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It was like looking at the work of a ghost. Now we had to prove who they were.
The lights dimmed again.
I swore, closed the file and open a new email to Andrew Reedman, copying Lachlan and Caroline as well.
Dear Andrew,
I’ve attached a spreadsheet collated by Amanda Turner which needs your immediate attention. I want to discuss Amanda’s performance regarding this.
Stuart McAlister
I hit send, with the spreadsheet attached, as the wind rattled my window.
I punched the air with a whoop. We had evidence, finally, of theft. I poured myself the last drop of my whisky from the tasting with the hotel rep and savoured it. The audit would end, I could finally date Amanda publicly and our distillery could get back on track.
My phone pinged with a message.
Caroline: Are you sure you want to send that email?
Me:Absolutely. I want Reedman across it ASAP.
I was about to reply to Amanda’s messages when a knock rapped on my door. “Hey there, Mr McAlister. Are ye in?”
I opened the door to the hotel manager again, dressed in waders that fisherman usually wear in cold waters, a soaked beanie and a snow jacket.
“Everything alright out there?”
“Oh, it’s a helluva to do out there. She’s a wild storm indeed.” The manager took off the hat and wiped his brow. “Fallen trees on the main road south and the snow is building up.”
As if on cue, the lights went out, leaving us both lit by my mobile’s screen.
Fuck.I really wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
“The generators will kick in shortly but with the mains power out, there goes internet and mobile phones. Ye can borrow a DVD from our collection at the front desk though, if ye’d like.”
The lights came back on. I sighed, seeing ‘no service’ in the top corner of my phone.
“I can’t make any phone calls at all?” I asked, raking my hand through my fringe.
“No, sorry. If the power’s gone, the landlines are out. Anyhoo, supper will be served in the dining room shortly, if ye’d like to make your way down. Soup and homemade rolls followed by local salmon with vegetables. Chef’s specialty. Got to love a generator on nights like this!”
I grunted in the affirmative, shutting my door, and finished my drink. I really wanted to talk to Amanda. I tried to text her but a red warning came up saying ‘unable to send’.
It’s just one night. One more night and then I’ll see Amanda and we’ll talk. If there’s one thing I’d learnt in whisky making, it’s patience. But one night seemed an eternity when Amanda was my sunshine.
Chapter Seventeen
Amanda
“Fuck,” I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I reached for the cheap wine on the coffee table.
Two days ago, Stuart had dumped me by email via my boss.
He’d sent our spreadsheet, the one with intimate details of our time together to my employer and his own boss, Lachlan, with a short note that ‘a discussion was needed about my performance’.
Stuart smashed all my hopes in trusting him. He’d proven after all he was Gaston.
On Wednesday, Andrew Reedman called, telling me I was no longer needed on the audit and that Stuart had alerted him to my ‘inappropriate behaviour’. I’d no clue what my boss meant until he finally said it was to do with ‘a spreadsheet relating to various acts of a sexual nature’.
