work for a long time. I lost sight of it … and when it was taken away …when I lost my job…’ She pulled a face.

  ‘Ah,’ said Alex wincing. ‘I’m sorry you lost your job.’

  They’d come full circle and were now back at the first geyser where a new circle of people had gathered to watch the performance.

  Once again Lucy took the rope in her hand. ‘Don’t be. It was my own fault.’ Her lips curled in bitterness. ‘Lost. It’s a figure of speech. You don’t lose a job, do you? It’s taken away from you. Like a rug, pulled out and you end up flat on your back.’

  ‘Is that what happened?’ asked Alex, his voice matter of fact.

  ‘Yes. You saw me that first night. I was pretty pathetic, but at the time it felt like the end of the world.’ She stared thoughtfully at the calm dome. ‘I’d never imagined myself working in a much smaller place,’ she paused, gripping the rope as the surface began to belch and bubble again. She stepped back just as it erupted and threw her head up as the powerful jet of water shot upwards and she laughed. ‘And now I realise I’m starting to love it.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘We’ll need all the staff to sign these release papers to say they’re happy to be filmed and for the content to be shown on television,’ said Clive, swirling a double whisky around the bottom of a tumbler.

  The day out had cleared Lucy’s head and she’d felt much better equipped to meet with Clive.

  Although Alex offered to join her and the director for dinner, Lucy had declined. She needed to handle this one on her own. Neither was she going to let the cocky director with his child-like enthusiasm and blithe disregard for reality, call all the shots. Refusing dinner, she’d arranged to meet him the bar at nine instead. It seemed more business-like.

  It was now five past nine and she was already regretting sitting down with Clive. Before she’d left with Alex this morning, she’d emailed Mr Pedersen’s PA asking for more details about the arrangement and on her return had received an email trail confirming the crew’s visit. It was a watertight deal and it seemed there was no wiggling out of it.

  Clive had insisted on them sitting in a little alcove away from everyone else as it would be quieter, particularly now that the rest of the crew were also in the bar and were getting louder with every drink. Clearly they were not footing the bill, but neither, Lucy noted grimly, was she. The emails had made it very clear, the stay included accommodation and food only.

  Lucy took a sip of her vodka which was heavy on the tonic, she wanted a very clear head for this discussion.

  ‘Mr Tenterden‒’

  ‘Call me Clive.’

  Lucy flapped a hand as if to say whatever, she didn’t care what she called him, she just wanted to get rid of him and unfortunately that didn’t look like an immediate possibility. She also wanted to take control of the conversation. This was her hotel.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that you were coming and no one had told me anything about your documentary.’

  ‘You don’t have to sweat the details. Everything’s hunky dory with Mr Pedersen,’ Clive beamed at her, brushing at his thin wispy blonde baby hair on top of his head. He looked around the room. ‘It’s a banging place … and not what I was expecting to be honest.’

  ‘Oh?’ Lucy tiled her head in enquiry, with a prickle of defensiveness.

  ‘Yeah, I was thinking concrete blocks. Pared back Ikea without the primary colours. Dorms and cafeterias. You know all very functional. This is kinda nice. Got a cosy vibe going on.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lucy, wishing she’d found the throws and cushions she was on the hunt for.

  ‘Yeah, the perfect spot to film a couple of fillers. Guests relaxing. Nice views. That will give the punters some tourist travel insider footage and great that we’ve got access all areas.’

  ‘Pardon? You have?’ Lucy shot him a horrified glance. The emails unfortunately hadn’t been that specific.

  ‘Oh yes indeedy. Back office, kitchen … staff quarters. Access all areas.’ He caught sight of her frozen expression.

  ‘What exactly does that mean?’

  ‘What it says on the tin! Anyone in this building is a fair target. It means anywhere in this building, if someone moves, we film it, you speak, we record it. Nice and raw. We don’t rehearse anything. We’ve got a tight turn around too. Send the footage back to the UK for a weekly show. We edit the segments out here, send it back and out it goes the very next day, part of a new travel show on Channel Four.’

  Lucy swallowed hard.

  ‘Hey, you really don’t need to worry. I promise you, you won’t even know we’re here.’ Clive smiled, all twinkly and terribly reassuring. Lucy didn’t feel the least bit reassured.

  ‘What we want to do is do a mini documentary on the tourists chasing the northern lights; the highs, the lows, the disappointments. And we thought there might be much more scope for human drama if we filmed the staff here as well. You know checking the weather forecasts for the guests, talking with them at breakfast.’ He gave a conspiratorial wince. ‘Basically, we need a story in the can, in case the aurora borealis doesn’t play ball. We’ve got a few sights to see but hell, that’s been done a gazillion times before. We want some human drama, so it was agreed that we’d do a fly on the wall documentary on a place with people trying to see the lights. Genius, right? And everyone wants to be on TV. We’ll film the staff, the food and all the rooms. It will be great publicity for this place. It’s going to put,’ he held up his hands and Lucy schooled her face as he did showy jazz hands for effect, �
�The Northern Lights Lodge. On. The. Map.’

