‘Where are you going?’
‘Iceland.’
Nina’s mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’. ‘I thought you meant somewhere else in France. Not another country. Well that doesn’t sound so bad. Isn’t Iceland supposed to be beautiful with all sorts of amazing natural wonders? Bubbling geysers, hot springs and glaciers? Being Scottish I’d have thought you’d like the idea.’
‘No problem with going to Iceland. It’s the job Quentin wants me to do, which isn’t that great.’
‘I thought you said you had to put together a report.’
‘Yes, but it includes reporting on the current general manager and how the place is being run without telling them who I am. It doesn’t sit right with me. The last thing I want to do is be a spy.’
‘James Bond,’ said Nina, sitting up straighter. ‘You’ve got the Sean Connery accent.’ She launched into a dreadful impersonation of his Edinburgh accent. ‘Ah Moneypenny.’
‘Well, that must mean I’m qualified,’ Alex quipped, amused by Nina’s enthusiasm, his spirits temporarily lifted.
He was still rattled by the meeting and the conversation with his boss when he’d raised a certain disquiet about not telling the manager why he was there. His boss’s response to that had stung. ‘Thing is Alex, nice guys finish last. This is business. Pure and simple. I need someone to report back, warts and all. Without anyone sugar coating it. It’s far easier if the staff don’t know who you are. I’m not hearing great things about the management of the place. The recent TripAdvisor reviews have been shockers. With you on the ground, I’ll get a much better picture. You’ve got a good eye and you’ll be able to tell me what needs doing to sort the place out, what the staff are like and whether I can keep them or fire their sorry arses.’
The ‘nice guys finish last’ bit kept going around in his head. What was wrong with being a nice guy? Besides, he could be tough when a situation needed it. Last week he’d thrown a customer out of the hotel’s a la carte restaurant for pinching one of the waitress’s bums, faced down a belligerent delivery driver, who reversed into the hotel gates leaving a hole big enough to drive a herd of cows through, and fired the pastry chef he’d caught hurling a frying pan at the young, barely out of school, bus boy.
‘Alex is going to be James Bond,’ announced Nina as Sebastian walked in and put his arm around her placing a confident, lazy kiss on her lips, completely ignoring Alex.
‘Hi gorgeous, mmm you taste of raspberries and deliciousness.’ He went back for a second longer, lingering kiss, which had Alex rolling his eyes.
At last Sebastian drew back from Nina and turned to face him. Alex’s mouth twitched, he’d got the message loud and clear.
‘Bond, James Bond?’ Sebastian lifted a perfect Roger Moore eyebrow.
‘No, Nina’s exaggerating my undercover credentials. I’ve been asked to do some recon work. Quentin Oliver is looking at buying a place in Iceland and as I’m between hotels at the moment, I’ve been asked to go and survey the place. On the ground as it were.’ Sebastian would laugh his head off if he mentioned he was thinking of going undercover as a barman!
‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Sebastian with a sudden grin, which Alex could guess had a lot to do with how far away Iceland was. Although he needn’t have been worried, Alex had backed right off when he realised that Nina had been in love with Sebastian since she was eighteen. For a second, he wondered what might have happened, if he’d put up more of a fight for her, if he’d really thought he had a chance. Had he bowed out because it made it easier on Nina?
As he thought about it, he gave Sebastian a broad smile, maybe the best man had won. Nina adored Sebastian and she was good for him. Possibly too good. But Alex had never seen Sebastian so settled and happy.
‘I have no problem with going to Iceland. Like Nina said, I’m used to a northern climate. It’s the undercover element of it I’m not so keen on.’
‘Why not?’ Sebastian shrugged. ‘You need to remember it’s business. It’s easy to be ruthless when something you really want is at stake.’ Was there a knowing look in his eye as he stared at Alex?
And then he flashed Alex a warm, approving smile. ‘There’s no one else I’d rather have on the team, mate. I know why Quentin Oliver’s asked you. Better that it’s you. You’ve got integrity and you don’t bullshit anyone. You don’t suffer fools that’s for sure. If the current manager is an idiot, are you seriously going to have a problem reporting back on that? You hate coasters and people who don’t pull their weight. If this guy is any good, he’s got nothing to worry about.’
ICELAND
Lucy’s thoughts came back to haunt her as she stood outside the firmly closed front doors of The Northern Lights Lodge, in total darkness, her breath huffing out in a great cloud of white as the cold nipped at every last one of her extremities. This was a terrible idea. Why had she listened to a perky recruitment consultant with her eye on commission? Why hadn’t she remained in Bath with Daisy?
She almost laughed out loud, mild hysteria threatening to take hold of her. Because you were desperate. You knew it was a terrible idea and you were right. You should have trusted your own instinct.
Blinking furiously, because bloody tears were not going to help, she hammered on the door for the third time, stupidly crossing her fingers, as if that would help, and praying that someone would answer. Why had she let the taxi driver drop her at the bottom of the path? She should have made him wait but no the taxi had roared off, twin brake lights vanishing into the distance leaving her totally alone. On the journey here, she’d seen two cars. Two! Both going the other way.
Why hadn’t she stayed the night in Reykjavik?
With a shiver, she glanced around into the total blackness, the only light from her phone. There was absolutely no sign of life, not human anyway. As she got out of the taxi, after a two-hour drive in the pouring rain ‒ it hadn’t stopped raining since the plane landed in Reykjavik three hours ago ‒ there’d been a low growl to her left and the glow of yellow eyes when she swung the torch on her phone in that direction. Did they have wolves in Iceland? The pathetic beam of light caught the flash of a tail as something slunk away which made her extra wary as she’d traipsed up the path, picking her way over the stones, her suitcase complaining with each jolt and dip.
Now standing outside the wooden doors trying to peer through the side lights, she could see the place was in complete darkness. Above her she could hear the rustle of the grass on the roof or was that more creatures lurking. There were far too many Lord of the Rings images dancing fancifully in her head. With a last burst of energy, she wrenched on the ornate iron scrolled door handle, with that fruitless bang-your-head-against-a-wall hope that she’d got it wrong and the door had been open all along, even though she’d tried it umpteen times already. So much for everyone leaving their doors open, which she was sure she’d read somewhere about the country. She banged her fist on the door, before looking at her phone and the rapidly dwindling battery. Sinking to the floor, she slipped off her gloves, which weren’t going to cut it in this climate, and phoned the only contact number she had. Mr Pedersen, the hotel owner, currently in Finland, was the man who’d officially hired her, but he’d given her the number of one of the hotel employees. For the second time, her call went straight through to voicemail and this time she listened with growing despair to the message in a stream of what she assumed was Icelandic, a volley of harsh syllables and guttural sounds.
Taking a deep breath and hoping she didn’t sound too panicky