‘Oh, Isobel, hello. Um, let me see what I can do … hmm … we have a conference here today and tomorrow and all the rooms—’
‘There must be something. Could you put Jeffrey on?’ Jeffrey was a delightful gay man who treated her like a goddess. He’d been the manager at the hotel for fifteen years. He’d sort this out.
There was some shuffling, muffled talking, then a deeper voice. ‘Isobel?’
‘Jeffrey! I’m in desperate need of a room! Please tell me you can help?’
He clicked his tongue. ‘Darling, I’m so sorry, but we have nothing.’
‘Nothing at all? It doesn’t have to be fancy. Anything would be better than the alternative, let me assure you!’
‘We have the entire finance team of Macquarie Bank here. Every room is taken, even the two cottages. I wish I could—’
She sighed. ‘Forget it. Thanks, anyway. I’ll work something out.’
She thought of Kilmore, the sprawling estate where she grew up, just ten minutes down the road. Issy had suggested she stay there to her father, but he insisted that she must be on site. He wouldn’t expect her to stay in conditions like this, though, would he?
Her mother went back and forth between Sydney and Hartwell, but she preferred the country. Was she at Kilmore at the moment? Issy couldn’t recall. She pulled the elastic out of her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders, and slumped back against the cushions, rubbing her tired eyes, thinking it through. If Heather was there, Issy would be subjected to an inquisition about her first day in Hartwell. She didn’t have the energy for that. On the other hand, if her mother was in Sydney, the house would be locked up. She’d have to call Rosa and ask her to meet her there to open it. She thought warmly of her former nanny, now the housekeeper at Kilmore. It was getting late. That wouldn’t be fair.
Instead, she rang Warwick.
‘Isobel,’ he said, a statement rather than a greeting.
‘Warwick, hi. Sorry to bother you, but nothing works in this apartment. The fridge is dead. There’s no hot water. I don’t think I can stay here.’
‘Ah, maybe try the Red Lion?’
‘The Red Lion? You mean the pub?’
‘Yeah, they’ve got rooms. Pretty basic, but—’
‘Oh, no, I’m not staying at a pub. Is there anywhere else? What about that little bed and breakfast on the way into town?’ She tried to recall if the sign said vacancy or no vacancy.
‘Nah, that’s Pammy Ward’s place. They’re in the UK for Christmas, visiting the grandkids.’
‘Somewhere else, then?’
‘I don’t like your chances of finding something at this time of night.’ A pause. ‘You can stay at my place if you want? We’ve got a spare room. Dani won’t mind.’
‘Oh, thank you, Warwick, that’s very kind, but no, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.’ It was sweet of him to offer, but she couldn’t think of anything worse.
‘Righto, then. Looks like you’re staying put for tonight.’
‘Fine. Let’s work on it tomorrow.’ She hung up.
The phone was still in her hand when Hugh rang.
She swiped to answer and burst into tears.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said.
‘Everything! The project’s a disaster. It’ll be a miracle if it’s done by the launch date. The workers think I’m a joke. The project manager made me look like an idiot. I can’t even get a coffee in this town! And I’m staying in a display suite where nothing works!’ She inhaled a deep shaky breath and exhaled, trying to regain her composure.
‘Babe, I’m sure it’s not that bad.’
She sighed and took a sip of warm wine, recoiling. At room temperature, the buttery taste she usually loved was nauseating.
‘Your parents own a five-star hotel down the road,’ he said, as if the thought wouldn’t have already occurred to her. ‘Why don’t you move up there?’
