HarperImpulse

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Copyright © Julie Caplin 2019

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Julie Caplin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008323677

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008323660

Version: 2019-01-30

For the original Viking Princess, my marvellous editor, Charlotte Ledger, who probably wouldn’t have been a very good Viking, certainly not at the pillaging, because she’s far too kind, warm-hearted and generous.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Keep Reading

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1
BATH

‘I’m afraid there’s still nothing. Like I said last week and the week before. You have to understand it’s a difficult time. The economy isn’t great. People aren’t moving around as much.’ This was said with a mealy-mouthed, pseudo-sympathetic smile and shark-like small eyes that slid away from meeting Lucy’s as if being unemployable was catching.

Difficult time? Hello! Lucy was currently writing the bloody book on it being a difficult time. She wanted to grab the recruitment consultant by the throat and shake her. Instead she shifted in her seat opposite the other woman in the brightly lit office, with its trendy furniture and state-of-the-art Apple Mac screen taking up most of the desk, trying to look serene instead of utterly panic stricken.

The other girl was now dubiously eying Lucy’s lacklustre blonde hair, which hung in limp rats’ tails, unable to hide an expression of horrified curiosity. Lucy swallowed and felt the ever-present tears start to well up. You try styling hair that’s been coming out in handfuls for the last three weeks, she thought. She didn’t dare wash it more than once a week because seeing the plug hole full of blonde strands seemed even more terrifying than all the other crap going on in her life right now. Things must be bad when your own hair started jumping ship.

Lucy could feel her lip curl. Oh God, any minute she might snarl like a wild animal. It was increasingly tricky to try and behave like a normal human being these days and, at this moment, a particular challenge as she looked back across the desk at the girl sitting there in her cherry red, fitted power suit, with her perfect glossy bob and darling plum gel nails. The epitome of success. What someone looked like when they were going places. When their career was on the up rather than going down the swanny faster than a canoe going over the Niagara Falls.

With a sigh, Lucy swallowed hard and forced herself to calm down. For the last twenty minutes, she’d fought the temptation to grab Little Miss Professional by the lapels and plead, ‘there must be a job somewhere for me’. She’d had to resort to sitting on her hands with her shoulders hunched up by her ears as she listened to the same spiel that she’d heard in the last ten other recruitment consultant offices; the market was down, people weren’t recruiting, no one had a career for life these days. And they didn’t need to bloody tell Lucy that, she’d discovered that inconvenient fact the hard way. But, whined the persistent voice in her head, she was looking for a job in hospitality, the whine became shriller and more insistent, there were always jobs in hospitality.

‘Perhaps if you could …’ The girl tried to give her an encouraging smile, which didn’t disguise her raging curiosity, ‘you know … get some more recent references.’

Lucy shook her head feeling the familiar leaden lump of despair threaten to rise and choke her. The girl tried to look sympathetic, while taking a surreptitious glance of her watch. No doubt she had an infinitely more placeable candidate for her next appointment. Someone whose CV was dripping with recommendations from her last boss and hadn’t had her shame shared among all in her professional world.

‘There must be something.’ Desperation chased the words out with the glee of naughty fairies escaping. ‘I don’t mind taking a step down. You’ve seen how much experience I’ve got.’ She heard herself utter the fateful words, which she’d promised herself, no matter how bad things got, she wouldn’t say. ‘I’ll take anything.’

The girl arched her eyebrow as if wanting her to elaborate on anything.

‘Well, almost anything,’ said Lucy, suddenly horribly aware that anything covered an awful lot of situations, vacant or otherwise and this woman’s income was derived from placing people.

‘W…ellll, there is one thing.’ She gave an elegant shrug.

Now Lucy regretted the ‘almost anything.’ What was she opening herself up to? She didn’t know this woman. How could she trust her?

‘It’s … erm … a big step down. A temporary to permanent contract. On a two-month trial. And out of the country.’

‘I don’t mind out of the country,’ Lucy said, sitting upright. A two-month trial was good. Actually, out of the country would be bloody marvellous. Why the hell hadn’t she thought of that before? A complete escape. An escape from the sly sniggers behind her back from her former colleagues, the that’s her, you know the one who furtive looks, the we know what you’ve done secretive smiles and the occasional I bet you would knowing leer, which made her feel positively sick.

The girl stood up and strode several paces to the corner of her office to rummage in a small stack of blue files on the beech console table behind her. Even from here Lucy could tell that they were the barrel scrapings, those jobs that had been consigned to the ‘we’ll never fill these in a month of Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and the rest’ category. With a tug, a dog-eared folder was pulled out from near the bottom of the pile. Lucy knew how that poor file felt. Overlooked and cast aside.

‘Hmm.’

Lucy waited, sitting on the edge of her seat craning her neck slightly trying to read the words as the other girl trailed a glossy nail down the A4 page. ‘Hmm. OK. Mmm.’

Lucy clenched her fingers, glad that they were jammed between her thighs and the chair.

With a half-concealed tut, the girl closed the file and looked worriedly at her. ‘Well it’s something. Anything.’ Her expression faltered. ‘You’re very over-qualified. It’s in …’ and proceeded to say something that sounded rather like a sneeze.

‘Sorry?’

‘Hvolsvöllur,’ she repeated. Lucy knew she’d looked the pronunciation up.

‘Right,’ Lucy nodded. ‘And where exactly is …’ she nodded at the file, guessing that it was from the sound of the word somewhere in Eastern Europe.

‘Iceland.’

‘Iceland!’

‘Yes,’ the other woman carried on hurriedly. ‘It’s a two-month post for a trial period in a small lodge in Hvolsvöllur, which is only an hour and half’s drive out of Reykjavik. An immediate start. Shall I call them, send your details over?’ Her words spilled out with sudden, unexpected commission bonus enthusiasm.

Iceland. Not somewhere she’d ever considered going. Wasn’t it horribly cold there? And practically dark all the time. Her ideal climate was hot with tepid bathwater temperature seas. An hour and half’s drive out of Reykjavik sounded ominous, the sub text being in the middle of nowhere. Lucy gnawed at her lip.

‘I don’t speak the language.’

‘Oh you don’t need to worry about that. They all speak English,’ said the girl blithely before adding, ‘of course, they might not want you … you know.’ Her smile dimmed in silent sympathy. ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up. But I will tell them what good previous experience you’ve had. It’s the … er recent references might be a problem. You’ve got a bit of a gap.’

‘Perhaps you could say I’ve been taking a sabbatical.’ said Lucy, hurriedly.

The girl nodded, plastering her smile back on. ‘Let me go and make the call.’ She stood up from her desk looking a little awkward. Lucy suspected she usually made her calls from the phone on the desk but wanted some privacy to try and persuade the client to take someone on with a three-year gap on their CV.

For the last year, she’d been Assistant Manager for the flagship hotel of a big chain in Manchester having worked her way up through the company during the previous two, until said big chain sacked her for gross misconduct. Lucy gritted her teeth at the memory of the heartless HR storm trooper of a woman Head Office had sent up from leafy Surrey to deliver the killer blow. Of course, they hadn’t sacked Chris.

For a minute, self-pity threatened to swamp her. Job application after job application, rejection after rejection. Not one single interview. Every time she got another rejection, the bleakness grew, like a shadow spreading in the setting sun. Her bank account was running on empty, she was rapidly running out of sofas to bunk on and, the end of the road, holing up in Mum and Dad’s two up, two down terrace in Portsmouth, was looming large. And there was no way she could do that. Mum would want to know why. The truth would kill Dad. Lucy gnawed at her lip, opening up the ulcerous sore already there. For some reason, she’d taken to chewing the inside of her lip and it had become a horrible habit over the last few months that she couldn’t seem to shake.

‘It … it is live in?’ asked Lucy hurriedly as the girl was about to leave the room.

‘Oh Lord yes, no one in their right mind would look at it without accommodation.’ Her eyes suddenly widened as she realised she’d probably said far too much. ‘I’ll be right back.’ Rather tellingly she’d scooped up the file to take it with her leaving Lucy alone in the office.

‘Are you sure it’s the right thing to do?’ asked Lucy’s best friend, Daisy, shaking her head, an expression of diffidence on her face, as she stared at her laptop screen. ‘You’re massively over-qualified for this. It’s only got forty-four rooms,’ she paused. ‘And you hate snow.’

‘I don’t hate snow. It’s not so nice in the city when it goes all slushy and black,’ protested Lucy thinking of childhood snow. That first winter fall when it was clean and crisp and begging for virgin footsteps, snowball fights and snowmen.

‘Hmm,’ said Daisy, disbelieving. ‘You’d only just acclimatized to Manchester. Iceland will be far worse. Although,’ she wrinkled her forehead, ‘it does look very nice.’

Lucy nodded, nice was an understatement. According to the gallery of photos on this website it looked gorgeous. The outside, with its turfed rooves and hotchpotch of buildings was dwarfed on one side by a snow-covered hillside strewn with the dark shadows of craggy outcrops and, on the other, a wild rocky coastline where foamy waves crashed onto a narrow shingle beach. The beautifully photographed interior showed stunning views from each of the lodge’s windows, several huge fireplaces and cosily arranged nooks with furniture which invited you to curl up and doze in front of a warming hearth. It all looked fabulous. Which begged the question, why hadn’t the job of General Manager been snapped up before? Her teeth caught at that damn sore on the inside of her lip and she winced.

Daisy mistaking her sudden intake of breath, gave her a stern look. ‘You don’t have to take it. You know you can stay here as long as you like.’ Her eyes softened. ‘I really don’t mind. I love having you.’

Tempting as it would have been to stay in Daisy’s cute one man flat in Bath, Lucy had to take this job. ‘Dais, I can’t sleep on your sofa forever and if I don’t go for this job, it probably will be forever.’

A familiar gloom threatened to descend again dragging her down. She swallowed ignoring the panic beating like the wings of a bird inside her heart and glanced at Daisy. How did you admit that you no longer thought you were capable of doing a job? She was so trapped by indecision at every turn, constantly questioning her own judgement.

Should she go for this job? The brief Skype interview seemed a mere formality, a quick check to make sure that she didn’t have two heads or anything, conducted by a woman who hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself and didn’t seem to care as to whether she could do the job. Which was just as well because all Lucy’s stuffing had been well and truly knocked out of her, and if she’d had to sell herself she’d have withered on the spot.

Daisy put an arm on hers jolting her from her thoughts. ‘Don’t take it. Something else will come up. You can create your own‒’

Lucy raised a hand to stop one of Daisy’s characteristic pithy quotes and lifted a pertinent eyebrow and her best friend had the grace to smile weakly.

‘Ok.’ Daisy clenched her petite little hands into fists. ‘But it’s so f-fu flipping unfair. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Daisy Jackson! Were you about to swear then?’

A dimple appeared in the other girl’s cheek as she smiled like a naughty pixie. ‘Might have been. But it makes me so mad. It’s so …’ She made a ‘grrr’ sound.

‘You see, another reason I need to get out of here. You’re making animal noises too. I’m a bad influence. And it was my fault. No one’s fault but my own … and Chris’s for being a grade A shit.’

‘It wasn’t your fault! Stop saying that,’ said Daisy, her voice shrill with indignation. ‘You can’t blame yourself. It’s Chris’s fault. Although I still can’t believe he did it. Why?’

Lucy’s jaw tightened, they’d been over this a thousand times over the course of the last sixty-two days and numerous glasses of prosecco, wine, gin and vodka. Rumination and alcohol hadn’t provided any answers. It was her fault, for being so utterly, utterly stupid. She couldn’t believe how badly she’d got it wrong. Four years. A flat together. Working for the same company. She thought she knew Chris. One thing was for sure … she would never trust another man as long as she lived.

‘It doesn’t matter “why” he did it. I need to move on and I need a job.’ Lucy gritted her teeth. Going to Iceland was a terrible idea but she was all out of options.

Chapter 2
PARIS

‘Here you go.’ Nina slid the coffee cup across the table towards Alex and handed him a plate with a gorgeous looking confection on it. ‘On the house. I want your opinion, it’s my latest idea. Raspberry Ripple Éclair. It might cheer you up,’ she added with a smile that was underpinned with a smattering of sympathy.

Alex felt a touch of regret. Nina was lovely. His plans to get to know her better had been well and truly scuppered by a prior claim. Sadly, she’d been in love with his mate Sebastian forever and he had to admit as he looked at her now, requited love had put a gorgeous bloom on her cheeks. You couldn’t begrudge anyone that shiny happiness. He took a bite of the éclair and groaned.

‘Wow, that’s good, Nina. Really good.’

‘Excellent, now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

He rolled his eyes, as she pulled up a chair and sat down ignoring the outraged glare from Marcel, the manager of the patisserie. Nina might officially run the place, but Marcel definitely wore the trousers in this business partnership, ruling the roost with silent, stern officiousness.

‘Who said anything was wrong? asked Alex, trying to sound blithe.

‘I have brothers. I have a Sebastian. I know when the weight of the world is bowing those broad shoulders. You have a distinct droop about you,’ she declared with a knowing grin.

He glanced left to right at both shoulders and she gave a peal of laughter.

