by Julie Caplin
Pouring tonic into the hefty shot of vodka, Lucy sat down on one of the lumpy sofas between Elin and Hekla.
‘Have you asked Eyrun about the cushions?’ asked Hekla going straight in for the kill.
Wedging her glass between her knees, Lucy held both hands up in mock surrender. ‘She wasn’t there, yesterday. Honest.’
Hekla narrowed her eyes, her thick blonde eyebrows almost meeting in the middle, looking comically suspicious as Elin interjected laughing, ‘It was Eyrun’s day off yesterday.’
Lucy nudged Elin and whispered loud enough for Hekla to hear, ‘Phew, thank you. I’m not sure Hekla wanted to believe me and this vodka’s already about to take off my head. I’m not sure I could do shots as well.’
‘Don’t you worry, Hekla’s really scared of Eyrun.’ Elin teased. ‘And the shots are to come. We’ve got games coming.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Hekla, her pink cheeks rosier than ever. ‘OK, maybe a little bit but so is Lucy.’
‘You are both crazy,’ said Brynja joining in the conversation. ‘You are in charge.’
‘And you would tell Eyrun what to do?’ asked Hekla.
Brynja laughed. ‘Of course not, I’d run the other way very fast but it’s not my job.’
Elin joined in. ‘That’s why you two earn the big bucks and we are everyday people.’
‘Everyday people?’ Lucy quirked an eyebrow. ‘I hear you are writing a novel.’ That sounded big and creative, not everyday at all. She’d never met anyone who was writing a book before. It certainly wasn’t the sort of thing she or her parents would ever have considered in their neat tidy, terraced house in Portsmouth. Working in a hospital or a hotel was an everyday job.
‘Ja,’ said Elin, brightening. ‘I am.’
‘You’ll be a famous author one day,’ said Brynja lifting her glass in toast. ‘And too important to drink with us.’
‘Never, I will always speak to you,’ replied Elin, chinking her glass against Brynja’s. ‘Hekla, maybe not,’ she added with a callous shrug and a mischievous quirk of her lips.
Hekla nudged her. ‘Yes, you will,’ she said staunchly. ‘And I will buy all your books for my family and put them under the tree.’
‘You will be a best seller then,’ said Brynja.
‘I wish,’ sighed Elin, wilting back into her chair rearranging her long limbs. With legs like that, modelling seemed a viable alternative to Lucy. ‘I could do with a break. Just someone to say yes.’
‘Elin has written five books.’ said Hekla, holding up her hand ticking off each finger and a thumb with great pride. ‘In Iceland we have a fine tradition of storytelling. We tell folktales around the fire on dark cold nights.’
‘Our grandparents did,’ scoffed Brynja, with what Lucy recognised as one of her trademark no nonsense admonishments.
Hekla shot her a whatever sneer.
‘Yes,’ piped up Elin, going back to the original conversation, ‘and they have all been rejected. I could line the road from here to Reykjavik with all the letters.’
‘Five?’ asked Lucy, impressed. ‘You’ve written five whole books?’ And she still kept going?’
Elin nodded, ‘Yup.’
‘That’s amazing. I’m not sure I would have had the staying power after one, let alone, two, three, four and five.’ Not anymore.
Elin let out a snorty, amused laugh. ‘It’s the Icelandic way. I’ll get there in the end. I will keep going or I will kill my way to the top, murdering one publisher at a time.’
‘Sounds a bit extreme,’ said Lucy her eyes widening at the thought of battered bodies in pools of blood.
‘She writes Icelandic noir,’ explained Brynja, ‘and they’re very good. I’ve read them all. But every time she gets a rejection, she names the next person she murders after them.’
‘That’s one way of dealing with rejection.’ Lucy giggled, the vodka was having an effect. Wasn’t that better than curling up in a ball and weeping on your best friend’s sofa for a month?
Elin pursed her lips. ‘Don’t worry, I cry the first time, when I open the email. Then an hour later, I think I will show you.’ Her face narrowed with fierce determination. ‘We Icelanders are used to adversity, we thrive on it.’
Her words and the way her elegant profile resonated with resolve, chin lifted, lips tightened, brought a flicker of recognition. Once upon a time Lucy had been known for her bloody-mindedness, for pushing up her sleeves and getting the job done. For her can-do attitude.
