The Northern Lights Lodge

‘Wonderful,’ said Hekla, with a broad smile, her blue eyes shining now that all was well with the world. Lucy wanted to hug her. Perhaps she should warn Hekla about trusting too easily. It could cost you. Instead she said, ‘Hekla, why don’t you, Elin and Freya,’ she was pleased she’d remembered their names, ‘take the unicorn back to the staff quarters and find a good place to hang it up? And then perhaps you can come back and show me around the hotel and introduce me to the rest of the staff?’

As soon as they’d gone, she turned to Alex, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak first.

‘Nice save,’ he said, ‘although you shouldn’t have stood for any nonsense. You’re storing up trouble.’

Straightening she smoothed down the skirt of her black suit, the closest thing she had to armour. She’d just arrived, she’d been running on empty for months and he wanted her to come up with all the answers on day one. And wait, hello, he was the flipping barman!

‘And what would you have done?’ she asked coolly. ‘You’d have been happy to pitch in making beds and cleaning bathrooms, would you?’

‘You should have knocked the whole elf thing on its head. It’s going to be used every time some kind of leverage is needed.’

‘Maybe I was being sensitive to local cultural beliefs.’

Alex snorted. ‘They were trying it on. Your first day.’

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ she said defensively.

‘Er, hello. Elves? Seriously?’ The stern expression on his face relaxed and she saw amusement dancing in his brown eyes.

‘Well they seemed quite serious about the dead mice,’ retorted Lucy.

‘Mmm,’ admitted Alex. ‘Sounds like you might have a practical joker with a rather warped sense of humour on the staff.’

Lucy hoped not, she had enough on a plate without having to contend with that as well.

Chapter 5

‘He’s very cute,’ observed Hekla, showing Lucy into the guest lounge she’d glimpsed briefly last night.

‘Who?’ asked Lucy, pretending she didn’t know who was being referred to.

‘Alex. The barman. Very cute.’

‘Mmm,’ responded Lucy, with a non-committal twist of her lips. ‘I hadn’t noticed. How long’s he been here?’

Hekla gave her a startled look but Lucy lifted her chin with the regal tilt she was known for … rewind … had been known for. Once upon a time, her reputation for being a boss you wouldn’t mess with preceded her.

‘Only two weeks. I don’t think he plans on staying long either. I think he’s just passing through.’

Lucy had met plenty of people like Alex in her career. Always on the move, travelling around the world. The hospitality industry relied on people like him.

‘Shame, because he’s very popular with the guests,’ said Hekla with a sly grin. ‘Perhaps you could persuade him to stay longer.’

Lucy shot her a quelling look as if to say ‘you’ve got the wrong person here’.

OK, so you couldn’t miss how cute Alex was, in fact he probably had the monopoly on cuteness with those warm brown eyes and the super cute crinkles around them. Lucy was driven not blind, but for the next two months her focus was going to be on being the very best manager The Northern Lights Lodge had ever had, so that Mr Pedersen would be begging her to stay and she was not going to be noticing anyone no matter how … ‘Oh, Oh, Oh!’

Her thoughts were brought to abrupt standstill by the spectacular view showcased by a run of floor-to-ceiling windows which took up one entire wall of the room.

‘Wow,’ she breathed, crossing to the window. ‘This is…’ Directly below was a steep drop and it felt as she were in mid-air. Some clever architect had designed the building to maximise the views and the contours of the hillside. Away to the right the rugged coastline snaked away disappearing behind a slender spit of land that poked out like a snake’s tongue, topped by a series of pillars of rocks that in this light looked like ancient rough-hewn chess pieces. To the left, folds of crag-topped hills filled the skyline each getting bigger and bigger until they finished in a majestic snow-capped peak. No wonder people believed in elves and trolls and other mystical creatures. There was definitely a Lord of the Rings sense of sorcery about the landscape. It was easy to imagine cloaked horseback riders racing across the meadows down by the sea. With that longish dark hair, Alex had a bit of the mysterious Aragorn about him.

And where the heck had that thought popped up from? Focus, Lucy. Last night’s northern light display had messed with her head, she decided.

