The Northern Lights Lodge

by Julie Caplin

  ‘Apart from standing in what felt like the jaws of a waterfall,’ said Lucy surprising herself once again at her own fancifulness.

  Alex shot her an equally surprised look, and for a brief moment, they shared a private smile, hers apologetic, his knowing, as if he could see insider her turmoil and understood. ‘Yeah, that was pretty exciting.’ His low voice set off a tingle low in her stomach.

  Turning quickly, she said to Hekla. ‘You’re a star, thank you. Alex and I will go and get them. Can I ask for one more favour?’

  ‘Sure,’ she gave Lucy her golden sunny smile.

  ‘Can you let Olafur know we’ve got replacements and ask him to be ready to put them on as soon as we get back?’

  Chapter 13

  Lucy was dealing with a stack of invoices when she heard raised voices coming from reception. She rubbed a weary hand across her forehead, despite several days at it, she still didn’t seem to have been able to conquer the mountain of paperwork in the office, although it was a very good place to hide away from the film crew and now she was horribly conscious that she’d been neglecting the rest of the hotel.

  The crew were on the prowl, like caged tigers. Despite getting the jeeps on the road the other night and driving out for several hours, Olafur and the film crew failed to track the elusive northern lights. Three more nightly trips had brought further disappointment and Clive was definitely tired and tetchy. Lucy felt a tiny bit smug that she’d seen the amazing light show on her very first night. Although she felt bad for the lovely couple Jane and Peter who’d also been out each night on the trail of the aurora borealis and had yet to strike lucky.

  The voices were getting more heated and she went out to find Hekla smiling grimly at an American couple who were checking out.

  ‘I refuse to pay for a room when there was no view. This was supposed to be the best room in the house. I never saw a thing.’

  Hekla’s sunny face had more of a Norse warrior expression today, fixed with a stern glare.

  There was no sign of her usual friendly warmth. With her feet planted squarely she was giving off more of a ‘mightily pissed off Viking’ vibe, only the axe and horned helmet were missing.

  ‘It is our best room, Mr Wainwright and I’m–’

  ‘Shall I deal with this?’ interjected Lucy smoothly, pasting a smile on her face and stepping in front of Hekla, determined to defuse the situation while praying the film crew weren’t about. She’d met this type of guest a thousand times over. Determined to find fault and get a discount. Threaten social media exposure, awful TripAdvisor reviews.

  Hekla shot her a startled, angry look. ‘I was–’

  ‘Good afternoon, I’m the General Manager. Can I help here?’ Lucy cut across her with a professional smile anxious to calm everyone down. She could see that Hekla was furious and allowing tempers on either side to fray further wasn’t something she was about to risk.

  ‘Yes, you can young lady.’ The man slammed his hands on the desk. ‘I paid extra for a deluxe room with views of both the mountains and the sea. I didn’t get either. I’m not paying the full amount.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear you’ve been disappointed. Which room were you in?’

  ‘I was in the deluxe with mountain and sea view.’

  ‘Room number?’

  ‘Four, nine,’ snarled Hekla at her side, bristling with unhelpful indignation.

  Lucy frowned trying to remember all the deluxe suites.

  Hekla hissed. ‘All our suites have views both front and back.’

  Lucy shot her a quick look of gratitude but was surprised by the glower directed her way.

  ‘I sorry sir but I don’t understand. There are windows facing both the sea and the mountainside.’

  Over the man’s shoulder she saw Alex appear. Great, because she really needed an audience right now.

  Oh, marvellous, right behind him came the film crew.

  ‘Yes, but it’s not acceptable to advertise a room with a view, when you can’t see the view.’ Mr Wainwright’s carrying voice had Clive’s eyes lighting up in gleeful anticipation. The camera swung her way.

  Lucy focused on her irate customer, schooling her features into a sympathetic smile, still not understanding. Suddenly the vertebrae in her neck seemed to have fused, her movements as stilted as if she were wearing a neck brace.

  He turned and pointed out of the reception windows. ‘Can you see anything?’

  The camera followed his gesture. Although yesterday had started with bright sunshine, at lunchtime the weather had closed in and ever since, the lodge had been shrouded in murky grey mist with light rain spattering the windows. There was a saying that Hekla had told her, if you don’t like the weather, wait for fifteen minutes and it will change.

