Romantic Escapes

‘You and me both,’ said Lucy. ‘I hope you don’t plan to leave too soon.’

Hekla shrugged. ‘It depends on the new owners.’

‘New owners?’ The words croaked out of Lucy’s throat in sudden alarm. ‘What do you mean?’

Hekla gave her a startled look. ‘You know, the hotel is for sale.’

‘For sale?’ Panic clutched at Lucy, her stomach clenching in fear. A change of ownership often meant a change of management. ‘What now?’

‘Ja, there is a prospective buyer. They are negotiating but Mr Pedersen said that it is likely that things will be signed in December.’

Lucy swallowed hard. December. Her contract was up in December. At her sharp indrawn breath, Hekla looked at her.

‘Don’t worry. They will need a manager.’

‘Yes but…’ Not necessarily me. Now the short-term contract made perfect sense, she realised with a sinking heart. Not the probationary period she’d assumed because they were taking her without proper references but short term because they wouldn’t need her.

‘Petta reddast,’ reminded Hekla gently. ‘It will work out. I think already you have good ideas. You have good experience, ja?’

Lucy nodded. She did have bloody good experience. The best. She could make this work. Maybe she needed to believe in herself, she always had done before. Everything had been fine before that damned video had gone viral, until head office had fired her, before Chris had shafted her so well and truly.

Hvolsvöllur was even smaller than Lucy had expected, the town sitting in a flat vale with a few roads. Red rooved houses lined the roads as Hekla drove through, pointing out where her cousins had lived, an uncle, her school friend’s mother’s house. It seemed as if Hekla knew everyone in town. She knew exactly where to go to buy the coffee machine that had been their principal purpose and within half an hour they were done.

‘Would you like to stop in the tourist shop, Una Local?’ she asked. ‘It has some nice things.’

‘That would be nice,’ said Lucy gloomily. ‘I might have to buy Christmas presents to take home with me.’ Something for Daisy who’d been so good to her this past year and her Mum and Dad who thought this was a great adventure and had no idea what had driven her to make such a radical career change.

Hekla shook her head. ‘Petta reddast. You are an Icelander now. A solution will come.’

‘I hope so,’ muttered Lucy, who until now deliberately hadn’t thought beyond mid-December.

‘It will,’ said Hekla, with what Lucy now thought of her as Viking Princess resilience.

The shop wasn’t the prettiest building, it looked more like a series of three airport hangers, painted red, yellow and blue with a large puffin painted on the front door, but inside the white airy space was filled with well-displayed traditional Icelandic crafts and gifts on little wooden tables. Fairy lights were strung around the ceiling and Lucy did a double take at the sight of a bicycle suspended on its side and the various ornaments dangling from the spokes of the wheels. On the walls, hanging from hangers on hooks, there was a fine selection of the heavy wool jumpers she associated with Northern Europe, the necklines decorated with the familiar Scandinavian knitted patterns, along with woollen poncho style tops, scarves and hats. There were pretty watercolours of puffins, photographs of hardy Icelandic ponies, papier mâché trolls, printed cushions and colourful tea-towels. Everything, although eye-wateringly expensive, was beautifully made and Lucy could have spent a fortune. In one corner there was a Norse Viking figure made of sheepskin, with a knitted helmet around which a couple of tourists crowded taking selfies with lots of laughs and smiles. Even Lucy had to smile at the sight of the big shambling figure.

Hekla had already struck up a conversation with the sales lady as Lucy wandered around. She stopped again beside a display of puffin watercolour pictures. Simple but effective, she thought, they would look perfect in the guest lounge. She picked one up and carried it towards Hekla.

‘You’re going to buy a picture?’ she asked.

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’d really like to display a couple in the hotel, we could direct guests here to buy them, if,’ she turned to the sales lady Hekla had been chatting to, ‘you’d be interested.’

She was interested, in the sort of bite-your-hand-off sort of way that Lucy had hoped for and it didn’t take long for them to sort out a mutually satisfying arrangement that had her humming to herself as they carried three paintings out to the car, with the promise of more to come which could be picked up in a couple of days.

‘Nice work,’ said Hekla, ‘that is a good idea.’