‘I’m a wee bit pissed off. The new hotel opening is delayed and the manager lined up to take over from me has already rocked up.’ Alex was due to take over the running of a brand new, minimalist, uber trendy boutique hotel on the other side of Paris any day now, except during the renovations the builders had discovered bones in the cellars. Human bones. Thankfully they were at least two hundred years old but it had still caused a humungous delay.

‘You can take a holiday then,’ said Nina.

‘You’d have thought so but my boss in his infinite wisdom has decided to give me a temporary posting.’

‘You’re not leaving Paris, are you?’ Her pretty mouth pouted and Alex felt another one of those little pangs of regret. Nice guys did finish last. He’d well and truly missed the boat with her.

‘Only for a couple of months. Quentin wants me to go and check out a hotel he’s planning to buy. He wants me to assess the viability of the place and put together a report on my recommendations to turn it into one of our boutique hotels.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Iceland.’

Nina’s mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’. ‘I thought you meant somewhere else in France. Not another country. Well that doesn’t sound so bad. Isn’t Iceland supposed to be beautiful with all sorts of amazing natural wonders? Bubbling geysers, hot springs and glaciers? Being Scottish I’d have thought you’d like the idea.’

‘No problem with going to Iceland. It’s the job Quentin wants me to do, which isn’t that great.’

‘I thought you said you had to put together a report.’

‘Yes, but it includes reporting on the current general manager and how the place is being run without telling them who I am. It doesn’t sit right with me. The last thing I want to do is be a spy.’

‘James Bond,’ said Nina, sitting up straighter. ‘You’ve got the Sean Connery accent.’ She launched into a dreadful impersonation of his Edinburgh accent. ‘Ah Moneypenny.’

‘Well, that must mean I’m qualified,’ Alex quipped, amused by Nina’s enthusiasm, his spirits temporarily lifted.

He was still rattled by the meeting and the conversation with his boss when he’d raised a certain disquiet about not telling the manager why he was there. His boss’s response to that had stung. ‘Thing is Alex, nice guys finish last. This is business. Pure and simple. I need someone to report back, warts and all. Without anyone sugar coating it. It’s far easier if the staff don’t know who you are. I’m not hearing great things about the management of the place. The recent TripAdvisor reviews have been shockers. With you on the ground, I’ll get a much better picture. You’ve got a good eye and you’ll be able to tell me what needs doing to sort the place out, what the staff are like and whether I can keep them or fire their sorry arses.’

The ‘nice guys finish last’ bit kept going around in his head. What was wrong with being a nice guy? Besides, he could be tough when a situation needed it. Last week he’d thrown a customer out of the hotel’s a la carte restaurant for pinching one of the waitress’s bums, faced down a belligerent delivery driver, who reversed into the hotel gates leaving a hole big enough to drive a herd of cows through, and fired the pastry chef he’d caught hurling a frying pan at the young, barely out of school, bus boy.

‘Alex is going to be James Bond,’ announced Nina as Sebastian walked in and put his arm around her placing a confident, lazy kiss on her lips, completely ignoring Alex.

‘Hi gorgeous, mmm you taste of raspberries and deliciousness.’ He went back for a second longer, lingering kiss, which had Alex rolling his eyes.

At last Sebastian drew back from Nina and turned to face him. Alex’s mouth twitched, he’d got the message loud and clear.

‘Bond, James Bond?’ Sebastian lifted a perfect Roger Moore eyebrow.

‘No, Nina’s exaggerating my undercover credentials. I’ve been asked to do some recon work. Quentin Oliver is looking at buying a place in Iceland and as I’m between hotels at the moment, I’ve been asked to go and survey the place. On the ground as it were.’ Sebastian would laugh his head off if he mentioned he was thinking of going undercover as a barman!

‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Sebastian with a sudden grin, which Alex could guess had a lot to do with how far away Iceland was. Although he needn’t have been worried, Alex had backed right off when he realised that Nina had been in love with Sebastian since she was eighteen. For a second, he wondered what might have happened, if he’d put up more of a fight for her, if he’d really thought he had a chance. Had he bowed out because it made it easier on Nina?

As he thought about it, he gave Sebastian a broad smile, maybe the best man had won. Nina adored Sebastian and she was good for him. Possibly too good. But Alex had never seen Sebastian so settled and happy.

‘I have no problem with going to Iceland. Like Nina said, I’m used to a northern climate. It’s the undercover element of it I’m not so keen on.’

‘Why not?’ Sebastian shrugged. ‘You need to remember it’s business. It’s easy to be ruthless when something you really want is at stake.’ Was there a knowing look in his eye as he stared at Alex?

And then he flashed Alex a warm, approving smile. ‘There’s no one else I’d rather have on the team, mate. I know why Quentin Oliver’s asked you. Better that it’s you. You’ve got integrity and you don’t bullshit anyone. You don’t suffer fools that’s for sure. If the current manager is an idiot, are you seriously going to have a problem reporting back on that? You hate coasters and people who don’t pull their weight. If this guy is any good, he’s got nothing to worry about.’

Chapter 3
ICELAND

Lucy’s thoughts came back to haunt her as she stood outside the firmly closed front doors of The Northern Lights Lodge, in total darkness, her breath huffing out in a great cloud of white as the cold nipped at every last one of her extremities. This was a terrible idea. Why had she listened to a perky recruitment consultant with her eye on commission? Why hadn’t she remained in Bath with Daisy?

She almost laughed out loud, mild hysteria threatening to take hold of her. Because you were desperate. You knew it was a terrible idea and you were right. You should have trusted your own instinct.

Blinking furiously, because bloody tears were not going to help, she hammered on the door for the third time, stupidly crossing her fingers, as if that would help, and praying that someone would answer. Why had she let the taxi driver drop her at the bottom of the path? She should have made him wait but no the taxi had roared off, twin brake lights vanishing into the distance leaving her totally alone. On the journey here, she’d seen two cars. Two! Both going the other way.

Why hadn’t she stayed the night in Reykjavik?

With a shiver, she glanced around into the total blackness, the only light from her phone. There was absolutely no sign of life, not human anyway. As she got out of the taxi, after a two-hour drive in the pouring rain ‒ it hadn’t stopped raining since the plane landed in Reykjavik three hours ago ‒ there’d been a low growl to her left and the glow of yellow eyes when she swung the torch on her phone in that direction. Did they have wolves in Iceland? The pathetic beam of light caught the flash of a tail as something slunk away which made her extra wary as she’d traipsed up the path, picking her way over the stones, her suitcase complaining with each jolt and dip.

Now standing outside the wooden doors trying to peer through the side lights, she could see the place was in complete darkness. Above her she could hear the rustle of the grass on the roof or was that more creatures lurking. There were far too many Lord of the Rings images dancing fancifully in her head. With a last burst of energy, she wrenched on the ornate iron scrolled door handle, with that fruitless bang-your-head-against-a-wall hope that she’d got it wrong and the door had been open all along, even though she’d tried it umpteen times already. So much for everyone leaving their doors open, which she was sure she’d read somewhere about the country. She banged her fist on the door, before looking at her phone and the rapidly dwindling battery. Sinking to the floor, she slipped off her gloves, which weren’t going to cut it in this climate, and phoned the only contact number she had. Mr Pedersen, the hotel owner, currently in Finland, was the man who’d officially hired her, but he’d given her the number of one of the hotel employees. For the second time, her call went straight through to voicemail and this time she listened with growing despair to the message in a stream of what she assumed was Icelandic, a volley of harsh syllables and guttural sounds.

Taking a deep breath and hoping she didn’t sound too panicky she spoke. ‘Hi, this is Lucy Smart from the UK. It’s eleven o’clock and I’ve arrived, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone here.’ She’d sent an email with her date of arrival and had received one back in confirmation from someone called Hekla Gunnesdóttir. Her hand shook, her grip so tight on the phone. ‘I wonder if you could give me a call back,’ she asked with restrained politeness when what she really wanted to say was, ‘Where the fuck is everyone?’

Of course, she was polite, she thought grimly, she was going to have to work with these people. Making a good impression was imperative. More than a good impression, she needed them to keep her on after the two months. She had to survive at least a year here to make her CV viable again. Besides, she had nowhere else to go.

Ten minutes later after anxiously watching her phone as she paced up and down to keep warm, the battery died. The rain had stopped which was little consolation as she considered her options, all of which seemed in short supply. One; walk down the road and see if she could find any kind of settlement nearby despite the complete absence of any lights in the near vicinity, two; stay put and hope that someone had listened to her message or three; break in.

Scudding clouds streamed across the night sky, periodically revealing pockets of a star laden universe. The number of the pinprick lights was astonishing. No light pollution here. Lucy had never seen so many stars and in one brief break in the clouds thought she might have seen a shooting star, although she was so cold, she also might have been starting to hallucinate.

Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark and the cold had numbed her fingers and toes, she decided to circle the building. Maybe she’d find an unlocked door. With a shiver she walked along the front of the building. How long did she wait before she picked up a stone and broke one of those amazing floor-to-ceiling windows?

As she rounded the corner of the hotel, the ground level started to fall away quite steeply and she stumbled as her ankles felt the sharpness of the sudden decline but she could however see a faint glow as if there was a light on around the next corner.

Carefully she began to pick her way down the steep slope, slipping and sliding on loose scree. Each crunch and skitter of stone echoed noisily making her jumpy and disorientated. Every now and then she paused and thought she could hear water lapping but the sound bounced around in the darkness and she couldn’t quite determine where it was coming from. Cocking her head to one side, she listened carefully and took another few steps forward. Ah, wood. She was on some sort of decking and then she stepped into thin air.

As she stumbled forward, arms flailing like spokes on a spinning bicycle wheel, she registered the glint of water and tensed for the cold as she pitched in face first.

If it weren’t for the weight of her clothes and the unexpected shock of falling headfirst into shoulder deep water, the warm, no, piping hot, water, might have been quite pleasant, except for the rush of water up her nose and swallowing a great mouthful. Yeuch, Lucy shoved her head up to the surface spluttering and gagging. That was disgusting. Her head felt even colder in contrast to the cosy cocoon from the neck downwards. The heat flooded Lucy’s fingers and ears with sharp pain, like pins and needles, as a flashlight came bobbing around the corner and tracked its way across the stony ground to land full on her face.

‘No using the hot springs after nine p.m.,’ called a deep voice, brimming with amusement as the light came closer and closer. Lucy muttered to herself, ‘Kill me now,’ feeling at a distinct disadvantage under the nearing dancing spotlight.

Her sodden parka had wrapped itself around her like a duvet weighted with rocks, her ankle boots were almost floating away with each step and her jeans had a stranglehold on her legs as she floundered towards the edge.

‘Here, there are steps,’ said a second singsong voice with a musical up and down inflection, using the torch to guide her along the wooden edge towards a set of steps that rose up out of the water.

Lucy put her shoulders back and waded through the water towards the wooden handrail with as much dignity as she could muster given she was close to tears.

Lights suddenly came on illuminating the whole area. She was in the equivalent of a small swimming-pool sized hot tub surrounded by wooden decking, with two sets of steps descending into the water. Above her on the side were two figures, wrapped up against the cold night air.

‘Are you alright?’ asked the taller of the two, crossing quickly and holding out a hand, stepping forward to grasp her arm and help her counter balance the weight of her ten-ton coat.

Kind eyes, thought Lucy as she caught a glimpse of concerned brown eyes above a tartan woollen scarf while she let him haul her up the steps.

‘Let’s get you inside quickly before you start to chill down. That heat isn’t going to last long.’ Kind voice too. The slight Scottish burr was soft and gentle, a rather wonderful contrast to his firm and decisive hold as he pulled her forward and steered her off the decking.

‘Thank you,’ she said, subtly shaking off his grasp, even though for some contrary reason she didn’t want to. Kindness had been in short supply in her world for a while. ‘I’m fine,’ she added, with more of a sharp bite to her voice. After everything she’d been through this year, she was never taking anything at face value again. Kind was as kind did or whatever the phrase was.

‘I’m Alex.’ The man’s hand still hovered by her side as if ready to catch her. ‘And this is Hekla. I’m so sorry there was no one to check you in. We weren’t expecting any guests today.’

‘No. It is most strange. Did you have a booking?’ asked Hekla, in her glorious musical voice.

‘I’m not a guest. I’m…’ Lucy swallowed. No crying. Dripping from head to toe had put her at enough of a disadvantage as it was. ‘I’m the new manager, Lucy Smart.’ Automatically she lifted a business-like hand and then dropped it quickly as she realised how ridiculous it must look, with water dripping from her sleeves.

‘Oh!’ The girl’s voice echoed with surprise. ‘But you are not expected until next week.’

‘Everything was confirmed by email,’ said Lucy, her words quick and sharp with sudden panic, not wanting them to think she was disorganised or all over the place.

‘But we had a phone call yesterday saying your plans had changed and you would be coming next week.’

‘Well that wasn’t me,’ said Lucy.

‘Must be the huldufólk making trouble,’ said Hekla with a straight face, nodding. ‘But you’re here now and we’d better get you inside, quickly,’ she paused and then added with a mischievous twinkle that once upon a time Lucy might have been charmed by, ‘it is usually best to wait until daylight before using the hot springs.’