  Lucy swallowed and fidgeted in her seat at the two-edged promise of publicity. If she made too much fuss about not wanting the publicity, he might start to wonder why and do some digging and that was the last thing she wanted. And what if someone saw her and recognised her? On the other hand, the current bookings were down and if sales improved, it would help her position and that would make it harder for the new owners to get rid of her. She started to worry at the sore on her lip with her teeth and stopped herself with a slight smile. Alex would tell her off again.

  ‘Seriously Luce, this is a potential PR dream,’ Clive’s face tightened, ‘if you play your cards right.’ In that brief moment she saw beneath the bonhomie and false charm, a whisper of implicit threat.

  She looked around the room which now looked at its best, Elin and her team had worked hard in the last week. The lounge had a cosiness to it that had been sorely lacking before and despite the horrendously pricey bar, guests were drawn here in the evenings. Tonight, the bar was nicely busy, the embers of the log fire glowing as the wood snapped and crackled in the huge grate. A lovely convivial atmosphere prevailed. A new trio of English guests were chatting enthusiastically to two Norwegians about the cathedral and concert hall in Reykjavik, while a Danish couple were sharing snaps of a glacier field they’d visited with a younger couple from New Zealand, who looked like hardened hikers.

  Damn it. The lodge deserved to have its moment in the sun. It wasn’t about her. She hadn’t been here that long but she’d already picked up from Hekla, Kristjan, Olafur and Brynja that they were fiercely proud of their country. Loathe as she was, she was going to have put up with the fly on the wall stuff, although she’d make sure she kept a very low profile.

  ‘OK, Mr T‒,’

  ‘Clive, Luce. Clive.’

  ‘It’s Lucy,’ she said trying to summon up a smile to take the irritation out of her voice, ‘Clive.’

  ‘Cool. So tomorrow, we’ll film some general footage of the place, the views etcetera, etcetera, depending on the weather of course. And we’ll need a pile of these release forms photocopied for guests and staff.’

  ‘Can I see?’ Lucy managed to get a finger on the corner of the sheet of paper he’d whipped out of a laptop bag.

  ‘Ah, you don’t need to worry over much. They’re standard boiler plate. To be honest, we nicked them from the BBC. Industry standard.’

  ‘I’d still like to see,’ said Lucy, giving him an implacable stare.

  He pushed the form over the table and she scanned it quickly, one clause in particular making her take in a sharp breath.

  …you agree that the production company may edit, adapt or translate our contributions and you waive irrevocably any ‘moral rights’ you may have.

  What would happen if she refused to sign one, would they avoid including her in any filming?

  ‘I need the staff and any guests we film to sign one. Can you organise that for me?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get Hekla to do that for you.’

  ‘Oh, is she the statuesque Viking blonde. She’s going to look great on camera.’

  ‘What showing you how to use the photocopier?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Nice one Luce, funny.’ He drained his whisky glass and pushed it towards her. ‘And I’d love a refill while we talk about northern light hunting. That’s going to be a key part of the footage.’

  Over in the corner the crew were getting louder with the occasional raucous shout. Lucy noticed Alex behind the bar shooting them a few thoughtful glances, keeping an eye on the situation and watching the other guests to make sure they weren’t being irritated by the frankly unacceptable behaviour. She caught his eye and dipped her head in a subtle gesture. He gave a nod as if to say he had it all under control and then sent her the sort of look that said, you can leave it to me.

  With a wry smile that he could read her so well, she turned back to Clive. ‘While we’re talking details, can I confirm my understanding that the lodge is providing accommodation and food, drinks are not included?’

  ‘This is a business meeting, that you invited me to, as I seem to recall,’ said Clive with, what she felt sure he thought, was a winsome grin.

  ‘Fine,’ said Lucy with a small, pleasant-enough smile, prepared to allow him that small victory. ‘This one’s on the house.’ She looked over at the noisy group. ‘I hope your colleagues are aware that the drinks are on the company’s expense account and not the Lodge’s. Alcohol is ferociously expensive here.’

  Clive blanched as he looked at the drinks’ menu on the table. ‘I think I’ll remind them.’

  ‘Why don’t I see if Olafur is available to talk to you while you speak to them?’ said Lucy feeling she won a very small skirmish. ‘He arranges the northern lights’ tours. I’ll see if Alex can spare him at the moment. And if you could ask them to keep the noise down a bit.’

