Page 63 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“Ah, yes — I have that in my diary.”
Lisa laughed softly as she led Vicky back to the reception hall. “As you can see, one of the most important parts of the job is keeping an eye on Mike. He’s a sweetheart, but he sometimesneeds a bit of a reminder about things. The guests love him.” Her eyes danced. “Actually some of them love him rather too much!”
“Right . . .”
“So you’ve decided to stay?” They were strolling across the reception area to the dining room. “Tom said you were planning to sell the cottage.”
“I was originally. But I really love it here — the countryside, the sea. If I can find a way to pay the inheritance tax I’d really like to keep the place.” She smiled. “Aunt Molly left me some jewellery, and I was able to sell that to help pay for the work that needs doing. But I need a job. This is ideal as a stopgap, but I’ll need something permanent.”
“What do you want to do?” Lisa asked with genuine interest. “Will you go back to being an estate agent?”
Vicky shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’d like to do something different. Work for a charity, maybe.”
“That would be interesting. Well, as you can see, this is the dining room. We do breakfast, and guests can have a packed lunch if they want it. And we do dinner, for hotel guests and the general public.”
“Oh, yes — I had dinner here on Saturday, with... a couple of friends.”
“Was it good?”
“Very good.”
Lisa nodded, pleased. “Thanks for the positive feedback! The kitchen is through here.” She pushed open another door into a bright kitchen full of gleaming stainless-steel worktops and appliances. “Chef comes on at four.”
“Right . . .”
They walked back across Reception to a short corridor with two wide sliding doors. “These are the wheelchair-accessible suites.” She opened one of the doors. “There’s no guests in this one at the moment. They’re both equipped with a fixed-track hoist system, here and in the bathroom, adjustable beds, adapted equipment. And each has a separate room for the carer.”
French windows led straight out onto the terrace with its view of the bay. The room was charmingly decorated in shades of peach and cream, with gleaming mahogany furniture and a delicate chandelier light-fitting.
Vicky smiled as she gazed around. “It’s lovely.”
“Isn’t it? We wanted these rooms to be at least as good as all the others. They can be booked out to non-disabled people, but it’s best to book them last in case they’re needed. Okay, shall we go upstairs?”
The two of them fell into an easy conversation as they strolled around the hotel. “We’ve got forty-two rooms,” Lisa explained. “Three on the first floor are suites, and there are two singles, besides the two downstairs. Thirty-one of them are occupied at the moment — that’s around seventy per cent occupancy. It usually averages about eighty, eighty-five during high season.”
“Is that good?”
“Well... Not bad. It could be better — but as I said, we’re not Las Vegas. A lot of our guests are repeat visitors — some of the elderly couples have been coming for years. They’re often here to celebrate a birthday or anniversary, so we always try to make a note of those and make something a bit special for them.”
“That’s nice. And I suppose you get a lot of people coming for the golf?”
“Yes, we do. We host several tournaments a year, too. Not the big ones, obviously, just amateurs and a couple of semi-pro. Well, that’s the grand tour.” They had come back to the lift and Lisa pressed the call button. “Let’s go down to my office and fill in the paperwork.”
Lisa’s office was next to Mike’s, the same size and with the same non-view, but it somehow seemed much more comfortable. Maybe because it was considerably tidier, and the bookshelves held several pretty trinkets — seashells, coloured pebbles and sea-washed glass. On the desk was a small vase of flowers — and a photo frame. Well, the back of a photo frame — Vicky didn’t want to see the front.
“Have a seat,” Lisa invited. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
She poured two mugs from a coffee machine on the credenza. “Milk or cream?”
“Just a little cream, please. No sugar.”
She brought the mugs over and sat down behind her desk, and opened a new file on her computer.
“Have you got your National Insurance number?”
“Yes.” She recited it from memory.
