Chaos At Christmas E-Book

Ewan Smith

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: CHRISTMAS
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 241

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

When Ferelith’s family-run hotel is taken over by a billionaire and his family and friends, no one could have predicted the colourful mayhem that ensues for the hardworking staff.
But between soothing egos, investigating possible crimes, running impromptu parties and picking up fake snow, will Ferelith have time to let gorgeous head gardener Geraint know how she feels about him?

Leseprobe

CHAOS AT CHRISTMAS

by Ewan Smith 

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

CHAPTER ONE

Ferelith, might I ask a favour?”

“Yes, of course, Monsieur Berthier. How may I help you?”

He held her gaze for a moment, a lock of his jet-black hair falling across one eye.

“It’s Laurence, I’ve told you,” he murmured.

Ferelith maintained her polite expression but she didn’t respond. The policy at Fosbury Manor was clear. Staff at the hotel never addressed guests by their first names; there were standards to be upheld.

Laurence Berthier stretched out a languid hand and took a sip of his espresso. Ferelith’s eye was caught by his chunky gold signet ring inset with a glowing dark stone. Just as it had been caught by the hand-made shoes, the lichen-green suit, the perfectly knotted tie and, above all, the waistcoat. Its colours were exquisite, like the sky at dawn.

“After my parents and I have Christmassed here at Fosbury Manor, I’m jetting off to Canada for a few weeks to stay with my uncle and aunt at their Ontario estate.”

Ferelith smiled. “How lovely.” In the New Year, she would be returning to her cramped student flat which she shared with three friends. That would be lovely too, in rather a different way.

“My cousin has promised to take me ice-fishing.” He looked at her with a frown. “Could you arrange for someone to give me a tutorial?”

Ferelith blinked. “A tutorial on ice-fishing?”

He nodded. “Just to cover the basics. I don’t want to look a fool when I go out with Étienne. This afternoon would be perfect.”

She nodded slowly. “Certainly, Monsieur Berthier. I’ll look into that and get right back to you.”

He smiled at her and she wondered if he practised doing that in front of a mirror; he had such gorgeous film-star looks. His phone made a melodious sound and he pressed it to his ear.

“Isha darling, hello,” he murmured. He waved a hand at Ferelith vaguely. She had been dismissed.

***

Lionel looked at her in amusement. “Young Monsieur Berthier wants a tutorial on ice-fishing?”

Ferelith nodded at her father. “I don’t quite know what to do. It’s not something that’s been covered on my course.” She was studying for a degree in hotel management.

“That’s an outrageous omission; you should complain.” Lionel smiled. He gazed out of the window and Ferelith followed his eyes. That morning she had seen Geraint, the young head gardener, clambering about the ancient oak tree. Thanks to his efforts, it was now draped with Christmas lights which swirled with glowing colours. “Monsieur Berthier must have his tutorial. At Fosbury Manor, what our guests want…”

“…our guests get,” Ferelith automatically responded. It was the mantra which the staff at the Manor had drummed into them relentlessly. Under Lionel’s management, the hotel had developed an unrivalled reputation for personal service.

He swung back in his chair. “The Canadian Embassy – you should contact them. They must know someone who knows about ice-fishing.”

“Of course. I’ll get right onto it.”

“How are things going for you anyway?” her father asked as she turned to leave.

Her eyes widened with pleasure.

“I’m enjoying every minute of it.”

During the three weeks of her university break, she was working at Fosbury Manor as a general assistant. Her help was certainly needed. Every room at the Manor was booked by guests eager to share in the hotel’s renowned festive celebrations.

Lionel frowned. “I feel a bit guilty persuading you to work here when you should be enjoying your Christmas holiday.”

Ferelith put her arms round his neck and kissed him warmly on the cheek.

“I love working at the Manor, Dad. It’s such brilliant experience for my course. I’m having to do so many different kinds of things.”

“Such as arranging ice-fishing tutorials?”

She laughed. “Exactly. I’d better get on with it.”