  Seriously, he was complaining because the weather had obscured the view.

  The camera made her tongue-tied, stupid and frozen. What she should have said was, was there anything wrong with your room? Instead she opened her mouth and said, with the most ridiculously apologetic smile, ‘I can only apologise for the weather.’

  Hekla snarled under her breath.

  Lucy cringed inside, desperately trying to think of some way to salvage the situation. Why was she apologising for the weather? It was completely outside her control. What a stupid thing to have said, even the man’s wife looked faintly embarrassed. The camera was capturing all of this. Lucy’s smiled solidified on her face. She could do this. She was a professional. She’d dealt with people like him before. Sometimes people were impossible and you had to smile your way through it and hope that reason might magically reassert itself. On this occasion under the baleful lens of that sodding camera, she couldn’t think of a single other strategy. ‘It is rather changeable I’m afraid.’

  She paused and looked at the man, wondering whether he might realise how ridiculous he was being or whether his wife might slap him round the head and knock some sense into him.

  He stroked the side of the credit card he was holding in his hand, before tapping it on the desk. Catching sight of the camera, he puffed up, ready and willing for a fight, the faintest touch of a cocky smile on his face as if to say, now what are you going to do?

  ‘I’m not paying for a room with a view, when I didn’t have a view,’ he blustered, playing to the camera. For good effect he glared at Lucy and slapped a meaty hand down on the reception desk. Lucy caught sight of Clive waving to Bob to make sure he caught all of this. Tension pinched at her shoulders, her neck stiffer than ever as she turned woodenly to look at the print out on the desk below, a plastic smile glued to her lips. Beneath her rib cage her heart banged so hard the bones almost rattled. The camera in her peripheral vision was like a black crow, perched on Bob’s shoulder, watching and waiting to swoop in on her slipping up.

  Lucy looked at the bill again, registering the man’s address as she did a quick calculation. Perhaps she could offer him a discount on one of the nights and then she caught herself. What was wrong with her?

  Breathe Lucy. Breathe. She remembered Alex’s hand pressing her diaphragm. Looking up she caught his eye. She pressed her hand on the same spot. Breathe. Breathe.

  ‘I-I do … er … um … understand, Mr…’ Managing conflict. Remember the training. Empathise. Listen Actively. Neutral language. It was no good, she couldn’t think straight.

  ‘Wainwright. John Wainwright the Third,’ he replied sticking out his stocky chest like a self-important pigeon flashing a self-congratulatory smile towards the film crew.

  The competitive spirit that had propelled her throughout most of her career suddenly fired up, rockets blazing. With a tilt of her chin, she smiled at John Wainwright the Third. The smile took all of her acting ability and then some. She dialled it up a notch. Thought she was giving in without a fight, did he?

  ‘American?’ asked Lucy. Her sudden confidence and jolly smile making him wary. ‘Now I understand.’ Her eyes sparkled and she turned up the charm, injecting warmth into her voice. Not an Oscar winning p
erformance but she wasn’t doing badly. ‘You’re used to very high standards in the US. I’m guessing convenient weather comes as standard there?’ She asked, as if she were being completely reasonable, keeping her face sympathetic. ‘I see you come from Seattle.’

  Behind the couple she heard Alex cough. Clive snorted. The man’s wife pressed her lips firmly together holding back either a laugh or a smile.

  ‘Well … not … well…’ The barrel chest began to collapse in front of her.

  ‘John,’ the woman next to him drawled, digging an elbow in his ribs. ‘Honey, it’s not the young lady’s fault that it was too darned misty to see anything. I told you we shoulda come in the summer.’

  ‘Hmph,’ said Mr Wainwright. Without another word he handed over his credit card.

  As Hekla took the credit card with a gracious incline of her head to Mr Wainwright, she shot Lucy a rather ferocious glare and took the payment before handing over his receipt.

  Hekla’s unexpected animosity didn’t alter Lucy’s fixed smile, although she was having to work really hard to keep it on her face, no thanks to Alex who behind the couple’s back was bent double with silent laughter, along with Clive who was sticking his thumbs up at her and grinning. If the camera still hadn’t been trained on her, she would have shot them both a glare. They had no shame. She was trying to be professional. Both he and the camera crew hung around until the American pair finally left reception, pulling their cases out to the front steps.

