Hotel By The Loch Page 16

  When Fenella refused to reply, Miriam continued, ‘What a pity to have an infatuation for the wrong man! Perhaps it’s quite the best thing to leave the Gairmorlie in the autumn, even sooner if you could manage it. New faces, new surroundings, a job to interest you, and you’ll soon forget Cameron.’

  ‘I’ve nothing more to say to you, Miriam.’ Fenella moved towards the door.

  ‘And I have only one more thing to say to you,’ replied Miriam. ‘Try to keep out of my way where Cameron’s concerned. Otherwise, you’ll only be hurt. Perhaps I might finally point out that Cameron and I are nearer in age. He’s twenty-nine, a year older than I. He needs a more mature woman than either you or Laurie.’

  Fenella left Miriam’s room without further comment, for she had nothing to say in the face of this blatant attempt to appropriate Cameron. She hoped he had enough independence to resist such piratical tactics.

  It had not occurred to Fenella at the time to question Miriam’s assumption of authority over reception office staff. Surely, she thought, it would be Cameron who had the right to complain if he thought her interfering in matters of staff discipline.

  She wondered a few days later what Miriam had told Cameron. He spoke to her one morning shortly after breakfast.

  ‘Fenella, I wonder if you’d mind helping Miriam for a few days. One of her assistant floor-housekeepers has been rushed to hospital with suspected appendicitis and we have capacity bookings for the week-end.’

  This was to be the special Spanish week-end, when national dishes and wines would be served. Dancing displays, cabaret shows, a concert of Spanish music were all devised to draw visitors to the Gairmorlie.

  ‘Of course I’ll help Miriam in any way I can,’ Fenella replied at once, although she was prepared to agree more for Cameron’s sake than for Miriam’s.

  ‘Good. Will you go up to her room and discuss the matter with her?’

  ‘Yes, but what about my duty in reception or on the excursions desk?’ she queried.

  ‘Oh, I think we can manage that. Laurie will take over part and Mrs. Robertson will do the rest.’

  When she reported to Miriam she was surprised by the latter’s cordiality.

  ‘Thanks, Fenella, that’s a load off my mind. I don’t know how I would have coped.’

  ‘What d’you want me to do?’

  ‘Jill will take over an extra half a floor, so that leaves you only half to attend to.’

  ‘But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,’ objected Fenella, feeling that she had now been pushed into a job where she understood nothing of the responsibilities.

  ‘Oh, that’s quite simple. Jill will explain everything. If there’s any difficulty, come to me and I’ll help.’

  There was no doubt, thought Fenella, that Miriam could be a charming woman when she chose. Instantly the jealous thought arose. Was Miriam usually at her delightful best with Cameron?

  Fenella listened carefully to the schedule of her new duties.

  ‘It’s more a matter of supervising than anything else,’ Jill told her. ‘Unless, of course, there’s trouble among the chambermaids. Then you have to sort out their grievances.’ It was inevitable that Fenella was acquainted with a number of regular clients. When she saw them along the corridors she naturally greeted them or stopped to exchange a few words with them. One young man, a Mr. Ian Coleford, had visited the Gairmorlie at least half a dozen week-ends and when she saw him on ‘Spanish Saturday’ she stopped on the stairs to chat to him.

  ‘I never imagined the Gairmorlie would come up with such splendid ideas,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘All these novelties, like this Spanish idea, can’t fail to pull in the people.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Fenella, ‘but we want people to be attracted enough to come again and stay longer.’

  She continued to talk a few more moments, then excused herself on the ground that she had work to do.

  ‘You’re wasted in reception,’ he said, smiling. ‘You ought to be promoted to hostess or something.’

  ‘At the moment I’ve been promoted to floor-housekeeper and I must go now and see if the maids have done the bedrooms properly.’

  In the reception office Fenella had always worn her own clothes, usually whatever she considered suitable, but Miriam now indicated that she would prefer Fenella to conform to usual practice and wear a plain black dress. ‘The maids don’t feel the same unless the person in authority is suitably dressed,’ she explained.

