The Northern Lights Lodge

by Julie Caplin

  ‘Hideous, isn’t it?’ he said, which almost made her laugh out loud, as he indicated the walls. Clearly he was oblivious to his own dress sense. She stared around the room, speechless as the sight of at least fifteen different tartan patterns covering the walls, the floor, the sofas and cushions hit her. A visual car crash of red squares, sharp black lines, yellow patches and smoky purple quarters. It was difficult to know where to look, although she could guarantee that if she had her way, those red glossed skirting boards would be the first to go.

  ‘It’s certainly colourful,’ she replied, giving a scarlet and black foot stool a wide berth.

  ‘I don’t want colourful, I want tasteful. I want to be able to bring my wife here in mid-winter or in summer and for her to feel its cosy and comfortable. Your mission,’ he paused and grinned at her with sudden wicked charm, ‘should you choose to accept, is to turn this into The Northern Holyrood Lodge.’

  The young girl from reception scuttled in with a tray containing a pot of tea and cut-glass tumbler of whisky. She put it down on a glossy mahogany table which separated a sofa decked out in what Lucy recognised as Black Watch tartan and another which she would have described as punk tartan in its orange, purple, red and yellow.

  ‘Tea?’ asked Quentin with a fair amount of disdain as he sat down opposite her.

  ‘I figured this was an interview,’ said Lucy pouring herself a cup and settling back against the sofa. ‘Perhaps you can tell me what you’re looking for.’

  She’d decided on the way up here, as the man had a fearsome reputation in the hotel world and he’d asked her here, she had absolutely nothing to lose, and, she’d decided, he was the sort of character who valued plain speaking.

  ‘What would you change in this room?’

  His blunt, unexpected question made Lucy smile. ‘The red skirting board.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it jars and it looks a bit tacky. The over the top tartan, I would expect. We’re in Scotland. It’s fun. Although I would tone it down, perhaps just a couple of co-ordinating tartans. The soft heather coloured ones are a bit more soothing. And you can explain the tartans to a guest. I would look them all up so that I knew the names of all of them. The skirting board looks cheap and nasty. And not authentic. It bugs me.’

  ‘Excellent answer. The job is yours.’

  She stared at him over the rim of her tea cup.

  ‘Seriously? On the strength of my views on tartan?’

  ‘No, but if I don’t give you the job, Alex will never come back. And if he thinks you’re good enough, its good enough for me. But HR will give me a hard time if I don’t pretend to interview you.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Lucy stared at him.

  Quentin let out a laborious sigh. ‘God give me a box of Weetabix. When was the last time you spoke to him?’

  Lucy’s mouth firmed in a mutinous line.

  ‘I trusted him. He lied to me. He was spying on me.’

  ‘You are flaming kidding me.’ Quentin bashed his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘For crying out loud, the boy was doing his job. I pay his wages … I’m also married to his mother.’

  ‘What?’ That was news. Alex had never mentioned that little nugget.

  ‘He’s my stepson. I met his mother when he was working for me. Had a devil of a job persuading her to marry me. Little sod refused to put a good word in. I had to prove myself.’ Quentin’s dreamy smile shocked the heck out of Lucy. The last thing she’d have thought Quentin was, was an old romantic.

  ‘He was doing a job for me. And I prize loyalty. So does Alex. Come on love, if it were you. You strike me as a straight arrow. What would you have done?’

  Bugger Quentin for reading her so damned well. In the same circumstances she probably would have done the same and once they started sleeping together, he was in a no-win situation.

  His craggy face softened for a moment. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since he went back to Paris.’

  ‘When numbnuts resigned.’

  ‘He did what?’ Why the hell would Alex do that?

  Quentin rolled his eyes. ‘The grand gesture. Chuck everything away for the sake of love.’

  Lucy stared at him. The man was a lunatic. Quentin held her gaze, his face hardening.

  ‘I never had young McLaughlin down as a hot head or a fool for love. Had his knickers in a right old twist because I didn’t give you the Iceland job. Resigned and flounced out.’ Despite his aggrieved tone, there was a definite twinkle in Quentin’s eye. ‘The wife, incidentally his mother, thinks it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever heard.’

