The Northern Lights Lodge - Julie Caplin Romantic Escapes

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still a bit damp inside.’

      ‘You need to stuff them with paper, there’s plenty in the office. Hekla,’ he shot her a grin, ‘has an ongoing vendetta with the printer, I’ve got shoe polish…’ his voice trailed off lamely before suddenly laughing. ‘Shoe polish! Super hero Alex to the rescue.’

      ‘That’s er…’ Lucy smiled, charmed by his boyish chagrin. Charmed and something else that made a tiny frozen part of heart melt just a little.

      ‘A bit boy scoutish,’ laughed Alex. ‘Prepared for every eventuality, that’s me.’

      Alex’s unexpected kindness threw her and Lucy’s face sagged. ‘I … I used to be,’ she said in an almost whisper.

      ‘The printer does not like me,’ said Hekla with unexpected petulance, looking up from her computer.

      ‘No,’ said Alex, laughing at Hekla’s pouting face. Lucy could have kissed her for the timely interjection. Where had her sudden misery come from? She lifted her chin, quickly schooling her features to hide the brief lapse of her game face.

      ‘Er, Lucy,’ said Hekla with a worried expression, ‘We have a booking arriving next week.’

      ‘And?’ They were a hotel after all, bookings were what they wanted.

      ‘It was made directly with Mr Pedersen and I don’t have any details. No names. Nothing. But it’s a complimentary.’

      She noticed Alex looking intrigued and again wondered why a barman was hanging around the office or taking such a keen interest in things.

      ‘Ah, that is odd. Are they VIPs we need to impress? Relations of Mr Pedersen?’

      ‘I don’t know. It’s for five rooms.’

      ‘Five.’ Her tongue flicked automatically to the sore on her lip. That was a lot of rooms to give away for free. What was going on?

      ‘All it says on the original email is that they are media.’ Hekla looked up, a happier expression on her face. ‘I think they might be press or something.’

      ‘Press?’

      OK, she could handle that. Being so close to the BBC and ITV as well as two premier league football clubs in Manchester, she was used to dealing with journalists, celebrities and footballers on a regular basis.

      ‘English press. A film crew.’

      Oh shit! Automatically her hand went to her lip and she began to pick at it.

      ‘You OK?’ asked Alex, concern etching his eyes. Stepping toward Lucy, making her catch her breath, he briefly brushed his fingers over her wrist. ‘Don’t, you’ll make it worse.’

      She pulled her hand away already tasting the tang of blood in her mouth. It was a bad habit she’d got into.

      ‘You OK?’ he asked again.

      ‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine,’ said Lucy conscious that the blood had drained from her face and her heart rate had sky rocketed and everything about her was probably screaming NO!

      She wasn’t fine at all and at that precise moment, she couldn’t have said whether that was the unexpected effect of Alex’s gentle touch or the prospect of a film crew arriving.

      She took a calming breath. She was being stupid. It wasn’t as if the film crew would be filming the staff. They probably wouldn’t pay any attention to them. No one was going to recognise her.

       Chapter 8

      When Lucy woke, anxiety immediately clutching at her thoughts, she lay staring out of the window at the cloud filled sky. Although it was still dark, there was an odd light to the sky. Maybe she’d stay here today, study the clouds and give into the heaviness of her body. Even though she’d been here for nearly two weeks now, it was taking her time to get up to speed. The frequent turnaround of previous managers meant that so much had been left undone. This morning just lifting the duvet seemed an effort. Minutes ticked by, turning into ten, then twenty. She squinted through the glass, was that a snowflake?

      Was that why the clouds looked different today, they were full of snow? She tracked the progress of a few leisurely snowflakes, watching their gentle wayward descent. The familiar prick of childish excitement nudged at her making her wince. One upon a time the first magical sight of snow would have had her dragging her wellies on, wrapping up like a Sherpa, desperate to be out there, but the dark slush of city snow had cured her of that fantasy.

      Sighing, she forced her stiff body to roll over, sliding her legs out of the bed and moving into a sitting position. She had to get up. She needed this job. She was being ridiculous. The film crew wouldn’t be interested in her. They’d be filming the sights, using the hotel as a base. She was being ridiculous. Repeating the words over and over, like a litany, she dragged herself into the shower.

      Once she was dressed, she left her room and as she crossed through the communal area of the staff quarters on her way to the office, a loud cry accosted her.

      ‘Lucy, Lucy,’ called Hekla, with her usual boundless enthusiasm.

      ‘Morning,’ she said stiffly, conscious of the other girl’s glowing skin and shining eyes, contrasting with her own dull complexion and purpled shadowed bags.

      ‘Come, come,’ she said linking her arm through Lucy’s. ‘I want to show you my favourite thing. Well,’ she amended, ‘one of my favourite things.’ Dragging her along like a rampant St Bernard on a rescue mission, Hekla led her from the staff area back to the main hotel.

      Helpless to resist all that enthusiasm, Lucy allowed herself to be propelled along without complaint to the long glass corridor connecting the two buildings.

      Hekla stopped dead, her head tipped back and her arms stretched out wide, almost touching the glass on either side of her. ‘It feels like you’re outside, but you’re not.’ She grinned at Lucy with child-like delight, her arms flapping up and down as if she were making snow angels. ‘Look.’

      Outside the snow which lit up the twilit sky, had started falling in earnest with huge flakes floating down like feathers settling on a gentle breeze. In a slow waltz, they danced and whirled, swirling around the glass structure like delicate ballerinas, almost hitting the glass and then at the last second spinning away as if teasing death before they escaped. Entranced Lucy’s looked up through the glass ceiling, the sight almost dizzying, as the concentration of layer up on layer of flakes seemed to be coming down in never-ending torrent strings.

      It was like being in an inside out snow globe, she thought, as those less fortunate flakes, doomed to an early eclipse, hit the glass with tiny pfft, pfft sounds, as the ice crystals splatted against the surface.

      ‘I’ve never seen such huge snowflakes,’ said Lucy in sheer wonderment, as she followed the path of one which she could have sworn was the same size as her hand.

      ‘Hundslappadrifa,’ beamed Hekla. ‘We have a name for this type of snow. In translation it means dog’s feet snow.’

      Lucy clapped her hands in delight. It was the most perfect description. ‘I love that. Although, I guess we won’t be able to go to Hvolsvöllur this morning.’ The snow had settled fast in the last half hour, a good inch already rounding off the edges of the fences and rooflines outside. She’d been looking forward to getting out of the hotel and seeing a bit of Iceland, even if it was only the nearest town twenty minutes away.

      ‘Of course we will,’ said Hekla. ‘In Iceland, snow doesn’t stop us. Petta reddast.’

      ‘What does that mean?’

      Hekla grinned. ‘I’ll tell you in the jeep on the way.’

      Buckled in, cocooned in the warm fug of the car, they drove along the straight road towards the lights of the town glowing

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