Up Close and Personal (23 page)

‘But you checked out her references, right?’

She shook her head.

‘Jeez, you’re taking a bit of a gamble, aren’t you?’ Dante said. ‘How do you know she’s trustworthy?’

Juliet looked up from her flower arranging. ‘She’s
Nathan’s sister; that’s all the recommendation I need.’ She put a hand on her hip. ‘Actually, she’s his half-sister. I believe they have different mothers, hence the rather large age gap.’

Dante could hardly believe what he was hearing. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘You’ve hired someone without running any background checks, just because she happens to be related to the general manager.’

‘Oh, darling, I’m sure Orla’s perfectly capable – and she’s a nice girl; you said so yourself.’

‘It doesn’t matter how nice she is,’ Dante glowered. ‘She’s got no relevant experience.’

Juliet picked up a small bunch of chrysanthemums and began trimming the stems with a pair of scissors. ‘Domestic vacancies aren’t that easy to fill, you know – especially on the wages I’m offering. Nathan has done me a huge favour.’

‘Done himself a favour, more like,’ Dante muttered.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, come on, Juliet. Isn’t it obvious? The guy already acts like he owns the place. Now he’s trying to get his feet even further under the table by bringing in his goddamn sister. Next thing you know he’ll be trying to convince you to get rid of Chef and hire his Auntie Elsie from Edinburgh instead.’

Juliet gave a brittle laugh.

‘Do you know what I reckon?’ Dante continued. ‘Nathan feels threatened by me.’

Juliet tutted. ‘You’re my husband; Nathan’s just an employee. Why would he see you as a threat?’

Dante shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

Juliet laid down her scissors on the table. ‘You’ve really got it in for Nathan, haven’t you?’

‘
He’s
got it in for me, more like.’

‘Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but you two are just going to have to rub along. Nathan’s brilliant at his job; I simply couldn’t manage without him.’

Dante scowled. He didn’t understand why Juliet was always so ready to spring to Nathan’s defence. Surely there were other general managers who would do the job just as well. ‘Well, okay, then,’ he said, not wanting the conversation to escalate into a full-blown argument. ‘But I’m telling you, Juliet, the guy’s gotta sort out his attitude problem. Every time he speaks to me he’s got this funny sneery expression on his face. Next time, I might just be tempted to punch his lights out.’

Juliet gave him a withering look. ‘Oh, please.’

Suddenly, there was a sound from above them. Dante looked towards the stairs. Orla was standing on the half-landing with a pile of towels in her arms. He had no idea how long she’d been there.

She looked at them both hesitantly. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just taking these towels to the laundry room.’

‘Don’t mind us – you go right ahead,’ Juliet replied.

Orla proceeded down the stairs, her chin resting on top of the towels to prevent any escaping.

‘Oh, and, Orla,’ Juliet called out when she was nearly at the bottom. ‘I spilled some body lotion on my dressing table earlier. Will you clean it up for me when you have a moment?’

Orla smiled. ‘That’s already taken care of, Mrs Fisher. It did leave a bit of a greasy mark behind, but I wiped the wood down with some nail-polish remover and it seems to have done the trick.’

Juliet beamed back at her. ‘Clever girl, thank you.’ As the maid disappeared through one of the stone archways, she picked up the vase and carried it over to the windowsill. ‘You know, darling, I really don’t think we’re going to have any problems with Orla,’ she told Dante. ‘It certainly sounds as if she’s got plenty of initiative.’

Dante cut his eyes to the side. ‘I’m reserving judgement.’

‘Have you got any plans for this afternoon?’ Juliet asked as she made some final adjustments to her arrangement. ‘Only I’ve got to go into town to buy some new placemats for the guests’ dining room. Why don’t you come with me?’

‘I can’t. I’m going to the golf club.’

‘Oh? Are you meeting Connor?’

Dante shook his head. ‘The bar manager called my mobile earlier; he reckons he might have some work for me. There’s a big charity ball coming up in a couple of weeks.’

Juliet nodded. ‘The Granville Lodge fundraiser … It’s a pretty big deal around here. The girls and I have got tickets. We bought them months ago, or I would’ve asked you if you wanted to go.’

‘Cool,’ Dante said. ‘The bar manager’s looking for experienced cocktail waiters, so I said I’d drop by for a chat this afternoon.’

‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.’ Hearing the crunch of gravel, Juliet turned towards the window. A smart silver BMW was parking up. ‘That’ll be Mr and Mrs Devine. They’re booked in for three nights.’ She looked at her watch. ‘They’re a bit early. I’d better nip upstairs and make sure their room’s ready. Would you be a love and check them in for me?’

‘There’s no need for that, Mrs Fisher,’ came a voice from behind them. ‘I’ve got it all under control.’

Juliet looked round. Nathan was standing behind the reception desk. ‘Hello, Nathan,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I thought you were going through the shopping list with Chef.’

‘It’s all done,’ Nathan said. ‘I’m putting the Devines in the Byron, by the way. Orla’s already made up the room and I’ve checked it over, so there’s no need for you to trouble yourself.’

Juliet clapped her hands together. ‘Excellent!’ She picked up a white carnation and trimmed the stem. ‘This is for you,’ she said, walking over to Nathan and working the flower into the buttonhole of his jacket.

‘Why thank you, Mrs Fisher,’ Nathan said, firing a smug smile in Dante’s direction.

Dante looked down and saw that the fragile peony he’d been holding was now crushed to a pulp in his fist.

17

It was the middle of the night and, for the first time in recent history, every bedroom in Ashwicke Park’s east wing was occupied. The previous day, one of Loxwood’s smartest hotels had hosted a society wedding and, like several other smaller hostelries in the area, Juliet was gratefully absorbing the overspill of guests. Keen to create the right impression in the hope of securing some good, word-of-mouth reviews, she had asked for a volunteer among the staff to stay on duty throughout the night. Not only would he or she be able to check in any latecomers, but they would also be on hand should one of the guests need something at an unsocial hour – an extra blanket, for example, or a mug of hot milk.

Charlie had jumped at the chance to take on more responsibility and claim the modest overtime on offer. At first, Juliet had baulked at the idea of leaving one so inexperienced in charge, but when none of the other staff put themselves forward she relented.

‘Just don’t fall asleep on the job,’ Juliet warned her young employee as she and Dante headed upstairs to bed soon after eleven. ‘Remember, from now until morning, you’re the public face of Ashwicke Park.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Fisher, I’m used to staying up all night,’ Charlie replied, omitting to mention that, in such instances, his wakefulness had invariably been fuelled by artificial stimulants of one kind or another.

It was now nearly an hour since the last arrival had been checked in and escorted to their room. Charlie had specifically been told not to abandon the reception desk for more than a few minutes at a time in case one of the wedding guests called down. However, most of them had been three sheets to the wind and would, Charlie reasoned, have fallen asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. With this in mind, he had relocated to the residents’ lounge, where there were comfy chairs and a widescreen TV – not that he intended to stay there all night.

The minute the carriage clock on the mantelpiece struck two, Charlie leapt to his feet. He made his way to the entrance hall and heaved open the front door. Outside, the gardens lay in darkness. Nothing stirred. Lifting his fingers to his mouth, Charlie gave a brief whistle. A moment later, three figures stepped out from behind a low clipped box hedge. Grinning, Charlie beckoned them into the house.

Ten minutes later, the four teenagers were sitting in Juliet’s dining room, grouped round one end of the highly polished walnut table.

‘This is some place you’ve got here, Charlie,’ remarked the eldest – a lumpen lad with bad neck acne – as he pulled a can of beer from his rucksack. ‘Do you think you could get
me
a job here? I’d do anything.’ He frowned. ‘Except clean the bogs. That’s women’s work.’

Charlie smiled as he cracked open a beer. He’d known all three lads since school. Andy and Tim both had apprenticeships, but Jason had been unemployed for nearly a year. ‘I can put a word in for you if you like, but the boss is pretty strapped for cash at the moment. I don’t think she’s looking to take on anyone new at the moment.’

‘But look at all this stuff,’ Jason said, gesturing to a display cabinet crammed with Crown Derby. ‘She must be minted, especially since her old man died.’

Charlie shrugged. ‘All I know is she can’t even afford to get the leaking roof fixed.’

Andy reached out and tweaked one of the gold epaulettes on Charlie’s uniform jacket. ‘I hate to say it, mate, but you look like a right gayer in that get-up.’

Charlie brushed his hand away. ‘I thought you’d come here to play poker, not take the piss out of me.’

‘Yeah,’ said Tim, producing a pack of playing cards from his coat pocket. ‘Let’s get down to business. How long have we got?’

