Page 21 of Another Lucky Number (Lucky Number #2)

Chapter Nineteen

F ive minutes later, I’ve changed and I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in the toilets (a.k.a. the ladies powder room).

‘ Oh man ,’ I groan out loud.

The bottom half is inoffensive: a knee length black pencil skirt which almost fits me, but the blouse is hideous – on me anyway.

It’s like someone knocked over a bunch of tins of paint and this was the result.

I suppose some people pay hundreds of thousands of pounds for this kind of design when it’s on canvas, but when the canvas is a fair-skinned Scottish woman, whatever appeal there is becomes quickly lost. It’s also about three sizes too big for me, causing it to billow around my waist like a poorly erected tent.

Swallowing thickly, I drag my horrified expression away from the mirror and pick my way across the atrium with my legs feeling like they’re no longer attached to my body. I can’t bear to make eye contact with anyone around me.

‘Ah, there you are. This way, Emma.’ Charnice, who looks a million times better than I do in the uniform, gestures for me to walk through a door to the left of the solid wood reception desk.

I pull it open, make my way through the small office and back out again into the space behind reception.

‘Are you OK?’ She asks me. ‘You look a little… unhappy.’

‘I’m fine,’ I reassure her, fully aware that this isn’t her fault and also not wanting to disrespect the important role she plays in the effective running of the resort. This is definitely not about that.

‘Shall I tell you a bit about the resort and what I do while we have some quiet time?’

‘Sure, sounds good.’

‘This is where all of the guest reservations and information is held.’ Charnice gestures to one of three computers in a row.

‘We have an active record of everyone staying with us, as well as information on upcoming and past bookings. Normally there is at least two of us here, but my colleagues are in a meeting just now.’

I peer at the screen with growing interest. ‘You’ll have an active record for me then.’

‘Yes. Let us look you up as an example so I can show you.’ She taps my surname into the search field.

‘ Wow , you remember my surname? That’s impressive. I suppose it’s your job to know who everyone is.’

Charnice looks at me and smiles. ‘Shall I share a secret with you?’

‘Go on.’ I lean in, thinking she’s about to pass on some amazing memory trick that I can use in the future.

‘When your friends asked if you could come and work with me this morning, I looked up your details and memorised them.’

‘ Aha . And there was me thinking you had a photographic memory or something.’

‘Sadly, no. I would love to be able to address every guest by name, but we have around four hundred checked in today alone.’

‘That’s a lot of people.’

‘It is,’ she says. ‘I do know the names of some guests: those who return to us regularly, but that is all.’

She clicks out of my information, then gives me a demonstration of the room allocation system, along with an overview of the resort from an operational perspective.

After a few minutes, an older couple, perhaps in their sixties, approaches the desk.

Their clothing and the hand luggage they’re carrying make it obvious that their stay has come to an end.

‘Good morning, sir, ma’am,’ Charnice greets them. ‘You are checking out?’

‘Unfortunately.’ The man, who has a southern English accent, gives a despondent sigh. His wife looks equally flat.

‘Have you enjoyed your stay with us?’

‘It’s been wonderful. Will be a shock returning to normal life, won’t it, Betty?’

His wife nods.

‘And where is normal life for you, sir?’ Charnice takes the room key card from the man and expertly taps at the keyboard, while remaining fully engaged in the conversation.

‘Dorset, in the UK. We gather it’s about fifteen degrees cooler with stormy weather rolling in every couple of days.’

Betty visibly shivers at the thought.

‘Maybe you can focus on your nice memories to distract you from the rain?’ says Charnice. ‘If it makes you feel better, it will be hurricane season here. We’ll have a lot of rain here too.’

‘ Gosh, yes . Perhaps better to have our British storms. Right, Betty?’

‘It does make home sound more appealing.’ Betty perks up all of a sudden.

‘I’m glad.’ Charnice plucks a sheet of paper from the printer and places it on the desk. ‘You are checked out, Mr and Mrs Jeffries. Here is a copy of your invoice. I wish you a good journey home and I hope you will come and visit us again soon.’

‘We hope so too,’ says Mr Jeffries. ‘Perhaps for our golden wedding anniversary in a few years’ time.’

‘I hope to see you then. Neville here will show you to your transfer to the airport.’ Charnice turns to me once Neville has seamlessly taken over care of Mr and Mrs Jeffries. ‘There you are, Emma. That is how you check the guests out.’

‘That was really impressive, Charnice,’ I say.

‘What was impressive?’

‘You didn’t just check them out. You made them feel good about going home. They were so disappointed to be leaving, then one comment about hurricane season and they practically skipped off to their transfer.’

‘My job is to make people happy.’ Charnice shrugs as if her actions aren’t worth mentioning. ‘It’s easy to do this when they arrive and they’re excited to get their first taste of the resort. But they should leave happy too.’

‘I love that. Is it really that bad here during hurricane season?’ My eyes widen in anticipation of her answer.

‘No. Unless a very big one comes, and that’s not often on this island, thankfully. But people are afraid of hurricanes, especially those who have never experienced them. It’s a way of helping them appreciate what they have, though I use it sparingly. We still want people to visit all year round.’

‘Well, I think it was genius. Perfectly pitched for those two guests.’

‘Thank you, Emma. I’m glad to impress you.’

I observe Charnice in action for around an hour, giving outstanding personal service to every guest who approaches the desk: processing their check outs, giving them information about sightseeing excursions, answering their questions about the resort.

She’s a complete pro and I can see that she’s the epitome of everything the company wants to showcase.

