Page 6 of Euphoria
4
IfoundAlice in the main gallery.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked as I made myself familiar with the small office that served as the operational hub of the hotel.
“Very, thank you.”
The room was small, though a large window opened up onto the main drive of the manor letting in a great deal of natural light. Every surface was covered in papers, folders, and an assortment of coffee cups in various states of use. An ancient looking computer adorned the surface of a desk looking like it was on its last legs.
“You are aware of the position?” Alice asked, offering me the chair beside her.
“Yes,” I replied as I sat. “I’m to be an all-rounder, helping where I can but primarily assisting in the rejuvenation of Thornfield.”
Alice beamed at me. “You are very well-spoken, Jane.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said with a smile. “I’m polite when it’s called for and rash when it’s due, I suppose.”
“Rocky is going to get a kick out of you,” she said, finding something rather amusing.
“Who is Rocky?”
“Mr. Rochester,” she said. “Mr. Edward Rochester. But don’t call him Rocky to his face. Only his rich friends are able to call him something other than sir!” She giggled at some memory and turned her chair to face me. “You will learn soon enough, Jane. His friends stay occasionally in the summer, and they’re a sight. They fawn all over him because of his status, and the women call him Rocky. It’s all a ploy to crawl into bed with him and into his pockets. I’m sure he encourages it because all men like to be bowed down to, especially by a naked woman.”
I frowned, getting the impression this Edward Rochester was the clichéd embodiment of a playboy. It must be something to behold, indeed.
“What kind of man is he?” I asked. “When he is not lording around his friends?”
Alice thought for a moment. “He is a fair and kind employer. He pays well and rewards good work. He is trusting where it’s due since he’s not here often. Professionally, he is a good man. Personally, he has a mean temper and an arrogant streak.”
I neither liked nor disliked the sound of that, so I turned back to the desk where the conversation flowed easily through the day-to-day operations of the hotel. I was assigned a budget and a schedule for works to be completed on the interior of the building. Small changes were preapproved, but anything of significant cost was to be submitted to Mr. Rochester for approval. I then made some suggestions for updating the computer and its software and proceeded to make myself at home.
Organization was my forte, and Lowood and the correspondence course I had completed thereafter had taught me well in the aspects of business management and cost to profit ratios. When it came to work, I was neither small nor plain. I took ownership and shone, finding much purpose in the tasks set for me.
“Is there a stable Internet connection?” I asked, spying the router hidden under a pile of paperwork.
“We have Wi-Fi, but it’s patchy at best,” Alice replied like it was the bane of her existence. “We’d like to have it up to scratch, but it’s not possible. At least, not without a lot of fuss. It’s one of the drawbacks of being so far out in the country. We’re surrounded by miles of moor on all sides. The company said something about bedrock, but what do I know about engineering?”
“I’m not fussed myself,” I said. “I don’t keep a Facebook profile and only have a neglected email account, but it would be worth looking into satellite for the guests’ sake.”
Alice’s mouth dropped open like she was about to catch a fly. “You don’t have Facebook?”
“Don’t look so aghast,” I said with a laugh. “I have no need for it, and past experience has taught me life is far less complicated without being contactable twenty-four seven.”
“Then you don’t know what its like to be stuck out here all winter with no Netflix to entertain you!”
I glanced out the window to the yard beyond, the sky a deep shade of stormy gray. She was right, but I was sure I was going to find out one way or another.
“Do you have many guests?”
Alice shook her head. “Not in winter. We have the odd artist or writer who comes to stay for a few weeks at a time, but other than that, it’s quite empty.”
“Perhaps offering packages for artist retreats could get some more rooms filled,” I mused, my mind humming pleasantly at the thought of being surrounded by painters, writers, poets, and all manner of creative types. I had no skill in any of those things, but I was an avid consumer of the written word, and my eye drank in the beauty of art whenever it could.
“You know,” Alice said, looking excited. “That’s a great idea!”
“Then I shall put together a proposal for Mr. Rochester. A package deal with accommodation, meals, workshops, and the use of the grounds.”
She waved her hand at me as I looked around for a pen and some paper. “Leave that for now. It’s your first day, and I promised you a tour of the hotel.”
