Barney takes pity on me and smiles again, dropping the application form on the desk and folding his hands on top of it.
“It’s fine, Flora. You’re not in trouble. Whatever it is you’ve done that you think I know about, I don’t know about it yet.” He pauses, then adds: “Is there anything?”
“No! No, no. I was just…” I shake my head, picking at the edge of a fingernail. “I didn’t want to be in trouble.” I sound like a kid.
“It’s not that at all – as a matter of fact, it’s something you can help me with. Well,” he says, “not me, exactly. A guest.”
I’m not sure I like where this is going.
“We’ve got a new guest, who’s staying with us for a while in room fifteen…”
The long stay. With a sinking feeling, I connect the dots.
This morning’s guy in the lobby who obviously recognized me
+
long-staying guest who is clearly said guy
=
so much for Mira confidently saying he’d forget about me.
“…and he’s doing some kind of research – a personal project. He could use a little help, and I thought with your interest…” Barney picks up the form again and waves it.
“You want me to help a guest with research?”
“I’ve already spoken to Mrs Tilney about it, and she’s cleared your shifts from the rota…”
“You can’t take my shifts!” It comes out in a panicked blurt before I can stop it. I can hear how desperate I sound – but I can’t help it, because if I’m not here, not at the hotel and working and cleaning and busy…what else is there?
Barney leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers together, studying me over the top of them. He does it for a very, very long time, but when he speaks his voice is soft and warm, his Dublin accent stronger than usual.
“I’m not taking your shifts, don’t worry. You’re still down for the same hours and the same pay. You’ll just be doing different work, that’s all.”
“What kind of work?” I focus very, very hard on a red paper clip by his elbow.
“Research, reading, cataloguing. Sorting through papers. Whatever Mr Waverley needs help with.”
“I’m not really a researcher, though. What if I do it wrong?”
“I think you’re underestimating yourself. Besides, I don’t think any of it will be too complicated.”
I open my mouth to say something else, but he shakes his head and continues. “Just think about it. Please. As I was about to say, this could be good for the hotel. A bit of publicity, maybe? We can always do with that, and whatever it is Mr Waverley is looking for, it’s brought him here. You know we have a lot of old papers in the attics, don’t you?”
I do. It’s one of the first things Mrs Tilney told me when I started: the top floor of the hotel is divided in two; one half is storerooms, the other is the old attics. And the old attics are completely off-limits to housekeeping staff because of all the old boxes left in there, dumped after the Second World War. Nobody is ever allowed in the attics. Which was annoying, because after hearing about them, they were the first place I wanted to go.
“He’s going into the attics?”
“No. I’ve arranged to have some of the boxes up there brought down to the library for him – to begin with, at least.”
“Oh.” I don’t even bother hiding my disappointment. For a minute there, this almost sounded like it might be interesting.
“It’s good business, Flora – he’s an important client. His family own the Waverley Hotels group…”
“So he’s not so much a client as the competition?”
Barney laughs. “While he’s staying here, he’s a client. Whatever else he is too. Although,” he adds, “I can tell you, his father Eddie is a grade-A, weaponized arse.” He grins conspiratorially. “Luckily for us, the son doesn’t seem quite so bad.”
Great, I guess?
“So I just…help him sort through papers? That’s all?”
“More or less. I’m sure he’ll explain in person.”
Outside, one of the waiters is sprinting across the drive, his shoes kicking up gravel, his tie clutched in one hand. Realizing he’s in sight of Barney’s window, he slows to an invisible-staff kind of walk…then, blatantly thinking he’s in the clear, speeds up again as he heads for the staff entrance.
Barney chuckles, shaking his head. “Daft fecker thinks I can only see him when he’s dead in front of me.” He stares out of the window for a moment, then turns back to me. “So what do you say?”
“I think…”
I think what? That I don’t exactly have much of a choice; that if this is what I’m being told to do, it’s what I have to do. Barney’s been pretty good about, well, me and I don’t want to make a fuss so…mostly I think that I should just keep quiet and nod, and deal with all this later.
I take a deep breath. “When do you need me?”
“You’ll do it? Great. I knew I could rely on you, Flora.” He taps his knuckles lightly on his desk – then he’s out of his chair, striding around the desk and across the office to open the door. “Nine o’clock tomorrow should do it, in the library. I’m sure you’ll be an enormous help to him.” He pauses to usher me over the threshold, then adds: “And a great asset to the hotel.”
And with a smile, he gently closes the door.
By the time Barney has finished with me, Mira’s already cleaned another room. I catch up with her halfway along the first floor, wiping dried toothpaste out of a sink.
“What was that?” she asks, barely even looking round when I walk in.
“Barney wants me to help a guest with a project.”
“What project? What guest?”
“The one who was asking directions in the village.”
She looks at me blankly.
“Keep up. The guy who checked in this morning? What is with you today?”
With perfect timing, she yawns. “I was up late. Studying.”
“Studying?” I did not expect that. “Studying what?”
Mira waves a hand vaguely at the mirror, but just for a second her eyes widen. “Nothing, nothing. A course.” She gives the gleaming sink tap one more brisk rub with a cloth. “You look like bad news. It’s a bad thing, helping him?”
“I think I might have been a bit rude to him. But then he did nearly run me over…”
Mira’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “In his defence, you were in the middle of the road.”
“Please don’t take his side – this is grim enough already. He’s doing some research about…I don’t actually know. But Barney says he’s asked for help, and I got volunteered. I’ll tell you more tomorrow – when I figure out what I’ve been signed up for. Other than having to sit in the library with a total stranger who thinks I’m…oh god, who even knows what he thinks.” I’m not sure I want to know anything else about him at all, actually. I know his name, and that’s probably as close to him as I want to get, thanks.