As she made her way across the marble floor of the reception hall, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. It was such an elegant space, decorated so beautifully for Christmas. The previous afternoon, she had helped Jane Soutar, the chief housekeeper, dress the imposing tree which now twinkled magically in one corner. She listened to the hum of conversation from the guests scattered around the comfortable armchairs as the staff moved quietly about serving coffees and pastries.

At times, she felt as if the hotel was a beautifully intricate machine whose parts never worked less than perfectly. There was Jane the housekeeper, of course, and Erik on the front desk; Madame Pomfret who looked after the dining room; Konrad Schuster in the exercise suite; Geraint the head gardener and dozens of others. The staff at the Manor all took such pride in their work and in the service they provided to the guests.

She stopped by the reception desk. Erik was listening with great patience as an elderly lady guest explained how the tiny dog in her arms was a creature of extraordinary intelligence.

“I truly believe that she can understand every word that I say. Isn’t that right, Charlotta?” She and Erik gazed at Charlotta, who ignored them. “Of course, she is very discriminating in her responses…”

Erik glanced momentarily at Ferelith. His eyes informed her in the politest of ways that members of the hotel staff didn’t stand in front of the reception desk, that area was reserved for guests alone. Ferelith slipped behind the desk as the elderly lady wandered off and Erik smiled at her. “What can I do for you, Miss Ferelith?”

“I need a computer, Erik. Is there one I can use where I won’t be getting in anyone’s way?”

“Of course. There’s a laptop in the security room behind us. Would that suffice?”

“Excellent.”

The security room was empty with a quiet hum coming from the screens filling one wall. She sat down at the desk. “Right then,” she murmured. “The Canadian Embassy.”

It was the sort of task she loved. There had to be dozens of people working at the embassy, maybe hundreds. Surely someone among them was a keen ice-fisher? All she had to do was track that person down. Having found the number, she called the embassy and explained her requirements.

The man who answered was polite but firm.

“I’m afraid that’s not that’s not something we can assist you with. Have you tried Yellow Pages?”

Ferelith wasn’t put off. “Perhaps someone in your tourism department could help?”

Moments later, she was being overwhelmed by a gush of warmth and enthusiasm.

“Canada has so much to offer the visitor. It’s one of the most beautiful countries in the world, full of picturesque forests, mountains, and lakes. If you like camping, hiking, or just wandering around admiring the views, it is the perfect holiday destination. Then there are our winter sports like skiing, snowboarding and snowshoeing. You’ll find such a wealth of excitement in…”

“Ice-fishing!” Ferelith said, bursting into the torrent of words. “It’s ice-fishing that I’m particularly interested in.”

The woman paused for a moment.

“To be honest, ice-fishing isn’t one of our major tourist draws.”

“I’m looking for someone at the embassy who would be willing to give a one-to-one tutorial on the subject.” Ferelith hesitated. “This afternoon.”

There was a longer pause.

“I’m afraid that no one springs to mind.”

“Perhaps there’s someone else who might be able to help?”

Over the next half hour or so, Ferelith became familiar with the many different departments of the Canadian Embassy. No one she spoke to seemed able to help but she made sure that she was always passed on to someone else. She was sure that there had to be a keen ice-fisher somewhere in the building. Then she hit the jackpot. “Is that the Department Of Agriculture And Development?”

“No, ma’am. This is the embassy kitchen.”

Ferelith frowned. Had that nice woman in the Visa Office passed her on to someone else at random just to get rid of her?

“I don’t suppose you know anything about ice-fishing?”

“Nothing at all, I’m afraid.” Ferelith’s shoulders drooped. “But I know someone who does.”

Ferelith’s eyes widened. “You do?”

The woman was shouting. “Pascal. Pascal!” She returned to Ferelith. “Pascal, one of our porters, is mad keen on ice-fishing. Here he is.”

A friendly voice began speaking into the phone.

“Hey there, this is Pascal Clermont.”

She explained the situation. “Our guest just wants someone to share the basics of ice-fishing with him.”

“I’d be very happy to do that,” he said eagerly. “It’s the one thing I miss about living in London. Ice-fishing is the best sport in the world.”

That brought Ferelith up short. She couldn’t imagine what fun there was to be found in holding a tiny fishing rod over a small hole in a frozen lake for hours on end. But she pushed that thought out of her head. “It has to be this afternoon.”

