Rebecca Hillary . net

In the cold of the mountains there was a strange humming emanating around the rock. It couldn’t be an animal, as all the livestock had been forced off the rock faces by the recent storms, and the wolves had moved from the area at the same time since they had no food.
It couldn’t be a human, because nobody would be out there in these conditions. It would be suicide to even try to scale the mountains so near to a storm. Nobody would wave even dreamed of attempting it. But if it wasn’t animal, and it wasn’t human, then what could it possibly be?
Abby stared out of the window at the peaks, searching through the cloud for the source of the noise. She decided that it was hopeless, and just as she turned away there was an almighty roar as a gogmagogical helicopter soared overhead.
The polyglot conversations in the foyer were drowned and faltered as the helicopter touched down outside, and as the rotors slowed to a crawl there were murmurs of interest amongst the congregated group.
‘This is just wonderful.’ Abby thought to herself. ’Stuck on this godforsaken rock because of the storms, and some stupid moron decides to land a helicopter outside. Have people never heard of avalanches?’
The door swung open and a brisk icy wind penetrated the hotel. Snow swirled in white eddies around the door as a gangly figure in dark blue entered, flanked by two further figures in pale gray. This person was no doubt a very important man, but she was damned if she was going to let anyone risk the lives of the hotel’s guests while she was in charge. Her first week as assistant manager, and her boss had decided to go off to visit his sister in Aruba. Aruba! Two days later the storms had hid, unexpectedly, and now she was stuck in the hotel with thirty bored guests, and a newcomer who evidently had all the manners of a medieval swineherd.
Abby took a deep breath, and strode up to the door, which she slammed, admittedly with some difficulty, behind the small entourage.
“Have you any idea what a danger you have put this hotel in by pulling a stunt like that? Nobody is allowed to bring their helicopters up here unless they are mountain rescue. You, I believe, are not. So are you going to explain what you are doing here, or am I going to throw you back out into the snow with the wolves?”
Despite him wearing dark ski goggles, Abby could tell that his eyes had narrowed and that his expression now showed a frown in place of the smug look he had been wearing just a moment ago.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” He asked, a faint Yorkshire twang in his thin French accent.
“Quite frankly, I couldn’t care less if you are the crown prince of Belgium, mate. If you have no call to tell me what you are doing here, then I have no call to give the slightest smidgen of a rat’s arse who you are.” There were mutterings of assent in the amassed crowd behind her. “So?”
The stranger took off his goggles and shook out his thick golden locks as if he was the hero in some swashbuckling adventure movie. “I Pascal Saint-Pierre and I have a reservation here. Now, I don’t know if you treat all of your guests like this, but I would rather that you treated me like a human being as opposed to the shit off your shoe. Do we have an accord?”
‘Oh my good God,’ she thought to herself, ‘he even speaks like he’s in a Pirates Of The Caribbean film.’ She took another deep breath and looked him square in the face. “I don’t like your attitude, Monsieur Saint-Pierre, and I would prefer that you wouldn’t raise your voice in front of the other guests. You have jeopardized their safety, and you are fast on your way to making a lot of enemies. Now, I am going to get our concierge to show you to your quarters, and I want you to stay in your room until I get there. Do you understand me? We have a lot to discuss if we are going to make your stay a comfortable experience.”
There was a flush of red in his cheeks and a note of contempt in his voice, as he demanded, “Why am I speaking to a child like you? I want to speak to the person in charge.”
Fighting back a smirk, Abby held his gaze and said as calmly as she could, “That would be me. I am Abigail Horton and as of last week, I am acting manager of this establishment, so what I say goes.” She turned quickly to the concierge to hide the satisfied grin that was spreading across her face. “Devon, could you please show Monsieur Saint-Pierre to his quarters?”
Pascal Saint-Pierre, his expression was as cold and unyielding as the blizzard that was beginning to rage outside, allowed the young bellhop to lead him to the elevator, and as the golden doors slid shut behind them a yell of triumph rang out from somewhere amongst the guests.
“Good on you, Abby! Way to tell that self-assured, pompous prat where to stick it!”
Abby searched the crowd and picked out the face of her young and attractive second in command. “Thanks, Miro. Would you mind laying off the language in front of the guests though?”
