Page 63 of The Jealous Girl

Late July

I stood behind the reception desk, immersed in the familiar summer buzz of check-out.

It wasn’t quite the same as the Radisson Blu Resort and Spa Golden Sands in Malta, with its sleek reception desk in a vast, open lounge, with soft sofas arranged beneath floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay.

The Swanage Bay Hotel was different. Smaller. Cosier. What it lacked in modern polish, it made up for in quiet elegance, rich with character and history. The old grey brick walls were lined with framed photographs of Swanage, each one a small window into the past. A grandfather clock ticked steadily in the corner, its rhythm threading through the low hum of conversation.

It was busy. The end of July always was.

The breakfast rush had just died down, and now guests clustered around the desk, returning keys, paying bills. I loved this part. The structure of it. The rhythm. There was a system to everything. And, even when something didn’t quite fit, when something unexpected cropped up, I knew how to handle it. Solve it.

‘That’s everything sorted,’ I said with a practised smile, sliding the receipt across the desk. ‘I hope you had a lovely stay.’

‘We did, thank you,’ the woman replied, gathering her bag, as she smiled up at her husband. ‘We’ll definitely be back.’

‘I look forward to seeing you again soon, then,’ I said lightly.

They smiled and stepped aside as the next guest moved forward.

‘Good morning, checking out?’

Everything flowed easily. The questions, the small talk. My fingers moving across the keyboard without hesitation.

The front door opened. I barely glanced up at first, I just had the faint flicker of awareness of someone’s presence. It was force of habit, no matter what I was doing; I was always alert, always conscious of the comings and goings in the lobby.

But today something made my gaze catch. My fingers stilled against the keyboard as my attention shifted fully to the person who had just entered.

Charlotte.

My stomach tightened.

She crossed the lobby as though she belonged there, weaving between the departing guests.

Except she didn’t belong.

This was my work.

My world.

I dragged my attention back to the screen and printed the final bill for the waiting guest.

‘If I could just get your signature here,’ I said, my voice wobbling just a little.

The man took the pen and signed where I indicated.

Just stick to the routine, I told myself silently. Yet my rhythm faltered.

‘Good morning, checking out?’ I greeted the next guest, but my gaze kept flicking up, my attention divided between them and her.

She stood off to the side. Still watching me.

I swallowed. What was she doing here?

‘That’s everything sorted,’ I said to the final guest. ‘Have a good journey home.’

I turned back to my screen, busying myself with the routine as they gathered their bags and departed with a cheery goodbye.

It was just Charlotte and me left in the lobby now.