  ‘Alex resigned?’ Her vision blurred. Alex resigned. Because of her.

  Shame washed over her. It had been easy to take the high ground that night, talking about trust, but she hadn’t trusted him to do the right thing, despite the fact Alex had shown her in so many other ways that she could trust him. Perhaps, just perhaps, she’d messed up too.

  ‘Yup. The blithering idiot didn’t give me a chance to explain. He’d been emailing me glowing reports about you for the last month, telling me you were brilliant but like I said I’d already offered the job to Gretchen.’ He screwed up his face. ‘And I admit, I ignored his emails. I screwed up there but I was busy. For God’s sake will you accept this job and tell him to stop being a big girl’s blouse and come back to work for me. He’s the best bloody manager I’ve ever had, although don’t tell him that. I don’t want it going to his head.’

  Lucy smiled at that. Alex would never be big-headed or arrogant, he was far too kind and lovely for that. ‘I don’t know where he is?’ she whispered, suddenly longing to see him. He resigned for her. Given up one of the best jobs in Paris, in Europe.

  ‘We’ll talk contracts later over drinks this evening…’ he glanced up, his gaze shifting to a point over her left shoulder, ‘but I ought to be going.’

  Quentin rose and nodded at someone behind her. ‘Afternoon, glad you could make it.’

  ‘You didn’t give me much choice, threatening to sue for breach of contract is a fairly brutal way of forcing someone’s hand and insisting they fly all the way to Edinburgh to meet you. And mum said she wouldn’t speak to either of us until we’d sorted it out. So let’s get this over with as quickly as possible because I’ve got someone to track down and I’ve wasted enough time as it is.’

  At the sound of the familiar voice, a hot flush raced over Lucy’s skin and she almost forgot how to breathe. Alex. She froze and closed her eyes, almost too scared to turn around in case she’d got it wrong.

  ‘Desperate times. Desperate measures,’ drawled Quentin with an indifferent shrug. ‘This is the bit where I duck out and leave you two to sort things out.’ He lifted his whisky glass toasting them.

  ‘Leave … leave who?’ Confusion filled Alex’s voice and Lucy realised that he couldn’t see her in the high back sofa. She rose slowly on new-born-foal, wobbly legs, her heart banging so hard she was worried it might burst out of her chest and turned to face him.

  Alex’s head jerked up as if he’d been shot and his eyes widened. The shock in his eyes was quickly replaced with a flash of temper. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  Lucy almost smiled at his uncharacteristic grumpiness.

  ‘I went back to Iceland and you’d gone,’ he muttered.

  Shifting awkwardly on the spot, she felt unaccountably nervous when he began to walk towards her with a purposeful stride and she thought he might shake her.

  ‘I-I thought you’d left for good. You l-left without saying goodbye.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I assumed you’d gone back to Paris because your work was done.’ The memory still hurt.

  His mouth quirked and regret haunted his eyes. ‘I went back to Paris because I was so furious with Quentin.’

  Standing in front of her, he reached forward and took both her hands. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I had to see him face to face.’ Alex eyes softened as his gaze roved over her face, greedily dr
inking in the sight of her. ‘God I’ve missed you. I couldn’t believe it when I went back to Iceland and you’d gone. Hekla was almost horrible to me.’

  Lucy let out an unwilling snort. It was impossible to imagine Hekla being horrible to anyone. She shrugged. ‘There didn’t seem to be much point in staying.’ She swallowed, feeling the quick stab of betrayal again. ‘Gretchen showed me the email you sent. The one where you said I wasn’t manager material. And before I could talk to you, you’d gone without any explanation.’

  ‘That’s what I get for being impetuous.’ Alex winced. ‘She would. And I don’t suppose she showed you the other nine that I sent to Quentin saying I’d misjudged you and that he would be mad to let you go.’

  Lucy shook her head.