“Oooff,” Pascal said in a vague noise of French-Canadian uncertainty. “That could be a problem. My shift at the embassy finishes soon but I have a lot on this afternoon.”

Ferelith tried to inject some rampant gorgeousness into her voice. “I’d be so grateful to you, Pascal,” she murmured huskily.

Rather to her amazement, it seemed to work.

“I suppose I could rearrange things,” he said reluctantly. “How about if I got together with your guest on Skype? I could manage that.”

Ferelith knew that Laurence Berthier had been thinking of a person-to-person meeting but this might be as good an offer as he was going to get.

“I’ll see what he says, Pascal, and get right back to you.”

As she passed behind the reception desk, she noticed that Erik seemed to be dealing with someone who was booking out, which struck her as odd. However, her mind was on other matters. She found Laurence deep in conversation with his parents.

“My apologies for interrupting you, Monsieur Berthier, but I have someone who would be happy to give you an ice-fishing seminar this afternoon. Would you mind if it took place on Skype?”

“Good heavens, no. I want to see him in person so he can demonstrate the techniques properly.”

“It’s just that…”

His handsome forehead creased with a frown.

“I had hoped that this would have been sorted by now, Ferelith. Something has come up. Time may not be on our side.”

Ferelith heard her father’s voice in her head. What our guests want, our guests get.

She stifled a sigh. “Of course, Monsieur Berthier. I shall arrange the matter at once.”

She hurriedly retraced her steps. Now there was a crowd of people gathered around the reception desk. And more of them seemed to be booking out.

“Miss Ferelith, can you give us a hand?” Erik hissed at her in passing.

She grimaced an apology. “Sorry, Erik, I’m on a mission.”

Back in the security room, she called Pascal back. “I’m afraid that the seminar will have to be one-to-one. Could you come here to the hotel?”

He made another French-Canadian noise. “I don’t think that will be possible.”

It seemed he was starting to go cold on the idea but Ferelith suddenly realised that there was something she hadn’t yet mentioned. “You’ll be paid for your trouble, of course.”

There was a silence. “How much?”

His voice sounded more interested, though Ferelith had no idea what she should offer.

“A hundred pounds?” she suggested.

“Agreed,” he replied immediately. “I’ll have to reorganise my afternoon but then I’ll come straight to you.”

Ferelith sat back in her chair, feeling drained but pleased. It hadn’t been easy but she’d got the job done. At the reception desk, there was now a noisy throng of people clamouring to be dealt with. To her surprise, she spotted Laurence and his parents amongst them.

“Good news, Monsieur Berthier. Your ice-fishing seminar is all arranged.”

He shook his head. “I can’t manage that now. We’re leaving.”

Ferelith’s mouth sagged open. “Leaving?”

“Erik, did you arrange a taxi?” Laurence called.

“It’ll be outside in two minutes, Monsieur Berthier.”

“Marvellous.”

Ferelith couldn’t believe it. “But, Monsieur Berthier…”

However, Laurence Berthier wasn’t listening. “On y va, Papa, Maman,” he said and, with a wave of the hand, he was gone.

“Erik, what on earth is happening?” Ferelith said in confusion.

“I wish I knew.” For once, he sounded rattled. “People are leaving the Manor and moving to other hotels on the spur of the moment. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What people?”

“Guests. Dozens of them. The whole hotel is emptying.”

“I don’t understand.”

At that moment, her phone rang. When Ferelith saw the name on the display, her shoulders sank. She forced a smile onto her face. “Pascal, hi.”

“I’ve managed it, Ferelith,” he said, sounding very pleased with himself. “It wasn’t easy but I’ve rearranged everything. I’m on my way!”

She closed her eyes with a groan.

CHAPTER TWO

“Of course, madam. I’ll have your Bentley fetched from the garage immediately. It will be waiting for you by the front door.”

“And my luggage?”

“One of our porters is on his way to your room to collect it even as we speak.”

That wasn’t absolutely true but, with a bit of luck, it would be very soon. Ferelith waved a hand to attract Erik but his attention was being taken up by an elegant couple who had both been talking to him at once in rapid Italian.