‘I think I need to be an Icelander,’ volunteered Lucy in a wistful voice, wishing she didn’t have to deal with Clive and his cameras. She rested her elbows on her knees, sinking her chin into her hands.
‘Hey, Lucy.’ Hekla put an arm round her, patting her on the back. ‘You’ve already made a difference.’ Her blue eyes twinkled. ‘The new coffee machine is ace.’
Brynja gave Hekla a reproving poke before saying, ‘She means the hotel is looking much better. The paintings have been getting lots of interest. And the elves have been behaving.’ She gave Lucy a surreptitious wink before looking over at the unicorn necklace that was hanging from one of the light fittings on the wall. ‘And Hekla hasn’t had to clean a bedroom for at least three days.’
‘And the phone app for our shifts is good,’ said Gunnar, waving his mobile enthusiastically at her. Lucy nodded at him. Being utterly sexist but it was something she could base on fact, men always loved the technology. Introducing the phone app, Sortmyshift, had been an easy win. Alex had been really helpful uploading the information onto the system for the waiting and bar staff. Hopefully he would be willing to teach Elin which would save her another job.
‘I’m not so worried about the hotel. It’s the film crew,’ she replied, the vodka loosening her tongue. ‘I’ve seen these fly on the wall series, looking for sensational stories behind the scenes. Any staff scandal.’ Like managers misbehaving in hotel suites. That would make a great story. One she was keen should never see the light of day again but, unfortunately, with social media, once that genie was out of the bottle it was there for ever.
Elin, Hekla and Brynja looked blank until Freya in a torrent of Icelandic explained, which made Hekla nod, the graveness of her expression at odds with her usual sunny countenance. ‘We won’t let them find bad things. Don’t worry Lucy. Everything in the hotel will be perfect.’
‘We’re on your side,’ pronounced Brynja in her usual solemn, serious way and the others all nodded in unison as if making a pledge.
With a sudden lift of her heart, Lucy looked at each of them. Despite her brief tenure, she already knew that Hekla was a hundred percent loyal and reliable. Brynja, the straight arrow, could always be relied up to offer matter of fact, common sense advice and absolute honesty. Elin, while appearing on the flighty side was actually organised and a very hard worker. Freya, she was still working out, but so far she seemed down to earth and supportive. Dagur appeared to be Brynja’s twin soulmate and Gunnar, goofy and diligent with a sweet unassuming air.
‘Thank you,’ she said, straightening up. They were a good team and with all of them pulling together, things would run smoothly while the film crew were here. And – under her thighs she crossed her fingers – perhaps the new owners would be impressed enough to let her keep the job.
‘And now it’s time to play,’ announced Elin producing a pack of cards and Lucy was quickly roped into an unruly game of spoons. Losers had to drink one of the shots of the local brew, Brennivin, which Elin had lined up along the hearth over the wood burner which was pumping out plenty of heat.
Luckily Lucy, who’d sipped slowly at her vodka, managed to keep her wits intact and was reasonably fast otherwise she’d have been under the table when Alex and Olafur made their appearance, having finally closed up the bar for the night. Hekla and Elin were at the singing stage, arm in arm, egging each other on, Brynja was sleepily curled into Gunnar’s shoulder and Dagur had his head on Freya’s lap. Olafur rolled his eyes and grabbed the shot of Brenniv
in that Hekla offered him. He lifted it in toast and smiled as Elin repeated another rousing chorus, opening her arm inviting him to join Hekla and her. He knocked back his drink and shook his head.
‘But you’re such a good singer, Olafur,’ whined Hekla.
He laughed. ‘And I’m ten drinks behind you. I think it is time for bed.’
‘Gleispillar.’ Any insult in the word was softened by Elin’s fuzzy smile.
‘Spoilsport,’ whispered Hekla translating for Lucy’s benefit.
Patting Elin on the shoulder, Olafur responded in Icelandic and with a cheery wave, left the room.
Lucy suspected that she was the only sober one, having diluted her drink with frequent top ups of tonic and Alex caught her eye as Hekla and Elin sang louder. He plopped himself down next to her.