‘I’ve been waiting to get inside for the last half hour,’ muttered Lucy, wincing as her feet splish-sploshed on the wooden decking, the water squelching out of her favourite boots and great clouds of steam rising from her sodden clothing. Just bloody marvellous. These people were clearly her new colleagues. So much for making a good impression from the start.

‘But the door is open,’ said Hekla. ‘It’s always open.’ Her stalwart, sure declaration made Lucy feel doubly stupid. The door had definitely been locked. Hadn’t it? She was sure. She’d tried everything.

‘Well it wasn’t today,’ snarled Lucy in a heartfelt undertone. ‘Why else would I would be wandering around in the dark, trying to find my way in?’ The door had definitely been locked. Her sharp rebuttal was ruined when she slipped on the decking. She pinched her lips and ducked her head as if concentrating on her footing feeling unaccountably tearful all of a sudden.

‘Hey, let me give you a hand,’ Alex’s voice lowered, his tone gentle. She jerked her eyeline to meet his. Warmth and compassion lit those kind eyes as he took her elbow. For what seemed far too long they held hers with a serious steady gaze, as if he could see right through her to the constant shadow of misery that resided in her chest. When he gave her a reassuring smile, his eyes never leaving her face, she felt a funny salmon leap in her stomach.

Sense warred with self-preservation and much as she wanted to shake off the firm gentle support of his arm, that prickle of awareness had 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.

Chapter 4

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 made you wonder how on earth she’d perfected those uniform neat eyeliner flicks on both eyes. She looked as if she were about to go on an upmarket shopping trip rather than the task of cleaning bedrooms as her uniform suggested. She tossed her neat glossy brown bob and cast a quick look towards Lucy, her mouth closing sharply as if swallowing her next sentence. Hekla snapped her mouth shut and the awkward silence stretched out as all three of them, curiously, couldn’t seem to meet each other’s eyes.

‘Good morning, can I help?’ asked Lucy in polite but firm enquiry, stepping forward and standing still, determined to mark her authority from the get-go. It was only then that she realised that the head barman who’d fished her out of the hot tub last night was also there, leaning up against the wall, his arms folded and an expression of impatience on his face.

The taller blonde girl opposite Hekla raised her head and her long fluid arms dropped to her side. She looked uncertain and worried at the same time.

Hekla pursed her lips and cast an agonised look towards the two girls before she said, ‘We have a slight problem with huldufólk.’

‘Sorry?’ Lucy thought she remembered hearing the word last night but wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly as she tried to copy Hekla’s rather cute accent, ‘huldufólk?’

What the hell were they?

The two girls nodded vehemently.

Hekla sighed. ‘They’ve left mices. Freya,’ she indicated the dark-haired young woman, ‘and Elin,’ she nodded towards the second blonde woman, ‘and the other staff who live in the staff quarters want to leave but then we will have no one to clean the rooms or to serve the breakfast this morning.’

Lucy gave a quick glance at her watch. It was eight o’clock, although it was still dark outside, surely breakfast service must be underway?

‘Mices?’ She was starting to feel completely stupid, echoing everything the other girl said.

‘Yes, you know little furry mices.’

‘Mice,’ said Lucy, finally cottoning on. ‘You have mice.’ She glanced down at her feet and around the skirtings of the room. This she could handle. ‘OK,’ she gave the two women a smile, ‘we can get some mousetraps. I’m sure that will solve the problem. No one needs to leave.’ Now she understood the underlying panic on Hekla’s face. Getting staff here on short notice would be difficult if not impossible. Yesterday’s taxi ride had established they were in a remote location. The nearest town had been a good twenty minutes away. ‘Humane traps.’ Then she added for good measure. ‘Or perhaps we can borrow a cat?’ She’d always prided herself on finding solutions to problems. Even Chris had complimented her on her ability to think outside the box.

Alex, the barman, snorted and she shot him a quick snotty look of enquiry. He had a better way of getting rid of mice?

Hekla shifted from rubbing one foot down the back of her calf. ‘Nrr.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not the mices, it’s the huldufólk.’

Alex stepped forward, a look of exasperation on his face, his mouth tight. ‘Hidden folk. Like Elves.’

‘Elves?’ Lucy repeated calmly. Alex nodded and she caught him rolling his eyes. Unsure she hadn’t misunderstood, she raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You have elves?’ His mouth crimped tighter in response.

‘Ja, huldufólk,’ said Freya, ‘in our bedroom.’

Lucy frowned. ‘You’ve seen them?’

Freya shuddered and looked horrified. ‘No! It is very bad luck to see the huldufólk.’

‘Riiight.’ Lucy glanced at Alex who folded his arms, giving her stern stare. ‘So there are mice in the bedroom?’

Hekla did her stork impersonation again, the picture of awkwardness.

‘Yes, on the pillows,’ insisted Freya. ‘Left by the huldufólk.’ She bent to pick up the rucksack at her feet and hefted it onto her shoulders, with Elin following suit.

‘Wait,’ she said, trying to piece things together but it was rather like having all the straight bits of a jigsaw and none of the corner bits. ‘You’re leaving?’

The two girls nodded apologetically. ‘It’s … well there is a bus going back to Reykjavik soon.’

‘Wait a minute.’ She looked at Hekla who didn’t meet her eye.

‘Most of the staff live in,’ explained Alex in that lovely soft Scottish accent which made her think of David Tennant, as he rather unhelpfully pointed out, ‘we’re going to be short-staffed if they leave.’

Thanks Einstein, I hadn’t worked that one out for myself.

‘Ja, that’s correct.’ Hekla nodded, her blonde hair glinting under the soft light of the room.

Elves? Hidden folk? Seriously? Were they were pulling the newbie’s leg? Alex’s eyes held hers still with that expectant so what are you going to do about it. Until she got her head around this, she needed to tread carefully.

‘And these huld …hulder.’

‘Huldufólk,’ interjected Helka helpfully.

‘They like to play tricks?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Elin, ‘they move things. Make disruptions.’

Lucy nodded thoughtfully as she racked her brains. During her hospitality degree, there’d been a module on observing local customs. In South Korea, you shouldn’t pour your own drink and there were several countries where blowing your nose in public was offensive, but she’d never come across an elf problem.

To her mind, dead mice on people’s pillows sounded like someone playing a bit of practical joke, although not a particularly funny one. And this was her first day.

‘So, what do we do about them?’ asked Lucy.

Alex shot her an incredulous look as if to say, ‘you’re listening to this rubbish?’

And, what, did he have all the answers?

Hekla’s eyes widened. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’

‘OK,’ said Lucy, wondering just where she’d come to, ‘I’m not familiar with the hulder … elf people but I’m sure there must be a way around this.’

If Alex rolled his eyes any harder they might pop out of his head.

Elin and Freya gave apologetic shrugs, shuffling on the spot. Lucy noticed that they hadn’t actually made any move toward the door. In fact, she got the distinct impression that they were stalling, almost as if they were as keen as she was to find a solution.

‘Wait,’ she held up a hand, grateful that it was steady. She couldn’t believe this was happening on her first flipping day. ‘What if…’ Come on brain. Think. ‘What if we…’ Elin, Freya and Hekla looked at her hopefully. ‘What if we…’ she stalled again and then inspiration made her words rush out in a flood, ‘move the staff into guest rooms for the time being?’

Alex didn’t look impressed. What was his problem?

‘All of them?’ Hekla creased her forehead in quick mental calculation and started ticking names off on her fingers. ‘Olafur, Brynja, Gunnar, Olga, Freya, Elin, Dagur … Magnus, Odin, Alex.’ She pulled a mournful face. ‘We have lots of guests arriving in the next few days.’

Lucy lifted her chin ignoring the balloon deflating sensation in her stomach. There had to be a solution. There had to be. It was quite odd, Freya and Elin seemed to want to stay, so it wasn’t as if they were using the elf situation as an excuse to do a runner. Absently she rubbed at her neck, her fingers snagging on the chain of her necklace as she racked her brains. Dropping her hand, she tugged at the little charm Daisy had bought her to wish her luck, her fingers finding the tiny horn of the silver unicorn hidden under her shirt. She worried at the little point like a talisman.

‘We need a unicorn,’ she said, engendering her voice with absolute authority, pleased to see Alex’s mouth drop open, although whether it was admiration or astonishment she wasn’t sure. ‘In my country elves and fairies have enormous respect for the unicorn. They wouldn’t dare trespass on a unicorn’s territory. Even the symbol of a unicorn is enough to make fairies and elves think twice about entering a place.’

Hekla nodded, clearly having no idea what she was talking about. Did unicorns even feature in Icelandic folklore? Alex’s lips were pressed together, his hands now rammed in his pockets and he was taking great interest in the floor. However, she held both Freya and Elin’s attention.

Lucy pulled out her necklace, undoing it and holding it up.

‘Ah Einhyrningur,’ said Hekla reaching a finger out to touch the necklace. ‘There’s a mountain called Einhyrningur about forty kilometres away from here. Unicorns.’ She nodded, looking ridiculously relieved. ‘That is interesting.’

‘Yes, apparently their magic is stronger,’ said Lucy, straightening up, ‘they’re known to…’ To what? She knew bugger all about them because … they didn’t exist. But then neither did elves.

With a heavy sigh, Alex pushed himself away from the wall, gave Lucy a resigned, I can’t believe I’m doing this, look and said, ‘The huldufólk avoid them because it’s reputed that they can steal their magic.’ The seamless interjection was so smooth she almost believed it herself.

‘Yes!’ Hekla looked excited and clapped her hands together. ‘If we take the unicorn into the staff quarters it will make the huldufólk leave.’

‘And,’ said Lucy, ‘it’s made of silver. You know in folklore that werewolves and vampires can’t touch silver, is it the same with the huldufólk?’

‘Of course,’ said Elin thoughtfully and Lucy wondered how much Elin really believed in such things as hidden folk. Perhaps believing in a silver unicorn was a useful face-saving exercise.

‘Wonderful,’ said Hekla, with a broad smile, her blue eyes shining now that all was well with the world. Lucy wanted to hug her. Perhaps she should warn Hekla about trusting too easily. It could cost you. Instead she said, ‘Hekla, why don’t you, Elin and Freya,’ she was pleased she’d remembered their names, ‘take the unicorn back to the staff quarters and find a good place to hang it up? And then perhaps you can come back and show me around the hotel and introduce me to the rest of the staff?’

As soon as they’d gone, she turned to Alex, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak first.

‘Nice save,’ he said, ‘although you shouldn’t have stood for any nonsense. You’re storing up trouble.’

Straightening she smoothed down the skirt of her black suit, the closest thing she had to armour. She’d just arrived, she’d been running on empty for months and he wanted her to come up with all the answers on day one. And wait, hello, he was the flipping barman!

‘And what would you have done?’ she asked coolly. ‘You’d have been happy to pitch in making beds and cleaning bathrooms, would you?’

‘You should have knocked the whole elf thing on its head. It’s going to be used every time some kind of leverage is needed.’

‘Maybe I was being sensitive to local cultural beliefs.’

Alex snorted. ‘They were trying it on. Your first day.’

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ she said defensively.

‘Er, hello. Elves? Seriously?’ The stern expression on his face relaxed and she saw amusement dancing in his brown eyes.

‘Well they seemed quite serious about the dead mice,’ retorted Lucy.

‘Mmm,’ admitted Alex. ‘Sounds like you might have a practical joker with a rather warped sense of humour on the staff.’

Lucy hoped not, she had enough on a plate without having to contend with that as well.

Chapter 5

‘He’s very cute,’ observed Hekla, showing Lucy into the guest lounge she’d glimpsed briefly last night.

‘Who?’ asked Lucy, pretending she didn’t know who was being referred to.

‘Alex. The barman. Very cute.’

‘Mmm,’ responded Lucy, with a non-committal twist of her lips. ‘I hadn’t noticed. How long’s he been here?’

Hekla gave her a startled look but Lucy lifted her chin with the regal tilt she was known for … rewind … had been known for. Once upon a time, her reputation for being a boss you wouldn’t mess with preceded her.

‘Only two weeks. I don’t think he plans on staying long either. I think he’s just passing through.’

Lucy had met plenty of people like Alex in her career. Always on the move, travelling around the world. The hospitality industry relied on people like him.

‘Shame, because he’s very popular with the guests,’ said Hekla with a sly grin. ‘Perhaps you could persuade him to stay longer.’

Lucy shot her a quelling look as if to say ‘you’ve got the wrong person here’.

OK, so you couldn’t miss how cute Alex was, in fact he probably had the monopoly on cuteness with those warm brown eyes and the super cute crinkles around them. Lucy was driven not blind, but for the next two months her focus was going to be on being the very best manager The Northern Lights Lodge had ever had, so that Mr Pedersen would be begging her to stay and she was not going to be noticing anyone no matter how … ‘Oh, Oh, Oh!’

Her thoughts were brought to abrupt standstill by the spectacular view showcased by a run of floor-to-ceiling windows which took up one entire wall of the room.

