Page 32 of The Christmas Highland Lodge

Stephanie’s brow furrowed. ‘I think that’s rather strong, Blake.’

‘Is it?’ His white teeth flashed through his dark beard. ‘I’m an experienced hiker and walking guide…’

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms. Oh, not this again.

‘I’ve stayed in a variety of accommodation. I can’t see people like that wanting to be drowned in glitter and Rudolph.’

I could feel my back stiffening. Had his soul been sucked out of his body at some point? ‘Our guests won’t be drowning in anything,’ I bit back, trying to keep my tone calm. ‘Craig Brae becomes even more of a special, spectacular place to visit at Christmas, so why should the log cabins be any different?’

‘We agree,’ piped up Dominic Clark. ‘The way the interiors are right now, they’re very unappealing.’

Blake shook his dark head. ‘I’m not disputing that their current features are a mess, but is there any real need for all this fairy lights and fir trees nonsense?’

Stephanie and Max, together with the assembled throng at the table, swapped charged looks at one another. The atmosphere in the dining room prickled.

Good grief. What was his problem? Had he experienced some sort of joy bypass?

‘Well, I think most people do want all that festive romance at this time of year,’ interjected Kim.

Blake’s top lip snarled through his beard. He muttered under his breath, ‘You said it. Most people. Not all.’

‘I take it you’re not a fan of Christmas then, Mr Dempster?’ I asked.

Blake’s expression was stony. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Well, you might not be but a lot of people are,’ exclaimed Andrew. ‘If you ask me, Lottie’s suggestions sound wonderful and they wouldn’t cost an excessive amount to achieve either.’

‘I think so too,’ beamed Kim beside me. ‘All that sparkle and festive decorations, it sounds beautiful.’ She pinned me to my chair with wide, light eyes. ‘I’d be more than happy to assist you in any way I can. I can help with furniture quotes, arranging deliveries, that kind of thing.’

‘Thank you, Kim. I appreciate that.’

Blake’s beard stiffened.

Stephanie jumped in with appreciation. ‘Thank you, Kim. The offer of help is always welcome.’ She added that she had already had a word with the lady who had been recruited to undertake the cabin cleaning and she was very enthusiastic about lending a helping hand too.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you.’ I switched all my attention back to Max and Stephanie. ‘I was thinking that a small team of us could put in an appearance on Saturday at the Craig Brae Christmas lights switch-on. Perhaps hand out a few leaflets. I’ve drafted and printed off an example for you all to take a look at.’ I reached into the folder again and pushed copies of the leaflets across the table to everyone. Blake stared down at it as though he had just been presented with an extortionate electricity bill.

The draft flier read:

Magic, festive, cosy cheer,

Can be yours throughout the year,

Book a luxury cabin stay,

And watch your worries float away!

Underneath the verse were Max and Stephanie’s contact details, as well as mine.

‘A poet as well?’ chimed Blake from further up the table. ‘Is there no end to your talents, Ms Grant?’

I ignored him and addressed Max and Stephanie again. ‘If you’re happy, I can print these off and include photos of the exterior of the cabins and a couple of shots of things like sequinned cushions and roaring log fires? Once the cabins are re-decorated, we can include proper photographs of the interiors, but at least images like that will give prospective guests an idea of what we’re doing here.’

Max looked down the table at Stephanie and grinned his approval. ‘This is great.’

I then moved on to describing a few more competition ideas I had. ‘I thought we could have one where the local school children have to find Rudolph hidden somewhere around the cabins and another competition idea I had was to invite people to tell us who they would love to spend a weekend in a log cabin with and why—’

‘Did you say this Christmas light thing is this Saturday?’ interrupted Blake, unable to conceal his horror. ‘Are we all expected to attend it?’