The Big Dreams Beach Hotel. Michele GormanЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter 6

      ‘What century are we in?’ Lill scoffs as we gawp at the brawny builders carrying everything inside. ‘I thought bidets went the way of the dodo.’ She smoothes down the front of her minidress. It’s surprisingly subtle for her, in a purply blue, but she’s got them in every colour – and often all colours at once. Lill’s a huge fan of rayon, and between her dresses and her white pleather go-go boots, we were all relieved when she finally traded her fags in for a vape. She risked catching fire whenever she lit up.

      The hotel bar is completely off-limits now that the mountain of fixtures and fittings is growing fast in there. It’s also become a home-from-home for the builders. Every surface is littered with their takeaway cups, nails, screws and odd bits and bobs.

      ‘I definitely didn’t think toilets came in colours like that,’ I tell her. Pale pink? Mint green? Where are we, Miami in 1955? Not even the builders can hide their scorn, and a few of them are old enough to have gone through the eighties, so they know a thing or two about horrid decor.

      It’s not only the renovation that we’re finding difficult, though. None of us were prepared for the pace of change when the Colonel first told us we had new owners. The Americans aren’t wasting any time.

      ‘Time is money,’ Rory intones for about the hundredth time when I whinge at him later. It’s nearly lunchtime and the builders are sequestered in the bar, drinking mugs of tea. ‘They think they can get most of it done within a month.’ He pushes his specs back up on his nose.

      ‘A month! But it takes builders a month just to complain about the job that needs doing,’ I say. ‘And it’s less than three months till Christmas. We can say goodbye to any work in December.’

      But Rory shakes his head. ‘The owners worked a fixed-price contract for completion by the end of October. They might not know eff-all about the UK, but they do know what builders are like.’

      ‘Does that mean we’ve got to be ready to open before Christmas?’ When he nods I suddenly wish the owners weren’t quite so savvy. ‘What did you mean that the owners don’t know eff-all about the UK?’

      Rory grins. ‘They’ve never been here,’ he says, rerolling the sleeves on his shirt. Now that he knows us, he doesn’t wear his suit jacket anymore. In fact, he doesn’t look like a harsh City type at all. ‘They haven’t even got passports, but you didn’t hear that from me, so don’t mention it on the call, okay?’

      We’re Skyping with them in a few minutes. Meeting my bosses. Yikes!

      ‘They hired some kind of business scout from London to find the hotel,’ he explains. ‘The scout hired me and found the builders. I’ve never even met them in person. Are you ready for the call? Just try not to stare too much at PK’s hair.’

      ‘Please, Rory. I’m a professional. What’s wrong with PK’s hair?’

      ‘You’ll see.’

      ‘It’s not worse than yours, is it?’ Rory hasn’t got what I’d call a hairstyle so much as a follicle garden growing out of control on top of his head.

      ‘You can be the judge,’ he says, not offended at all. ‘We’ve got the other brother, Curtis, first, though.’ He clicks through to Skype. ‘Ready? You look nice, by the way.’

      It’s just one of my usual cardis that I wear over a plain t-shirt – navy blue with little sparkles near the collar – so I’m not sure why it’s particularly nice. And my trousers are baggy at the knees, but I’m not about to object to a compliment. ‘Ta. Is there anything special I need to know?’ I probably should have asked that more than two seconds before the call.

      ‘Nah, just be yourself. And try not to get flustered. His questions can come from left field. Usually he’s just thinking aloud. It’s best to wait to see if he actually wants an answer before you give one.’

      ‘In other words: shut up. Got it, ta for that.’

      When the call is answered, our laptop screen is filled with a colourful fifty-something man sitting cross-legged on top of his desk. ‘Hey, how’s it hangin’ in the UK?’ He makes a devil’s horns sign with his hand.

      Rory waits a second, maybe deciding if Curtis really does want to know how it is hanging, before saying, ‘Everything is fine, thanks, Curtis. May I introduce Rosie MacDonald? Rosie, this is Curtis Philansky.’

      ‘Pleasure to meet you,’ I tell my new boss.

      ‘You too, Rosie.’ He laughs. ‘Pleasure to meet you. You Brits are all so proper. If we ever meet in the flesh, you’d get a hug, you know.’

      Then I’m glad we’ve not met in the flesh. I don’t really go in for hugging strangers. Especially ones who look like him.

      His sky-blue t-shirt reads ‘Billabong’. Casual Friday, you might think, if it weren’t a Tuesday. Or maybe he’s a Silicon Valley exec. They wear jeans and trainers to work.

      But he’s not wearing jeans. He’s not wearing any trousers at all. He looks perfectly at ease video-conferencing us while sitting cross-legged on his desk … wearing green and white shorts and flashing his undercarriage.

      His eighties blond-tipped bouffant hair is putting me off too. It isn’t flattering to his jowly face.

      This bloke seems to think he’s one of the lost Beach Boys.

      But he is now one of my bosses. I need to remember that.

      It’s just that I haven’t had a real boss in three years, since Andi in New York. The Colonel couldn’t be less of a boss. He just wants to be left alone to follow Lill around the hotel with a drink in his hand. Everyone who works for him knows their job backwards. As long as we take care of the few guests we get and don’t let the hotel slide further into dereliction, he’s happy enough.

      I’m going to have to get used to being an employee again.

      ‘Rory says you’re a beach babe, Rosie.’

      Rory looks as horrified as I’m sure I do. ‘I think Curtis means that I told him about you being raised here by the sea in Scarborough,’ he explains.

      ‘Right,’ Curtis says. ‘You surf?’

      That’s when I put two and two together. Those are surfboards lined up along the back wall behind his desk. ‘No, I’m sorry. The water’s usually too cold for me. Even in summer. It is the North Sea.’

      ‘North sea, south sea, you could wear a wettie. Anyway, I’m totally stoked about the hotel. Wait till they finish. It’s gonna be amazing! Have they started on the rooms?’

      ‘They delivered the toilets and other fixtures just this morning,’ Rory says.

      ‘Yeah, awesome! Aren’t they epic? Our guests on Sanibel love them. You should see all the Instagram photos we get.’

      I can just imagine: #tacky #Whatcenturyisthis? ‘They’re very … striking,’ I tell Curtis.

      ‘Tip of the iceberg, dudette. Listen, Rosie. I want us to talk every week. I’m a very hands-on person, unlike like my brother, who’s got the people skills of a goat. I won’t just leave you with a bunch of instructions, okay? You can talk to me about anything. I want you to know that I hear you, Rosie. You can page me any time.’

      Page him?! I wait a second, but he does seem to want an answer. ‘Yes, okay. Of course.’