‘Good night?’
‘It’s definitely got better,’ said Lucy, everything feeling a lot lighter. ‘They’re all mad, but lovely.’ OK, so maybe she wasn’t that sober, at this moment in time she loved them all and felt brim-full of the milk of human kindness. She could hug each and every last one of them, which was really very un-Lucy-like behaviour but the girls had made her feel like a new friend rather than a work colleague. Despite frequent texts, she really did miss Daisy. With a happy sigh, she said, ‘I haven’t had this much fun for a long time. Shame about the camera crew. Thanks for your help with Clive. Did they stay long in the bar?’
‘Hell yeah. The camera crew can put it away,’ he said. ‘I thought they were never going to go to bed. It was only when I gave Clive the bar bill … he turned a funny shade of puce and rounded them all up.’
Lucy huffed out a sigh. ‘He’s a weasel that one. I think he was expecting free drinks all the way but that was one thing that was made clear in the original email exchanges.’
‘I have to go to bed,’ said Brynja, blinking and swaying as Gunnar pulled her to her feet and then hefted her over his shoulder to her squeals. Hekla and Elin jeered the two of them making what Lucy suspected where very bawdy comments in Iceland and followed them out of the room. Freya and Dagur had already sloped off.
The door closed behind the noisy group and it was just the two of them suddenly wallowing in a silence punctuated by the crackle of the fire dying in the log burner.
‘Are you going to be alright?’ asked Alex, his words tentative. ‘I can see the film crew make you uncomfortable.’
‘I’ll have to be. These reality TV things are anything but, we all know damn well that a lot of staging goes on. Clive’s already decided what he wants.’
‘I thought as much.’ He pulled a sympathetic face. ‘At the end of the day it’s all about entertainment.’
‘Yeah but if I wanted to go into the entertainment business I’d have gone on the stage.’ She shuddered.
‘I’m with you, my idea of hell. Perhaps you can persuade them to focus on Hekla, no disrespect but she looks the part.’
‘She does,’ Lucy laughed, not the least bit offended, ‘our very own flaxen haired Viking Princess and she’s so easy going, she probably wouldn’t mind. Or there’s Freya, she’s the actress.’
‘See, problem sorted. You can stop worrying.’
‘Worrying is my middle name at the moment.’
‘I know,’ said Alex, with a sigh lifting a finger and touching the furrow above her nose, rubbing gently at it.
They both froze, he as if he’d suddenly realised what he’d done and her at the unexpected touch.
‘Sorry, I … you worry too much. That little line disappeared today.’
He studied her and they smiled shyly at each other. Lucy was suddenly horribly aware of his thigh resting next to hers and the fact that she was so close to him, she could see the rough stubble shadowing his jawline and a couple of tiny dark freckles to the right of his mouth. And then she realised that it looked like she was staring at his mouth. Swallowing she lifted her head quickly.
‘I wanted–’
‘Would you–’
‘You first,’ said Alex, ever the gentleman, with the faintest suspicion of amusement lurking in his eyes. Damn, he seemed to be able to read her mind at any given time.
‘I do worry but today … I should have said earlier, thank you for talking me down in the office and taking me to Gullfoss. I think I was too embarrassed to say a proper thank you. Panic attacks are not my usual MO.’ She was trying to sound business like and brusque, in an attempt to overcompensate for the fact that the booze had softened her and she was doing stupid things like looking at his lips and letting those eye meets extend by several seconds too many. And she was doing it again, letting her thoughts drift off. She pulled herself back. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had one before. You’d talked me down before I’d even had chance to call it anything.’
‘All part of the service.’ The quick warm smile he added to his words, made her heart bump a little in her chest.
‘What – first aid and mixology comes standard with bar staff training?’ she asked quickly. Keep it business like, Lucy.
‘Something like that,’ said Alex. ‘You need to be ready for anything and,’ he looked at her with another one of those quiet smiles before pushing a strand of hair from her face, ‘you know what they say about barman. We’re everyone’s confidant. Are you feeling better now?’
‘Much,’ she said trying to ignore the buzz, that fleeting touch on her cheek had left, ‘I think it did me good to get out of the hotel for a while. And now I’ve been out I’ve got the bug. You were right. There is so much to see and do here.’