‘Wow,’ she breathed, crossing to the window. ‘This is…’ Directly below was a steep drop and it felt as she were in mid-air. Some clever architect had designed the building to maximise the views and the contours of the hillside. Away to the right the rugged coastline snaked away disappearing behind a slender spit of land that poked out like a snake’s tongue, topped by a series of pillars of rocks that in this light looked like ancient rough-hewn chess pieces. To the left, folds of crag-topped hills filled the skyline each getting bigger and bigger until they finished in a majestic snow-capped peak. No wonder people believed in elves and trolls and other mystical creatures. There was definitely a Lord of the Rings sense of sorcery about the landscape. It was easy to imagine cloaked horseback riders racing across the meadows down by the sea. With that longish dark hair, Alex had a bit of the mysterious Aragorn about him.

And where the heck had that thought popped up from? Focus, Lucy. Last night’s northern light display had messed with her head, she decided.

‘We will have snow this week,’ said Hekla following Lucy to the window as they looked out at the heavy white clouds which were broken up by patches of blue that allowed sunbeams to dance across the sea making the waves glisten and sparkle.

Lucy turned back to survey the room, frowning slightly, her eyes scanning the polished wood floors and colourful rugs and the high beams criss-crossing the apex of the roof. The stylish sofas with their beech legs and deep teal blue upholstery were the same ones she’d seen on the hotel’s website, along with the numerous lamps casting a soft light in the room. But something was missing. It took her a second to work it out. Where were the cosy throws and inviting cushions? What had happened to the books and carved sea-birds arranged on the low open shelves? Perhaps the previous management had brought them in as window dressing for the photo shoot…

‘I think we should get some throws and cushions to put in here,’ she said, wishing she’d thought to grab a notepad and pen from the office. ‘You know, more hygge?’ Back in Bath, Daisy had been obsessed with the Danish way of keeping cosy and had a fine collection of soft furnishings as well as a special pottery mug for the expensive China tea she treated herself too.

Hekla’s face brightened. ‘We have huggulegt here in Iceland.’ She turned a slow circle in the room. Then she frowned. ‘There were some,’ she rubbed her fingers together and then stroked the fabric on the sofa, ‘very luxurious cushions.’

‘Velvet,’ suggested Lucy, remembering the jewel bright colours from the pictures.

‘Ja, that’s right. Lots of velvet cushions and colourful throws. I don’t know what happened to them.’

‘Oh, this is lovely,’ said Lucy, distracted by the beautiful shine of the burnished chestnut wood of semi-circular bar in the next room. A young man glanced up from his task of putting away glasses on the shelves suspended above the bar. Behind him on the stone wall, stylish shelves of varying lengths were offset at different points and on each one bottles were arranged in attractive groups, interspersed with little pots of herbs in polished brass planters that glowed in the subdued lighting.

‘This is Dagur. Dagur, this Lucy, our new manager.’

‘Hi, welcome,’ he said, a quick, easy smile lighting up his pale blue eyes as he gave her a brief salute, making her drop the hand she’d been about to offer. It seemed that things here were a lot more casual and less formal than she’d been used to in her previous hotels, not that that was a bad thing.

After a brief exchange, Hekla and Lucy moved on again, skirting through reception down to a cleverly designed glass corridor that linked the main hotel area to another building. Somehow the ultra-modern glass construction, bridging the separate buildings, could have been transplanted from a skyscraper in Manhattan and should have been totally out of place, but worked surprisingly well in the rural landscape.

‘And this is the library,’ said Hekla, coming to a halt in the centre of the room.

‘A library,’ said Lucy, turning a slow three hundred and sixty degrees, her neck tipped backwards as she looked up at the rather grand high-ceilinged room with a balcony all around the top housing shelf upon shelf of books. She looked again, her face breaking into a delighted smile.

‘That is so cute,’ she said to Hekla, pointing upwards. All the books had been arranged by the colour of their spines to create an eclectic rainbow with shades of red, running into oranges, yellows, greens, blues and purples.

‘We Icelanders love our books,’ said a voice from behind them. When Lucy turned a dark-haired, stocky woman uncurled herself from a button-backed armchair, a book in her hand.

‘Hey Brynja,’ said Hekla with warmth. ‘This is Lucy, the new manager. Brynja is one of our receptionists. It’s her day off today.’

‘Hey,’ said Brynja.

‘I love that you have a proper library,’ said Lucy, taking another look at the brimming bookshelves. ‘And so many books.’

‘Ah, it is a big tradition for us. You have heard of the jólabókaflód.’

Lucy shook her head.

‘You would translate it as the Christmas Book Flood, jólabókaflód’ explained Hekla as Brynja nodded.

Lucy grinned. ‘A book flood? Now that sounds awesome.’

‘Everyone gives books for Christmas,’ explained Brynja, her sharp dark eyes flashing with enthusiasm. ‘Lovely to meet you Lucy. If I can help in anyway, let me know.’

‘Thank you. It’s going to take me a little while to find my feet.’

As soon as she said it, both Brynja and Hekla in complete sync looked down at her shoes.

Lucy laughed, realising that despite Hekla’s amazing command of English there were still language and culture differences between them. ‘It’s a figure of speech.’

Brynja nodded, her sharp eyes thoughtful as if she were carefully cataloguing the idiom and adding it to her own personal lexicon.

‘So you weren’t bothered by the huldufólk?’ asked Lucy, thoughtfully realising that Brynja, despite her day off, had not been planning to leave.

Hekla looked awkward again as Brynja gave her an older sister sort of look.

‘No,’ said Brynja with alacrity. ‘I might not believe but then,’ she lifted her shoulders, ‘things happen and then you think that perhaps they do exist and it would be bad to ignore them in case they do.’

‘So,’ Lucy was struggling to get her head around this. ‘What you’re saying is that people don’t necessarily believe in huldufólk but they don’t count out the possibility that they might exist.’

‘Yes,’ said Brynja. ‘That is exactly right.’

Exhausted by handover and introductions overload, along with Hekla’s boundless enthusiasm, Lucy snagged a quick sandwich from Erik, the hotel’s chef. With his huge broad shoulders and brawny frame, he looked an unlikely figure in his whites as he grinned at her from behind a huge bushy beard. When her eyes widened at the size of the half loaf of rye bread stuffed with thinly sliced lamb that he handed her, he let out a belly laugh and a stream of Icelandic, which she guessed translated as she needed feeding up. He wasn’t wrong there. Food had been low on her agenda for months.

Deciding she needed a break and some fresh air, she wrapped herself up in her newly purchased down coat, which Daisy had insisted she buy, and took the still warm sandwich wrapped in foil down to the shingle beach in front of the hotel. She ought to give her best friend a call.

Huddled into her coat, Lucy perched on one of the rocks. The bracing air around her seemed to sharpen her appetite and the delicious smoked lamb sandwich disappeared without touching the sides. It was probably the biggest meal she’d eaten in a long time, although she’d burned so much energy just thinking this morning.

‘Hey Daisy.’ Thankfully she could still tap into the hotel’s WiFi and make a WhatsApp call.

‘Lucy, how is it?’

‘Stunning, interesting … there’s a lot of work to do, but I can do it.’

‘Atta girl, that’s the Lucy I remember. What’s it like then? What are the people like?’

‘So far, so good,’ Lucy said, neutrally. ‘I’ve got an assistant manager, Hekla. She’s … very enthusiastic with a real can-do attitude, which is…’ Lucy refrained from her natural inclination to say irritating, Daisy wouldn’t approve, ‘kind of refreshing.’

‘Ha!’ Daisy laughed. ‘I know you, Miss Organised and Practical. She’s irritating the hell out of you.’

‘Actually … she isn’t. She’s so friendly, she’s made me feel incredibly welcome already.’

‘She sounds adorable.’

‘Mm, not sure I’d go that far but bless her, she works really hard and I don’t think there’s been much in the way of direction over the last year.’

‘Well, if anyone can offer that, it will be you.’ Daisy’s voice held laughter and sunshine but the words made Lucy pause. The quick observation wasn’t a criticism, but it scratched at her. Predictable, organised, Lucy Smart, which could also be read as routinised, unimaginative, dull.

‘I’ll do my best.’ She softened the clipped delivery with a sigh, looking back up at the striking architecture, the combination of modern and traditional blending into the rugged landscape. ‘The hotel is … well gorgeous. It’s got so much potential but it needs a lot of TLC.’ She paused. ‘You should see the guest rooms. You’d love them. So cosy. Honey-coloured wood and then every room has a proper stone fireplace or a wood burner. Loads of sheepskin rugs everywhere and these really pretty wall woven wall hangings with those Scandinavian love heart patterns picked out in white. I’ve even got a wood burner in my room’

‘Hygge!’ squealed Daisy. ‘Oh I want to come. It sounds gorgeous.’

‘And another reason for my call. Tell me more about the hygge thing.’

‘Ha! I knew you’d come around one day!’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Lucy’s voice was dry with sarcasm, ‘it’s a décor theme I’m thinking of.’

‘Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. It’s a not a décor thing, it’s a mindset,’ she chided and proceeded to give Lucy a good ten-minute lecture all about contentment, well-being and cosiness, which Lucy sucked up without interruption because she thought it would go down well with guests and Hekla. It still sounded a load of old nonsense to her.

‘I’ll let you know how I get on,’ said Lucy, after Daisy insisted on her sending pictures.

‘Cool,’ Daisy laughed, ‘or hot if you’ve got a fireplace. Any nice men you could cosy up with on a sheepskin rug in front of the fire? Mmm. I might have to come over.’

Lucy groaned. ‘Trust you. I’m steering clear of men for a while, you know that.’

‘Lucy, Chris was a dick. Don’t let him turn you into a dried-up old stick.’

‘I’m not. But I’ve got too much work to do.’ She thought of the mental list she was already compiling. Paintwork needed touching up, taking the staff in hand and the cleaning in many places was not up to Lucy’s standards.

‘Apparently there has been a succession of managers. I’m the eleventh in the last year. None of them stayed put for very long.’

‘Until you arrived,’ said Daisy staunchly.

‘Yup, I think I can make a difference here.’

‘Sounds like you might have landed on your feet.’

‘Hmm, I’m not quite sure of that,’ replied Lucy, thinking of her brief introduction to Eyrun, the housekeeper, a slightly scary but diminutive lady of indeterminate age, who’d chased them away when Hekla and she visited the laundry. Eyrun had met them with a stream of angry Icelandic that even Hekla was reluctant to translate. It seemed she ruled her hot, steamy kingdom like an angry troll managing the washing of all the sheets and towels and rarely venturing out of her lair, which wasn’t terribly helpful for someone who was supposed to be responsible for the upkeep of the rooms.

‘It is a bit chaotic. I can’t figure out how the staff rotas have been done, so I’m going to have to sort that out.’ It appeared no one person was responsible for the daily rotas and matching staffing levels with guests checking in or out. Hekla had revealed that often rooms weren’t ready for new arrivals and that she and Brynja had to double up as chambermaids and waiting staff.

‘And if anyone can do the job, it’s you Lucy,’ said Daisy, encouraging as ever.

Lucy sighed. This beautiful, but rough around the edges, lodge was a far cry from what she was used to. At the hotel in Manchester she’d had a chain of command and everything ran like a well-oiled machine. Although The Northern Lights Lodge was lovely, everything seemed to be limping along like a rusty old lawnmower. There was so much she could do with the place but could she achieve enough in two months to persuade the owners to make her contract permanent?

Chapter 6

Alex lunged against a craggy outcrop, resting a hand on his thigh and eyeing the phone in his other hand with all the enthusiasm of a man about to phone an irate boss. Today the brisk cold air, carrying a definite hint of snow, bit at his cheeks. It was good to be outside after yesterday’s day of drizzle that had shrouded the lodge, although in the last two weeks he’d quickly learned that the weather in Iceland had the monopoly on changeable. One minute you could have driving rain and black clouds and then suddenly the wind whipped them away to bring in brilliant blue skies and sunshine. Seeing the break in the weather, he’d rushed to change to take advantage of the dry day and enjoy some down time. Although any enjoyment he found in being outdoors was about to be doused.

With a heavy sigh he looked out over the choppy sea, enjoying the crash of the rolling waves dashing against the rocks that lined the shore, wishing he could enjoy the clean fresh air a while longer, without having to pollute it with business talk and a conversation that would make him feel crap inside. He’d been wrestling with his conscience all morning and really it should have been quite a short tussle, but that bloody nice gene kept intervening. He studied the horizon where the sky met the water’s edge and pressed the call button on the screen.

Sod’s law the line to Paris was crackle free. ‘Hey Alex, about time. I called you two hours ago.’

‘Some of us are working, Quentin.’

‘Working! What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be working for me. You didn’t say anything about that the last time we spoke.’

‘That’s because the new manager wasn’t in place. What did you think I was going to do? Loll around a guest room for two months? Besides this way I have a better excuse for poking around a bit more and pulling together a proper report. I have access all areas, which, if I was a guest, would be pretty difficult.’

‘Dear God, please tell me you’re not the bus boy.’

‘No … there isn’t one. I’m the head barman and waiter.’

‘Nun on a bicycle, Mclaughlin, what are you playing at? Couldn’t you have been a writer or at least a ruddy ornithologist?’

‘Given I have no skills or knowledge of either, I think that would have been a mite difficult to pull off,’ said Alex dryly. ‘Besides I had to do something. I’d go out of my mind with nothing to do and it’s not as if I mind getting my hands dirty. No one’s keeping an eye on me. I pretty much do as I please.’