  As soon as they’d gone, Hekla cast Lucy another furious look, stomped into the office and slammed the door with an almighty crash.

  Lucy straightened and was about to follow her only too happy to escape the camera but was diverted by Alex, who let out the gale of laughter that he’d been holding onto. ‘Priceless Lucy Smart. Priceless.’

  Her lips twitched as she shot him a reproving look before adding a snooty tone, ‘The customer is always right.’

  Oh Lord this was going to be all over the TV, she could see it now. She was desperate to follow Hekla into the office.

  Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘Except when he’s an arse and he’s wrong.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Lucy, serene and still now. Alex’s dark eyes were dancing with amusement and something that made her feel warm inside. Unable to help herself, she flashed him a brilliant smile and then she heard Clive say ‘cut’ and realised the damned camera was still running.

  ‘Well, well, well. Lucy Smart. I knew I knew that name.’

  Lucy froze. Bob the cameraman filled the exit of the little storeroom down along the corridor from the laundry, his saggy grey eyes filled with sly delight.

  ‘What are you doing down here?’ she asked, annoyed by the tremor in her voice. She’d left the crew in reception with Brynja planning a trip out to the lighthouse at Arkranes a good two hours away. She’d assumed they’d have the rest of the day in peace.

  ‘Just checking possible locations for more fly on the wall scenes. Access …’ his gaze crawled down her body, ‘all areas.’ Nausea rose in her throat as he stared at her right there. She felt horribly naked, wanting to cross her legs and cover her pubic bone with her hands. With an insolent raise of his eyebrow, he looked up at her face.

  ‘I don’t think this is particularly interesting.’ Lucy ground the words out, forcing her teeth not to chatter in fear.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Furtive trysts in the depths of the building. What really goes on below stairs.’

  ‘It’s a hotel not Downton Abbey,’ she snapped.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ His smug smile was triumphant, a spider moving in on the prey trapped within its web. She was caught fast and she knew it. ‘There’s always a bit of how’s your father in places with servants and staff.’ He paused pudgy hands on broad soft hips before adding in a gravelly, mocking voice, ‘you must know that better than anyone.’

  Go straight to jail. Do not pass go. Lucy’s heart turned to lead.

  With a feral smile he stepped closer, his dirty trainers making no sound on the stone floor.

  ‘Lucy Smart,’ he said, clearly super pleased with himself for figuring it out. ‘Formerly Assistant Manager of the Forum Group’s Manchester flagship, The Citadel.’ He looked around the tiny storeroom. ‘This is a long way down from a five star, five-hundred-bedroom hotel. I looked you up. Good CV on LinkedIn. A private Facebook account. Locked Instagram Account. But then, YouTube,’ he grinned, ‘bingo.’

  Lucy closed her eyes, her skin prickling. When she opened them in exasperation and building anger, like a weeping angel, Bob had inched closer again, his eyes smug and triumphant. She could smell cigarette smoke and a cheap, cloying aftershave.

  ‘The camera loves you.’ He smirked and dropped his eyes to her chest. She wanted to fold her hands over her boobs but that would let him win. ‘You’ve got the goods.’

  ‘I need to go,’ she tried to push past him.

  He put his arm across the door frame, blocking her path. ‘Not so fast, young lady. I’ve got a proposition to make.’

  ‘Not interested.’

  Bob’s smile held a tinge of cruelty. ‘Not sure you’re in any position to be calling the shots, sweetheart.’

  ‘Please let me pass.’ Her level tone hid her desperation. Surely if she were firm with him, he’d leave her alone.

  ‘I hear the hotel’s up for sale. Can’t be easy getting a job with a video like that out in the ether.’

  She felt the hot prick of tears, her fingers clenching into impotent fists.

  ‘Can’t imagine your new bosses would be too impressed or even your colleagues. That Alex seems quite keen on you.’

  ‘He’s just a colleague,’ said Lucy a tad too quickly and Bob caught the flicker of uncertainty on her face.

  ‘You’ve got a lot to hide Lucy Smart … and a lot to give. Advertising pays well on YouTube channels.’

  Lucy shifted to hide the trembling in her legs.