‘It’s better with two. Fancy coming out with me again?’
‘That would be …’ OK how did she handle this? Was this the convenience of being two aliens abroad, which made them automatic tourist companions? And Alex was just a nice, friendly guy? Or was it what her wayward pulse was suggesting? ‘That would be nice,’ she said crisply, trying to appear nonchalant, tipping up her glass, even though there were only dregs in the bottom.
‘Nice?’ Alex pulled a face. ‘I can do better than nice. Remember I sparkle!’ He added jazz hands which immediately made her start to laugh and the last pickings of vodka went down the wrong way, bringing tears to her eyes and a choky wheeze as she bent double coughing and spluttering.
Alex patted her back, until she coughed her way back to normality and the pats became soothing rubs, that made her want to stretch and curl like a cat.
‘Better?’ he asked, all of his attention focused on her.
She nodded, hoarsely whispering, ‘Yes.’
‘For a minute there, I thought I was going to have break out my Heimlich manoeuvre. I was…’ His voice died away when their eyes met in one of those ‘the world has stopped spinning’ moments. Neither of them seemed to be able to stop looking at each other. Bump by bump, his hand traced the indents of her spine, a slow inexorable climb, savouring each vertebrae before he cupped the back of her neck. All her nerve endings fizzed with sudden pleasure as his fingers brushed her bare skin, teasing her hairline.
Then his lips were brushing hers with a whisper of a touch.
It was temptation and danger. She shouldn’t be doing this. Her mouth lifted up to his, relishing the delicious sensation, the tender touch of skin on skin. He worked for her. She’d been burned before. His mouth moulded over hers. This was bad. But, oh so lovely. Her heart pitter-pattered in her chest. She sighed into his mouth, on the brink of surrender. His lips still skirted hers and then with another sigh, she pulled back.
‘I’m not sure we should be doing this.’
With a rueful twist to his mouth, he nodded. ‘You’re right.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘I want to but it’s late and,’ his eyebrow quirked as he looked at the coffee table laden with empty bottles, ‘I suspect you may have shipped a ton of vodka.’
Lucy blinked. That wasn’t what she’d meant at all and stupidly, she liked him all the more for it.
Chapter 12
‘Lucy! Lucy!’ Her face fell as she saw Olafur coming tow
ards her down the steps from reception, his lumbering form as morose as a bear.
‘We have a problem.’
Lucy’s shoulders tensed, as she grasped one of the four new paintings she and Alex had just picked up. All the good feelings, engendered by coffee in Hvolsvöllur and too many warm-eyed smiles from Alex, took flight like butterflies released from jam jars. She hadn’t planned on going with Alex this afternoon. After last night she’d rather hoped to keep her distance from him but Hekla had had other ideas and asked him to take Lucy to collect the paintings because no one else was available – or so she said.
‘What?’ she asked with foreboding. When she shot a quick, longing look at the car, she felt Alex’s reassuring hand come to rest in the small of her back. The small unobtrusive gesture made her lean back slightly, grateful for the silent show of solidarity. She wasn’t alone anymore.
Olafur shook his head sorrowfully. ‘The jeeps have the …’ he made a cutting gesture with both hands, ‘sprungio dekk.’
She frowned. He pointed to the tyres on Alex’s car and then did a squashing motion with his hands.
‘Flat tyre?’
He nodded, vigorously.
‘You said jeeps … you mean both cars?’ Alex spoke before Lucy could frame the words but she’d been wondering exactly the same thing. Both cars sounded far too unlikely but Olafur’s decisive nod, his bushy beard hitting his chest, confirmed it.
‘So, no tour tonight,’ he said with bleak disgust. ‘And the forecast is very, very good.’
Of course it was. Lucy refrained from rolling her eyes, instead asking, ‘Don’t you have spares?’ as if she knew all about such things. Come to think of it, did cars even have spares these days?
‘Ja,’ replied Olafur, his eyes glowing with sudden anger. ‘And both … gone.’ He made a ‘poof’ sort of gesture. ‘Two vehicles.’
‘Hell,’ said Lucy. ‘How does that happen? Have they been stolen?’