“Non è affatto un problema, signora, signore,” he said with a smile that seemed to have become fixed to his face.

The voice on the phone broke into her thoughts. “Tell your porter to hurry. I don’t want to be kept waiting.”

“Of course not, madam. He’ll be with you shortly.” Ferelith crossed her fingers as she said that and the Italian couple finally turned to leave.

“Erik!” she hissed at him. “We need a porter at room 104. Pronto!”

His shoulders sagged slightly.

“I’ll contact Madame Pomfret. We’ll have to use the waiters.”

Ferelith gazed at him in shock. The waiters at Fosbury Manor were the finest in the business. Some of them had worked in prestigious hotels all over Europe. It was unthinkable that they should be asked to lug suitcases around.

Erik saw her expression.

“We have no choice; the porters are being run off their feet. I’ve already roped in Geraint and the ground staff to help.”

Ferelith’s ears pricked up as they always did when Geraint was mentioned. She barely knew him, but she was hoping to change that situation very soon. Recently, she had found herself being constantly distracted by thoughts of his curly brown hair which never quite stayed in place and his habit of buttoning up his waistcoat wrongly which she found so sweet.

Then there were his hands, which sometimes got a bit grubby from his work. She longed to moisten them with a damp sponge and rub them gently but firmly with the lemon-scented soap someone had given her the previous Christmas. Once they were perfectly clean, she would take them in her own hands and press them to…

“Ferelith!”

Her attention was hauled back to the present. “Yes, Erik?” she said, feeling strangely breathless.

He indicated with his head. “The phones?”

Five lights were flashing on the panel in front of her; it was an unheard-of situation. At the Manor, guests were never kept waiting. She hurriedly pressed one of the buttons and glanced at the display showing the customer details. “Mr Leigh-Humphreys, how may I help you?”

Her phone call with Pascal earlier had been awkward in the extreme. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to rearrange his afternoon, only for her to tell him that he was no longer needed. It was fair to say that he wasn’t best pleased. She had decided to avoid the area of London around the Canadian Embassy for the next few months to minimise the risk of bumping into him.

However, seeing that she was free, Erik had immediately grabbed her. It was never possible to say that there was chaos at Fosbury Manor; it was a hotel run with supreme efficiency. However, the system had definitely begun to creak at the edges as countless guests suddenly announced that they were leaving the Manor and moving to other hotels. Reception had become a mass of people demanding attention.

“Could you help answer the room calls?” he had said to Ferelith. So she had sat with two other members of the reception staff and dealt with call after call after call.

Time passed in a blur. Guests at the Manor expected an immediate response to requests for service and they were all requiring attention at the same time. It felt to Ferelith as if every member of the hotel staff had been roped in to cope with the situation. At one point, she spotted Geraint hurrying through the reception hall with a guest’s luggage. There and then, she made an early New Year’s resolution. Sometime in the next twenty-four hours, she would find a chance to introduce herself to him properly. The prospect was like a little beacon of light which kept her going through the endless succession of calls.

“Yes, Ms Hendron-Wyse, our chief laundress is very familiar with designer underwear. She will have the items collected, laundered and forwarded to your new hotel straightaway…”

“Of course, sir. Caviar, sushi and an organic lamb burger for Room 31 as a snack before the three of you leave…”

“I will despatch someone to our Nordic spa immediately to look for your missing sock…”

“A bottle of glacier water, Sir Gervais? Of course. Arctic or Antarctic?”

An endless time seemed to pass before Ferelith finished a call and found that none of the lights in front of her were flashing any longer. For a moment, she wondered if the panel had developed a fault. But then she realised that, miracle of miracles, it was because there were no more guests requiring attention.

She sat back in her seat with a groan. Her ear felt twice its normal size, her brain ached mightily and she thought that she would prefer not to have to deal with the demands of hotel guests ever again for as long as she lived.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Ferelith,” Erik said, seeing she was off the phone. “We pride ourselves at the Manor on being a place where we all pull together. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen it put into practice quite like that before.”