“No problem, kidder.” He laughed, as the other guest rushed forward to shake her hand and congratulate her. Most of them too thought that he was a pompous prat, although it came out in many different languages, and in some of which Abby could have sworn the translation had a vastly stronger meaning.
“Never knew you had it in you, Abby.” Squealed Donna, the receptionist, as Abby jumped up to perch on the welcome desk. “But how could you even have dreamed of saying that to him? I know I couldn’t have done.”
“Ah, well you don’t get to where I am in this business without learning to take the chaff over the wheat sometimes. What’s the big deal anyway? He’s just some jumped up, arrogant continental type who’s too full of his own self-importance.”
“Yeah, there is that.” Miro agreed, walking over to the desk and jumping up beside Abby. “There’s also the fact that he’s a rather famous up-and-coming actor, whose uncle happens to be your boss.”
Abby sniffed. “You know, I don’t care. Like I said, I’m in charge, and I don’t want anyone ruining the dynamic we have developed here over the last few days. No-one is going out of here for a while now, because that chopper will be grounded as soon as it gets out of the mountain airspace, and nobody will be coming back here until the storm belt has left. Remember, I have an important uncle too, and as chief meteorologist for the area he has a better idea of what’s going on than anyone in or around this hotel.”
“Oh yeah.” Miro considered in a half grin. “So what’s the latest from ‘Storm Central’ then?”
“Well,” Abby began, but was interrupted by the ringing of the reception phone, and the haste with which Donna answered it.
“Abby, it’s Mr. Levine for you.” Donna said, offering Abby the receiver, which Abby waved away and activated the speakerphone.
“Abigail?” Came the voice from the other end of the line. “Abby, it’s Dan.”
“Hi, how’s your holiday going?” Abby replied with a cheeky smile, as Miro and Donna looked at each other in disbelief, and Donna questioningly mouthed, ‘Dan?’ Abby held a finger up to her mouth and motioned them to be quiet.
“It’s fine, thanks. Weather’s lovely, I’m afraid.” He seemed to be thinking about something and then continued “You’ve got me on speaker haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Donna and Miro are listening to this conversation aren’t they?”
“Yes.” Abby laughed, because when she looked up the two of them were trying their hardest to look busy.
“And now they’re going to want to know why I said Dan instead of Mr. Levine, aren’t they?”
“That’s certainly a possibility.” Abby looked at Donna, who was nodding her head vigorously.
“Abby, there aren’t any guests at reception are there?”
Abby looked around. The honeymooning couple from Georgia, a young lady from Jamaica and a bright-eyed teenager called Jack from Tasmania quickly went back to their poker game at the other end of the reception desk as she looked towards them. “Nope.” She lied, and Jack hastily turned a snigger into a cough.
“Alright then,” Dan continued, “I’ve just been woken up from a rather delightful daydream by my nephew, who says he has just arrived at his holiday destination and been berated by a member of the staff in front of several guests.”
“Well, that’s just absolutely shocking.”
“He says that he’s disgusted by the way he was spoken to, and says that now he has been told to stay in his room until that member of staff goes to speak to him.”
“Yes, that does sound a little unfair.”
“Abby, have you locked my nephew in his room?”
“No.” Abby answered, in all sincerity, “He has his key, and I haven’t been anywhere near the room. It was Devon who showed him up there.”
“Abby, what am I going to do with you? … On second thoughts, don’t answer that.” Donna stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Now do you know what you are going to do?”
“Go and speak with your nephew, apologize to him, and offer him a complimentary bottle of our best champagne?”
Dan roared with laughter at the other end of the line. “You know as well as I do that he’s an arrogant little crybaby, and doesn’t deserve any sort of good grace bestowed on him. Besides, that champagne has other plans, as well you know.” Miro feigned shock, and Abby had to battle with every fibre of her being to stop herself from bursting into hysterics. Dan didn’t seem to have noticed the giggles emanating from around the reception desk. “You are going to leave Pascal in his room for about another half hour, make up some story about how you were needed elsewhere in the hotel, give him a bottle of the house wine, say it’s the best we have, and then give everyone else the better stuff at dinner tomorrow. Got all that?”