‘We will have snow this week,’ said Hekla following Lucy to the window as they looked out at the heavy white clouds which were broken up by patches of blue that allowed sunbeams to dance across the sea making the waves glisten and sparkle.

Lucy turned back to survey the room, frowning slightly, her eyes scanning the polished wood floors and colourful rugs and the high beams criss-crossing the apex of the roof. The stylish sofas with their beech legs and deep teal blue upholstery were the same ones she’d seen on the hotel’s website, along with the numerous lamps casting a soft light in the room. But something was missing. It took her a second to work it out. Where were the cosy throws and inviting cushions? What had happened to the books and carved sea-birds arranged on the low open shelves? Perhaps the previous management had brought them in as window dressing for the photo shoot…

‘I think we should get some throws and cushions to put in here,’ she said, wishing she’d thought to grab a notepad and pen from the office. ‘You know, more hygge?’ Back in Bath, Daisy had been obsessed with the Danish way of keeping cosy and had a fine collection of soft furnishings as well as a special pottery mug for the expensive China tea she treated herself too.

Hekla’s face brightened. ‘We have huggulegt here in Iceland.’ She turned a slow circle in the room. Then she frowned. ‘There were some,’ she rubbed her fingers together and then stroked the fabric on the sofa, ‘very luxurious cushions.’

‘Velvet,’ suggested Lucy, remembering the jewel bright colours from the pictures.

‘Ja, that’s right. Lots of velvet cushions and colourful throws. I don’t know what happened to them.’

‘Oh, this is lovely,’ said Lucy, distracted by the beautiful shine of the burnished chestnut wood of semi-circular bar in the next room. A young man glanced up from his task of putting away glasses on the shelves suspended above the bar. Behind him on the stone wall, stylish shelves of varying lengths were offset at different points and on each one bottles were arranged in attractive groups, interspersed with little pots of herbs in polished brass planters that glowed in the subdued lighting.

‘This is Dagur. Dagur, this Lucy, our new manager.’

‘Hi, welcome,’ he said, a quick, easy smile lighting up his pale blue eyes as he gave her a brief salute, making her drop the hand she’d been about to offer. It seemed that things here were a lot more casual and less formal than she’d been used to in her previous hotels, not that that was a bad thing.

After a brief exchange, Hekla and Lucy moved on again, skirting through reception down to a cleverly designed glass corridor that linked the main hotel area to another building. Somehow the ultra-modern glass construction, bridging the separate buildings, could have been transplanted from a skyscraper in Manhattan and should have been totally out of place, but worked surprisingly well in the rural landscape.

‘And this is the library,’ said Hekla, coming to a halt in the centre of the room.

‘A library,’ said Lucy, turning a slow three hundred and sixty degrees, her neck tipped backwards as she looked up at the rather grand high-ceilinged room with a balcony all around the top housing shelf upon shelf of books. She looked again, her face breaking into a delighted smile.

‘That is so cute,’ she said to Hekla, pointing upwards. All the books had been arranged by the colour of their spines to create an eclectic rainbow with shades of red, running into oranges, yellows, greens, blues and purples.

‘We Icelanders love our books,’ said a voice from behind them. When Lucy turned a dark-haired, stocky woman uncurled herself from a button-backed armchair, a book in her hand.

‘Hey Brynja,’ said Hekla with warmth. ‘This is Lucy, the new manager. Brynja is one of our receptionists. It’s her day off today.’

‘Hey,’ said Brynja.

‘I love that you have a proper library,’ said Lucy, taking another look at the brimming bookshelves. ‘And so many books.’

‘Ah, it is a big tradition for us. You have heard of the jólabókaflód.’

Lucy shook her head.

‘You would translate it as the Christmas Book Flood, jólabókaflód’ explained Hekla as Brynja nodded.

Lucy grinned. ‘A book flood? Now that sounds awesome.’

‘Everyone gives books for Christmas,’ explained Brynja, her sharp dark eyes flashing with enthusiasm. ‘Lovely to meet you Lucy. If I can help in anyway, let me know.’

‘Thank you. It’s going to take me a little while to find my feet.’

As soon as she said it, both Brynja and Hekla in complete sync looked down at her shoes.

Lucy laughed, realising that despite Hekla’s amazing command of English there were still language and culture differences between them. ‘It’s a figure of speech.’

