Eight
‘Hei, Tore!’
‘Hei, Ana!’ He wound the rope around a metal post and dragged the boat in slowly, looping the slack to pull us in. ‘You must be Sara Pearson. Welcome to Firefly!’
‘Thank you,’ I said, taking his warm, calloused hand and hopping onto the jetty. He was similar in age to my dad and his hair had the same steely tinge.
‘The snow is on the way,’ Ana shouted, as Lars grappled with my bags and threw them off the boat. ‘Do you have enough reserves?’
Tore nodded, with a furrowed brow. ‘Yes, we are ready for it,’ he said, scratching his beard. ‘We’ve plenty of supplies, and we’ve talked through the evacuation procedure with the guests.’
I half-listened with an eye on my luggage, which was now on the ground getting soggy. The wind had been joined by some drizzle, and it was wet and miserable. My bags were squidgy, Italian leather and weren’t designed for a difficult life. Surely Tore would notice them soon. There didn’t seem to be a trolley or a bellboy to help.
‘Call me if you need anything. Filip will come in the speedboat if you get stuck.’
‘Takk, Ana. We are good. The boys have been preparing for it all week. Chopping logs and locking everything down.’ Tore untied the rope and threw it back to Lars, then picked up a suitcase in each of his shovel-sized hands.
‘Get stuck?’ I repeated, paying proper attention now my bags were safe.
‘Lykke til,’ Ana called. ‘Have a wonderful time, Sara.’
‘Farvel!’ Lars pulled his hat over his ears as the boat grunted into reverse, its engine grinding noisily under the water. Ana and Lars were in matching gold puffer jackets and red mittens, waving in time like a pair of Japanese lucky cats.Maneki-neko.
‘There is a weather warning in the area but it’s nothing to worry about,’ Tore said. ‘We are used to extreme weather here. The ice storm will come tonight and then the snow will fall.’
I shuddered. The cold was already seeping into my bones, so I sped up to get a move on. Tore was like a giraffe, his neck forward and long legs stalking along. It was hard to keep up.
‘I’m not worried – the hotel must have been built with snow in mind, right?’
Tore smiled. ‘The hotel?’
‘Oh, sorry.’ I shook my head. ‘Do you call it something else out here?’ I couldn’t wait to get into the central heating and pop on a fluffy robe. Twenty minutes in the sauna would sort me right out.
‘There isn’t a hotel as such. All our guests have individual lodges.’
‘Oh yes, of course, and they look beautiful, but I assumed the main experiences would be in the hotel? The restaurants and the bar? The spa?’
Tore didn’t reply immediately, the crunch of his boots on the frosty leaves interspersed with my double-speed steps filling the silence. I looked over as I trotted along, my ankle boots working hard.
‘When you say spa, do you mean the sauna?’ he asked, his breath fogging in front of us.
‘Yes! Exactly! And the steam room, jacuzzi, swimming pool…’ I breathed a sigh of relief. It was obviously just a translation thing.
‘It is all in nature,’ he said. ‘Each sauna is individual, built in the forest, next to the water.’
‘Wow, that sounds amazing. And the restaurant?’
‘We deliver afrokostbasket for breakfast every morning so you can enjoy your food in your own time and wake with the daylight, into your own rhythm.’
‘Oh! So, there isn’t a cooked breakfast?’
‘Absolutely. It can be cooked – in your kitchen.’
I hoped this was also a translation thing. He surely wasn’t suggesting I cook myownbreakfast on holiday. There must be a private chef who goes from lodge to lodge in the mornings.
‘And lunch and dinner?’
‘Are in the Orangery.’