Abby checked things off her fingers as she paraphrased her instructions, “Keep him hanging, treat him like shit, and lie to him. Yep, I think I’ve just about got that. Donna, can you write that down for me, please?” That was about all anyone could take, and there was an uproarious outburst of laughter from everyone, which to Abby’s gratitude meant that nobody heard Dan saying that he loved her, or her saying that she loved him too.
Abby clicked off the speakerphone and disconnected the call. “Anyway, as I was saying. The storm belt is set to carry on for…”
“Hold on a moment, young lady!” Donna interjected. “What’s this about you and ‘Dan’?”
“Yeah!” Miro added. “I didn’t even know it was ‘Dan’. I thought his name was Deandre.”
Abby shrugged. “Certain things may have happened, and certain bottles of champagne and a candlelit dinner may have been involved.” There was no way she was going to tell them everything.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Candlelit dinner?” Donna confronted her. “You and Mr. Levine, in the dark, all kissy-kissy?” She was staring intently at Abby. “You and me need to go and have a little visit to the ladies’ room, I think.”
This was what Abby was afraid of. She knew that Donna was too bright to not work this out for herself. She jumped down from the desk and pushed Miro back when he tried to follow the, “Uh, we’re going to the ladies’ room, Miro. That means no men, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Miro sulked back to the desk and watched the poker game. Abby and Donna both knew that the he and the guests who had overheard the conversation would be making up their own conclusions, but the last thing they heard as they walked through the staff room was Miro and Jack trying to convince the others that they should raise the stakes and play strip-poker.
Abby threw herself down on to the sofa that the female staff had insisted on for their restroom, and Donna grabbed their secret bottle of sherry and two glasses from Abby’s locker, then dropped into the armchair opposite her. As she poured the sherry she looked up at Abby. “So, what have you got to tell me?”
“Nothing. What should there be to tell?” Abby tried to put on her most nonchalant expression, but could feel her cheeks flaring red, and her face felt like it was on fire. Donna passed her a glass and she downed it in one, passing it back to Donna for a refill.
“Don’t play me for a mug, Abs. I saw your face when you hung up the phone, and you’ve been acting really strange for weeks. So are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Abby blurted out, a little more forcefully than she had intended, and stared at her glass as though willing it to do some song and dance routine and take the attention away from her.
“Aha! The lady, she doth protest too much!” Donna laughed jubilantly. “I knew it. This isn’t just a passing fancy is it?”
Abby looked up with tears in her eyes. She tried to speak, but there was a lump that felt the size of a watermelon in her throat, and she felt as though she was going to be violently sick, so she just closed her mouth and looked to Donna for help.
Donna jumped across to the sofa and put her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Oh, I’m so sorry. This must be burning you up. How long has it been going on?”
“Six months.” Abby replied weakly.
“Bloody hell, girl. You’ve got a way with secrets. Six months?”
Abby looked at her blankly, unable to think of anything to say.
“The management seminar in Leeds?”
Abby nodded. She knew that Donna was bound to feel betrayed, because on the very night that she had hooked up with Dan, Abby had lied to Donna and said that she was visiting a sick friend. Ok, so it was only a half lie. Dan had been gotten food poisoning from a chicken dinner, and Abby had offered to stay with him. Still, she should have told Donna the truth from the start.
“Well, you know what I’d say if I wasn’t your best friend. But I don’t want to see you hurting like this, so I tell you what we’re going to do.” She looked up at the clock. Seven thirty. “We’re going to finish this bottle, you can spill your guts about you and Dan, and then we’ll go and play strip poker with Devon and Miro.”
Abby laughed feebly, and wiped the tears from her face.
“We’re also going to fix your makeup, because you look like you’re auditioning for a glam rock band.”
Abby stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. It was true, her mascara had run down her face, and her hair was all out of place.
“I bet you’re glad Dan can’t see you like this, huh?” Donna said, standing beside her. “I still can’t believe it. Six moths! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Abby thought about that for a moment. Why hadn’t she told her best friend that she had found the man of her dreams? Finally she settled on, “The subject never came up.” Which, it seemed, was good enough for Donna.