Brynja nodded, her sharp eyes thoughtful as if she were carefully cataloguing the idiom and adding it to her own personal lexicon.

‘So you weren’t bothered by the huldufólk?’ asked Lucy, thoughtfully realising that Brynja, despite her day off, had not been planning to leave.

Hekla looked awkward again as Brynja gave her an older sister sort of look.

‘No,’ said Brynja with alacrity. ‘I might not believe but then,’ she lifted her shoulders, ‘things happen and then you think that perhaps they do exist and it would be bad to ignore them in case they do.’

‘So,’ Lucy was struggling to get her head around this. ‘What you’re saying is that people don’t necessarily believe in huldufólk but they don’t count out the possibility that they might exist.’

‘Yes,’ said Brynja. ‘That is exactly right.’

Exhausted by handover and introductions overload, along with Hekla’s boundless enthusiasm, Lucy snagged a quick sandwich from Erik, the hotel’s chef. With his huge broad shoulders and brawny frame, he looked an unlikely figure in his whites as he grinned at her from behind a huge bushy beard. When her eyes widened at the size of the half loaf of rye bread stuffed with thinly sliced lamb that he handed her, he let out a belly laugh and a stream of Icelandic, which she guessed translated as she needed feeding up. He wasn’t wrong there. Food had been low on her agenda for months.

Deciding she needed a break and some fresh air, she wrapped herself up in her newly purchased down coat, which Daisy had insisted she buy, and took the still warm sandwich wrapped in foil down to the shingle beach in front of the hotel. She ought to give her best friend a call.

Huddled into her coat, Lucy perched on one of the rocks. The bracing air around her seemed to sharpen her appetite and the delicious smoked lamb sandwich disappeared without touching the sides. It was probably the biggest meal she’d eaten in a long time, although she’d burned so much energy just thinking this morning.

‘Hey Daisy.’ Thankfully she could still tap into the hotel’s WiFi and make a WhatsApp call.

‘Lucy, how is it?’

‘Stunning, interesting … there’s a lot of work to do, but I can do it.’

‘Atta girl, that’s the Lucy I remember. What’s it like then? What are the people like?’

‘So far, so good,’ Lucy said, neutrally. ‘I’ve got an assistant manager, Hekla. She’s … very enthusiastic with a real can-do attitude, which is…’ Lucy refrained from her natural inclination to say irritating, Daisy wouldn’t approve, ‘kind of refreshing.’

‘Ha!’ Daisy laughed. ‘I know you, Miss Organised and Practical. She’s irritating the hell out of you.’

‘Actually … she isn’t. She’s so friendly, she’s made me feel incredibly welcome already.’

‘She sounds adorable.’

‘Mm, not sure I’d go that far but bless her, she works really hard and I don’t think there’s been much in the way of direction over the last year.’

‘Well, if anyone can offer that, it will be you.’ Daisy’s voice held laughter and sunshine but the words made Lucy pause. The quick observation wasn’t a criticism, but it scratched at her. Predictable, organised, Lucy Smart, which could also be read as routinised, unimaginative, dull.

‘I’ll do my best.’ She softened the clipped delivery with a sigh, looking back up at the striking architecture, the combination of modern and traditional blending into the rugged landscape. ‘The hotel is … well gorgeous. It’s got so much potential but it needs a lot of TLC.’ She paused. ‘You should see the guest rooms. You’d love them. So cosy. Honey-coloured wood and then every room has a proper stone fireplace or a wood burner. Loads of sheepskin rugs everywhere and these really pretty woven wall hangings with those Scandinavian love heart patterns picked out in white. I’ve even got a wood burner in my room’

‘Hygge!’ squealed Daisy. ‘Oh I want to come. It sounds gorgeous.’

‘And another reason for my call. Tell me more about the hygge thing.’

‘Ha! I knew you’d come around one day!’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Lucy’s voice was dry with sarcasm, ‘it’s a décor theme I’m thinking of.’

‘Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. It’s a not a décor thing, it’s a mindset,’ she chided and proceeded to give Lucy a good ten-minute lecture all about contentment, well-being and cosiness, which Lucy sucked up without interruption because she thought it would go down well with guests and Hekla. It still sounded a load of old nonsense to her.