‘Chef gets in at six, so you’ll need to be gone by five thirty at the latest.’

Jason rubbed his hands together. ‘Plenty of time for me to bleed you lot dry.’

Charlie grunted. ‘In your dreams, mate.’

By four a.m., Jason’s prophecy was indeed proving optimistic. Charlie, by contrast, was on a winning streak and keen to up the ante. ‘How about we raise the stake?’ he said, as he dealt a new hand.

‘What to?’ asked Andy.

‘A fiver each?’

Tim raised his eyebrows sceptically. ‘It’s all right for you to flash the cash. You get a tip just for carrying a bloody bag up a flight of stairs. I’m only a bleedin’ brickie, remember.’

‘Oh, go on,’ said Andy. ‘Live dangerously for once.’

Tim thought for a moment. ‘Fine, but if I don’t win the next hand, I’m calling it a night.’ He reached for Jason’s
rucksack that earlier in the evening had been bulging with cans, frowning when he realized it was empty. ‘We’re out of beer,’ he said glumly.

‘No way!’ Andy shrieked. ‘I’ve only had three cans. Which one of you greedy bastards has necked my share?’

‘You drank the other two in the bus on the way over here, remember?’ Jason said.

‘No, I didn’t. I only had one.’

‘You had two. I remember being surprised at how quickly you were putting them away.’

Andy stood up and lurched drunkenly towards his friend. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

Charlie clicked his tongue. ‘Keep your voices down, guys. We don’t want to wake Mrs Fisher up.’

Andy apologized and sat back down again. ‘Can you get us some more booze? A place like this is bound to have a wine cellar. I’m sure your Mrs F won’t miss a few bottles.’

Tim gave a loud sniff. ‘Wine’s for pussies. D’you know what I fancy? A nice drop of whisky.’ He looked at Charlie expectantly. ‘How about it, fella?’

The porter sighed. ‘You lot wait here. I’ll see what I can do.’

He left the room, taking care to close the door behind him, and headed back towards reception. At the foot of the stairs he paused and listened for any sound of movement above, but all he could hear was the gentle creak of Ashwicke’s old bones. He continued through one of the stone archways and down the dark corridor. About two-thirds of the way down he stopped outside a door. Beyond it lay the snug. The room wasn’t used much and
Charlie had only been inside it once before – when he’d been helping Reg hang the curtains after their annual dry clean. He hesitated for a moment, then turned the doorknob.

In daylight the snug had been spooky enough, with its funny, musty smell and all Gus’s bits and pieces laid out on the desk as if he might be coming back for them at any moment. By night, the room was even eerier and wreathed with shadows. The curtains were open and soft bluish moonlight flooded in through the window. Its rays highlighted random objects on Gus’s desk – a monogrammed fountain pen, the burnished wood of a pipe stem, a squat inkwell with a domed silver lid.

Charlie could feel his skin prickling as he crossed the room to the bookshelf, where he remembered seeing a pair of square decanters on a silver tray. He located them swiftly – one was half full and contained cognac, according to the engraved silver label round its neck; the other held whisky, but it was nearly empty. Picking up the cognac, he walked back towards the door. As he passed the fireplace, he felt a cold breath of air on the back of his neck. It made the hairs in each nostril stand on end. Gulping loudly, he bolted towards the door.

Soon, Charlie was back in the brightly lit entrance hall. As he made his way back to the dining room, he mentally castigated himself for being such a scaredy cat. Everybody knew there were no such things as ghosts. The sensation on the back of his neck was nothing more than a draught, he told himself firmly. Old houses were full of them.

The others were impressed when they saw the decanter.

‘Nice one, Chaz,’ Tim said. ‘That should see us through till morning.’

‘What about glasses?’ Andy asked.

Charlie pointed to the gargantuan sideboard. ‘There should be some in there.’ He set down the decanter in the middle of the table. ‘It’s cognac, not whisky, I’m afraid.’

Tim rubbed his hands together. ‘Even better.’ He looked over at Andy, who was on his hands and knees beside the sideboard. ‘How are you doing with those glasses, mate?’

‘No joy yet,’ Andy replied. ‘But I have found these.’ He turned round. In his hands was a long flat box. The lid was open and inside the velvet-lined interior lay a set of art deco steak knives. He picked one up and brandished it like a dagger. ‘Pretty cool, huh?’