  Alex took another step towards her, his hands framing her face, staring intently into her eyes. ‘We must have literally crossed paths in the airport. I came back from Paris to tell you I’d told Quentin to stuff his job … and you’d gone. Of course, I didn’t have your phone number. Hekla said you’d gone back to England. And then Mum insisted I came to see her because she was upset that Quentin and I had fallen out … which is why I’m here but what are you doing here?’ His brow crumpled in a puzzled frown.

  She gave him a tremulous smile. ‘Having a job interview.’

  ‘Really?’ A smile crossed his face. ‘And?’

  ‘Quentin’s offered me a job…’

  He shook his head in startled disbelief. ‘That’s brilliant. Bloody Quentin, he’s a sneaky sod. He never said a word to me.’

  ‘I think there are conditions attached, it’s on the proviso that you rip up your resignation.’

  ‘I can do that but…’ he paused and a serious expression filled his eyes, ‘can you forgive me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was but … at first I didn’t feel I could and then, well it got too complicated.’

  ‘I understand now. I couldn’t swear to it, but I might have done the same. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you on the night Gretchen arrived. The next morning I woke up and wanted to speak to you, but you’d already gone. And then she wasted no time in stirring things up.’

  ‘I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me,’ said Alex, with a delicious twinkle of mischief.

  ‘We’re negotiating are we,’ teased Lucy, suddenly feeling so much lighter and happier.

  ‘Looks that way,’ he responded, looking down at her with a more serious expression.

  She paused and looked up at him, wanting to get this right. ‘I’m sorry that I didn’t give you chance to explain properly,’ said Lucy. ‘After the business with Chris, I automatically assumed the worst and that you were only looking out for yourself. It didn’t occur to me that you were trying to protect me. I would have hated anyone to think that I’d got the job because we were sleeping together.’

  He lifted a finger and brushed her cheekbone. ‘No one who knows you would have ever thought that you’d got the job on anything but merit. You are brilliant, Lucy Smart. Can you forgive me for messing up?’

  ‘I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me,’ she said with a low laugh repeating his words back to him before standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck to kiss him quickly on the mouth.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back so that they were nose to nose.

  ‘That’s not quite enough,’ he murmured.

  In response she trailed a series of kisses along the underside of his jaw, her lips feeling the rasp of stubble and her heart pinging when she heard his indrawn breath as she worked her way to his mouth.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said with a throaty groan. ‘You’re getting there.’

  Pressing her mouth against his, she slanted her lips over his to deepen the kiss, feeling his warm hands slide down her back to splay on her hips. Everything receded in the pleasure of the kiss and she was vaguely aware of the hiss and crackle of the open fire, the thunder of the pulse in her ears and the feel of Alex’s warm, firm body against hers. When the fire popped, they both jumped, slightly breathless and smiling like idiots at each other.

  ‘So, if I rip up my resignation?’ asked Alex with a crooked grin. ‘Will you accept the job?’

  ‘I think I might.’ She gave him a considering look. ‘Although, it’s rather dependent on how good the flight service is between Edinburgh and Paris.’

  ‘I happen to know that there’s an excellent service,’ said Alex with a teasing smile. ‘And it goes both ways.’

  ‘You would come and visit me in chilly Edinburgh?’

  ‘Try … keeping …me… away.’ He punctuated each word with a kiss. ‘Although I should warn you, you do know my mother lives near the city.’ He pulled a face. ‘But we could keep my visits on the down low.’

  Lucy raised an eyebrow.

  He looked around and put a finger over his lips. ‘She’s bossy. Nosy and will want to get to know you.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘I’m sure I can cope.’

  ‘I know you can. So, what do you think?’

  ‘I think the case for accepting is pretty good.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that. Although are you sure you want to work for Quentin? He can be a tricky old sod.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Lucy grinned. ‘He’s a terrible old romantic. He set us up today.’

  ‘More like he’s terrified of mum.’ He shook his head and rolled his eyes. ‘She’ll take all the credit for this. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past her to have put Quentin up to this. She’s a sucker for a love story.’

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘This is a love story?’

  Alex led her to the sofa and pulled her onto his lap. ‘You bet. Beginning, middle and happy ending. I love you Lucy Smart, you’re brave, loyal and gorgeous inside and out.’