‘I’ll let you know how I get on,’ said Lucy, after Daisy insisted on her sending pictures.

‘Cool,’ Daisy laughed, ‘or hot if you’ve got a fireplace. Any nice men you could cosy up with on a sheepskin rug in front of the fire? Mmm. I might have to come over.’

Lucy groaned. ‘Trust you. I’m steering clear of men for a while, you know that.’

‘Lucy, Chris was a dick. Don’t let him turn you into a dried-up old stick.’

‘I’m not. But I’ve got too much work to do.’ She thought of the mental list she was already compiling. Paintwork needed touching up, taking the staff in hand and the cleaning in many places was not up to Lucy’s standards.

‘Apparently there has been a succession of managers. I’m the eleventh in the last year. None of them stayed put for very long.’

‘Until you arrived,’ said Daisy staunchly.

‘Yup, I think I can make a difference here.’

‘Sounds like you might have landed on your feet.’

‘Hmm, I’m not quite sure of that,’ replied Lucy, thinking of her brief introduction to Eyrun, the housekeeper, a slightly scary but diminutive lady of indeterminate age, who’d chased them away when Hekla and she visited the laundry. Eyrun had met them with a stream of angry Icelandic that even Hekla was reluctant to translate. It seemed she ruled her hot, steamy kingdom like an angry troll managing the washing of all the sheets and towels and rarely venturing out of her lair, which wasn’t terribly helpful for someone who was supposed to be responsible for the upkeep of the rooms.

‘It is a bit chaotic. I can’t figure out how the staff rotas have been done, so I’m going to have to sort that out.’ It appeared no one person was responsible for the daily rotas and matching staffing levels with guests checking in or out. Hekla had revealed that often rooms weren’t ready for new arrivals and that she and Brynja had to double up as chambermaids and waiting staff.

‘And if anyone can do the job, it’s you Lucy,’ said Daisy, encouraging as ever.

Lucy sighed. This beautiful, but rough around the edges, lodge was a far cry from what she was used to. At the hotel in Manchester she’d had a chain of command and everything ran like a well-oiled machine. Although The Northern Lights Lodge was lovely, everything seemed to be limping along like a rusty old lawnmower. There was so much she could do with the place but could she achieve enough in two months to persuade the owners to make her contract permanent?

Chapter 6

Alex lunged against a craggy outcrop, resting a hand on his thigh and eyeing the phone in his other hand with all the enthusiasm of a man about to phone an irate boss. Today the brisk cold air, carrying a definite hint of snow, bit at his cheeks. It was good to be outside after yesterday’s day of drizzle that had shrouded the lodge, although in the last two weeks he’d quickly learned that the weather in Iceland had the monopoly on changeable. One minute you could have driving rain and black clouds and then suddenly the wind whipped them away to bring in brilliant blue skies and sunshine. Seeing the break in the weather, he’d rushed to change to take advantage of the dry day and enjoy some down time. Although any enjoyment he found in being outdoors was about to be doused.

With a heavy sigh he looked out over the choppy sea, enjoying the crash of the rolling waves dashing against the rocks that lined the shore, wishing he could enjoy the clean fresh air a while longer, without having to pollute it with business talk and a conversation that would make him feel crap inside. He’d been wrestling with his conscience all morning and really it should have been quite a short tussle, but that bloody nice gene kept intervening. He studied the horizon where the sky met the water’s edge and pressed the call button on the screen.

Sod’s law the line to Paris was crackle free. ‘Hey Alex, about time. I called you two hours ago.’

‘Some of us are working, Quentin.’

‘Working! What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be working for me. You didn’t say anything about that the last time we spoke.’

‘That’s because the new manager wasn’t in place. What did you think I was going to do? Loll around a guest room for two months? Besides this way I have a better excuse for poking around a bit more and pulling together a proper report. I have access to all areas, which, if I was a guest, would be pretty difficult.’

‘Dear God, please tell me you’re not the bus boy.’

‘No … there isn’t one. I’m the head barman and waiter.’

‘Nun on a bicycle, Mclaughlin, what are you playing at? Couldn’t you have been a writer or at least a ruddy ornithologist?’