  So Fenella found an old black dress which she disliked but which enhanced the lovely contrast of her fair hair which she now wore in a twisted knot at the back of her head.

  Then there was the matter of precedence in the staff dining room. Formerly the staff at the Gairmorlie had taken their meals in a small room leading from the kitchen, but Cameron had installed a much more attractive cafeteria adjacent to the new enlarged kitchens, where all the staff could eat in comfort.

  There was to be no distinction, he had ordered, except in the matter of reserved table and service for the higher ranks. Sometimes Miriam joined Ernesco and Alvaro at their reserved table where they were served by commis, the young apprentice waiters, who were usually so nervous at being watched by the eagle eyes of chef and head waiter that they fumbled and stumbled and sighed with relief when meals were ended.

  Cameron, of course, took his main meals at his own table in an unobtrusive corner of the restaurant where he, too, could watch for imperfections.

  The rest of the staff could choose their own companions at small tables and Fenella had usually sat with Laurie or Mrs. Robertson whenever their duty spells allowed.

  This apparently displeased Miriam, for she took an early opportunity to say gently to Fenella, ‘While you’re working in my part of the house, I think it would be better if you sat with the chambermaids.’

  ‘Class distinctions?’ queried Fenella, but she was not prepared to make an issue of it, and next day complied with Miriam’s request. Unfortunately she found herself next to Norah, the malcontent Irish waitress.

  ‘So ye’ve come to sit among us,’ Norah said with mock gaiety. ‘Is it our brilliant and witty conversation ye’re wanting to listen to?’

  Fenella smiled and said nothing. It was too dangerous. A girl across the table whom Fenella recognized as one of her own floor staff was relating to her companion various experiences in other hotels where she had worked.

  ‘And the food!’ she exclaimed in disgust. ‘Should have been put in the waste bins, although it wasn’t fit for pigs. We had to eat in a little cubbyhole on the fourth floor and by the time we got the food it was stone cold—and thrown at us by the old harridan who was supposed to serve us.’

  It was on the tip of Fenella’s tongue to ask the girl what she thought of conditions at the Gairmorlie, but she was restrained by Norah’s bold sneering gaze.

  But without a doubt ye got y’r tips when the visitors left,’ Norah said.

  The other girl grimaced. ‘Sometimes. Not much ever came my way.’

  The Spanish week-end seemed to be a success, for judicious advertising in local papers brought in dozens of motorists curious to see how Spanish a typically Scottish hotel could be.

  On the Monday after, Fenella met Mr. Coleford who had occupied a room on her floor. He spoke enthusiastically about the ‘fiesta’ and said he would eagerly look forward to the next.

  ‘What will that be?’ he asked.

  Fenella shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. Mr. Ramsay has several ideas and future plans.’

  Then to her astonishment and embarrassment, he thrust a pound note into her hand and dashed away down the corridor.

  As she stood hesitating whether to run after him and give the note back, she became aware that Miriam was standing by her elbow.

  ‘Handsome tip?’ queried Miriam, with uplifted eyebrows.

  ‘Well, I—I ought not to have it, but he shoved it in my hand,’ Fenella said defensively.

  ‘What are you worrying about? No doubt Mr. Coleford consi
dered whatever extra services you gave him merited a generous tip.’

  Miriam walked away quickly, leaving Fenella hot with anger, as much against Mr. Coleford as Miriam. What was Miriam getting at by the emphasis on ‘extra services’?

  Fenella was glad to spend her evening off-duty time in her father’s sitting room where she could relax, but even that was interrupted by the entrance of Cameron.

  ‘Were you satisfied with the Spanish do?’ she asked after he had spoken of other matters.

  He looked gloomy. ‘I suppose so. We shall probably break even. I doubt if any real profit will come out of it except in increased bookings in the future.’

  ‘But that was its purpose,’ put in Mr. Sutherland.

  ‘I’m worried about certain leakages of information,’ Cameron muttered.

  Fenella rose to go. ‘D’you want to talk privately to my father?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘No. I’d rather you stayed,’ he answered.

  ‘What has leaked out?’ asked Mr. Sutherland.