Ferelith glanced round the reception hall. The people standing about in small groups were members of the hotel staff. The guests all seemed to have gone.

“You have been magnificent,” Erik called out. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

They began to clap; there were a few cheers.

“I still don’t understand what’s been happening,” Ferelith said in puzzlement.

Erik shook his head.

“I have no idea. In a matter of hours, we have become a hotel without guests.”

“They’ve all gone?”

“Not a single one left.”

“But this is our busiest time of the year.” He held out his hands in a shrug.

“Excuse me, everyone, could I have your attention?” Ferelith turned. It was her father. “Staff meeting in the main conference room now. For everyone, please. As quickly as you can.”

Ferelith considered hurrying over and asking him what on earth was going on. But something held her back; she didn’t want to take advantage of her position. The other members of staff were no doubt just as keen as she was to find out what was happening.

As everyone started making their way to the conference room, she spotted Geraint with a group of people a little way ahead of her. She realised that it was the perfect opportunity. Accelerating smoothly, she caught up with them.

Of course, they were discussing why all the guests had left.

“Could there be a sickness bug going round?” someone suggested. “You hear of cruise liners being cleared of passengers due to illness.”

There was a dismissive snort.

“Have you noticed that Fosbury Manor isn’t sailing the high seas?”

“Anyway, this isn’t a case of guests having to leave; they all chose to do so themselves.”

“And they were transferring to other hotels. Why would anyone prefer somewhere else to the Manor?”

“Maybe our reputation is slipping?”

“Apparently some guests said that they were leaving because all their bills at their new hotels were going to be paid for them.”

“That’s true,” Ferelith said. “A couple told me they were off to have a brilliant Christmas at the Saint Regis and without paying a penny for it.”

Geraint turned to her with interest. “Really?”

Ferelith’s heart began to race. Her chance to speak to him had come much sooner than she had expected. She nodded eagerly.

“It seems strange, but…”

But there was an interruption.

“Geraint, do you have a moment? I wanted a quick word about fresh flowers for the dinner tables.” It was Madame Pomfret, who was in charge of the dining room.

Geraint smiled. “Of course, Eugenia,” he said, drifting away from the group to speak to her.

Ferelith’s eyes narrowed. She had always admired Madame Pomfret but it occurred to her that it was possible to go off people.

“I want to thank you all so much. This afternoon, you did a fine job in very unexpected circumstances.” Lionel gazed at the staff gathered about the reception room. “Though it’s no more than I would have expected. At Fosbury Manor, we are above all a team.” There were murmurs of agreement. “However, I’m sure that you’re wondering exactly what has been going on. I wondered that myself when I started getting reports from Erik on the front desk that our guests were leaving en masse.

“The fact is that Fosbury Manor is now an empty hotel. However, that’s not something for us to worry about because, this time tomorrow, we will be full again.” Everyone began to listen intently. “I don’t know if any of you are familiar with the name Lyle Cranford.”

Ferelith had heard the name but couldn’t place it. Was he an actor, maybe, or a sports star?

“Isn’t he the internet millionaire who invented FastChat?” one of the porters called out.

Lionel nodded. “Absolutely right apart from one small detail. Lyle Cranford isn’t a millionaire, he’s a billionaire. FastChat has become one of the most popular social networking services in the world.”

Erik frowned. “I believe he has the reputation of being something of an eccentric.”

“It’s a reputation that’s well-earned,” Lionel retorted. “He was the person responsible for emptying our hotel today. It seems that his people contacted every single guest of ours and invited them to move immediately to one of a selection of other five-star hotels. If they did so, all their bills would be paid, not only from here but also from the other hotels. They wouldn’t have to spend a penny on Christmas.”

“That’ll cost him a fortune.”

“Indeed, it will. Luckily for him, he has a number of fortunes at his disposal.”

“But why did he want all the guests out of here?” someone asked. “Does he have a grudge against us?”

“On the contrary, he wants Fosbury Manor for his own Christmas celebrations. For the next week our hotel will be full of his family and friends.”

There was a stunned silence.