‘Given I have no skills or knowledge of either, I think that would have been a mite difficult to pull off,’ said Alex dryly. ‘Besides I had to do something. I’d go out of my mind with nothing to do and it’s not as if I mind getting my hands dirty. No one’s keeping an eye on me. I pretty much do as I please.’

‘You mean the new manager hasn’t rocked up yet. Where the hell is he? Pederson told me they’d recruited someone.’

‘He’s a she and she’s arrived. She’s definitely arrived.’ He thought of his first glimpse of Lucy Smart emerging like a bedraggled mermaid from the hot tub, her long hair slicked across her face and her stand-offishness when he’d tried to help. He still couldn’t figure out why the hell she’d insisted the front door was locked, even when they’d returned to reception and it was clearly open.

‘And?’

Alex scowled thinking of her and her unicorn charm as he took a pace away from the rock, starting to walk along the shore.

‘She’s got an unorthodox approach to problem solving that’s for sure.’

‘I don’t do unorthodox,’ grumbled Quentin, which was a bit rich coming from one who cornered the market on eccentric sometimes. ‘Does she run a tight ship?’

‘She arrived yesterday,’ said Alex, hedging a little. If it had been him, he would have been a lot firmer with the staff. Surely she could see they were taking the piss with the whole elf thing. A decent manager would have shut that down immediately and made it clear that she wasn’t taking any nonsense. She was storing up trouble there, although her spur of the moment solution had been pretty neat.

‘I thought she wasn’t due for another week.’

‘Mix up with the dates.’ Alex winced. That had been very odd. He’d been there when Hekla took the call. Why would someone phone and change the date? Lucy must have had a change of heart, got someone to phone on her behalf and then changed her mind again? What other explanation was there?

‘Well that wouldn’t fill me with confidence. Do you think she’s any good? And I want an honest no bullshit answer.’ Alex pursed his lips and kicked at a small stone in his path. It knock, knock, knocked over the other grey stones on the shingle beach. Quentin waited on the other end of the line, the silence stretching out for Alex to fill. He knew his boss’s tactics well. Quentin hadn’t got to be the multi-millionaire owner of The Oliver Group, running a string of boutique hotels, without being extremely shrewd. He wanted an honest report on the hotel’s potential, what needed to be done to bring it up to Oliver Group standards and whether Lucy and the current staff were the right people to do that. At the moment, if he was entirely honest, he wasn’t convinced.

There was something about her haunted appearance that worried him and last night she’d been brusque and sharp, extremely unwilling to accept help. He suspected she was a loner if her stand-offish attitude was anything to go by and she didn’t look robust enough to cope with the rigors of the job. The hours were long and the role involved everything from marketing, budgeting, premises management through to managing the staff. Not to mention that a good manager was on show the whole time, making themselves accessible and approachable to guests and staff alike. Should he mention his quiet misgivings to his boss? He paused and scooped a stone and launched it skimming across the sea. It bounced three times, shall I, shan’t I, shall I?

On the fourth bob the stone sank making his decision. Nice guys finish last.

‘The jury’s out,’ he said, his words terse. It was the truth.

‘Do you think she’s got what it takes?’ pressed Quentin.

No, was the word that came to mind but instead Alex wrinkled his nose, grateful Quentin couldn’t see him. ‘I don’t know … yet.’

‘Come on,’ groaned Quentin. ‘Don’t fob me off. You’re a good judge of character. Quit pussy footing around. First impressions.’

Alex sighed, he owed Quentin so much. His boss had taken a risk, giving Alex his first big hotel to manage despite Alex being the youngest, most inexperienced candidate. And now these days they were practically, no they were family. He picked up another stone and chucked it across the surface of the sea. ‘There are quite a few issues. I need to see how she tackles them.’ Except, he thought to himself, Lucy had been holed up in the office going through paperwork for the last couple of days. If Alex was manager, he’d have prioritised making those small quick win changes that guests ‒ the guys that paid their wages ‒ actually noticed. Put more staff on at breakfast, so that guests could get out of the hotel more quickly in the mornings, make sure the bedrooms were serviced by lunchtime, have the fires in the communal areas lit by the time guests returned in the afternoons and offer one complimentary drink to guests on arrival to encourage them to visit the bar in the evenings.

