were enough vol-au-vents and ice cubes for our guests.
By the time I caught sight of him again, the orchestra was in full flow. The champagne was too. One of Chuck’s bosses was popping open bottles with a sword. Don’t ask me why he was carrying a sword. Judging by the fact that no one seemed alarmed, it must have been his usual party trick.
Chuck was busy being chummy with a trio of Amazonian underwear models, allegedly his colleagues. I couldn’t exactly barge in on them. For one thing, from all the way down here they’d wonder where the noise was coming from. Besides, what would I say? Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like you to stop being so flirty and beautiful around my … around my what? What was Chuck? Not my boyfriend. Or my lover. He was just my crush.
I had to stop being stupid and leave the man to enjoy his Christmas party in peace.
Summoning every ounce of British resolve, for the rest of the night I was as tough as the façade on Buckingham Palace. While everyone else got merry, I did my job. That meant being efficient, solving problems left, right and centre, and definitely not looking for Chuck.
He slipped up behind me near the end of the night, just as the first notes of ‘Moon River’ floated over us. ‘It was my request. Come with me,’ he said, turning towards the door.
My façade crumbled. Of course I followed him, into the storeroom across the hall. Even with the door closed we could faintly hear the music.
‘May I have this dance?’ He held out his hands.
‘What, in here?’
‘You’ll have to step over the slide projector when I dip you. Come on. I told you we’d be together.’
It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but then, what else did I expect when we couldn’t let anyone see us?
I stepped into his arms and it felt wonderful. Who cared if we weren’t in the ballroom? In front of so many people, we couldn’t have snogged. Or rubbed up against each other like outtakes from Dirty Dancing. And his hand definitely couldn’t have got under my skirt. ‘Are you clocked off for the night now?’ he murmured between kisses.
‘Uh-huh. What have you got in mind?’ I was glad he was holding me up. Up against the wall, actually. I was probably too dizzy to stand anyway.
His next words made me swoon. Swoon, I tell you. ‘God, I want you, Rosie. Not here, it’s too tacky and you don’t deserve anything tacky. I just don’t know if I’d last till we got to my place.’
The way I was feeling, I wasn’t sure that I would either. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ I said. ‘Stay here. I’ll ring your mobile in a few minutes, okay?’
A wicked smile bloomed across his face. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You’ll see.’
Straightening my dress, I hurried to the lift to get back down to the lobby.
‘How’s it going?’ Digby asked when he saw me. ‘Good, I’m guessing. Everyone who’s come down so far is wasted out of their minds. Hey, what are you doing?’
‘Nothing.’ I pulled up the room reservations on one of the computers.
‘No, seriously, what are you doing?’ He glanced over his shoulder, though we both knew Andi had been gone for hours.
I blocked one of the singles. Mustn’t be greedy.
‘Rosie.’ Digby made me look at him. ‘This is dangerous.’
‘I won’t get caught, if nobody tells.’
‘I don’t just mean the room.’
But I couldn’t think about that now. I wasn’t thinking about anything except Chuck. I popped a key card into the machine.
My hand was shaking as I rang Chuck’s mobile. ‘Meet me at the lift on the sixth floor.’
It was the start of everything.
‘What century are we in?’ Lill scoffs as we gawp at the brawny builders carrying everything inside. ‘I thought bidets went the way of the dodo.’ She smoothes down the front of her minidress. It’s surprisingly subtle for her, in a purply blue, but she’s got them in every colour – and often all colours at once. Lill’s a huge fan of rayon, and between her dresses and her white pleather go-go boots, we were all relieved when she finally traded her fags in for a vape. She risked catching fire whenever she lit up.
The hotel bar is completely off-limits now that the mountain of fixtures and fittings is growing fast in there. It’s also become a home-from-home for the builders. Every surface is littered with their takeaway cups, nails, screws and odd bits and bobs.
‘I definitely didn’t think toilets came in colours like that,’ I tell her. Pale pink? Mint green? Where are we, Miami in 1955? Not even the builders can hide their scorn, and a few of them are old enough to have gone through the eighties, so they know a thing or two about horrid decor.
It’s not only the renovation that we’re finding difficult, though. None of us were prepared for the pace of change when the Colonel first told us we had new owners. The Americans aren’t wasting any time.
‘Time is money,’ Rory intones for about the hundredth time when I whinge at him later. It’s nearly lunchtime and the builders are sequestered in the bar, drinking mugs of tea. ‘They think they can get most of it done within a month.’ He pushes his specs back up on his nose.
‘A month! But it takes builders a month just to complain about the job that needs doing,’ I say. ‘And it’s less than three months till Christmas. We can say goodbye to any work in December.’
But Rory shakes his head. ‘The owners worked a fixed-price contract for completion by the end of October. They might not know eff-all about the UK, but they do know what builders are like.’
‘Does that mean we’ve got to be ready to open before Christmas?’ When he nods I suddenly wish the owners weren’t quite so savvy. ‘What did you mean that the owners don’t know eff-all about the UK?’
Rory grins. ‘They’ve never been here,’ he says, rerolling the sleeves on his shirt. Now that he knows us, he doesn’t wear his suit jacket anymore. In fact, he doesn’t look like a harsh City type at all. ‘They haven’t even got passports, but you didn’t hear that from me, so don’t mention it on the call, okay?’
We’re Skyping with them in a few minutes. Meeting my bosses. Yikes!
‘They hired some kind of business scout from London to find the hotel,’ he explains. ‘The scout hired me and found the builders. I’ve never even met them in person. Are you ready for the call? Just try not to stare too much at PK’s hair.’
‘Please, Rory. I’m a professional. What’s wrong with PK’s hair?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘It’s not worse