‘Yup,’ said Lucy with a mischievous smile, feeling a sense of achievement. ‘Free decorations for the walls. The guest lounge is lovely but it needs more. We never did ask Eyrun about what happened to the other things.’

‘No, we didn’t.’ Hekla’s airy response made Lucy giggle.

‘You’re scared of her too.’

Hekla tried and failed to keep an innocent face before giggling back at her and nodding.

‘She terrifies me. That’s why you’re the boss. You have to ask her.’ Hekla threw her a challenging glance. ‘Two shots. Tomorrow night.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Tomorrow. We are playing card games in the staff lounge. Drinking games.’ Hekla’s face wreathed in mischief. ‘Dares. If you don’t ask Eyrun, you have to drink two shots.’

Lucy laughed. ‘And what do you do, if I do?’

Hekla shrugged. ‘I guess I have to drink two shots.’

‘Does this happen often?’ asked Lucy.

‘The evenings are long and dark, we like to get together. The card games are Elin’s idea. She and Brynja and Freya are all good fun. And Brynja’s boyfriend, Dagur and Gunnar are so funny. Olafur can be a bit sulky sometimes but then he forgets and he’s nice. And new Alex is fun too and very easy on the eye as they say.’

Back in the car on their way to the hotel, Hekla reminded her of their dare. Lucy shrugged. She’d never backed down from a challenge, even so she was going to have to steel herself for another run in with Eyrun.

‘Eyrun?’ Lucy called, cross with herself for being so timid. She was in charge here for heaven’s sake. Despite the dull rhythmic thud of towels in the huge dryer, there was no sign of the Head of Housekeeping. Lucy let out a small sigh of relief

Was it any wonder Eyrun rarely left her little cave, there was something rather soothing about the somnolent thrum of the dryers? The warm dry air made her feel pleasantly dopey and relaxed and she closed her eyes for a few minutes just letting herself be for a while. Hekla’s positive attitude and talk of petta reddast this morning had given Lucy food for thought. She’d always been organised and successful through hard work and diligence but, before now, she’d never had to face much adversity.

All the angry bees that had been buzzing in her head for so long, keeping her awake at night with their what ifs and if onlys, had taken flight, leaving a welcome nothingness in her head. The cycle of constant recriminations and fear of doing everything wrong that had hamstrung and exhausted her the past year had dissipated for once, and with Hekla’s words taking root, she was thinking about being more resilient. Not letting Chris win. She’d needed to take charge, assert her authority and not just with Eyrun.

When the dryer had finally finished its cycle, the quiet of the Lodge echoed in her ears, so silent and still she could almost hear the soft buzz of the dust and fibres settling.

For a second, she gave into the quiet atmosphere, slouching against a trolley, her head resting on the metal handle.

As she drooped over the trolley, she saw the sliver of light widen as the door opened very, very slowly.

Someone slipped in and with furtive intent looked around, overlooking her in the dark corner. The male figure moved forward towards the other room which housed the huge industrial washing machines and a couple of floor-to-ceiling storage cupboards. She watched as he carefully pushed the door too behind him, leaving it an inch open.

What on earth was he up to? And who was it? Lucy felt uncomfortable spying but as someone in the hotel had been playing unwelcome games, she felt justified even though there’d been no repeat of the dead mice or any other tricks recently. Was she about to catch the culprit in the act? She grabbed an armful of sheets from a nearby trolley to give her a reason for being here and creeping forward to the doorway of the stockroom, she peeped through the gap.

Alex! What on earth was he doing in here?

For a few seconds she watched him as he sifted through a pile of duvet covers, poked at the stack of pillowcases, opened a few cupboards and crouched down to take a closer look at the washing powders and cleaning fluids on the shelf.

Lucy pushed open the door making as much noise as she could.

He whirled round, his handsome face a picture.

Handsome. For God’s sake, Lucy, he’s nice looking, that’s all. But there was a distinct flutter in her stomach.

For what felt like a second too long they stared at one another, with that momentary now what of a pair of gun slingers facing each other.

‘Alex!’ Her voice was an octave too high. ‘Fancy seeing you here? Are you helping out with the laundry now?’