Love Me Or Leave Me. Claudia Carroll

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       Chapter Seven

       Chloe.

      ‘Welcome to the Hope Street Hotel.’

      Oh God, I love saying it so much! Can’t stop myself; every workman, interior designer, plumber and carpenter that crosses the threshold, is warmly welcomed to the Hope Street Hotel. We’ve got just two weeks to go before showtime and even though there’s a mountain of work to do before we officially throw our doors open for business, I couldn’t be prouder or happier of how it’s all pulling together. This is the single biggest challenge I’ve ever faced into, and by God, I’ll move heaven and earth if I have to, to make it work.

      The hotel industry here in Ireland is actually starting to sit up and take notice of us too. There was even a piece about us in a trade magazine, naming me as General Manager and giving a bit of a blurb about our mission statement. I went a bit jelly-legged reading it, with pride, yes, but mainly because all I could think was, Frank will see this. And then he’ll know, won’t he? He’ll know I’m back here, less than a five-minute walk from where he works.

      I get a quick, momentary stab of insecurity combined with nervousness like I’ve never known. Sudden flashbacks keep coming back to me just at the thought of Frank, and I half wonder if he’ll get in contact to wish me luck maybe? I’m just trying to figure out if I find that either terrifying or hopeful, when I’m quickly hauled out of it by yet another last minute snag at the hotel that needs troubleshooting.

      Because there’s still so much to be done before we officially open our doors, there’s barely time to give thought to much else. Every morning, I’m at the desk in my cosy little basement office at the hotel by 7.30 a.m. and the whole day seems to go by in a complete blur. Meetings with accountants, interior designers, not to mention Ferndale’s Human Resources manager who’s over from the UK to headhunt and interview prospective staff. Believe me, it doesn’t end. And I’m absolutely loving every minute and although I crawl back to my parents’ house every night bone-tired from exhaustion, I can honestly say this is the most optimistic and forward-looking I’ve felt in a long, long time. In fact, ever since I first got that phone call to tell me I had this job, something is slowly starting to shift inside of me. Almost like all this hard work is slowly starting to erode the rock of pain that was locked away inside me. Which can’t be a bad thing, right?

      Anyway, it’s just coming up to lunchtime one day, when I’m dashing out of one meeting to get back to my desk and catch up on emails. I’m padding my way down the softly carpeted back stairs, leading into the rabbit warren of tiny basement offices that’s a bit like the nerve centre of the whole operation, when suddenly I notice a dramatic shift in the atmosphere round here. Hard to describe, but it’s almost like the health inspectors or else some contrary restaurant critic has unexpectedly dropped in on us unannounced, for an early spot check.

      ‘You okay?’ I ask Chris Smyth, my assistant manager and general right-hand woman round here. Now Chris is normally the personification of long blonde coolness; she’s worked for Ferndale for years, was seconded over from the UK weeks ago and I’ve yet to see the girl anything other than composed, efficient and bursting with energy. Whenever things get on top of me, she’s that rational voice of calmness in my ear that says, ‘It’s fine. You can do this. Just take it all one step at a time.’ Even at half seven in the morning, when the rest of us are still struggling to look alert on six hours’ sleep, she’s one of those people who are perpetually СКАЧАТЬ