‘I’m Fran. Francesca Compton.’
There was no sudden recognition, no change in the woman’s expression, and Fran eased a breath out.
‘It is good to meet you properly, Fran. I am Florence. Although we will stick with Madame Beaufoy I think, for the work setting, yes?’
‘Absolutely. I meant to pop in to see you yesterday, but we were so busy.’
‘I understand on top of your regular duties you have helped out in the dining room?’
‘That’s right. I did some waitressing back in the UK, so I said I would be happy to help out.’
‘Well, there have been no customer complaints, so you must know what you are doing, and for this I am very grateful.’ Madame Beaufoy shook her head. ‘We have a constant battle,being so far out from the towns. Young people want to go to parties and clubs all the time, they don’t want to work. You would think they would want to gain experience in such a setting as this, but …’
Madame Beaufoy drew in a sharp breath. There seemed to be more she wanted to say, but a fleeting frown was accompanied by a change of subject.
‘Anyway, we must have you complete the paperwork. Do you have a work visa?’
Fran shook her head, wondering if this would be the moment her cover would blow wide open, but Madame Beaufoy didn’t baulk.
‘This we can fix. More important – I will make sure you are added to our payrollimmédiatement. After all, we can’t be seen to be taking work from employees with no payment, can we? And we never know who might be looking in on us, no?’
Heat prickled under Fran’s arms, and she searched the woman’s expression for a clue as to why she’d felt the need to add that comment. Did she know more than she was letting on? Fran swallowed, but Madame Beaufoy’s attention was taken by an iPad she pulled from a drawer, swiping it into life and clicking through until she’d found what she was looking for. She turned it and passed it to Fran.
‘And if you enjoy working with us and wish to stay, we can apply for a work visa. We have a few months’ grace and I’m sure there will not be a problem in getting one for you. But for now, I will leave you to fill this in and fetch us some coffee. Do you take milk?’
‘No, black would be great. Thank you.’
‘Un moment s’il vous plaît.’
With the door closed and Fran alone in the office, she allowed herself a long breath and smiled. She hadn’t been rumbled.More than that, Fran was beginning to believe she might enjoy her stay at Chateau les Champs d’Or more this way. It was certainly more real to her than the role she’d been playing in every other hotel stay she’d already completed.
Fran had never been a champagne and caviar kind of a girl. She barely knew the difference between Krug and Bollinger, enjoyed a glass or two of Lidl Prosecco and a punnet of strawberries just as much as something which cost more per glass than the month’s rent on her flat.
The powers that be at Wilding Holdings had reassured her she was perfectly placed to blind test stays at their hotels, and to be honest, the lure of travelling the globe and visiting some of the swishest hotels in existence, all expenses paid and earning a salary to boot had been too alluring for her to turn it down, had been enticing enough for her to put her fears of her own inadequacies to one side and take the job. It wasn’t as though there was anything to keep her at home in Lyme Regis.
However, even though Fran had to admit she was beginning to enjoy this stay more than any of the others, where all she’d done was laze around by the pool and eat way too much food, she still had her job to do. Her brief was to measure guest satisfaction from each of her stays, but now she had taken the decision to view the hotel from the side of the employees, it seemed more important than ever to try to find out more about the internal machinations of such a busy environment.
Filling in her details on the tablet, Fran’s smile fell away when she saw the payment structure. Intensely complicated and with a starting wage of startling meanness, in her opinion. Or perhaps Fran had lost touch with reality in the last few months, had forgotten how hard life was for those at the bottom of the ladder having dipped a toe in the waters of the mega-rich and privileged.
Scratching around in a pocket for her bank card, Fran painstakingly filled in the numbers as Madame Beaufoy reappeared, carrying two tiny cups of what Fran assumed was espresso. Pushing the tablet onto the desk, Fran took the cup Madame Beaufoy offered, and sipped. Pungent and almost treacle-thick, the coffee was unlike anything Fran had experienced, but it was delicious.
‘That’s really good,’ she said.
Madame Beaufoy nodded, a smile breaking through her otherwise austere expression. ‘Thank you. It is my own blend of beans. We may not know much, but the Beaufoy family do know how to produce beverages. Before I came to work here, I helped my husband on ourpetitvineyard. He makes some wonderful wines, some of them are available here. But he is not, how you say it, he is not a great businessman. He is more interested in the taste than the money.’
‘You should offer this coffee in the dining room,’ Fran said, taking another sip. ‘I think it would be perfect after dinner.’
‘I suppose I should.’ Madame Beaufoy gave a gentle shrug. ‘It’s not like the blend is a secret.’
‘If people like it, you could offer it to Wilding Holdings for their other hotels. You could make a fortune.’
‘Like we do from my husband’s wine?’ Madame Beaufoy barked a harsh laugh, then her expression closed down. ‘I do not think the people in charge of Wilding Holdings care so much about supporting the small businesses.’
Fran waited for Madame Beaufoy to expand, but the woman’s lips tightened, so she returned the conversation to her job.
‘What happens about my work shifts, days off, that sort of thing?’
‘I will email a copy to you once I have worked out the rota. Are you happy to continue with some shifts in the dining room?Breakfast and lunch, they are not such a problem, but the dinner service must be correctly staffed.’ Madame Beaufoy seemed happier to be all business again.
