The Beach Hut (41 page)

J
ust before eleven, Claire heard the front door open and prayed it wasn’t an arrival. She hated it when guests checked in early. The corridors were still busy with Henry the Hoover and lined with canvas bags of dirty linen, and there was nothing worse than the sight of a hotel room door agape and a stripped bed. There was nothing you could do about it – rooms had to be turned round – but she wished people would wait till after midday at least to turn up.

She looked up nevertheless, with her most welcoming smile. If their room wasn’t ready, complimentary coffee and shortbread on the terrace usually mollified.

‘I know it’s too early to check in, but I wondered if I could leave my …’

The guest trailed off, dropping his battered leather Gladstone bag with a clatter. ‘Claire?’

She dropped her pen with a matching clatter.

She’d dreamt of this moment for years. More years than she cared to remember; years that had seemed interminable as she struggled to get him out of her mind. And eventually, of course, in the fullness of time, the dream had faded, only sneaking back to catch her unawares every now and again, in her sleep, when she was at her most unguarded.

‘Nick?’ She got to her feet and they gazed at each other across the desk. ‘What are you … ? Are you … ?’

She felt completely at a loss for words. She indicated the computer helplessly.

‘Checking in?’ he filled in for her. ‘Yeah … Um … Do you work here?’

‘Actually, it’s mine.’ She gave a faltering smile. ‘It’s my hotel.’ She paused. ‘Me and my … partner’s.’

She didn’t say boyfriend.

‘Wow.’ Nick gazed at her.

Claire shook her head in disbelief.

‘This is such a shock.’

‘Tell me about it.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Gus will be mortified when he finds out.’

‘Gus?’ The name rang a bell.

There was a pause.

‘Gus Andrews. My best man.’ He pushed back his fringe. That fringe she herself had pushed back so many times. ‘It’s … my stag weekend.’

Of course. The six blokes on the third floor.

‘You’re getting married.’

It was a statement. It hung heavy between them, just as Angelica came in, dwarfed behind a huge sheaf of gladioli that had just been delivered from the florist. She plonked them on the reception desk, and looked between Claire and the new arrival.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asked. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

A strange expression flickered over the man’s face. Claire hurried back behind the desk and grabbed a key off the hook.

‘Mr Barnes is a bit early, but luckily his room’s ready – it wasn’t used last night. If you could show him up …’

Angelica took the key and went to pick up the bag, but Nick demurred.

‘No, it’s okay. It’s heavy. I’ll—’

‘I can manage.’

Angelica took the bag firmly. They had a strict policy of carrying guests’ luggage. And not hovering for a tip.

The two of them were still staring at each other.

‘Would you like to follow me?’ Angelica asked, trying to break the spell.

‘Um, sure,’ said Nick, looking back at Claire. ‘Maybe see you later? For a coffee?’

Claire managed a nod. Angelica moved off towards the stairs.

‘The bar’s just through there to your right, if you want a drink.’ She began her introductory spiel. ‘We’ll be serving light snacks on the terrace at lunch. And if you’d like to reserve a table for dinner …’

‘I think that’s all been organised.’ Nick followed her, allowing himself one glance back, but Claire was starting very intently at her computer screen.

Moments later, the hall was empty. Claire could hear Angelica chattering away up the stairs, her voice fading gradually as they went up another floor.

Married. Of course he was getting married. He was what – thirty-three? Two years older than she was. She looked down at her own left hand, bare, ringless, and imagined a slender finger with a sparkling diamond belonging to a shiny-haired blonde. She was astonished at how much it hurt.

Of all the hotels in all the world, Nick Barnes had to walk into hers.