filled her with temporary bravado. Opting to take this night away herself as a pamper break instead of just cutting her losses and cancelling had seemed like a great idea when she was buoyed up by wine and chocolate and pep talks.
‘It’ll just be a waste of a good room if you don’t go,’ Shauna had insisted. ‘You won’t get the money back now. It’s luxurious, it’s expensive and best of all it’s got the perfect access for Selfridges and Harvey Nicks. An evening in the spa, a gourmet dinner and then you shop until you drop. You’ll be over him within 24 hours.’
The moment six months ago when she’d booked this place flashed into her mind. Just great. Because what she really needed right now was a flashback to a time when Joe had been everything to her. She gritted her teeth hard. This was her Reinvention Mini-Break, her Get-Strong Mini-Break. It was NOT the planned Izzy-and-Joe’s Surprise Romantic Mini-Break. Plans could change.
People could change too.
She reached the front of the line. She carried her bag to the Receptionist and forced a smile across the high marble counter.
‘I have a booking in the name of ‘Shaw’,’ she said.
The receptionist pressed buttons, nodded efficiently.
‘I have a table booked in the restaurant for tonight,’ the receptionist said. ‘And a His and Hers Spa Treatment.’
She’d forgotten about that. The lobby seemed suddenly too warm.
‘Can I change the Spa treatment?’ she said, trying to keep her voice as muted as possible. There was zero privacy at the crowded check-in desk. ‘Something a bit more…’ she groped for the right description and failed. ‘For one?’ she said.
The receptionist glanced up, clearly taking in the fact that she was alone. The warmth of a blush crept upwards from her neck. She might as well have stood on the counter and announced to the room that she was unexpectedly single.
‘I’m afraid the His-and-Hers Treatment is part of the Romantic Getaway Package,’ the receptionist said, not bothering to lower her voice. ‘I can cancel it of course, but I can’t swap it for anything else.’
Izzy stared at her.
‘Of course, you’re welcome to book additional treatments as you like, they will be charged individually. If you’d care to ring down to the Spa when you’ve checked in, they can give you a list.’
‘Fine,’ Izzy said. ‘Please can I just get checked in?’
‘And would you like me to cancel the His-and-Hers…’ she glanced at the screen ‘…Massage?’
‘Cancel it!’ Izzy snapped. ‘Just cancel it. Not a problem.’
She felt eyes upon her and glanced sideways. A few feet away a man was being checked in by the other receptionist. Standing out, like her, singleton among cosy couples. Thick dark hair, lightly tousled. Strong jaw. Dark suit so sharply cut it had to be crushingly expensive. Broad shoulders and a chiselled handsome face that had the receptionist fawning over him. Izzy registered the ghost of a smile on his lips as he looked at her, clearly listening in on every word.
Her heart, broken of course and so not working as it should, upped its pace in her chest because he really was gorgeous. In fact if her head, still channelling anger, hadn’t reminded her that Joe had used his nights away with work to bed random women, then her jaw might have hit the polished counter top as it dropped. Was this how he used to behave – eyeing up women at hotel receptions, picking the perfect candidate? She snapped her eyes away.
Think about the shopping, Izzy. Think about complimentary chocolates in the room with no need to worry anymore that they might go straight to your hips…
‘Would you like help with your luggage?’
‘No, thank you.’
She didn’t want help with her luggage or complimentary newspapers or to be stared at by other guests, especially drop-dead gorgeous ones with possibly dubious motives. She wanted to get to her room and pull herself together.
****
At last taking the keycard from the receptionist, she swung around, handbag hooked into one hand, holdall in the other, and crossed the lobby towards the stairs. A misjudged glance back, just a general glance of course, definitely NOT to see if Mr Dark-Tousled-Hair was still looking at her, and she somehow managed to catch her overstuffed holdall in the enormous plant stupidly located at the corner of the sweeping staircase. It promptly toppled off its ornate circular table and emptied itself onto the deep pile rug at her feet.
The buzz of noise in the lobby dropped a notch as people turned to look. Izzy’s face burned hotter than ever. What kind of moron had placed a plant there of all places?
Exasperated, she shoved her bags to one side and knelt down on the carpet to set about picking it up, feeling the eyes of everyone in the lobby burning into her back. Soil dusted her hands and collected beneath her fingernails.
A pair of hands appeared next to hers and helped her right the pot and ease the plant back into it. Big strong hands, a dark-stoned signet ring on the left little finger. Surely too expensive to belong to the scrawny concierge, who had looked about twelve. She glanced up, straight into the hazel eyes of the man from the check-in desk. His eyes crinkled softly at the corners as he smiled at her and her stomach gave a slow and traitorous backflip. She snapped her eyes back down to the black soil littering the carpet and rearranged her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Scooping soil up between her hands, she thrust it back in the pot, pressing gently to reseat the plant. The schoolboy concierge joined them.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she told him. ‘I just caught it with my case and tipped it over.’
‘No problem, madam.’
‘It should be fine but still you might want to consider repotting it,’ she added automatically, the part of her that spent her entire working life around plants taking over. ‘It looks to me like it might be potbound – did you see there were mostly roots there rather than soil? And some of the leaves are turning yellow?’
The concierge stared at her as if she were an alien. Her shoulders sagged. Why was she bothering?
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled and grabbed her bags, leaving the remains of the mess behind her as she took the stairs.
She was a few steps up when she realised the man from check-in was keeping pace next to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, because he was wearing a suit and still he hadn’t hesitated to get soil under his nails on her behalf.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘You obviously know your way around pot plants.’ His voice was deep and smooth. A voice that could draw you in.
‘Not literally, unfortunately,’ she said.
He smiled and she offered a polite smile back.
‘I’m a gardener,’ she said, turning at the first landing. He stayed alongside her.
‘Really? You don’t look like a gardener.’
‘What
