Through the rising anxiety, I find myself feeling slightly irritated with Heather now, for pulling out of this job. Did she realize they were all counting on her this much? And now they’re counting on me, which, frankly, is a disaster waiting to happen.
Irene turns and raises her arm to introduce the reception-space-cum-bar-area, which has some scattered seating and a door onto a small empty terrace. ‘It’s still a little cold for outside dining,’ she explains. Again, the interior is stunning – more leather, polished brass and rich hues. At the far side of the room there is a door through to the restaurant and, behind the bar, a door to the kitchen.
‘So, in the library room the guests can relax and enjoy coffee, tea, more or less anything they wish to eat or drink – we keep the music very low and the atmosphere very relaxed; but here, our bar and reception area, we keep a little more perky, for want of a better word. The bar is open twenty-four hours, of course, but not always manned – so you’d need to ring the bell if you want a brandy atthree a.m. Probably. Sometimes, after dining, you can suggest they enjoy a whisky by the fireplace. Ah, and here’s Bill.’
I am surprised to see him looking so sprightly after last night’s drinking session. He grins at me and raises a glass that he’s about to fill with something from a cocktail shaker. There is a wonderful whiff coming from a scented candle by the bar, a smell that’s fresh and clean with a kick of liquorice.
‘Don’t let Irene mother you,’ he says.
‘Don’t let William pour you a drink,’ Irene retorts, but I can see there is an affection between them. I take both bits of advice as sage, and we continue on our tour.
‘I’ll take you up to see a couple of the guest rooms. It’s not especially important that you see them, since there should be no reason for you to be on the first floor.’
Which is a shame because – holy shit! – the bedrooms are incredible. As we enter the first vacant suite, I am drawn to the rolled-edge wrought-iron tub, which is situated so very happily next to a large window overlooking an apple tree that is just starting to blossom. It’s gorgeous.
The bed is an enormous super-king, finished with crisp linen and deep blue-and-gold cushions. There is no flat-screen TV on display – instead, a cherry-wood dresser, a large gilded mirror and a love-seat of royal-blue velvet.
‘How the other half live, eh?’ I say, losing myself in the moment.
‘Well, so it would seem,’ says Irene, opening the balcony doors to air the room. ‘You should have seen this room three months ago. Dreary. I do love these linen curtains.’
As we make our way downstairs again, she finishes the routine with a little speech about how the staff of Loch Dorn behave with dignity and class, and uphold the traditions of a society that stretches back as far as … But I have trouble focusing, as Mr Hunt, who has been joined by his utterly fed-up-looking wife, is giving me the eye from the bar.Poor Mrs Hunt. His heel misses the footrest and he slips forward, almost knocking over the flowers, just as an Indian couple squeeze past us, rosy-cheeked and sheepish.
‘Honeymooners,’ Irene stops her monologue for a moment to inform me.
I feel like I’ve walked into an episode ofLove Highland.
I refocus on Irene, who is preaching that Loch Dorn Estate is aiming for the gold standard in a country that prides itself on warm hospitality, and going the extra mile to make sure the customer’s every need is met. She’s using words likesatisfied, fulfilledandcome again and again, and soon I’m finding it very hard to keep a straight face.
‘HowdoesRussell fit into it all?’ I ask, to try and stop myself from breaking down.
‘He was brought in to help modernize,’ she replies.
‘Job done, I reckon,’ I reply, as Irene claps at the light switch again.
‘He’s not here every day. He has other restaurants, so he’s busy,’ she starts explaining, as if this is a well-worn script. ‘But he will expect his version of absolute perfection – which can be rather hard to anticipate, and therefore achieve, but achieve it we must! This hotel has been transformed by his name, at the owner’s considerable expense and the staff’s execution. We must ring in the changes. Get the job done! Rally behind it!’
I’m unconvinced she’s behind it, despite all the positive-speak. It reminds me of Heather trying to make the best of one of my browned-until-burnt roast-dinner attempts.
‘I just wondered, because last night Russell wasn’t in the kitchen.’
Irene purses her lips slightly. ‘Well, James does the day-to-day heavy lifting, but Russell is here to be the visionary and manage the bottom line, and we deliver that vision without question. And, with that in mind, you’ve got to get yourself ready for lunch service.’
‘Got it,’ I nod.
‘By the way, did Bill say there’s a staff meal available for breakfast, lunch and dinner? You can have it in the dining room, if it’s empty, or the staffroom.’
‘Oh, that’s great.’ I was expecting there would be, but Bill hadn’t said, and I was beginning to think I’d need to go digging through the bins.
‘And one last thing, sweet girl,’ Irene says, holding my cheeks in her hands, with an ease of affection that makes me want to do her proud. ‘That boyfriend of yours. The young man I met at the Wine Awards? Can we expect an appearance this summer?’
‘Oh no. I mean, it’s not serious enough for a weekend visit,’ I say quickly.
‘Well,’ she says, dropping her hands with a sigh of relief, ‘that’s very good news indeed.’
7.
I’ve made a big mistake.
