equipment, though he could have sworn that Tilly had mentioned a full business center.
Beth and Annie had slept on the plane, but they seemed half-asleep now—maybe the turkey lunch was making them groggy—so he hunted through the luggage for their favorite stuffed animals and they curled into bed for a nap. Down in the kitchen, he dialed Tilly’s cell number. A chirpy voice-mail recording greeted him. Knowing Tilly Robinson and her determined attempts to manage his life, she probably planned to duck his calls for a few days until he cooled down.
“Tilly, it’s me,” he said after the beep. “I refuse to believe you didn’t know this is a suite, not the whole house, or that there’s no personal staff. Right now, it’s just me and the girls. The tutor didn’t come and Nicole couldn’t fly with us because she has an ear infection. She won’t be here for another few days. Get back to me.”
Muttering beneath his breath, he called the front desk.
“Yes, Mr. Forrester?” Based on the British accent, it was most likely the employee who’d first greeted them.
“I’d like to speak with Carlie Benton.”
“Certainly, but is there anything I can do?”
“I prefer dealing with Ms. Benton.” Luke wasn’t certain why except that she appeared to be the kind of person who could get things done. Besides, Beth and Annie had responded to her...a lot more than they’d responded to him the past year.
“Yes, sir.” A moment later, the same voice came back on the line. “I’m sorry—Carlie is away from her desk. But I’ve called her mobile and she’ll stop at your suite in a few minutes.”
Luke had frowned the moment he heard “away from her desk,” only to realize that a face-to-face discussion would be best.
* * *
CARLIE COULDN’T BELIEVE she already needed to deal with Luke Forrester again.
Though she was the Poppy Gold activities director, her responsibilities included public relations. The job had its challenging moments, but it was a big improvement over doing PR for a company with frequent product safety recalls. It was one of the reasons she’d resigned...along with not wanting to see her ex-fiancé every day. Especially after he’d gotten engaged to the owner’s daughter.
July the previous year had not been a good month. First her wedding had been canceled at the last minute in the most embarrassing way, and ten days later her father was critically injured.
A friendly voice hailed her as she approached the John Muir Cottage. “Hi, Carlie.”
It was Esther Perkins, one of their repeat guests. Esther lived in San Jose and stayed at Poppy Gold several times a year, but Christmas kickoff day seemed to be her favorite.
“What’s up, Esther?”
“I just want to be sure that I can decorate at the Victorian Cat tomorrow. I like it best.”
“Of course you can.” Guests weren’t employees; they could volunteer for anything they wanted to do.
“Do you think Moby Dick will let me put a red bow around his neck?” Esther asked. “It would look darling against his fur.”
Poppy Gold tried to make something unique about each of the houses, and at the Victorian Cat mansion, each room was populated by an amiable feline. Moby Dick was a fluffy white cat with a talent for manipulating guests into giving him extra treats.
Carlie chuckled. “Moby is easygoing, but I wouldn’t try making him wear a bow. Not to worry, though—Tessa found red and green cat collars from a specialty store and they’ll be put on the VC cats tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful.”
With a wave, Esther hurried away and Carlie continued toward the John Muir Cottage, wishing all their guests were like Esther Perkins.
Bill had offered to give Luke Forrester her cell number to save her a trip, but Luke was the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to phone at 2:00 a.m. to demand a cup of tea. The twenty-four-hour staff in Guest Reception could handle those kinds of calls and decide whom to contact in case of something more serious. She might do public relations work in addition to being the activities director, but she wasn’t a frontline manager, thank goodness.
Trying to appear friendly rather than frustrated, Carlie knocked at the Yosemite suite.
The door opened almost immediately.
“Hello, Mr. Forrester. I understand you asked for me.”
He cocked his head as if listening for something and then stepped onto the porch. “Yes, I have several concerns. For one, where are the decorations? I promised my daughters this would be a holiday extravaganza. Even though this is just the day after Thanksgiving, I expected to see a few signs of Christmas.”
Carlie could see his concern and knew it wouldn’t help to point out that the website listed the date when Poppy Gold was decorated. At any rate, it was Annie and Beth who mattered and Carlie didn’t want them to be disappointed.
“I understand, but tomorrow should reassure the girls. Our guests call it Christmas kickoff day,” she told him. “Members of the historical society will be in Victorian costumes and go around caroling in small groups. In addition, we’ll have snack kiosks throughout the facility serving coffee, hot spiced cider, cocoa and a selection of cookies and other treats. It’s purely voluntary, but guests are invited to help decorate trees, make wreaths, put up decorations and this ye—”
“You have guests do staff work?” Luke’s tone was neutral, with only the faintest emphasis on the words guests and staff, but Carlie spotted a hint of derision in his eyes. Her temper rose, but she managed to squash it down again.
“Not staff work, just fun. Kickoff day is extremely popular. Most of our guests come for Thanksgiving weekend just to participate,” she replied evenly.
The event was expensive for Poppy Gold since they needed an army of employees to keep an eye on things, do the heavy work, watch the treat kiosks and do the primary decorating. Getting everything done in one day would be impossible without the massive amounts of planning and prep work she and the other Poppy Gold employees did for weeks beforehand.
“I’m sure it’s entertaining if you enjoy that sort of thing.” Luke’s expression suggested only a moron would enjoy “that sort of thing.”
Her smile became even more strained. She loved Christmas...the colors, music, the warmth, the decorating and the way many people seemed to behave nicer in the holiday season. Though in Luke Forrester’s case, she’d hate to think this was his “nice.”
“As I mentioned, Mr. Forrester, participation is voluntary. If you aren’t interested in decorating, my staff has planned a number of activities, as well. As for your suite, it will be dec—”
“Not by nosy guests, I presume,” he said, cutting her off a second time. “I expect privacy. As a matter of fact, I expected to have the entire house, not just a section of it.”
Muscles tightening, Carlie reminded herself again that Luke Forrester had lost his wife and no matter how wealthy and demanding, he was dealing with something traumatic.
She
