They walked further into the entrance hall and past the Christmas tree to see huge festive red flower arrangements in giant silver urns. If Tom could get the contract providing this place with displays, he’d be made for life. ‘You should give them your card and let them know you’re a local florist. If you got their order, you’d never need another bit of business.’
‘I’m not doing that,’ he replied as they peered through the open doorways into the two different bars. One was like an old boys’ London club and the other was an elegant cocktail bar with a shiny counter and high bar stools.
‘Why not? It makes perfect business sense.’
‘They probably have someone who provides the whole chain and besides, it would feel disloyal.’
Tom was the absolute sweetest, but she wasn’t going to let him miss an opportunity like this. Knowing she had one of his business cards in her wallet, she veered off to reception.
‘Where are you—’ But she was gone before he could stop her. After giving it to one of the receptionists she came back to him. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because I’m not letting you miss on an amazing opportunity because of me.’
‘But I’m snowed under as it is. I don’t really need—’
‘You can never have too much business and you never know what’s going to happen. Their regular florist might let them down, or they might need something at the last minute, or they might recommend you to someone. It can’t hurt for them to have your card.’
A small chuckle escaped from Tom’s mouth. ‘Well, thank you.’ His voice chased away some of the cold lingering in her bones. Pointing at a sign, he said, ‘Come on, the restaurant’s down here. And my stomach’s rumbling.’
At the end of the hallway he turned left, following the sign for the restaurant. The website said it was at the back of the mansion with views over the gardens, and Nell had to admit the aromas heading her way were delicious. There was a strong savoury base note over which she could smell something winey mixed with something sweet. As soon as Mr and Mrs Limstock had left for a day of sightseeing, she’d been working hard in the hotel, making the most of the quiet time to give it a big clean, and had even started wrapping Christmas presents after working on the brochure for a bit. She absolutely loved Christmas and spent ages choosing the right gift for someone and then wrapping it carefully, so every parcel had neat corners and a proper ribbon bow on top. The only problem was she’d got caught up in doing that and hadn’t eaten much.
When they reached the restaurant, it was Tom’s turn to be taken aback and his mouth hung open. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one side, separated by giant columns. The larger tables had grand candelabras in the middle while the smaller ones had small silver holders with white candles. Giant silver snowflakes hung from the ceiling and everywhere were cascading silver and green flower displays. A gazillion staff clad in crisp black-and-white uniforms buzzed here and there carrying plates of food or clearing tables with the ease of experienced silver service, stacking empty plates on top of each other, all in the crook of their arms. Nell could only manage about three plates at a time. Maybe she needed to go on a course or something? Would her customers expect that sort of service?
This was all unfamiliar ground for Nell who was pretty positive and confident. Feeling unsure of herself only heightened her insecurities. After a glance at the guests, she also felt woefully underdressed. Tom clearly felt the same as they exchanged another worried look.
‘Can I help you, sir? Madam?’ A man with slicked-back hair in a shiny navy and yellow pinstripe suit sidled over. Nell noticed his suit trousers were drainpipe straight and stylishly short and he was wearing brown brogues without socks. All she could think was that he’d have cold ankles on the way home tonight.
‘We’ve got a reservation,’ said Nell, shoving Tom slightly forward as if it was all his fault. He almost stumbled from her forceful shove but regained his composure with a slight clearing of his throat.
‘Yes, it’s in the name of Barton. Table for two.’
Nell caught the man’s name badge. Bryan. With a Y. Bryan led them to a weird, onyx-black sculpted workstation and swiped away at a computer hidden in its depths. ‘Ah, yes, here we are.’ He clicked his fingers – actually clicked them, which she thought was a bit rude – and a waitress appeared at his shoulder, her hands clasped behind her back and bolt upright like a soldier on parade. ‘Tallulah will see you to your table. Enjoy your meal.’
Tom nodded his thanks and they followed Tallulah. She was young, probably only in her late teens, not that much older than Janie, Tom’s apprentice in the shop, but she carried an air of confidence that even Nell as a grown woman struggled to feel at times. It was intimidating, as was the whole place. There weren’t any 1920s cigarette holders or draping women, but she did spy some town councillors and the local mayor at one of the large tables. Nell waved as she went past and Linda, the mayor, waved back, her cheeks a little pink from a couple of glasses of Christmas cheer. Arnold, her husband, seemed to be enjoying himself too though he hadn’t noticed Nell, being deep in conversation with the person opposite him.
They were seated next to a window and from the hotel’s position at the steepest end of Swallowtail Bay, the graceful curve of the coastline splayed out before them. Punctuated with lights in varying shades of yellow and white they looked like sparkling Christmas baubles in the dark. Before long, the high
