***
After ordering Tallulah to dispose of the spider soup, Bryan stomped into the kitchen.
‘François? François?’ He turned to the pot-wash, a young man not much older than Tallulah. ‘Where is that piece of French … toast? François?’
‘Out the back having a fag, I think.’
Bryan shoved his way past and into the small fenced back yard behind the kitchen. François was sat on a metal beer barrel, puffing away. ‘François, you waste of bloody space. Did you know someone found a fucking spider in their soup? A spider, François! And it was enormous. It wasn’t like a tiny money-spider you don’t know is there until it crawls across your face. It was a giant fucking tarantula thing, its legs all curled in and gross.’ He mimed it with his hands then felt a bit silly as the Frenchman cocked his head and frowned at him. ‘It had been cooked in the fucking soup, François. What do you say to that? Some spider decided to have swim in the carrot soup, and you didn’t notice. How the hell did it get in there? Did you clean the place from top to bottom last week like I asked? Because I know there was a spider’s web in the corner of the room above the extractor. I saw it there and I told you to make sure it wasn’t there this week.’
The Frenchman shrugged and answered in a heavy accent. ‘It must have happened in the dining room. It cannot have happened in my kitchen.’ The stocky chef threw down his cigarette and ground it out with his foot. Without looking at Bryan, he went back inside.
With a deep breath, Bryan strode through the kitchen, down the plush corridors of the hotel to the office he shared with Kevin, the manager. The deep pile of the carpet softened his stamping tread, but the slamming of the door could not be ignored. It echoed through the room and no doubt down the hall leading back to reception.
Kevin looked up from his computer screen. ‘What’s the matter with you? We’re fully booked in the restaurant and the hotel, we’re pretty much guaranteed to meet all our sales targets for November – life’s good.’ He sat back and clasped his hands behind his head, his bright white teeth shining in the light from his desk lamp. ‘Why the long face?’
Bryan sat down, but just as his bum hit the seat he stood back up again. He couldn’t figure out if he’d done the right thing or not. Normally he’d have apologised for any mistake and offered a free meal. That was the company policy. But as soon as she’d mentioned Holly Lodge and he’d realised she was the owner of the nice boutique B&B on the seafront, and seen that woman recording the exchange on her phone, panic had risen in him like a volcano about to erupt. They’d known the mayor was in tonight with all her cronies and as she was booked in to have her Christmas party there, they wanted to make a good impression, show how amazing the service was as well as the food. The company always started Christmas in early November knowing that people were already booking Christmas parties. If she was impressed, they might get some brownie points locally. The order from the top was that it was important to keep the local dignitaries on side. At the time it seemed his only option was to blame Nell and make out she’d put it there, but now he doubted himself and it was a feeling he didn’t like.
‘Oy,’ Kevin demanded, as Bryan hadn’t answered. ‘What’s wrong?’
Scratching his cheek, he told Kevin what had happened. All the humour fell from Kevin’s face. He hunched forwards, his hands balled into fists and his jaw set. ‘Shit!’ After a second, he said it again and began pacing the room. ‘Someone recorded it?’ Bryan nodded. ‘Shit.’ Kevin ran a hand over his hair. ‘Okay, let’s not panic until we have something to panic about. If she doesn’t post it anywhere, we’re fine. We just pretend like nothing’s happened and it’ll all be forgotten soon. If she does, we’ll have to do something to discredit Holly Lodge and pin the blame on them. Like you said, we make people think she did it on purpose to make us look bad because her business is going under. Sour grapes. That’s what we’ll say.’
The desk phone rang, and Kevin answered. ‘What? They’re checking out? Why?’ Bryan watched on, and Kevin’s eyes shot to him. ‘Right. Offer them a free spa pass and ring me back if they say no.’ He put the phone down and stared at Bryan, neither of them speaking as the room filled with apprehension. Two minutes later, it rang again, and Kevin listened closely. ‘No, let them go. Just assure them that what Bryan said was true. They’re welcome to go elsewhere if they want. They’re probably not the type of people we want here anyway.’
‘What was that?’ asked Bryan, once Kevin had replaced the receiver, but deep down he already knew the answer.
‘The Summertons just checked out. They said they saw what happened in the restaurant and don’t want to eat somewhere spiders can get in the food.’
‘Shit, Kevin, I’m sorry.’
Kevin shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, they only arrived this afternoon and haven’t been happy since they walked into their room. They’re in the one with the broken radiator and had already moaned. They were probably looking for an excuse to get out. When I spoke to them earlier, they said unless it was fixed, they weren’t paying the full rate for staying. I could tell straight away they were serial complainers.’
‘How long were they here for?’
‘Three nights. It’s no big loss. We’ll fill those rooms in no time.’ He leaned back, perching on the edge of the desk. ‘But we have to do something. We can’t