  Lucy went over to the bar taking the glass with her. Alex came to serve her. ‘Another double?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘No, he can ruddy well have a single, cheeky git.’

  ‘What about you or would that be a dangerous thing to do? You look as if you might disembowel him at any second.’

  ‘I’m channelling my inner Icelandic Viking. He’s a pain,’ said Lucy under her breath. ‘Do you mind if Olafur comes over and talks about how he organises the aurora tours?’

  ‘Not a problem. Are you happy for me to say anything to the guys, they’re getting a bit rowdy?’

  Lucy glanced at them. ‘I’ve asked Clive to get them to keep it down and remind them that the drinks are not on the house. I’m sure they’re not paying for them, but they need to be aware that we aren’t either. I’ve already let Clive know that.’

  ‘There are no guarantees that we will see the lights,’ explained Olafur, a little later. ‘Seeing them is dependent on exactly the right combination of weather factors, which luckily we are uniquely placed in this area to provide. We need good darkness, the right cloud‒’

  ‘Cut the sales pitch Olaf,’ said Clive. ‘Do you think you’ll get us footage of the lights this week?’

  The heavily bearded Icelander looked fierce. ‘It is dependent on the weather,’ he repeated. ‘A clear dark night, no cloud cover and the right solar activity, which we cannot predict more than a few days in advance.’ He levelled a serious gaze at Clive. ‘You cannot predict the lights. Sometimes you can see them here from the window, other times you have to drive to find breaks in the cloud, which is why we organise the jeep tours.’

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’ asked Clive.

  Olafur didn’t budge, he stroked his beard and carried on looking at Clive with dark beady eyes. ‘It is nature. Life in nature is not predictable. I have been doing the tours for many years and lived here nearly all of my life. There are no guarantees.’

  Lucy wanted to cheer the dour Icelander.

  ‘I get it … so we could be going on a wild goose chase. Hell, I guess we can work up a bit of drama. Got any oldies staying?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘You know bucket list types. Last chance saloon to see the aurora borealis. I can hear it now ‒ wonder if we can get Jo Lumley to do the voiceover ‒ sixty-year-old Val, has brought her eighty-six-year-old mum, to fulfil one last wish … to see the northern lights. This is their last night in Iceland… You know the sort of thing. Great TV.’

  ‘Do you know who is booked to go on the tours this week?’ asked Lucy.

  Olafur looked at her. ‘There is a list in the office,’ he shrugged. ‘We go tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Great,’ said Clive. ‘Do you think you’ve got any people that would give us a good human-interest story?’

  Lucy winced. ‘I think that might be an invasion of their privacy. I don’t know, so I wouldn’t like to make any assumptions.’

  Clive grinned. ‘Babe, have you been living under a rock? These days everyone wants to be on TV, on YouTube for their five minutes of fame. Most people are gaggin
g to get in front of a camera.’

  Lucy knocked back the rest of her drink and put the glass down with a firm chink on the wooden table and rose to her feet. ‘I can assure you, that’s not the case at all. Some of us have absolutely no desire for fame or infamy. I need to say goodnight, as there are a few things I have to do. I have a hotel to run.’ With that, she glided, chin up, out of the lounge passing the bar. Alex shot her a quick approving nod and the glint of admiration in his eye made her lift her chin another notch. She was definitely starting to feel more like herself these days.

  Chapter 11

  Thank goodness the communal staff area was a long way from the guest accommodation thought Lucy, grinning as she held out her glass towards Brynja who was standing on the coffee table in odd, thick woolly socks dispensing vodka in a high steady stream.

  Arriving to a loud raucous cheer, Lucy and her bottle of cherry-flavoured duty-free vodka had been quickly absorbed into the rowdy party atmosphere which was such a relief after the sticky, dancing-around-each other meeting she’d endured with Clive.

  Hekla’s exuberant hug, Elin’s enthusiastic wave and Brynja’s shouted welcome at the top of her voice from the other side of the room made it clear there was no standing on ceremony round here and without thinking she kicked off her shoes, untucked the baggy silk blouse from the waistband of her navy pencil skirt and unwound the tidy bun at the back of her head immediately relaxing.

  This was one place Clive and his access all areas could forget. The staff needed to let their hair down when they were off duty, not worry about sodding cameras.

  ‘Don’t spill it, don’t spill it’ shrieked Freya, holding her glass at the ready. Brynja sniffed derisively swaying slightly on the spot.

  ‘Nuhuh,’ she said, immediately whipping up the bottle with a neat twist before starting to pour again into Freya’s ready glass. It was clearly her party trick judging from the way Gunnar proudly peppered her with kisses after she’d finished. Hekla tossed over a couple of bottles of tonic with casual ease, narrowly missing Brynja’s head to loud cheers from Gunnar and Dagur.