‘Bloody hell, Hattie,’ hissed Stuart, my deputy who, as always, was right on time but never early for a shift handover. ‘I’ve just heard. I’m so sorry.’

I nodded, but didn’t comment and signed myself out of the check-in system.

‘Mr Oakley over there has lost his key card for the second time today,’ I swallowed, ‘and the catering agency are sending over a couple of temps. They should go straight round to the kitchen, but if they turn up here—’

‘I’ll send them over,’ Stuart interrupted, fixing me with a searching stare. ‘You really didn’t know, did you?’

‘I told you I didn’t,’ I said, reaching under the desk for my bag. ‘I’ve been telling you all for weeks that I didn’t. I thought it was just a rumour, the same as you lot.’

*

It was a balmy September evening, far too warm for a bubble-filled bath, but that was what I was looking forward to. On the bus home I imagined myself slipping into the muscle-relaxing tub where I could have a good cry in peace and telephone my dear friend, Dolly. At almost fifty years my senior we were unusual BFFs but I knew she was the one person in the world who would be able to offer the comfort and soothing counsel my bruised ego craved. I would talk to Jonathan, who would most likely see the situation as an opportunity rather than a disaster, once I had the benefit of Dolly’s wise words ringing in my ears and had cried myself out.

Dolly and I had actually met through the hotel. She had been a regular guest for years before I secured what was supposed to be a temporary housekeeping position the summer I left school almost fourteen years ago. The hotel had been run by the Lucca family then and the whole setup had been family friendly; warm and welcoming, abuzz with laughter and nothing like the sleek operation it had been turned into when they sold up four years ago and moved back to Italy. Now it was all corporate clients and fine dining.

Dolly and I had properly bonded the year I turned eighteen. My personal life had taken a battering and my relationship with my parents was hanging by the thinnest of threads, but professionally things were better.

I had just moved into a room at the hotel and been promoted to front of house when Dolly broke her wrist during an excursion into town. Too uncomfortable to travel back to her home town of Wynbridge alone and unwilling to ask anyone to collect her, she decided to stay on. The Luccas, knowing certain tasks would be difficult for her, and that I could do with the distraction, asked if I would mind taking special care of their much-valued guest. Initially, Dolly hadn’t been keen on the idea.