  ‘That’s funny because I love you Alex McLaughlin because you’re kind, gentle and look after me beautifully even when I think I don’t need looking after.’

  She leaned in to kiss him again.

  ‘Dear God, are you two still making up?’ Quentin stood there shading his eyes as if the view was too much for him. ‘Can I just ask if I have a manager for this place and whether Alex will be getting his arse back to The Metropole any time soon?’

  Lucy grinned at Alex and whispered. ‘I’m booked into the honeymoon suite for the night.’

  He grinned back, smoothing a strand of hair from her cheek taking his time before turning to Quentin.

  ‘Sorry, we’re still in negotiation, it’s going to take some time but I think we’ll have an answer for you by tomorrow morning.’

  Quentin grunted and stomped back out of the Wee Room.

  ‘Now, where were we?’ asked Alex, his lips descending back down to hers.

  She never answered.

  Epilogue

  ‘For the love of God, Lucy, Gretchen is chewing my ear off, can you stop poaching her staff.’

  ‘She’s still got Eyrun,’ said Lucy, tracing the grain on the mahogany reception desk shooting a broad grin at Hekla who could hear every word of the telephone conversation with Quentin.

  ‘No more, do you understand me. And when Alex gets there, have him call me. How are the plans coming along? We going to be ready for a March first opening?’

  ‘Yes, Quentin,’ she said for what felt the fiftieth time, giving the newly decorated entrance hall with its Georgian paned windows, smartly painted plaster cornices and Wedgewood blue walls a proud new mama look. ‘The bedrooms are all finished. The Wee Tartan Room has been redecorated and the chimneys have all been swept. The new sofas and arm chairs were delivered yesterday and we’re waiting for the electrics to be finished in the kitchen. You won’t recognise the place.’

  ‘I’d better not,’ growled Quentin. She laughed, she’d learned pretty quickly that the best way to deal with his barky, overbearing exterior was to stand your ground. ‘Make sure Alex calls me.’

  ‘OK,’ she said blithely, with absolutely no intention of passing the message on. She checked her watch for the thousandth time that a
fternoon. Alex would be have left Charles De Gaulle by now and be somewhere above the Channel.

  Over the last few months they’d managed to spend a couple of days together each week. Thanks to the power of Wi-Fi and excellent duty managers, Alex seemed to be able to work in Edinburgh nearly as well as in Paris.

  When she put the phone down Hekla began to giggle. ‘There is no one else to steal. Only Olafur,’ she shot a sly look at Lucy, ‘and he is too ashamed to dare ask to come.’

  Lucy ignored the comment. She’d never said a word to anyone about what he’d done and if Hekla had her suspicions, they could stay that way.

  ‘It’s not as if I’m not stealing Elin,’ said Lucy, ‘She was mine to start with.’

  As soon as the news that Lucy was going to manage The Northern Holyrood Lodge in Edinburgh broke, her phone had buzzed with texts. ‘Besides, it’s not as if I’ve had any choice in the matter.’ She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. ‘You all told me you were coming to work for me, whether I wanted you or not.’

  Hekla pulled an outraged face. ‘Of course, you wanted us.’

  Lucy laughed, and gave her a quick hug. ‘I did. I’m thrilled that you did.’

  ‘And me,’ said Kristjan, bouncing into reception from the office, brandishing a newly printed menu on stiff cream card, which Hekla gave a narrow-eyed glare.

  ‘Did you print that?’ she asked bristling with suspicion.

  ‘Ja,’ he waved it at her in smug triumph.

  Lucy laughed at the other girl. ‘The printer seems to work perfectly as long as you stay away from it. It’s brand new.’

  ‘Hmph,’ said Hekla, snatching the menu from Kristjan. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  Tonight, Kristjan was trialling his menu in preparation for the official launch of the hotel the following weekend. For the last month, Lucy, Hekla and Brynja had been working non-stop managing the make-over of the hotel, setting up new systems, interviewing staff, not that Lucy needed to recruit that many, while Dagur had been helping Kristjan set up the kitchen and the bar, the two of them rapidly becoming whisky experts.