“As you can tell, he is a man with money to spare who likes to indulge his fancies. But tomorrow morning, the Manor will start filling up with guests again. So we had better prepare ourselves to receive them.”

The staff scattered with an eager buzz of conversation.

“That’s rather unexpected news, Dad,” Ferelith said to her father. “It sounds as if Christmas at the Manor is going to be a bit different this year.”

“That’s certainly true. I suppose it might be a good opportunity for the hotel. Someone like Lyle Cranford could bring us a whole new clientele.”

“That’s great.” She noticed the look on her father’s face. “Isn’t it?”

Lionel had taken a sheet of paper from his pocket and was reading it with a troubled expression.

“Just before I called this meeting, I received an email from Franklyn Boscoby; he’s Lyle Cranford’s personal assistant. He sent a list of ‘a few small things’ which Mr Cranford wishes to have attended to. You won’t believe some of the items he’s got down here.” Lionel shook his head. “I suspect that we are going to have to work very hard to earn our pennies this Christmas.”

CHAPTER THREE

It was bedlam, that was the only possible description. Normally, a grand piano in one corner of the reception hall was played for an hour or two every day. It helped create the harmonious atmosphere which so characterised Fosbury Manor.

However, that morning, Miss Buckley-Tone’s gentle music was drowned out completely by chatter and laughter and squeals from children running around. The new guests had arrived.

The trouble was that they had all turned up at once. Also, most of them knew each other. So instead of the normal quiet hum at reception, there was a chaotic racket going on.

Erik seemed stunned by the turmoil.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ferelith asked.

It was an unprecedented situation. All eighty-six rooms at the Manor had become empty at the same time which meant a huge job of cleaning and preparation for the household staff. What’s more, the list of new guests had only arrived by email that morning so the allocation of rooms was having to be done in a rush. And, normally, things were never done in a rush at the Manor.

He gripped Ferelith’s arm with a glazed expression. “The children – please do something about the children.”

There were dozens of them chasing each other around the reception area, all full of the Christmas spirit. Two girls rushed up to the desk.

“Is our room ready, Mum?” one asked eagerly.

Her mother smiled. “Not yet, darling. But I’m sure that it won’t be long.”

The other girl clambered onto the desk. Picking up the handbell there, she started singing Jingle Bells at the top of her voice using the bell as a rhythm accompaniment.

Ferelith thought Erik might be about to spontaneously combust. The bell was a purely ceremonial item. Staff at the reception desk never needed to be summoned; they were always available. Her mind raced.

“Girls, would you like to play some games?” she said brightly.

The girl on the desk stopped singing. She and her sister looked at each other. “We might do.”

Trying not to notice Erik’s astonishment, Ferelith pulled over a chair and climbed onto the desk herself. She winked at the girl and nodded towards the handbell. “Give it some welly.”

Delight spread across the girl’s face. Grasping the bell in both hands, she began ringing it as loudly as she could. The noise reverberated round the hall and Ferelith glimpsed her father gazing at her open-mouthed.

She put a hand on the girl’s arm. The ringing died away, leaving only the sound of Miss Buckley-Tone playing Silent Night on the piano with her usual delicacy.

Everyone had turned to look at Ferelith; the guests in amusement, the staff with horror. She wondered if she had just said goodbye to her temporary post at the hotel.

“Children,” she called cheerfully. “It’s going to take a little while for your mums and dads to find out which room you’re in. In the meantime, you’re all welcome to come with me to…” Ferelith hurriedly considered the options. “To the sports hall, where we’ll have some games.”

There was an interested murmur.

“There will be refreshments,” she added.

“Will there be banana sandwiches?” someone called out.

Ferelith stuck up a thumb. “That happens to be our chef’s speciality.”

There was a cheer and children began hurrying towards her. She climbed down off the desk.

“Sorry about that, Erik.”

“Don’t apologise,” he retorted fervently. “If you get the children out of the way then at least we’ll be able to think. And don’t worry about the refreshments; I’ll sort them out.”

Ferelith turned to the young musician.

“Are you ready to rumble?”

The girl nodded and, accompanied by the deafening ringing of the handbell, Ferelith led the way followed by an eager gaggle of youngsters.

***