After I put another batch of mince pies in the oven and one in the fridge to chill, I went out to the reception to type up a notice for the bar. I’d just pressed send when I looked up from the computer at the front desk and saw Julius Mundey.
‘There you are,’ was how he greeted me.
‘Afternoon, Mr Mundey. Can I help you?’ I glanced at the clock on the monitor and it told me I only had ten minutes to deal with whatever his problem was before my mince pies started burning.
(I couldn’t believe I’d got to a stage in my life where that wasn’t a euphemism.)
‘I’d like to go for a walk into town.’
‘Urr…okay. I’m not quite sure how I can help with that…’
‘The hotel is responsible for the road, is it not?’
‘The road…?’
‘The road from here into the village.’ He let out a sharp puff of hot air and I could’ve sworn I saw flames sneak out from his pursed lips too. ‘It should be shovelled and then gritted.’
By who?Was this man serious? Who was I kidding – he was always serious. I took as deep a breath as I could manage without being obvious. ‘I’ll look into it for you.’
He stared at me expectantly. ‘Well? Get to it then.’
Oooh, he wasn’t the only one who wanted to breath fire at that point. He may as well have snapped his fingers at me.
‘I’m afraid I have other duties to attend to at the moment and until the snow stops falling that heavily, none of our staff will be going out there to clear the road.’
He started to bluster but I excused myself before I lost my cool altogether. Leaving a guest at the front desk disgruntled was not fantastic but it was better that than strangling him. I was pretty sure he wasn’t the Hotel Hopper. Although he was finickity enough to be a critic, he spent far too much time here to travel to other places too and I assumed he would’ve reviewed us already.
I made it back into the kitchen with five minutes to spare before the timer went off on the mince pies. I pulled my phone out quickly to check up on my aforementioned friend the Hotel Hopper and see what he or she was saying now.
‘You Can Get Too Cosy
‘The Dickensian Festival had everything you could wish for from a Christmas Fayre. Music, food and a location straight off a Christmas card or from your favourite festive film. (You will love the photos when I upload my final review.)
‘What it was lacking, however, was the space to truly enjoy it. Loganbury’s quaint village fayre has become such a success the tiny roads and quirky establishments are flooded with not just locals but visitors from all the nearby towns as well. If you are someone who values a little personal space and a quiet spot to soak up the atmosphere, as I do, this one might be worth a miss.’
I let out a low whistle. The blogger’s woolly mittens were off now. Even though the disapproving tone wasn’t about the hotel, it left me feeling like there was a knife dangling over my head. It didn’t help knowing that the reviewer had raved about our food either, and I’d just sacked one of our chefs.
I spent the last couple of minutes before the timer went off productively, staring out of the window and wondering how my mother managed to run this place without murdering someone and why she thought it was worth the hassle.
When the last of the mince pies were done it was already starting to get dark outside. I was completely covered in flour and smears of butter, so another change of clothes was in order before I got onto the business of setting up the dining room with the cold buffet. I didn’t pick something from my own wardrobe though – I was running out of skirts and blouses – so I went into my mum’s room and raided hers.
I didn’t usually borrow clothes from my mum. For one thing, I’d bypassed her in height when I was eleven, and for another I didn’t really want to dress like my mum. But tonight, I had a feeling it would help for me to look a bit more mature, a bit more serious, perhaps to give off the impression that I had everything under control.
And when I slipped the classy black dress I found over my head I thought it really might work. As long as most sophisticated women spent their evenings trying to tug the hemline of their skirt back down without anyone noticing.
That buffet turned out to be a godsend, since no other staff made it in to help me. It was getting a little ridiculous, but I couldn’t really blame them. The snow was piled so high outside I couldn’t see the front steps anymore.
As soon as I set out the buffet I left the guests to help themselves and cracked on with preparing the bar for the Mince Pie Evening.
Bublé on the CD player – check.
Twinkly lights turned on all around the room – check.
Cosy log fire lit – check.
Mince pies baked and red wine mulled – check.
Very tired person behind the bar, ready to smile and pretend she had it all covered – check.
