‘This is the guest exit, though it’s not used so much, except for guests going hiking or on horse treks. We try to keep all the traffic to the front of the house, where it’s easier for cars to pull in and out.’
She pushes the door open and motions for me to go ahead.
I gasp. It’sstunning.
Grey tiles lead down towards the glass front doors, which make what would once have been quite a dark little corridor airy and bright. There are vases filled with fresh flowers on either side by the door – great armfuls of pale pink peonies, my favourite.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ I say honestly.
We make our way towards the glass front doors that sit inside the original carved wooden ones, which are fixed open. Two enormousstaircases lead down to the drive area. I remember seeing them on my arrival but, up close, they are the most gorgeous original stone.
By the entrance an open, opulent lounging area sits to my right – comfy mismatched sofas and armchairs of leather and expensive patterned fabrics arranged under a wall of silver-plated deer antlers. It’s so freshly decorated I can smell the paint. And it’s extremely chic. ‘The Library,’ Irene says, although the books seem to be part of an art piece, glued to the wall in a huge spiral swirl.
‘If you see a guest trying to take one down, do stop them. That thing cost us almost twenty thousand pounds. Can you imagine? Anyway, offer them one of our complimentary iPads, where they can download any book they like. Charged to their room, of course.’
‘How modern,’ I say. Is this what boutique hotels do now? Because it’s definitely a departure from the wholecountry getawayvibe. I was expecting a couple of old boxes of Monopoly and Scrabble on a shelf among the literary classics and Dan Brown novels. It’s not exactly cosy in here.
‘The whole house was redone by Pardington’s of London,’ Irene says as though she can read my mind. ‘Russell had them do his place in Edinburgh – the one that got the second star last year – so we are hopeful this will bring a new breed of guest to the hotel. Everything but the restaurant is left to do, as you will no doubt have seen last night.’
‘It’s incredibly swanky.’
‘It’s certainly brought us into the twenty-first century. You should have seen the place before. Oh, it was homely and quaint, but the roof of the library was leaking, everything was damp. We couldn’t charge much for the rooms, in the state they were. It’s been an absolutely colossal project, at colossal prices. Let’s hope it does the job,’ she says, clapping towards the ceiling, apparently to turn the light off, which it finally does. The place would truly be at home in Shoreditch. I mean, members only, and far too expensive. But right at home.
Heather used to go on and on about these private houses she went to. Babbadook House this or Hexleybarns-bloody-worth-Estate that, with all the awful ad-types and bankers standing around comparinghard-ons, with a punchy claret in one hand and a bubbly ad-exec in the other.Upper-Middle Classholes, she used to call them, even though Heather could fit right in with them, in a way I could not. Her dad gave her that. He was older – fifty-eight – when Heather was born, and a fairly noted wine dealer. Heather inherited his confidence and passion – and money too, of course. Not loads, but enough. A little part of me was always jealous when she swanned off to university, complete with a monthly ‘allowance’, while I had to work two shitty jobs to afford it. But to give her her due, Heather must’ve stood me about a million rounds, so it wasn’t all bad.
In the corner of the library sits one guest: an older man in tan leather shoes,sanssocks, and a bright-blue polo shirt.
‘Good morning, Matthew,’ Irene sings, in what is an expert mix of flirtatious and professional. ‘Do you have everything you need?’
‘Yes, Irene,’ he replies, folding his paper and smiling at me. His icy-blue eyes and golden hair make him more Bond villain than gentleman. I half-expect a Russian accent.
‘Our new sommelier, all the way from London,’ Irene explains, nodding towards me. ‘You can put her to the test another day.’
‘I look forward to it,’ he says, sitting back in his chair and lifting his foot up to rest on his knee. Classic power-move.
‘You’d better bring your very best game, sir,’ I shoot, automatically going into flirt mode.
‘Well, now I’mreallylooking forward to it,’ he says, folding his arms.
Irene turns to me, with the subtlest of head shakes, and leads me to the reception area across the hall, whispering, ‘Mr Hunt is the President of the Highland Wine Society. But a word of warning: he’s a regular guestandhe’s a dreadful drunk. He would try it on with a horse if he’d had enough single malt. Well, last year he very nearly did.’
I’m a bit shocked, but Irene is simply shaking her head as if she’s seen it a hundred times.
‘It’s partly my job to look after you while you’re here, and now you know what Mr Hunt is, you will be better equipped to handle him. Especially as you’re a woman. Women in hospitality, as I’m sure you well know, must look after one another.’
Irene smiles so fondly at me, I feel sure she’s going to pat me on the head. But then in an instant we’re off again.
‘You’ll be curating the wine and menu with James for their next meet-up towards the end of the summer. We will need some ideas over the next few days, so we can get the orders across. The last theme wasGrape Expectations. Bill chose a list of budget wines that were actually exceptional, and some supposedly exceptional wines that were very poor indeed.’
‘Sounds cool,’ I say, trying to hide my panic.
‘Sweet girl, it’s the Royal Ascot of Wine Society events.’
I try to look confident and nod earnestly.
‘Over a hundred people from across the west coast and beyond. It’s more than a wine event, it’s fast become something of a cornerstone of the hospitality calendar here on the west coast. It’s not just the stuffy old wine-bros that come, either. The key buyers, growers and producers come too. Full black-tie, a band, dancing and whisky until dawn. It’s the pride of Loch Dorn, that event. And with the renovations, Russell and you, Heather, at the helm, we hope it will be the best ever.’
‘Okay. Got it.’