‘So if you were manager what would you do? Top line.’ Relieved by the change of tack, Alex screwed up his face in thought.

The wind caught his hair, whipping it into his eyes as he turned his head to survey the building sprawling across the top of the hill behind him. The place could be fabulous. ‘Staffing is a problem. No one is managing the rotas. Everything is last minute. I’d sort that out. I’d also make an inventory of exactly what needs to be done in the hotel, because the place is looking very tired. And I’d have started on that list yesterday. I guess the bottom line is, the new manager isn’t cutting it yet.’

‘Have you seen the latest TripAdvisor reviews?’ asked Quentin, changing the subject again as he was wont to do.

‘No.’ Alex didn’t need to, he could gauge things from the guest’s reactions. They weren’t exactly raving about the place.

‘Not great. Not awful but blah … we don’t do blah. At least if they were shite, you have something to work with. Mediocrity is worse. When do you think you can pull together a detailed report on the place? I’m beginning to regret buying it.’

‘It’s not a done deal yet, is it?’

‘No but we’re getting close. Pedersen is a tricky bastard and I can pull the deal but …what do you think? It’s got potential hasn’t it? I thought Iceland would extend the portfolio in a new direction.’

‘It’s got great potential. It needs managing properly,’ said Alex. ‘Why don’t you wait until I’ve done some more digging?’ he suggested even though skulking about the hotel and poking into things when no one else was around was not something he enjoyed. He hated this undercover crap, but on this occasion it had to be done. He knew that directly asking questions often sent staff into defensive mode, covering things up, so you couldn’t get a real picture and more importantly, if anyone found out that the Oliver Group were interested in buying the lodge, it would stimulate a lot of speculation among competitors, many of whom might want to get in on the action and no doubt push the price sky-high. ‘I’ll send my report over in the next couple of weeks. I still need to find out more about what goes on in housekeeping.’

‘Not a lot judging from the reviews. I should have got you on the job,’ said Quentin.

‘That would have been difficult as you don’t own the place yet and besides, I’ve got a nice five-star hotel waiting for me in Paris. How’s it coming along? Any progress.’

‘None, and that’s giving me a shitting ulcer. Those wanking bureaucrats. Won’t cut through the red tape. There’s still some doubt about the age of the skeleton. All work has stopped. It’s going to be at least four months before we can get the floor down there re-laid and dried out enough to open the hotel.’

‘Well at least I’ll get to see the northern lights while I’m here.’

‘I’ll want you back here to oversee things. Don’t get too settled there.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Good.’ And with that Quentin terminated the call.

Alex stared back at the building perched on the edge of the small cliff over the seashore. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but maybe one day he could come to a place like this. It was outside his usual type of hotel but there was a certain rustic charm and otherworldly magic to the place that intrigued him. Although working in Paris had been a challenge and never a dull moment, he realised that the new hotel would be more of the same. Smooth sophistication. Nothing too unexpected. No adventure. It was a long way from where he’d started, as a barman in his family owned hotel, a small but highly prestigious former castle on the outskirts of Edinburgh which one day would be his. When that day came it was his dream to create a hotel that would rival the famous Gleneagles. Until he took over from his mother, at a time considerably distant from now, he was garnering the best possible experience he could.

With a sudden start, as if the reminder came with a physical, punch he realised that he’d missed the sharp, freshness of the open air, the wheeling cries of seagulls overhead, of being outdoors all hours of the day and through it all, whatever the hour, the scent of the sea air. Home, even after years in France, Switzerland and Italy, was still the Leith shore in Edinburgh, where his abiding memory was the sound of the waves whispering in his ear. Sitting here on a damp rock in Iceland, the familiar song of the sea brought back a sense of community and home. He’d missed this, the rhythm of the waves, the blustery wind and the wide expanse of sky. Being in a city, he’d missed the hills and the rocky crag behind him now was a welcome reminder of Arthur’s Seat. It was surprising how much he didn’t miss Paris and how quickly this magnificent scenery and the rustic lodge was starting to feel more like home … Which was all totally ridiculous because he had a great job waiting for him in one of the best cities of the world. Coming somewhere like this would be a backward step. Not something that he would ever consider.