Romantic Escapes. Julie CaplinЧитать онлайн книгу.
unnerved her. Lucy let him guide her back up the slope, trying hard not to like the feeling of letting someone else look after her for a change.
Slightly open-mouthed Lucy peeled off her soggy clothes, gazing around the cosy apartment room as she curled her toes into the soft fluff one of the sheepskin rugs dotting the wide-planked honey-coloured wooden floor. This was some staff accommodation and the bathroom was to die for. Steam was already billowing from the huge walk in shower with its bucket head sprinkler.
Hekla, who with her flaxen hair clearly came from Viking Princess stock, had ushered Lucy through the hotel leaving her with an impression of wooden beams, airy, wide spaces and huge plate glass windows. Her new colleague was talking nineteen to the dozen disclosing a barrage of information, only some of which Lucy took in. Alex was the head barman. Hekla was the assistant manager. The hotel was half full, or was that half empty? The northern lights season was about to start. Other names, some of which sounded as if they were straight from Norse mythology, were mentioned; Brynja, Olafur, Gunnar, Erik, Kristjan, Elin, Freya.
Lucy padded into the bathroom that was, thankfully, beautifully warm. It had a distinct, luxury designer feel to it with its rustic wooden shelf holding a round sink, black floor tiles and a big square shower cubicle.
She stepped into the hot shower and let her head droop as the delicious hot water rained down on her wet hair. Way to go Lucy. How to impress your new colleagues. Why had they’d thought she was coming next week? They must think she was a complete flake. She couldn’t have got the date wrong, could she? Admittedly she’d been all over the place recently and her once famed organisational skills had done a bunk in the last few months, but getting the date wrong? No, she couldn’t have done. And the door had definitely, definitely been locked.
After the bliss of the shower, and a brisk rub with a towel that was perfectly fluffy and soft, Lucy felt a hell of a lot better, although it was still depressing to see another few handfuls of hair circling the plug hole of the shower.
Carefully she dried it, fearful of losing anymore, and deliberately avoided looking at herself in the mirror, knowing only too well she’d see Morticia’s second cousin staring back at her. Over the last few months, gaunt shadows had set in, shading her cheekbones, and dark circles had taken up residence, underscoring her eyes with purple black bruises making her looking part panda and part ghoul. Along with the hollowing of her features, a constant queasiness had settled in her stomach.
Her scooped out face seemed to reflect the complete shambles her life had become. Wincing she put down the hairdryer and looked beyond her reflection through the doorway of the bathroom to the wonderful temptation of the double bed in the other room with its thick white cotton duvet and soft blue throw.
Before she gave into tiredness, she quickly explored the living space, her home for the next two months. Despite feeling trampled on, her spirits couldn’t help but lift. The wooden-framed double bed faced a large open fireplace smack bang in the middle of a run of picture windows, which was an unusual but striking design feature that she’d never seen before. Maybe it was an Icelandic thing. The imposing hearth was built of rustic stone, with an internal chimney breast that rose the full height of the room to the triangular peak of the sloping wooden ceiling. It gave the space a lofty open feeling, but the honey-coloured wood on the walls and ceilings along with the soft rugs and the colourful woven fabric wall hangings saved the room from feeling cold.
Over to the right was a small lounge area with a neat two-man sofa, draped in the softest cashmere perfect-for-snuggling-in-on-a-cold-day throw, two arm chairs facing the fire and beyond that a compact kitchen area with a breakfast bar and two stools.
With a tired smile she promised herself that on her first day off she’d be wrapping herself up in the throw, building a fire (something she’d need to learn how to do) and watch the flames.
She climbed into the cool sheets, immediately snuggling into the soft embrace of a thick mattress topper. As her head settled into the clutch of feather pillows, the duvet nestling around her, she let out a tiny sigh. Stop thinking brain, she told herself. As usual it refused to play ball and instead delighted in torturing her with an image of herself clambering out of the hot tub like a bedraggled drowned rat. What a first impression. She sighed again and curled on her side, succumbing to the delicious softness of the bed, feeling herself start to drift. What must Hekla and Alex have thought of their new boss? At worst they’d think she was a clumsy, flaky, klutz. They had no idea what she’d done … at the moment. Under the covers, she crossed her fingers. Hopefully they never would. She swallowed back the stupid threatening tears that had suddenly sprung from nowhere. Would Alex’s kind eyes hold the same expression if he ever saw that bloody video? Would Hekla’s quick, easy smiles turn to sneers of disgust if she looked up Lucy Smart on the internet? Lucy scrunched her eyes closed and burrowed deeper into the mattress, drifting off to sleep as she succumbed to the soft cocoon of the bed.
Something had woken Lucy and she lay confused as the weight of silence pressed in on her. It took her a slow processing couple of seconds to remember where she was. Iceland. In the middle of nowhere. With a frown, she pushed away the pale green duvet, the warmth now suffocating. Wait, the duvet was green? Blearily she looked around the room which was suffused with a soft unearthly light. It took another moment to register and she raised herself onto her elbows, sleepily squinting out of the windows. It had been so dark when she’d gone to bed, she hadn’t bothered with the blinds.
Wow! Wide awake, she pushed herself up, cool air hitting her shoulders.
A silent symphony of pulsating green light lit up the dark sky, swirling in ethereal waves. Pushing back the covers, she grabbed the throw from the sofa wrapping it around her shoulders as she padded to the window. Mesmerised she placed a hand on the ice-cold window as if she might trace the path of the dancing lights. Her heart expanded in her chest, her eyes wide with wonder.
The eerie magical light revealed a shadowed landscape, the sea meeting the land in a seductive curve and bathing the rocky crags on the hillside in cool colours. Clutching the throw tighter she sank to the floor, enchanted by the serene, soundless spectacle unfolding before her with the grace of a gentle ballet.
Like silk flowing in the wind, the lights danced to a soundless tune, slow and slumberous. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she traced their progress. The sight filled her with a sense of awe and unexpected contentment. All the worries and fears of the last few months faded into insignificance, puny and irrelevant in the face of one of nature’s constants. She wondered for how many thousands of years had the aurora borealis been appearing and what ancient races had made of them. Magic? The presence of a god? Did they see them as a sign? Lifting her head she stared up, suddenly feeling stronger almost as if she were absorbing the cosmic energy. There was a whole universe out there and she was nothing but a tiny speck in the scheme of things. At this exact moment in time, she was nothing and everything, a part of the natural cycle. She clenched her fist in a silent promise. Forward. Look forward. Instead of seeing being in Iceland as a penance she would make the most of it. A second chance. She wouldn’t be shaped by her mistakes. Fanciful as it was, this was a sign, she was sure of it. She would take this chance and use all her skills and experience to make sure that the people that came to The Northern Lights Lodge had a memorable stay.
The next morning, having dressed with care, determined to make a better impression, Lucy followed her nose finding her way to the empty reception area. She could hear voices raised in argument, the harsh consonants of the unfamiliar language interspersed with some English. They came from the office beyond the reception desk. When Lucy entered the room, she could almost feel the tension thickening the air.
Hekla was standing behind one of two desks, the pen in her hand rattling on the surface of the desk as she faced two other women who wore uniforms. This morning there was no sign of the sunny smiles of the previous evening, instead Hekla’s face was scrunched in mutinous resignation as she argued, although it appeared her heart wasn’t really in it, with a trim girl of perfect proportions and the sort of make-up that