A Convenient Gentleman. Victoria Aldridge

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СКАЧАТЬ business around. He runs the public bar and bottle shop downstairs, and if it wasn’t for the profits from that we’d be in even more of a pickle. You’d think the staff would show some appreciation for all his hard work, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘I think they want to be paid…’ Caro ventured.

      ‘Oh, the silly things! They’ll be paid, of course, as soon as the business gets back on its feet—and it will, in a few weeks! In the meantime, they’ve got a roof over their heads, and food to eat. I don’t know what they’re complaining about.’ She got fluidly to her feet. ‘Anyway, darling, I’m being a dreadful hostess, aren’t I? I’ll show you to your room—you have a choice, you know. Isn’t it fun?’

      Chatting all the time, her hands fluttering like animated, delicate little birds, her aunt took Caro down to the far end of the hall, and flung a door open dramatically.

      ‘Here you are, darling! Now make yourself at home. We’ll be dining downstairs around six, I imagine.’

      She floated off back down the hallway, leaving Caro staring into a darkened room. The drapes had been pulled, presumably against the cold, and after some groping in the dark Caro drew them back to reveal a surprisingly luxurious little bedroom. Plush rugs lay over the polished floorboards, and the large bedstead and matching washstand were of carved mahogany. Yet every surface had a layer of dust, and the sheets on the bed might have been of the finest quality cotton, but they were unmistakably damp.

      The room overlooked the avenue, giving an interesting view of the traffic below. It had stopped snowing and so Caro opened the big, double-hung window as wide as possible. Finding it a positive pleasure to have something to do, she went in search of clean linen and cleaning materials and found both in a cupboard in the hallway. It took almost an hour until every surface was dusted and polished to her satisfaction; by the time she had finished, the pale winter light filtering between the lace curtains had all but gone. Closing the window against the encroaching dark, she lit a small fire in the grate and was soon able to put a warming pan filled with hot coals between the clean sheets to dry them out.

      Hands on hips, she surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. The room looked cosy and welcoming now, and smelt warmly of beeswax polish, just like home. She thought of all the other rooms in the hotel, no doubt waiting to be cleaned, and found herself viewing the prospect with pleasure.

      In the hallway she found her bag, sitting forlornly where someone—she suspected Oliver—had left it. It did not appear that the staff here were inclined to be in the least bit helpful. While she unpacked her single change of clothes, Caro thought about that.

      The staff had told her that her aunt had no business sense and, as utterly charming as Aunt Charlotte was, Caro could see how that could be true. It would take both business acumen and hard work to keep an hotel this size running, but why the hotel should have run out of funds was a complete mystery to her. There had obviously been a fortune spent on establishing the place, with no cost spared in the furnishings or decor. In a town as thriving as Dunedin, with an all-too-evident accommodation shortage, the hotel should have been fully booked every night. So why was there no food in the kitchen and no guests in the rooms?

      Caro had always taken an active interest in the bookkeeping side of her father’s businesses and Ben had been too intrigued by her persistence to really discourage her. She now possessed a sound grasp of the principles of good business, and she had never been afraid of hard work. What better way to repay Aunt Charlotte’s hospitality than by restoring her business to its full health?

      The clock in the civic building down the street chimed six o’clock, but for Caro the few unbuttered scones in the hotel kitchen were far too many hours ago, and her stomach rumbled hungrily. Her aunt had said that they would be dining—presumably in the hotel dining room—but the staff had told her that there was no food left. She decided that now was as good a time as any to discover the truth of the situation.

      She changed into her second dress, of serviceable green wool, and pulled a shawl around her shoulders against the chill; she had allowed the fire to burn down and the air was now so cold that she could see the mist of her breath.

      The foyer of the hotel was deserted, and when she looked through into the dining room it looked as if nothing had been cleaned or moved since the morning. The great chandeliers hung unlit and palely gleaming in the crack of light showing from beneath the kitchen door, but the place was eerily quiet. A single lamp shone forlornly on the registration desk. Caro revised downwards her chances of a gracious meal in the dining room that night.

      There was a muffled roar of laughter from somewhere beyond the hotel walls and she remembered the public bar that she had passed earlier in the day, the one that Aunt Charlotte had told her that Mr Thwaites ran. Well, that at least sounded like a thriving business. They would probably have a fire going there. Maybe even something to eat! It was snowing again and she stood for a captivated moment on the veranda, watching the fluffy flakes twirling delicately in the air. Light from the long windows of the bar streamed out over the ground, illuminating the white layer of snow, giving a fairytale appearance to the otherwise mundane street.

      She knew she had made a mistake the moment she set foot over the doorstep. The bar was much bigger than she had thought, and filled with men. Dozens of them. One by one they stopped laughing and shouting and put their drinks down to stare at her. The heat and smell of alcohol hit her face like a blow.

      However, it was too late now to back down.

      She wove her way between the tables, ignoring outstretched hands that would have detained her, to the bar, where a scruffy-looking individual in shirtsleeves was wiping out glasses.

      ‘Sorry, lass, can’t serve you,’ he said shortly before she even reached the bar.

      ‘Aw, go on with you, Bill,’ someone very drunk bellowed behind her. ‘She looks like she needs a little servicin’!’

      The coarse male laughter gripped Caro’s insides with terror, but not for the world would she have shown it. She rested the tips of her fingers lightly on the bar to stop their trembling.

      ‘I’d like to see Mr Thwaites if he’s here, please,’ she said quietly enough, but as for the anticipatory hush in the room she may as well have shouted the words.

      The bartender’s eyes travelled down assessingly and up insultingly. ‘’Fraid you can’t, lass.’

      ‘Is he here?’ she persisted, dreading the thought of having to brave the male barrage alone on her way out.

      ‘Maybe.’ He lifted his lips in something between a smirk and a sneer.

      ‘Then I’d like to see him, please.’

      ‘’Ere, me darlin’.’ A red-faced little man nudged her elbow as he fumbled with his trousers. ‘Why don’t you see me instead, eh?’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ she began blankly, wondering what conceivable interest the little man thought she would have in his belt. A second before his trousers dropped to his knees a tall body interposed itself between them.

      ‘I think, madam, you should leave.’

      She looked up to an unshaven, weary face of indeterminate age.

      ‘I’m here to see Mr Thwaites,’ she said tersely, resenting the light pressure being exerted on her upper arm. She was not used to being manhandled.

      ‘Then I suggest another time, madam. In the morning, perhaps.’ СКАЧАТЬ