  Cameron frowned. ‘Well, it may be a set of coincidences, and it’s always difficult to draw an exact line where you want your ideas to remain secret and where you start advertising them.’

  Mr. Sutherland nodded. ‘Yes, I understand.’

  ‘First I was going to arrange an Italian week-end,’ Cameron said thoughtfully. ‘Then I thought it put too much work on Ernesco or would offend him if I brought in another Italian chef. I discussed this frankly with him and we decided to put on the Spanish affair first and do the Italian later on. A fortnight ago one of the largest hotels in the Lowlands staged a very similar Spanish week-end.’

  ‘Couldn’t the hotel have chosen Spain because they thought you were doing Italy?’ asked Fenella.

  Cameron nodded agreement. ‘That’s possible, but I hear now that they’re contemplating arranging quite a number of other festivities of this kind. Italian, Austrian, Swiss—all more or less in the same order as ours, but unfortunately a week or two earlier. This makes it look as though we are the copyists, not they.’

  Fenella tried to marshal her thoughts. She wanted to point out to Cameron that he probably had no monopoly of good ideas and that it was likely other hotel managers occasionally had brainwaves.

  ‘If visitors are going to be interested in these gaieties,’ Mr. Sutherland said slowly, ‘it might attract them just the same whether they’ve been to a similar one elsewhere or not.’

  Fenella knew that this was no balm to Cameron’s pioneering spirit. He wanted to be first, partly for his own sake, partly for his status in the company’s estimation.

  ‘In a way, I suppose you might be right. These are not all that important, but there’s one more serious problem. The Antiques Fair. We’d dated this for the last week in September and I’d received favourable reactions from a number of dealers and collectors both in Scotland and England. The publicity, the brochures, the leaflets, posters and so on have all been printed. Now I hear that this same hotel is announcing an Antiques Fair to be held during the Festival.’

  ‘Oh, Cameron!’ exclaimed Fenella. ‘Does this mean you won’t get the booking?’

  ‘Almost certain. It’s very unlikely that the antiques people will want two bites at a cherry within a few weeks.’

  ‘What about the Flower Show?’ asked Fenella. ‘That’s the third week-end in July.’

  ‘H’m,’ grunted Cameron. ‘Apparently we’re allowed to keep the Flower Show, which is not much more than a local affair and won’t bring much in overnight bookings. We can have the coconut shies and bowling for the pig!’ Cameron had risen and was walking restlessly about the room.

  ‘What makes me so hopping mad,’ he continued, ‘is that this mausoleum of a hotel, which practically exists all the year on business visits and simply can’t go wrong during the Festival period, suddenly wakes up like Rip van Winkle and duplicates almost every idea we have, but a fortnight earlier. Marvellous foresight! I’ve made enquiries, of course, and they’ve never gone in for any of these notions before.’

  ‘You have to remember, Cameron, that sometimes identical ideas are in the air, as it were,’ Mr. Sutherland reminded him. ‘People write books about the same subject or inventions are discovered simultaneously at opposite ends of the globe. It might be a phase of Continental festivities that strikes several companies at the same time. People go abroad more these days for holidays and they’re ready to sample new things.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Cameron. ‘I’m aware of all that. It doesn’t explain away the Antiques Fair. Somewhere in this hotel someone is talking, giving advance information on which a rival hotel can act.’

  ‘But who would want to do that?’ demanded Fenella. ‘I thought you had a very contented staff, well satisfied with their conditions.’ Her mind flew to the one discontented person she knew—Norah, the Irish girl.

  ‘There’s always someone who doesn’t mind a little extra money,’ Cameron said.

  Fenella’s suspicions of Norah were deepened, although logically she could not see how Norah could be in possession of valuable information. The most likely suspects were those in reception who knew of bookings and plans long before anyone else. Mrs. Robertson, Laurie and herself.

  ‘Fenella, you might keep your eyes and ears open,’ Cameron continued, ‘and report to me anything you think suspicious.’

  ‘I’d like to help you,’ she answered, ‘but you’re asking me to be a spy.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed her father. ‘Cameron needs every ounce of help he can get.’