‘You mean the new manager hasn’t rocked up yet. Where the hell is he? Pederson told me they’d recruited someone.’

‘He’s a she and she’s arrived. She’s definitely arrived.’ He thought of his first glimpse of Lucy Smart emerging like a bedraggled mermaid from the hot tub, her long hair slicked across her face and her stand-offishness when he’d tried to help. He still couldn’t figure out why the hell she’d insisted the front door was locked, even when they’d returned to reception and it was clearly open.

‘And?’

Alex scowled thinking of her and her unicorn charm as he took a pace away from the rock, starting to walk along the shore.

‘She’s got an unorthodox approach to problem solving that’s for sure.’

‘I don’t do unorthodox,’ grumbled Quentin, which was a bit rich coming from one who cornered the market on eccentric sometimes. ‘Does she run a tight ship?’

‘She arrived yesterday,’ said Alex, hedging a little. If it had been him, he would have been a lot firmer with the staff. Surely she could see they were taking the piss with the whole elf thing. A decent manager would have shut that down immediately and made it clear that she wasn’t taking any nonsense. She was storing up trouble there, although her spur of the moment solution had been pretty neat.

‘I thought she wasn’t due for another week.’

‘Mix up with the dates.’ Alex winced. That had been very odd. He’d been there when Hekla took the call. Why would someone phone and change the date? Lucy must have had a change of heart, got someone to phone on her behalf and then changed her mind again? What other explanation was there?

‘Well that wouldn’t fill me with confidence. Do you think she’s any good? And I want an honest no bullshit answer.’ Alex pursed his lips and kicked at a small stone in his path. It knock, knock, knocked over the other grey stones on the shingle beach. Quentin waited on the other end of the line, the silence stretching out for Alex to fill. He knew his boss’s tactics well. Quentin hadn’t got to be the multi-millionaire owner of The Oliver Group, running a string of boutique hotels, without being extremely shrewd. He wanted an honest report on the hotel’s potential, what needed to be done to bring it up to Oliver Group standards and whether Lucy and the current staff were the right people to do that. At the moment, if he was entirely honest, he wasn’t convinced.

There was something about her haunted appearance that worried him and last night she’d been brusque and sharp, extremely unwilling to accept help. He suspected she was a loner if her stand-offish attitude was anything to go by and she didn’t look robust enough to cope with the rigors of the job. The hours were long and the role involved everything from marketing, budgeting, premises management through to managing the staff. Not to mention that a good manager was on show the whole time, making themselves accessible and approachable to guests and staff alike. Should he mention his quiet misgivings to his boss? He paused and scooped a stone and launched it skimming across the sea. It bounced three times, shall I, shan’t I, shall I?

On the fourth bob the stone sank making his decision. Nice guys finish last.

‘The jury’s out,’ he said, his words terse. It was the truth.

‘Do you think she’s got what it takes?’ pressed Quentin.

No, was the word that came to mind but instead Alex wrinkled his nose, grateful Quentin couldn’t see him. ‘I don’t know … yet.’

‘Come on,’ groaned Quentin. ‘Don’t fob me off. You’re a good judge of character. Quit pussy footing around. First impressions.’

Alex sighed, he owed Quentin so much. His boss had taken a risk, giving Alex his first big hotel to manage despite Alex being the youngest, most inexperienced candidate. And now these days they were practically, no they were family. He picked up another stone and chucked it across the surface of the sea. ‘There are quite a few issues. I need to see how she tackles them.’ Except, he thought to himself, Lucy had been holed up in the office going through paperwork for the last couple of days. If Alex was manager, he’d have prioritised making those small quick win changes that guests ‒ the guys that paid their wages ‒ actually noticed. Put more staff on at breakfast, so that guests could get out of the hotel more quickly in the mornings, make sure the bedrooms were serviced by lunchtime, have the fires in the communal areas lit by the time guests returned in the afternoons and offer one complimentary drink to guests on arrival to encourage them to visit the bar in the evenings.

‘So if you were manager what would you do? Top line.’ Relieved by the change of tack, Alex screwed up his face in thought.

The wind caught his hair, whipping it into his eyes as he turned his head to survey the building sprawling across the top of the hill behind him. The place could be fabulous. ‘Staffing is a problem. No one is managing the rotas. Everything is last minute. I’d sort that out. I’d also make an inventory of exactly what needs to be done in the hotel, because the place is looking very tired. And I’d have started on that list yesterday. I guess the bottom line is, the new manager isn’t cutting it yet.’

‘Have you seen the latest TripAdvisor reviews?’ asked Quentin, changing the subject again as he was wont to do.

‘No.’ Alex didn’t need to, he could gauge things from the guest’s reactions. They weren’t exactly raving about the place.

‘Not great. Not awful but blah … we don’t do blah. At least if they were shite, you have something to work with. Mediocrity is worse. When do you think you can pull together a detailed report on the place? I’m beginning to regret buying it.’

‘It’s not a done deal yet, is it?’

‘No but we’re getting close. Pedersen is a tricky bastard and I can pull the deal but …what do you think? It’s got potential hasn’t it? I thought Iceland would extend the portfolio in a new direction.’

‘It’s got great potential. It needs managing properly,’ said Alex. ‘Why don’t you wait until I’ve done some more digging?’ he suggested even though skulking about the hotel and poking into things when no one else was around was not something he enjoyed. He hated this undercover crap, but on this occasion it had to be done. He knew that directly asking questions often sent staff into defensive mode, covering things up, so you couldn’t get a real picture and more importantly, if anyone found out that the Oliver Group were interested in buying the lodge, it would stimulate a lot of speculation among competitors, many of whom might want to get in on the action and no doubt push the price sky-high. ‘I’ll send my report over in the next couple of weeks. I still need to find out more about what goes on in housekeeping.’

‘Not a lot judging from the reviews. I should have got you on the job,’ said Quentin.

‘That would have been difficult as you don’t own the place yet and besides, I’ve got a nice five-star hotel waiting for me in Paris. How’s it coming along? Any progress.’

‘None, and that’s giving me a shitting ulcer. Those wanking bureaucrats. Won’t cut through the red tape. There’s still some doubt about the age of the skeleton. All work has stopped. It’s going to be at least four months before we can get the floor down there re-laid and dried out enough to open the hotel.’

‘Well at least I’ll get to see the northern lights while I’m here.’

‘I’ll want you back here to oversee things. Don’t get too settled there.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Good.’ And with that Quentin terminated the call.

Alex stared back at the building perched on the edge of the small cliff over the seashore. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but maybe one day he could come to a place like this. It was outside his usual type of hotel but there was a certain rustic charm and otherworldly magic to the place that intrigued him. Although working in Paris had been a challenge and never a dull moment, he realised that the new hotel would be more of the same. Smooth sophistication. Nothing too unexpected. No adventure. It was a long way from where he’d started, as a barman in his family owned hotel, a small but highly prestigious former castle on the outskirts of Edinburgh which one day would be his. When that day came it was his dream to create a hotel that would rival the famous Gleneagles. Until he took over from his mother, at a time considerably distant from now, he was garnering the best possible experience he could.

With a sudden start, as if the reminder came with a physical, punch he realised that he’d missed the sharp, freshness of the open air, the wheeling cries of seagulls overhead, of being outdoors all hours of the day and through it all, whatever the hour, the scent of the sea air. Home, even after years in France, Switzerland and Italy, was still the Leith shore in Edinburgh, where his abiding memory was the sound of the waves whispering in his ear. Sitting here on a damp rock in Iceland, the familiar song of the sea brought back a sense of community and home. He’d missed this, the rhythm of the waves, the blustery wind and the wide expanse of sky. Being in a city, he’d missed the hills and the rocky crag behind him now was a welcome reminder of Arthur’s Seat. It was surprising how much he didn’t miss Paris and how quickly this magnificent scenery and the rustic lodge was starting to feel more like home … Which was all totally ridiculous because he had a great job waiting for him in one of the best cities of the world. Coming somewhere like this would be a backward step. Not something that he would ever consider.

Chapter 7

Hekla appeared in the office, carrying two mugs of coffee. Lucy, who had spent the last four days attempting to turn her desk from chaos into order and failing miserably, looked up gratefully.

‘We need to get a coffee machine in here,’ declared Lucy looking at the drips of coffee running down the mugs where it had slopped over the sides during the trip back from the kitchen on the other side of the hotel.

‘Great idea,’ said Hekla, almost bouncing on the spot. ‘Why don’t I take you to Hvolsvöllur, some time? One of those machines that makes hot chocolate and tea too.’

She took a quick slurp of coffee and pulled a face. ‘Hot coffee would be so much nicer, although Erik might not give me cookies.’ She dug in her cardigan pocket and pulled out a napkin wrapped bundle. ‘Loganberry and walnut. Still warm …’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘They were.’ She looked around the office and winced.

‘I know, I know, it’s a mess,’ said Lucy wearily, wanting to bash her head on the top of the desk at the sheer amount of neglected paperwork. The previous manager, who had lasted six weeks, had been a proponent of piling rather than filing and in the second pile under her desk (there were three piles under there as well as the four on top of the desk) she’d found a dozen overdue invoices.

‘I could help,’ offered Hekla, ‘when I’ve finished room service.’

Lucy hesitated. ‘You shouldn’t have to do that. I need you in here.’ But there had been no choice today because not enough staff had been scheduled to cope with the number of guests checking out.

‘I need to speak to Eyrun about the room service rotas.’ Maybe in her agitated, cross mood, now was the perfect time to beard the lion in her den.

Hekla exchanged a wry look with her.

‘It’s ridiculous,’ snapped Lucy. ‘The housekeeper should be responsible for them.’

‘She … won’t do paperwork.’

‘Well, she’s going to have to,’ Lucy said, with a determined jut of her chin. ‘We can’t go on like this. You have enough to do without stripping beds and cleaning bathrooms.’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Hekla, with a gracious shrug. ‘And she runs the laundry really well.’

‘Well I do.’ Lucy’s firm voice made the blonde girl smile. ‘Laundry or no laundry. I need you in here.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied before adding with a mischievous twinkle, ‘are you going to tell her?’

They both laughed as Lucy shuddered. ‘Is it ridiculous that I’m scared of her?’

‘Nrr.’ Hekla’s vehement head shake and quick down turn of her mouth was the decider.

Lucy jumped up. ‘It is ridiculous and I’m not standing for it. I’m going to go down there now, I could do with a break from blasted paperwork. Hold the fort. I’ll be back.’

Eyrun’s dark eyes flashed as she gave the sheaf of paper in Lucy’s hand a contemptuous sneer.

‘So,’ said Lucy with a determinedly pleasant smile on her face. ‘I’d like you to take over the organisation of the chambermaid’s rosters. I’ve printed some templates that you can fill in and here are the bookings for the next week. We need a proper rota. Poor Hekla is spending too much time having to drop everything to help clean the rooms.’ There was no response from Eyrun, she simply stared at Lucy with a steely gaze. ‘And we’re quiet.’ That was an understatement, bookings were down by fifty percent, year on year.

‘But,’ Lucy lied valiantly, ignoring the fear crimping at her stomach, ‘things will start to get busy soon.’ They had to, she told herself digging her fingernails into her right palm. Hekla kept dangling the northern lights’ carrot saying that things picked up later this month. Lucy wasn’t convinced. Worryingly, there was no evidence of any kind of marketing in recent months, especially when she had two months, or rather one month and twenty-five days, to prove herself.

Eyrun sniffed and turned her back, reaching into the still warm dryer to pull out a handful of towels.

‘Eyrun.’ Lucy snapped, knowing she was venting her frustration unfairly, but they needed to improve the TripAdvisor reviews, most of which said the lodge looked tired. ‘The rooms need inspecting every day. This is your job.’ Realising she was in danger of letting her temper get the better of her and forgetting all the management training she’d ever had, she took in a deep breath. Firmness. Consistency. Clear, plain speaking. You’re the boss. Stay calm. ‘I’ve compiled a check list for you.’ Lucy put down the papers on the nearby shelf and pulled out the typed list that she’d put together this morning.

‘Ok. I check the rooms,’ said Eyrun, her mouth signalling her displeasure, edging away from the piece of paper. ‘No list. Now go. I’m busy.’ She indicated the soft cloud of towels in her arm.

‘It will help.’

‘Nrr.’ Eyrun shook her head vehemently, backing away clutching her bundle like a shield.

‘You will inspect the rooms each day?’ Lucy pressed, realising that this was a minor victory even if the rotas were a lost cause.

Eyrun glowered but nodded.

‘And let me know what needs fixing, repairing or changing. A lot of the bedspreads need cleaning or replacing. You do a great job with the laundry but some of them … I think are even beyond your magic.’

Lucy almost smiled when Eyrun’s head lifted with a touch of pride. The older woman’s English was clearly better than she let on and like most people she wasn’t immune to flattery.

‘I’ve removed some,’ in a whistle stop tour late yesterday afternoon, when she’d finally given up on the office for the day, ‘but could you compile an inventory of what can be kept and how many new ones we need to order? You will know best. I’ll follow your guidance on that.’