  ‘With your … attributes and my camera skills, I’m sure we could come up with a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

  ‘I’m not interested,’ said Lucy, sick to her stomach at what he was proposing.

  ‘Shy?’ Bob laughed. ‘You’re first effort wasn’t that bad, with a bit of editing, it could have been really quite something. We can make you look a lot better this time round.’

  ‘I’m not interested,’ she ground out again.

  ‘Why don’t you have a think about it? About what’s at stake? I’m sure you’ll come round.’ He stepped aside to let her march past him, her head held high, flinching as she felt the fleeting touch of his hand on her bottom.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Erik’s broken his leg,’ said Hekla, skidding breathlessly into the office like a cartoon character. Lucy almost expected to see skid marks burnt into the wooden floor, Brynja following her like an anxious guard dog.

  Even though she was bearing bad news, it was a relief that Hekla was actually addressing her. For the last couple of days, she’d been doing a Macavity act, disappearing the minute Lucy walked into a room and avoiding her at every opportunity.

  ‘What! How did that happen?’

  Hekla cleared her throat.

  ‘There was an accident. The broom had fallen over, the handle was between two cupboards…’ Hekla’s voice faltered. Lucy glared at her. After the tyre incident, she’d made it quite clear that if anyone so much as uttered the word huldufólk, they’d get the arse-end of shifts for the next month.

  Lucy looked at her watch. It was already four o’clock. ‘What about Kristjan?’ Erik’s number two who looked about twelve, at a pinch.

  ‘It’s his day off and I already tried him. He’s not answering his phone. He likes to fish, I guess he’s out on a boat somewhere,’ said Brynja.

  Lucy did a few quick calculations in her head. Darn it. None of her other options were going to work. ‘And how many have we got for dinner this evening?’ she asked wearily, wanting to lay her head down on the desk. No sooner had she sor
ted one problem, another one arose. No wonder there’d been ten managers in twelve months. It was a wonder there hadn’t been forty-eight.

  ‘We’re quiet today. It’s only twenty-three.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Lucy, standing up. The problem with being in the middle of nowhere was that you couldn’t even send the would-be diners elsewhere.

  ‘Brynja, you stay here and keep trying Kristjan.’

  With Hekla following she headed for the kitchen because at least that felt as if she were doing something but one look at this evening’s menu, printed out the day before and presented on the wooden lectern outside the dining room, had her hopes of saving the day taking flight and heading for the hills.

  Grilled Halibut Steak with buckthorn, mini carrots and glaze.

  Langoustine salad and shellfish sauce

  Gilled fillet of lamb, caramelised sunchoke puree, sauerkraut and mushroom glaze

  Vegan peanut steak.

  ‘I don’t even know what buckthorn or sunchoke is, let alone how to bloody cook the things and as for peanut steak, I’ve never even heard of such a thing before,’ sighed Lucy looking around as if inspiration might jump out and strike her. Fat chance.

  ‘Lucy!’ Clive’s voice hailed her and she turned to see him and the crew trotting up the corridor. She deliberately avoided looking at Bob but her crawling skin told her he was there.

  ‘Hear there’s a problem. Your chef air-lifted to hospital this morning.’

  How the bloody hell had he heard that? Lucy and Hekla exchanged a quick wide-eyed look.

  ‘Yes, but it’s not a problem,’ said Lucy, her voice smooth and reassuring as if it was all in a day’s work and she wasn’t bricking it inside or feeling sick under Bob’s creepy gaze. ‘We have back up. Kristjan, our sous chef.’ Behind her back she crossed her fingers and hoped Clive hadn’t heard Hekla’s quick in-drawn breath at the outrageous lie.

  ‘Great, the sous chef to the rescue,’ Clive said the words with relish, actually slapping his hands together and rubbing them with Fagin like glee. ‘Perfect story. Bob, can you get set up the kitchen. We can film Crispin arriving and being told he’s got to swing right into action. Cut to his horror-struck face. Then to Luce, telling him he can do it.’ He swung his arm from the elbow in a by Jove we’ll save the empire style mannerism. ‘And then we’ll film him having disaster after disaster. I can see it now. Then it all comes good at the end.’ Clive’s face shone with ebullient eye-popping animation, putting Lucy in mind of an enthusiastic bullfrog. He should have been the one in front of the camera.