‘I still need you and Bells, of course I do. In fact, I need you more . . .’
Hindsight helped her see that this was when the frost had formed on their conversations, not that being able to identify the moment made it hurt any less.
In some ways, the last six months had flown by, but when she thought of home it felt like years since she had been there. She was often invited to join in with the other live-in staff, who all seemed nice enough, and who socialised together after hours. But quiz nights and karaoke, five-a-side football and ten-pin-bowling leagues were not for her. Merrin was too bruised to join in, wanting to keep herself to herself and figure out how to put what had happened behind her. She was, in fact, uninterested in making new friends, not when she was yearning for the old ones she had in Port Charles. Plus, the idea of having to explain how it was she had come to be here and the circumstances that led to her packing up a bag and jumping in her trusty vehicle without too much of a plan was more than she could stand. If people didn’t know what had happened, then she didn’t have to face the daily shame of them judging or pitying her too.
And now here she was on this fine morning, walking briskly along the corridor towards the main reception, where she was to relieve Fred, the night porter, from his duties. Fred was nowhere to be seen and the main phone line was ringing. Merrin picked it up, raising her index finger and smiling apologetically to the man who walked up at that moment and now stood in front of her, tapping his room key and its overly large fob on the wooden reception desk. If it was an action designed to irritate, it was surely working.
‘Sorry, one sec,’ she mouthed, and smiled again, hoping for his understanding, as she tucked her short, bobbed hair behind her left ear and turned her attention to the phone.
‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Thank you for calling Milbury Court. How may I help you?’
‘Yes, hello.’ The man spoke slowly, so slowly it was all she could do not to ask him to hurry. ‘I’m, er . . . I’m, er, thinking of bringing the wife to stay at your establishment for a couple of days and I have a few questions.’
‘I will certainly do my best to answer them, but can I remind you, sir, if I may, the best way to look at all we offer is to go on our website, and that’s also where you will find the calendar with a list and description of all rooms, services and availability.’
‘Yes, I have been on your website, but, well, the thing is’ – the man drew a slow breath – ‘my wife’s cousin, Brenda, or Mrs Montgomery, as you would know her . . .’
‘I do meet a lot of guests.’ She found a smile, trying to ignore the key tapper, who had now taken to coughing occasionally, as if she were not already painfully aware of his presence.
‘Yes, well, she came and stayed with you a few years ago and she remembers it was very cold. Cold rooms, cold lounge.’
‘Well, I’m certainly sorry to hear that and I do hope it didn’t spoil her stay. As I say, sir, we have a gallery on our website with images and details of all our rooms and availability. I think that might be your best bet.’
Key-fob man now subtly kicked the front of the reception desk and sighed. ‘Be with you as soon as I can.’ Again she smiled and whispered.
The man on the phone continued. ‘That’s all well and good, but I don’t like websites. I prefer to talk to a person, a human person, none of this robot rubbish. Anyway, the wife has sciatica and likes an electric blanket.’
Key-fob guy huffed loudly and almost growled his dissatisfaction. Merrin had to make a split-second decision between a potential customer and a paying one standing in front of her who just might have an emergency.
‘I am so sorry, sir, I just need to pop you on hold for one second.’ She pushed the hold button and turned her attention to the man in front of her.
She smiled at him and joined her hands on the jotter. ‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.’
This morning, despite her early start, all she’d done was apologise. They were short-staffed and each and every one of them was feeling the pinch. At that precise moment, Merrin should have been organising the staff rota for the next three weeks, writing a warning letter to the florist whose flower arrangements had been less than incredible for the third week running, and sending the new fabric samples for the recovering of the vintage sofas in the reception area to Lionel’s wife, who dealt with such matters.
‘No worries. Can you recommend a good pizza delivery?’
‘A pi—’ Even saying the word within the confines of this high-end hotel with its award-winning haute cuisine and a wine list that she knew the sommelier anguished over, so keen was he to get the exact right pairings with the food, was difficult.
‘A pizza joint? Somewhere that can rustle me up a stuffed-crust Margarita with a generous drizzle of chilli oil? You know what it’s like when you are in a hotel, and all that truffle-infused whatnot and micro portions of grub leave you feeling a bit, meh.’ He shrugged.
‘And you want that right now? This morning?’ She glanced at the clock and hesitated to recommend the breakfast buffet that would be in full swing in less than fifteen minutes.
‘Yup. Jet lag. This is my night time.’ He grinned.
‘Yes, of course, let me find you a menu or at the very least a link to a website. Failing that, I will have the kitchen contact you directly and see what they can whip up. And I will have someone either bring it to your room or I will email you the link. Your room number, please?’
‘One oh eight.’
‘One oh eight. Consider it done.’ She smiled sweetly.