A flash of surprise flitted across Eyrun’s beady eyes and she tilted her head like a suspicious blackbird.

Lucy held up the list. It was non-negotiable. There were tick boxes beside each of the items and a place for Eyrun to sign at the bottom to confirm everything had been done.

‘I’ll pin this one up on the noticeboard for you. And leave the spares here. When you run out, Hekla or Brynja can run more off for you.’

Eyrun looked boot faced as Lucy crossed to the felt pin board above the desk in the other room.

‘That’s your list,’ she said, pinning a second drawing pin to the board to secure it.

Eyrun made a small hmph noise and marched back into the first room with the dryers, dumping her load on top of Lucy’s papers and pulled out a towel, shaking it out before folding it with quick, neat precise moves.

Letting her go for a minute, Lucy stepped back and frowned, pricked by a sense of something not being right. She looked at the noticeboard. Shouldn’t there be health and safety notices, emergency numbers, fire evacuation procedures, any number of basic notices? Glancing around the room, she realised that it was a blank canvas. It stirred a memory but she couldn’t place it.

‘Grr,’ said Lucy returning to the office as Hekla looked up. ‘That went well, not.’

‘You’re still in one piece then.’ Lucy whirled around to see Alex with a teasing smile on his face. ‘I hear you’ve been taming dragons.’

‘Uh,’ she said rather stupidly, taken aback by the unexpected friendly expression. Shit, he was cute.

‘I’m not sure about taming,’ she finally replied, smoothing down her skirt, as if that might make her feel more professional. ‘I won one small battle but I don’t hold out much hope on Eyrun arranging the rotas.’

‘I could do them,’ said Hekla.

‘No,’ said Lucy with a firmness that earned a small approving nod from Alex, although what it had to do with him, she didn’t know. It earned him a scowl. ‘I’ll do them for the short term and I’m thinking about promoting one of the other girls and giving them the job. What do you think about Elin or Freya?’

Hekla grinned. ‘Elin Jónsdóttir and Freya Flókisdóttir. Jón and Flóki are my dad’s cousins.’

Lucy frowned, ‘Jón and Flóki?’

‘Their fathers. In Iceland we take the name of our father or mother for our surname. I am Hekla Gunnesdóttir. My father is Gunnar. Elin and Freya are my second cousins. You would have to choose between them. But I think either will be excellent.’

‘So, Alex, how can I help you?’ He had perched on the edge of her desk as if he had all the time in the world and he was completely at ease. And then at her question, all that ease vanished and, oddly, he seemed a little disconcerted.

‘I … er, I … um … wondered if you’d like me to do an inventory of the bar stock? And I was wondering how you were after your tumble in the pool. No ill effects? Must have been a bit of a shock,’ he asked with sympathy, and seemingly back on smooth ground. ‘I never asked if you hurt yourself.’

‘Oh, no. Well, not badly.’ Absently she rubbed her hip. ‘A bruise or two.’

‘And your boots?’

She closed her eyes, in sudden pain at the state of her favourite footwear. She’d abandoned them in the bathroom and done nothing with them. ‘Not looking so good. They’re still a bit damp inside.’

‘You need to stuff them with paper, there’s plenty in the office. Hekla,’ he shot her a grin, ‘has an ongoing vendetta with the printer, I’ve got shoe polish…’ his voice trailed off lamely before suddenly laughing. ‘Shoe polish! Super hero Alex to the rescue.’

‘That’s er…’ Lucy smiled, charmed by his boyish chagrin. Charmed and something else that made a tiny frozen part of heart melt just a little.

‘A bit boy scoutish,’ laughed Alex. ‘Prepared for every eventuality, that’s me.’

Alex’s unexpected kindness threw her and Lucy’s face sagged. ‘I … I used to be,’ she said in an almost whisper.

‘The printer does not like me,’ said Hekla with unexpected petulance, looking up from her computer.

‘No,’ said Alex, laughing at Hekla’s pouting face. Lucy could have kissed her for the timely interjection. Where had her sudden misery come from? She lifted her chin, quickly schooling her features to hide the brief lapse of her game face.

‘Er, Lucy,’ said Hekla with a worried expression, ‘We have a booking arriving next week.’

‘And?’ They were a hotel after all, bookings were what they wanted.

‘It was made directly with Mr Pedersen and I don’t have any details. No names. Nothing. But it’s a complimentary.’

She noticed Alex looking intrigued and again wondered why a barman was hanging around the office or taking such a keen interest in things.

‘Ah, that is odd. Are they VIPs we need to impress? Relations of Mr Pedersen?’

‘I don’t know. It’s for five rooms.’

‘Five.’ Her tongue flicked automatically to the sore on her lip. That was a lot of rooms to give away for free. What was going on?

‘All it says on the original email is that they are media.’ Hekla looked up, a happier expression on her face. ‘I think they might be press or something.’

‘Press?’

OK, she could handle that. Being so close to the BBC and ITV as well as two premier league football clubs in Manchester, she was used to dealing with journalists, celebrities and footballers on a regular basis.

‘English press. A film crew.’

Oh shit! Automatically her hand went to her lip and she began to pick at it.

‘You OK?’ asked Alex, concern etching his eyes. Stepping toward Lucy, making her catch her breath, he briefly brushed his fingers over her wrist. ‘Don’t, you’ll make it worse.’

She pulled her hand away already tasting the tang of blood in her mouth. It was a bad habit she’d got into.

‘You OK?’ he asked again.

‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine,’ said Lucy conscious that the blood had drained from her face and her heart rate had sky rocketed and everything about her was probably screaming NO!

She wasn’t fine at all and at that precise moment, she couldn’t have said whether that was the unexpected effect of Alex’s gentle touch or the prospect of a film crew arriving.

She took a calming breath. She was being stupid. It wasn’t as if the film crew would be filming the staff. They probably wouldn’t pay any attention to them. No one was going to recognise her.

Chapter 8

When Lucy woke, anxiety immediately clutching at her thoughts, she lay staring out of the window at the cloud filled sky. Although it was still dark, there was an odd light to the sky. Maybe she’d stay here today, study the clouds and give into the heaviness of her body. Even though she’d been here for nearly two weeks now, it was taking her time to get up to speed. The frequent turnaround of previous managers meant that so much had been left undone. This morning just lifting the duvet seemed an effort. Minutes ticked by, turning into ten, then twenty. She squinted through the glass, was that a snowflake?

Was that why the clouds looked different today, they were full of snow? She tracked the progress of a few leisurely snowflakes, watching their gentle wayward descent. The familiar prick of childish excitement nudged at her making her wince. One upon a time the first magical sight of snow would have had her dragging her wellies on, wrapping up like a Sherpa, desperate to be out there, but the dark slush of city snow had cured her of that fantasy.

Sighing, she forced her stiff body to roll over, sliding her legs out of the bed and moving into a sitting position. She had to get up. She needed this job. She was being ridiculous. The film crew wouldn’t be interested in her. They’d be filming the sights, using the hotel as a base. She was being ridiculous. Repeating the words over and over, like a litany, she dragged herself into the shower.

Once she was dressed, she left her room and as she crossed through the communal area of the staff quarters on her way to the office, a loud cry accosted her.

‘Lucy, Lucy,’ called Hekla, with her usual boundless enthusiasm.

‘Morning,’ she said stiffly, conscious of the other girl’s glowing skin and shining eyes, contrasting with her own dull complexion and purpled shadowed bags.

‘Come, come,’ she said linking her arm through Lucy’s. ‘I want to show you my favourite thing. Well,’ she amended, ‘one of my favourite things.’ Dragging her along like a rampant St Bernard on a rescue mission, Hekla led her from the staff area back to the main hotel.

Helpless to resist all that enthusiasm, Lucy allowed herself to be propelled along without complaint to the long glass corridor connecting the two buildings.

Hekla stopped dead, her head tipped back and her arms stretched out wide, almost touching the glass on either side of her. ‘It feels like you’re outside, but you’re not.’ She grinned at Lucy with child-like delight, her arms flapping up and down as if she were making snow angels. ‘Look.’

Outside the snow which lit up the twilit sky, had started falling in earnest with huge flakes floating down like feathers settling on a gentle breeze. In a slow waltz, they danced and whirled, swirling around the glass structure like delicate ballerinas, almost hitting the glass and then at the last second spinning away as if teasing death before they escaped. Entranced Lucy’s looked up through the glass ceiling, the sight almost dizzying, as the concentration of layer up on layer of flakes seemed to be coming down in never-ending torrent strings.

It was like being in an inside out snow globe, she thought, as those less fortunate flakes, doomed to an early eclipse, hit the glass with tiny pfft, pfft sounds, as the ice crystals splatted against the surface.

‘I’ve never seen such huge snowflakes,’ said Lucy in sheer wonderment, as she followed the path of one which she could have sworn was the same size as her hand.

‘Hundslappadrifa,’ beamed Hekla. ‘We have a name for this type of snow. In translation it means dog’s feet snow.’

Lucy clapped her hands in delight. It was the most perfect description. ‘I love that. Although, I guess we won’t be able to go to Hvolsvöllur this morning.’ The snow had settled fast in the last half hour, a good inch already rounding off the edges of the fences and rooflines outside. She’d been looking forward to getting out of the hotel and seeing a bit of Iceland, even if it was only the nearest town twenty minutes away.

‘Of course we will,’ said Hekla. ‘In Iceland, snow doesn’t stop us. Petta reddast.’

‘What does that mean?’

Hekla grinned. ‘I’ll tell you in the jeep on the way.’

Buckled in, cocooned in the warm fug of the car, they drove along the straight road towards the lights of the town glowing in the distance like a beacon.

‘Will we be alright?’ asked Lucy dubiously looking at the thickening layer of snow which was building quickly.

‘Ja,’ said Hekla, with blithe confidence patting the steering wheel. ‘This baby will get us there and back with no problems.’

‘At home, everything would have ground to halt already,’ observed Lucy, thinking of last winter and the mass influx of snow-clad travellers turning up at the hotel in Manchester unable to get home.

‘Ha, this is Iceland. We’re made of strong stuff. Like I said before, petta reddast, it’s a saying we have. Everything will be OK. Living here, we have a belief that we can do things. There is always something to face, the storms, floods, snowfall, ice and volcanoes. It is the land of heat and fire, but we Icelanders, we can do great things. We have self-belief. Remember our football team,’ she turned with a sly smile haunting her mouth. ‘We beat the English, a small team from a country of 340,000 people. Our manger was a part-time dentist.’

‘I remember,’ said Lucy dryly, thinking back to Chris’s cocky pre-match dismissive attitude to the threat of the Icelandic team and his irate howls at the television during the match when Iceland scored two goals to England’s one.

‘It is a positive attitude,’ she cast an arm towards the scene outside. ‘It is hard living here, you have to survive. The Vikings that came here from Europe had to carve out a life. It breeds a toughness but also a team spirit. Together we can make things happen. For example, Elin, believes that she will write and publish her book, Freya will be a great actress one day and Brynja trains for the marathon. All of them believe that they will succeed.’

‘And what about you?’ asked Lucy.

‘One day I will travel. As a child I went to many places with my parents but I want to do what you’ve done, travel to a new country and work in a good hotel.’ Hekla grinned. ‘But I want to make The Northern Lights Lodge, the best hotel before I leave. I’ve lived in many places but this is the place that feels like home. I want people who come here to see how wonderful my country is. I want them to remember their stay here for ever.’

‘You and me both,’ said Lucy. ‘I hope you don’t plan to leave too soon.’

Hekla shrugged. ‘It depends on the new owners.’

‘New owners?’ The words croaked out of Lucy’s throat in sudden alarm. ‘What do you mean?’

Hekla gave her a startled look. ‘You know, the hotel is for sale.’

‘For sale?’ Panic clutched at Lucy, her stomach clenching in fear. A change of ownership often meant a change of management. ‘What now?’

‘Ja, there is a prospective buyer. They are negotiating but Mr Pedersen said that it is likely that things will be signed in December.’

Lucy swallowed hard. December. Her contract was up in December. At her sharp indrawn breath, Hekla looked at her.

‘Don’t worry. They will need a manager.’

‘Yes but…’ Not necessarily me. Now the short-term contract made perfect sense, she realised with a sinking heart. Not the probationary period she’d assumed because they were taking her without proper references but short term because they wouldn’t need her.

‘Petta reddast,’ reminded Hekla gently. ‘It will work out. I think already you have good ideas. You have good experience, ja?’

Lucy nodded. She did have bloody good experience. The best. She could make this work. Maybe she needed to believe in herself, she always had done before. Everything had been fine before that damned video had gone viral, until head office had fired her, before Chris had shafted her so well and truly.

Hvolsvöllur was even smaller than Lucy had expected, the town sitting in a flat vale with a few roads. Red rooved houses lined the roads as Hekla drove through, pointing out where her cousins had lived, an uncle, her school friend’s mother’s house. It seemed as if Hekla knew everyone in town. She knew exactly where to go to buy the coffee machine that had been their principal purpose and within half an hour they were done.

‘Would you like to stop in the tourist shop, Una Local?’ she asked. ‘It has some nice things.’