‘Would you like to manage the next check out, Emma?’ she asks, when we find ourselves with another lull in activity. ‘I will manage the computer while you speak to the guests?’

‘ Really? ’ I cringe. ‘Are you sure you want to let me loose on your customers?’

‘Why not? I think you will be very natural at this.’

‘OK, sure. Let’s give it a try.’

I step forward, fixing a friendly smile on my face while I await my first customer.

Suddenly, I see a man storming across the atrium towards us – and he doesn’t look happy at all.

It’s the man I overheard in the bar the other day: the one who was talking about a housekeeping staff member in a derogatory way.

‘Emma, this is not a check out,’ says Charnice. ‘I will handle this.’

I step back, relieved.

‘Good morning, Mr Miller. How may I help you today?’

He ignores Charnice’s greeting, instead choosing to bark at her. ‘I want to speak with the hotel manager. Now .’

Charnice doesn’t even waver, her smile remaining as genuine as it was with the previous (nicer) guests. ‘The duty manager is dealing with another matter currently, Mr Miller. Rather than you waiting, may I help you?’

Mr Miller looks like he’s about to explode, his face even redder than it was that afternoon in the bar. ‘ Did I not make it clear before that I wanted that maid dealt with? ’

‘I remember, sir. She is no longer cleaning you or any of your family’s suites as I recall.’

‘That may be the case. But she’s still here – at the resort. I’ve just seen her cleaning rooms on another wing of this place. How is that dealing with her? She needs to be fired .’

‘Mr Miller, I’m afraid I cannot comment on this issue specifically, however, I will ask the duty manager to contact you as soon as she is available.’

‘This is horseshit . I am not waiting around in my room all day for a call. Use my cell number.’ He thrusts what looks like a business card at Charnice, and to her credit, she doesn’t even flinch.

‘Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘Can you wave a magic wand and get this place running like it used to?’

‘I understand you are frustrated. I will ensure that the Duty Manager contacts you as quickly as possible.’

‘ You’d better . Otherwise, I’ll be taking my money elsewhere in future.’ He glances across at me and his eyes narrow. ‘You’re that nosey girl from the bar.’

I instinctively recoil from his accusing stare.

‘Sorry, sir? Is there something else you would like to discuss?’ It’s clear that Charnice is keen to shift his focus away from me.

‘You can add her to the list as well.’ He flicks an angry finger in my direction. ‘This one was blatantly eavesdropping on my private conversation with my family in the bar. What was she doing drinking in there anyway when she’s staff?’

‘Mr Miller, I’m not—’ I try to explain that I’m not an employee, but he cuts me off.

‘Do not talk back to me. You’ll be lucky if you still have a job by the end of the day.’ He looks me up and down in disgust. ‘Is it so hard to get an outfit that fits you? You look like a deflated beach ball.’

My face burns with humiliation as he stalks off in the direction of the pool.

‘Emma, are you OK?’ Charnice turns to me with an apologetic face. ‘I’m sorry for the way Mr Miller spoke to you.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ I say, my cheeks still hot from the altercation. I lower my voice. ‘ He’s the one with the problem. Where does he get off behaving like that? I’ve never seen such snobbery and entitlement.’

‘He has his ways, but he is also a regular guest with a lot of money.’

‘That shouldn’t give him the right to tear into people like that.’

‘No, it should not, and I have not seen him quite like this before. Between you and me, he recently struck a big business deal. It was in the news that he is expected to become a billionaire within five years. Perhaps this has had an effect.’

I frown and shake my head. ‘Future billionaire or not, it’s never OK to behave in that way.’

‘He’s not the only one, I’m afraid. It comes with the job in a resort like this. And it’s something you will need to know about if you end up working with us.’

I feel a deep pang of empathy for Charnice. ‘That’s really sad. I’m sorry you have to deal with that kind of stuff.’

‘Thank you, Emma. I learned a long time ago not to take it personally.’ She shrugs and smiles her bright smile once again. ‘Look, here comes another check out. Are you ready?’

‘Yes, I can do this.’ I attempt to smooth down my billowing blouse and shake off the raging self-consciousness that’s now hovering around me like an unrelenting mosquito.

This time, it’s a group of women who are checking out. I smile sweetly at them as they approach the desk, wheeling their cabin bags along behind them.

‘Good morning, ladies. Are you checking out?’

‘We are,’ says the woman who’s taken the lead. ‘Here are our key cards.’

‘I’ll take these.’ Charnice takes them from her and taps the information into the computer.

‘Have you all enjoyed your stay?’ I ask.

‘ It’s been wonderful! ’ another one of the group calls from further away .

‘Really wonderful,’ the woman who passed over the key cards says. ‘This place is paradise. The service was excellent too. So good that we would like to leave this for the staff as a tip.’ She hands me a bulky envelope, which evidently contains a pile of bank notes.

‘That’s extremely kind of you.’ I turn to Charnice to check it’s all right to accept it.

She gives a subtle nod without removing her eyes from the screen.

‘Thank you so much. It’s great for our employees to know they have served you well and that they have been appreciated. How long is your journey home?’

The woman launches into a detailed description of their return itinerary, which I listen to attentively.

That is, until a familiar voice floats across the atrium, pricking my attention.

Confused, I glance over the woman’s shoulder in time to catch sight of three blokes sauntering across the atrium dressed in swim shorts, T-shirts and flip flops, and my breath catches in my throat.

I blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not seeing things – but this time I’m definitely not hallucinating.

One of the three men is James. His face, his voice, his sexy smile.