  Suddenly it occurred to her that Cameron and Miriam between them had transferred her from reception to one of the bedroom floors. Why? The illness of one of the floor-housekeepers was only half the answer. Was the intention to remove her from reception for a short time and see if leakages still occurred? Or had she been put into a temporary assistant-housekeeper job to ferret out who might be the source of those leakages?

  ‘I’m determined to find out who talks,’ declared Cameron.

  When he went, Fenella and her father remained silent for some time. Then they spoke of other matters unconnected with the Gairmorlie Hotel, but Fenella was conscious of a strong undercurrent of apprehension and uneasiness. Could it be Laurie’s tongue that had wagged innocently, unaware that she was being pumped? Mrs. Robertson was too experienced in the hotel industry to gossip.

  Fenella turned the spotlight of criticism on herself, but her examination disclosed nothing that might reveal her as a naive and stupid tell-tale. Yet she knew that within a short time she must make a determined effort to find out the person responsible, if one existed among the staff or visitors. Only thus could she clear herself of suspicion.

  CHAPTER TEN

  During the next few days Fenella’s mind roamed wildly around the possible suspects. Could it be Alex, trying to score off Cameron because of Miriam? Could it be an apparently innocent visitor capable of extracting vital details out of one or another of the staff? Could it be one of the foreign waiters, eager to air his knowledge of English?

  There was no end to the ludicrous possibilities, but Fenella could not visualize Alex stooping to such petty schemes. She could easily exclude him. Laurie was completely honest, but might be led into indiscretion.

  Fenella took the opportunity to ask Cameron how long she was to act as assistant-housekeeper.

  ‘Better stay where you are for the time being,’ he told her. ‘The other floor-housekeeper definitely has appendicitis and won’t be returning for quite a while.’

  ‘And the excursions and touring department?’ she queried.

  ‘Oh, Laurie can attend to that.’

  Fenella seethed with frustration and jealousy. She began to invent new reasons for her banishment to a bedroom floor. Cameron wanted Laurie in closer touch with him, without the intrusive Fenella.

  The Flower Show in the big marquee down by the shore was a Friday and Saturday affair and the local people over a widely scattered area joined in with enthusiasm.

>   ‘Nothing the like of that ever happened here before,’ said Mrs. Macgregor to Fenella earlier in the week. ‘Oh, a wee show in the Scouts’ hut once a year, but not on the grand scale like this. Yon Mr. Ramsay is putting Trachan on the map.’

  Fenella was delighted that Cameron was now so popular with the local women. Though he might be exacting and brusque at times, they had all learned to respect him for an efficient boss.

  Even though he knew now that he had lost the Antiques Fair for this year, he had still taken tremendous trouble to make the Flower Show a success, inviting growers from miles around to send exhibits, persuading every florist in Fort William and more distant towns to send their competition entries.

  Besides the usual small sideshows that any village flower show could present, he made innovations. An angling competition on the loch, followed by water sports and swimming races. There was a small enclosure roped off for a chess tournament and old men sucked pipes while young men and schoolboys pondered their next move.

  There were small silver cups to be won, but also money prizes, not large sums, but enough to spend on a simple luxury or save towards some cherished objective.

  During her free time on the Saturday afternoon Fenella went down to inspect the massed flowers, the exquisitely arranged vegetables in mosaic patterns, the small tables of amateur pottery, the large exhibition of croft weaving. Alex met her as she emerged from the large marquee. ‘It’s a bit of a crush in there,’ she told him, ‘but what fun it all is. When they talk of the depopulated Highlands, you’d never believe so many people could crowd together for a village beano.’

  ‘Must be the miracle of modern transport,’ he answered lightly. ‘Have you seen Laurie?’

  ‘No. She may be still chained to the reception office.’

  ‘Oh, no. She said it was her day off and she’d come down here to sample everything,’ Alex told her.

  Then at that moment Fenella saw Laurie in a white and green dress and the man with her was Mr. Coleford.

  ‘Who’s the chap alongside?’ asked Alex.