‘That would be nice,’ said Lucy gloomily. ‘I might have to buy Christmas presents to take home with me.’ Something for Daisy who’d been so good to her this past year and her Mum and Dad who thought this was a great adventure and had no idea what had driven her to make such a radical career change.

Hekla shook her head. ‘Petta reddast. You are an Icelander now. A solution will come.’

‘I hope so,’ muttered Lucy, who until now deliberately hadn’t thought beyond mid-December.

‘It will,’ said Hekla, with what Lucy now thought of her as Viking Princess resilience.

The shop wasn’t the prettiest building, it looked more like a series of three airport hangers, painted red, yellow and blue with a large puffin painted on the front door, but inside the white airy space was filled with well-displayed traditional Icelandic crafts and gifts on little wooden tables. Fairy lights were strung around the ceiling and Lucy did a double take at the sight of a bicycle suspended on its side and the various ornaments dangling from the spokes of the wheels. On the walls, hanging from hangers on hooks, there was a fine selection of the heavy wool jumpers she associated with Northern Europe, the necklines decorated with the familiar Scandinavian knitted patterns, along with woollen poncho style tops, scarves and hats. There were pretty watercolours of puffins, photographs of hardy Icelandic ponies, papier mâché trolls, printed cushions and colourful tea-towels. Everything, although eye-wateringly expensive, was beautifully made and Lucy could have spent a fortune. In one corner there was a Norse Viking figure made of sheepskin, with a knitted helmet around which a couple of tourists crowded taking selfies with lots of laughs and smiles. Even Lucy had to smile at the sight of the big shambling figure.

Hekla had already struck up a conversation with the sales lady as Lucy wandered around. She stopped again beside a display of puffin watercolour pictures. Simple but effective, she thought, they would look perfect in the guest lounge. She picked one up and carried it towards Hekla.

‘You’re going to buy a picture?’ she asked.

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’d really like to display a couple in the hotel, we could direct guests here to buy them, if,’ she turned to the sales lady Hekla had been chatting to, ‘you’d be interested.’

She was interested, in the sort of bite-your-hand-off sort of way that Lucy had hoped for and it didn’t take long for them to sort out a mutually satisfying arrangement that had her humming to herself as they carried three paintings out to the car, with the promise of more to come which could be picked up in a couple of days.

‘Nice work,’ said Hekla, ‘that is a good idea.’

‘Yup,’ said Lucy with a mischievous smile, feeling a sense of achievement. ‘Free decorations for the walls. The guest lounge is lovely but it needs more. We never did ask Eyrun about what happened to the other things.’

‘No, we didn’t.’ Hekla’s airy response made Lucy giggle.

‘You’re scared of her too.’

Hekla tried and failed to keep an innocent face before giggling back at her and nodding.

‘She terrifies me. That’s why you’re the boss. You have to ask her.’ Hekla threw her a challenging glance. ‘Two shots. Tomorrow night.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Tomorrow. We are playing card games in the staff lounge. Drinking games.’ Hekla’s face wreathed in mischief. ‘Dares. If you don’t ask Eyrun, you have to drink two shots.’

Lucy laughed. ‘And what do you do, if I do?’

Hekla shrugged. ‘I guess I have to drink two shots.’

‘Does this happen often?’ asked Lucy.

‘The evenings are long and dark, we like to get together. The card games are Elin’s idea. She and Brynja and Freya are all good fun. And Brynja’s boyfriend, Dagur and Gunnar are so funny. Olafur can be a bit sulky sometimes but then he forgets and he’s nice. And new Alex is fun too and very easy on the eye as they say.’

Back in the car on their way to the hotel, Hekla reminded her of their dare. Lucy shrugged. She’d never backed down from a challenge, even so she was going to have to steel herself for another run in with Eyrun.

‘Eyrun?’ Lucy called, cross with herself for being so timid. She was in charge here for heaven’s sake. Despite the dull rhythmic thud of towels in the huge dryer, there was no sign of the Head of Housekeeping. Lucy let out a small sigh of relief

Was it any wonder Eyrun rarely left her little cave, there was something rather soothing about the somnolent thrum of the dryers? The warm dry air made her feel pleasantly dopey and relaxed and she closed her eyes for a few minutes just letting herself be for a while. Hekla’s positive attitude and talk of petta reddast this morning had given Lucy food for thought. She’d always been organised and successful through hard work and diligence but, before now, she’d never had to face much adversity.

All the angry bees that had been buzzing in her head for so long, keeping her awake at night with their what ifs and if onlys, had taken flight, leaving a welcome nothingness in her head. The cycle of constant recriminations and fear of doing everything wrong that had hamstrung and exhausted her the past year had dissipated for once, and with Hekla’s words taking root, she was thinking about being more resilient. Not letting Chris win. She’d needed to take charge, assert her authority and not just with Eyrun.

When the dryer had finally finished its cycle, the quiet of the Lodge echoed in her ears, so silent and still she could almost hear the soft buzz of the dust and fibres settling.

For a second, she gave into the quiet atmosphere, slouching against a trolley, her head resting on the metal handle.

As she drooped over the trolley, she saw the sliver of light widen as the door opened very, very slowly.

Someone slipped in and with furtive intent looked around, overlooking her in the dark corner. The male figure moved forward towards the other room which housed the huge industrial washing machines and a couple of floor-to-ceiling storage cupboards. She watched as he carefully pushed the door too behind him, leaving it an inch open.

What on earth was he up to? And who was it? Lucy felt uncomfortable spying but as someone in the hotel had been playing unwelcome games, she felt justified even though there’d been no repeat of the dead mice or any other tricks recently. Was she about to catch the culprit in the act? She grabbed an armful of sheets from a nearby trolley to give her a reason for being here and creeping forward to the doorway of the stockroom, she peeped through the gap.

Alex! What on earth was he doing in here?

For a few seconds she watched him as he sifted through a pile of duvet covers, poked at the stack of pillowcases, opened a few cupboards and crouched down to take a closer look at the washing powders and cleaning fluids on the shelf.

Lucy pushed open the door making as much noise as she could.

He whirled round, his handsome face a picture.

Handsome. For God’s sake, Lucy, he’s nice looking, that’s all. But there was a distinct flutter in her stomach.

For what felt like a second too long they stared at one another, with that momentary now what of a pair of gun slingers facing each other.

‘Alex!’ Her voice was an octave too high. ‘Fancy seeing you here? Are you helping out with the laundry now?’

‘No, I was …’ he looked around as if hoping inspiration might jump up and slap him in the face.

‘You look as if you were looking for something?’ she asked, tensing as she realised she was desperate for him to be honest about what he was doing.

‘Er yes … some cloths. For the … er … kitchen. Tea-towels.’

Lucy narrowed her gaze at him, before pointedly looking towards to the room behind them and the shelves by the door, neatly stacked with smaller cloths and tea-towels, used by the kitchen.

Alex flushed, following her gaze. ‘Sorry. Not thinking. Completely forgot. You know what it’s like when you’ve worked in lots of different places. You get a bit confused every now and then.’ His gabbled speech was so unlike his usual cool, collected self, that Lucy almost felt sorry for him until he changed the subject quickly.

‘And how are you finding things?’ he asked in that cool, authoritative yet charming way as if he were the one that was in charge. ‘I hear you’ve promoted Elin.’

‘Yes,’ she said stiffly, wondering what business it was of his. ‘She’s now Assistant Housekeeper. Doing a great job.’

‘Good move.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with a touch of withering sarcasm. Had he forgotten who was in charge here?

He shrugged, with an anodyne smile that irritated her even more.

Why was it that he always managed to catch her at a disadvantage?

‘Is there anything else you need in here?’ she asked desperate to reassert her authority.

‘No,’ he looked at his watch, ‘I must be off.’ And with a quick smile, he sauntered away as if he had all the time in the world.

‘You forgot your tea-towels,’ she called with a triumphant crow, but he’d already left the room. She scowled after him, so much for her taking charge.

Chapter 9

The following morning, Lucy heard the unwelcome words, ‘Hi, I’m Clive Tenterden with See The World Productions.’

She bustled out of the office to join Brynja at the front desk.

‘We have a booking for five.’ He winked. ‘Cribs for my crew.’ He hoicked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Camera man, sound man, production assistant and grip.’

‘Good morning, I’m Lucy Smart, General Manager. Welcome to The Northern Lights Lodge. I understand you’re filming in the area and will be staying with us.’

‘Hey Lucy. Nice to meet you. This is the crew, I’ll introduce you all later. You’re going to get to know us real well over the next few weeks.’

Behind, a group of men and one woman had gathered around a mountain of black boxes and were talking quietly to one another. Alex was helping one of the men with a few cases, doubling up as he was prone to do and helping out taking luggage to rooms.

Lucy nodded smiling even though her cheeks were hurting with the effort. Few weeks? Where was the memo on that one? Was their stay complimentary? At least there was plenty of room. Bookings were still down despite the hideously expensive ads she’d signed off this week in a couple of international travel magazines.

‘I hope you’re going to have an enjoyable stay here. I’ve allocated you some lovely rooms and The Northern Lights Lodge is a great base for exploring the local area. If you’d all like to check in and get settled. Dinner, this evening, is between seven and nine in the dining room. Would you like me to book you a table?’

‘That would be great. Perhaps you could join us for dinner and we can talk about what sort of thing we need from you and the sort of access we’re going to want.’

Lucy stared at the man’s smiley isn’t-this-going-to-be-so-much fun face and tried to adjust hers into professional indifference, although inside she was starting to have the mild signs of a panic attack. Access. What did that mean?

‘You look a bit uncertain, Lucy. Don’t you worry about a thing, once you get used to the cameras, you really won’t know we’re here. You never know it might make you a star.’

Lucy froze. That was the absolute last thing on the planet she ever wanted to be.

‘Cameras?’

‘Well, just the one really but it’ll be right there, in your face.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’

Clive looked at her, a slightly worried frown on his face. ‘You do know we’re filming a fly on the wall travel documentary. Warts and all in an Iceland lodge chasing the magical aurora borealis. In between visiting the top tourist must-see sights, we’ll be filming how a local lodge is run.’

No, she did not know that. The hotel wasn’t anywhere near ready for that kind of spotlight. There was still so much to do. And … it hit her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It all came rushing back. Everyone looking at her. Sniggering behind her back. The lewd remarks. Suggestive stares. Talking about her. It would all start up again. For a minute she thought her legs might collapse beneath her. Her lungs felt tight in her chest and … and she couldn’t…

‘E-excuse me,’ she stammered, waving her hand at Brynja. ‘I n-need to check the … the … C-can you…’

To her relief Brynja stepped forward and smoothly took over, sliding the registration forms towards the man.

She backed away. She needed to get to the office. Needed to breathe. Look normal. She caught sight of one face. One of the crew. Was she imagining it or was he staring at her with one of those don’t-I-know-you expressions on his face? She ducked her head, backed up another step and mercifully felt the door behind her.

Safe in the office, she closed the door with a firm thunk behind her and put her hand on the door leaning over. The room went black and her chest constricted as she desperately tried to suck in air. It wouldn’t come. She tried again. And again. Her head was about to explode.

‘Lucy?’ A voice sounded as if it were coming from a very long way away. ‘Lucy. Are you OK?’

She forced herself to focus on Alex’s voice. Forcing herself inch by inch up the black tunnel. Tight bands held her chest. She gasped, trying to take in another breath that did nothing and another and another.

Hands grabbed hers and led her to a chair, pushing gently, until she sat down.

‘It’s OK, Lucy. You’re safe. You’re fine. Listen to me. You’re OK.’

She felt his hand come to rest on her stomach.

‘Next time you try to breath push out your stomach against my hand as you inhale and try to breathe in through your nose.’

He repeated the words and she tried to make sense of them. Breathe out. No inhale. Nose. She closed her eyes and listened to his voice.

‘Inhale through your nose. Push against my hand. And again. Inhale, push. That’s it. Inhale, push.’

His voice took on a gentle rhythmic monotony which was both soothing and reassuring.

‘That’s it. You’re doing fine, Lucy. You’re doing fine. You’re going to be OK.’

Gradually she felt the panic subside and although her pulse thudded furiously, she felt herself start to settle. Alex’s hand was still lying on her stomach, just above her diaphragm, and his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. She blinked up at him, trying to assimilate everything, grateful for his quiet presence. Through the door she could hear the busy reception, Brynja talking, people laughing and the sound of luggage being wheeled over the polished lava floor tiles.

‘You OK?’

Feeling dazed, she nodded, tears pricking at her eyes as shock and embarrassment set in. Her mouth crumpled as she muttered, ‘I’m sorry,’ with a little hitch to her voice. She couldn’t believe she’d made such a fool of herself. And in front of Alex of all people. The man who saw so much, there were times when she thought he should be running this place. He always seemed so together with that natural easy authority of his.

She sniffed and tried to turn away.

‘Hey,’ his voice resonated with something that made her heart ping in her chest. ‘Don’t cry.’ With gentle hands he pulled her into hug and, although she was not normally one for the damsel in distress routine, for once it was rather nice to bury her head against his chest. And when his arms closed around her, she sank into his warm hold and let the rest of the world and all its problems recede away. There was something rather wonderful about being held. No words, just another body, cocooning her and keeping her safe. Beneath her cheek, she could feel Alex’s chest lift and fall in a steady, reassuring rhythm through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He smelled good, male and clean, with a hint of cedar and sandalwood. She closed her eyes realising this was the first time she’d been held for a very long time. After what had happened, she’d shied away from other people, even Daisy. She hadn’t wanted comfort, she was too angry and humiliated for that. Too determined to put a brave face on things and show the world that she was OK, when inside she was dying of shame.

Breathing in Alex’s scent, she was grateful for his quiet steadiness, the way that he didn’t try and say anything. It demonstrated that gentle confidence he had and the unassuming authority he wore so well. Today he felt like an ancient harbour hewn of stone that had offered shelter in stormy seas countless times and would always be there to do it again. And when had she become so fanciful?

She pulled away and looked up at him. Those amber flecked eyes studied her, solemn and unblinking, radiating kindness and concern.

‘Thank you.’ She tried to summon up a tremulous smile but failed miserably. ‘Weren’t you helping with their luggage?’

‘I saw you needed help.’

‘I appreciate it.’

‘Anytime.’ His grave tone and simple response reassured her. No platitudes. No fuss. No false sympathy, just steadfast silent support as if he knew that was exactly what she needed.

‘Sorry about that I …’ she winced. The whole sordid escapade was still too raw and hideous. ‘I-I…’

‘Lucy,’ he laid a finger to her lips. ‘You don’t have to explain anything.’ He gave her arms a quick squeeze. ‘Can I get you anything? A coffee? Something to eat?’

She took in a deep breath and exhaled, shaking her head.

‘Have you eaten this morning?’

‘No, Mum. I grabbed a coffee.’ Thank goodness for the new coffee machine which had proved a big hit.

‘Coffee?’ Alex said and then tsked.

‘I haven’t had time,’ she protested, horribly aware of her untidy desk directly in her eyeline. Every day there seemed to be more to do.

‘Well there you go, you daft woman,’ his Scottish accent deepened. ‘You should’ve had your porridge.’

Now she did smile at him. ‘Porridge, of course. So that’s where I went wrong.’

‘And you probably need a break from this place. Have you had a proper day off since you’ve been here?’

She shrugged.

‘And when’s your next day off.’

‘Supposedly … today,’ she muttered, dropping her gaze.

With two fingers he lifted her chin as he lifted one arched eyebrow. ‘It just so happens it’s my day off too, today, and I’m off to see a waterfall which I’ve been assured by Hekla is one of “the” things to see. Gullfoss.’

Lucy smiled, he sounded rather proud that he could pronounce it ‘Excellent Icelandic accent,’ she teased.

‘To be honest, it is the only place that I can pronounce. Might as well start somewhere.’ His face sobered and then he asked. ‘So, why don’t you come with me?’

A car pulled up in front of her, a tiny white Toyota Aygo and Alex waved from the driver’s seat as the passenger window slid down.

‘Hop in.’

‘Sadly no porridge, but …’ she held up two foil packages, ‘I did blag some bacon butties for the journey,’ she said, climbing in and fastening her seatbelt.

‘Excellent and don’t tell anyone but I don’t miss porridge that much,’ said Alex, with a crooked grin, ‘not when bacon butties are on offer.’

‘I’m not convinced the 3G en route is going to be that great. How’s your navigation?’ he asked with a cheery smile handing her a map.

‘So, so.’ She unfurled the map to peer at it. ‘But it’s not as if there are a lot of roads here. It looks pretty straightforward. I had a quick look on Google.’

‘I should have known. You are a planner. Don’t worry, we stay on the main coast road for most of the way and then we take a right, by which time it should be light. Hekla says it’s well signposted. You can probably stand down as a navigator.’

‘I wonder if it’s going to snow again,’ said Lucy looking up at the sky, which was the clearest it had been for a few days. The previous dump of snow had melted fast leaving the roads completely clear and it was a couple of degrees warmer. ‘The forecast for today is quite good. Allegedly there will be sunshine.’ She wasn’t convinced but Brynja had insisted on checking three different weather pages once she’d heard where Lucy was going.

‘Yeah, it’s supposed to brighten up later. You have dressed for every eventuality, haven’t you? The weather is very changeable.’

He slid the car into gear and swung out of the car park onto the road.

‘So Hekla and Brynja keep telling me.’ Lucy laughed and leaned back in her chair adjusting the seat back. It felt good to be out of the hotel. ‘Hekla’s been fussing around me like a mother hen. Three layers. You need three layers. You can take layers off. Put layers on.’ She attempted to mimic Hekla’s accent. ‘And no jeans, they take too long to dry. Hence these rather attractive khaki numbers she forced Brynja to lend me.’ Despite the fact that Brynja was several inches shorter and a size bigger. However thick long woolly socks filled the missing inches above Lucy’s walking boots and she’d pushed them around her ankles leg warmer style so that she didn’t look completely ridiculous.

‘She said the same to me,’ said Alex, focusing on the road. ‘And my fleece was given her personal seal of approval.’

‘Well done, my waterproof wasn’t. It was snatched out of my hands with a spiel of heavy-duty Icelandic disapproval before she went rifling through the lost property box in the office to find this.’ Lucy held out the zipped edge of the sturdy navy Berghaus coat before wriggling out of it and stowing it at her feet. ‘She gives the same lecture to the guests at least once a day. I think she might be an undercover operator for Mountain Warehouse.’ Lucy looked down at her drab, sensible but practical clothing and remembered the recruitment consultant in her red suit. Home was a very long way away.

‘Neat theory, although it could be she wants to make sure everyone enjoys their time here. I’ve noticed she’s very passionate about her own country. There’s nothing worse than being cold and miserable.’

Outside the car the heavy cloud cover made it difficult to believe the promised sunshine would materialise, it was still quite dark despite the sunrise at quarter to nine. The car’s headlights carved a strong beam tracking along the ribbon of mostly single-track road.

‘Tell me about it. It took me four years to get used to the weather in Manchester.’

‘You’d be fine in Edinburgh then.’

‘I’ve been a couple of times on business. I loved it. The company I wo… I went to a couple of conferences up there. The city is so dramatic, especially with the castle perched up high above the town.’

‘And wet and cold in the winter,’ said Alex. ‘So where do you come from originally?’

‘Portsmouth, although I can’t imagine ever going back there. I like living in the north.’

‘This far north?’

‘Hmm not sure that I could live here forever.’ Her spirits drooped. ‘My plan was to stick it out here for a least a year, before I knew the place is up for sale. Unfortunately,’ she held up a hand before he could comment on her stupidity, ‘I’m on a temporary contract.’ There was a silence when she thought he might have commented, so she carried on, ‘I thought it was a probationary precaution, now I realise it paves the way for any new owners to bring in their own team of people. And yes, feel free to tell me that was a dumb thing to do.’

Alex didn’t say anything, he seemed to be focusing hard on the road.

In the quiet of the car, with the engine humming, she brooded about the future. Reluctant to disturb Alex’s concentration, she stared out of the window at the endless black tarmac road lit up by the golden beam of the headlights.

She could see the grey ribbon of road stretching ahead for miles, weaving its way through the virtually uninhabited landscape. As they drove along, houses were few and far between, although the sheep were plentiful and quite a few strayed dangerously close to the road. As they followed the signs towards Reykjavik, Lucy reflected that it seemed a long time since she’d first driven this way, her heart sinking at how far the lodge was from any town of any size.

‘I can’t believe I’ve been here nearly two weeks already.’

‘Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself,’ teased Alex.

‘Or working double shifts,’ she retorted. ‘I’m glad that the staff are all more settled and there’s been no more talk about flipping elves. Although I’m still wondering where the dead mice came from and what stopped them.’

‘You mean it wasn’t the magic unicorn?’ he asked with a quick raise of his eyebrows.

‘I never thanked you for that. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the “steals their magic”. It was inspired,’ she laughed.

Alex smirked. ‘Not as inspired as the unicorn idea to start with.’ His face softened and he turned to her. ‘I owe you an apology actually. You handled it well. I’d have told them to stop with the nonsense if they wanted to be paid. I realise now that some people do take this elf stuff seriously.’

‘Mm,’ said Lucy, remembering his stern expression that morning and the disapproval he’d radiated. ‘I think you’ll find it was less inspiration and more desperation. My first day and I panicked. God knows what I’d have done if all the staff had walked out. Funny there hasn’t been a repeat of the anything like the “mices”. You haven’t heard of anything?’

Alex shook his head. ‘No, it’s a bit of a mystery.’

‘Mystery? That’s a kind way of putting it. Pretty mean trick. Someone playing a joke that really wasn’t very funny. Let’s hope with the arrival of the film crew, they’ll keep their tricks to themselves.’

They lapsed into thoughtful silence.

‘Do you want any music on?’ asked Alex, his hand straying to the radio.

‘Hmm, not sure. Apart from Björk, I don’t know any Icelandic music.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a playlist on my phone.’

‘Could be interesting,’ said Lucy. ‘What sort of playlist is it?’

Alex looked worried. ‘It’s just a playlist.’

‘Not a driving playlist, then.’

‘No,’ he said warily. ‘A playlist of tracks I like.’

She pulled out her phone. ‘I have playlists for running, driving, cleaning.’

‘Cleaning? You have a cleaning playlist.’

‘Yes,’ said Lucy. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘Clearly not,’ said Alex. ‘Although it’s not something I think about that much. I do the bare minimum when I absolutely have to.’

‘Typical man.’

‘I prefer to call it an efficient time and motion approach. So, what’s on your driving playlist? Is it fit for human consumption?’

‘Of course. Don’t you trust me?’

‘No, you might be a closet Metallica fan.’

Lucy pretended to think for a moment.

‘I might be.’

‘Are you?’

Lucy giggled and stopped. She was rusty in that department. It was a long time since she’d felt like giggling. ‘I couldn’t name a single one of their tracks.’

‘No, you look more of a Take That type.’

‘And what does that look like?’ She lifted one dangerous eyebrow daring him to comment.

‘Er … you know … normal.’

‘I’ll take normal. To be honest I’m not really that into music. I never had that much time to listen.’

‘Give us your worst, put on your playlist.’

Luckily Alex didn’t seem to mind her music and even commented a couple of times that he liked a track. He made her skip one but then she wasn’t a huge Justin Bieber fan either.

‘Look, the sun’s coming out.’ They’d been driving for forty minutes and the earlier thick black clouds had started to thin, like a ragged net, their edges tinged with pale pink and gold, and within the breaks Lucy could see pale blue sky.

‘I think Hekla might have got the weather right, it is going to be a nice day.’

‘Ah look, I think this is our turning. And yes, there’s a sign post.’ They followed the signs which were excellent, but then Lucy figured, you wouldn’t want people getting lost out here, the landscape was pretty inhospitable and even quite eerie in some places, like an alien planet. On some stretches of road, there hadn’t a been a single sign of human habitation for miles. She was glad that Alex was driving.

The road began to climb and before long they were pulling into the car park at Gullfoss.

‘Oh goodness, you can hear it,’ said Lucy, listening to the boom of water as they started walking up the footpath, passing early risers going the other way, drenched in their sodden waterproofs although managing cheery grins.

They stopped on the path as they caught their first glimpse of the torrent of water crashing down the craggy rocks. Fine sprays of water drifted through the air, rising up from the deep river bed billowing across the chasm like gossamer curtains floating on the breeze.

‘Wow,’ said Lucy, staring down at the roiling, foaming flow racing over the edge of the dark rocks like an unstoppable force.

‘It’s quite something.’ For a moment the pair of them marvelled at the view.

‘Do you want to go up there, out on the ledge?’ asked Alex, pointing to the rocky ledge protruding almost into the heart of the waterfall. There were already a few people up there, standing like tiny ants against the backdrop of the white foam of the water. It frothed, boiling with movement before racing down in perpetual columns through the rocks to the edge where the wide river simply dropped away into a deep channel.

‘Or up there?’ he turned and pointed to the much safer vantage point on the hill above the waterfall.

Lucy lifted her face welcoming the cold bite of the fine mist against her skin and looked at the wooden fenced enclosure on the top of the hill and then back at the ledge around which the water churned and foamed like furious white horses. Down there the sound would be deafening, the air laden with water droplets and the proximity to the edge terrifying.

‘The ledge,’ she said feeling a punch of adrenaline, turning and grinning at Alex, the hair escaping from her hat already plastered to her face.

‘OK,’ said Alex grinning back, taking her hand as he picked up the pace and headed forwards with a purposeful stride. ‘Let’s do this.’

By the time they reached the rocky plateau, they were both slightly breathless, their faces covered in a fine sheen of water, with rivulets running from chins and noses. Alex stepped out first, gingerly side-stepping puddles and sharp rocks, and then waited, holding out his hand again to guide her through. She hesitated, a mix of fear and excitement scrambling her thoughts and then saw him nodding at her, encouragement shining in those warm brown eyes. With a tremulous smile she took his hand and followed him out onto the shelf of rock.

When they reached the centre of the ledge, surrounded on two sides by water, her hand gripping his, they stopped. The roar of the water thudded through her body sending her pulse racing in tandem with the elemental thrill of the raw power of nature. She stood absorbing the sensation of sheer power and the feeling of being a hairsbreadth away from annihilation.

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