Slowly, items from around the hotel begin to disappear. An antique wooden dresser; several paintings of old men whose importance was long ago forgotten, which they would probably have found very upsetting; and the vases. I never thought I would miss those vases, but every time someone comes to collect another one, I feel a teeny twinge in my chest.
Meanwhile, I am making rubbish progress with the Ring Thing. It’s actually a lot harder than I thought it would be, though of course Lucas is under the impression that I’m seconds away from returning every single one. I do get one promising email about the diamond engagement ring from an address that’s a garbled string of letters and numbers. It says, Hold fire, I’ll call upon return to UK. No name, nothing. All a bit weird. But nobody rings, so I forget about it, lost in a flurry of lost-property items, rain, and social obligations.
When the phone call comes, I am talking through a new lunch menu with Arjun, who now has a very limited number of people with whom to discuss these things （Ollie suggested we should serve Doritos with Arjun’s forty-eight-hour chilli and has been banned from having opinions）。
“The bitterness needs offsetting,” Arjun is saying.
“Right, totally,” I say, bubble-wrapping a vintage snow globe that just sold to someone in Northumberland for a satisfying ?85. It’s a great price, but I hate selling this stuff—especially the festive decorations. I want the hotel to look like it did on my first Christmas here: glowing, gorgeous, its mantelpieces laden with thick fir branches and golden lights.
“I’m thinking salt-crusted parsnip?”
“Salt-crusted,” I say, tearing the Sellotape with my teeth. “Perfect.”
“Are you humouring me?” Arjun asks, eyes appearing from behind the menu, which is held about two inches from his face. He’s so overdue a visit to the optician that I have considered booking one for him and luring him there by pretending I’ve found a fantastic new deli.
“I’m giving you what you need,” I say, “which is a sounding board and some validation.”
The menu drops further. “Will you swap jobs with Ollie?” Arjun asks. “Please?”
“Ollie’s great. He’s just new, and you never like new things. You thought I was annoying for at least a year.”
“You have always been my favourite!” Arjun says, outraged at the very suggestion. He has a selective memory for his own bad-temperedness.
“Give Ollie a chance.”
“Puh,” Arjun says as he nabs my pen to scribble down a note about parsnips. “You give Lucas a chance, then.”
He looks up and laughs at my expression. Arjun is usually the last person to suggest going easy on anyone. I remember the first time Drew popped in to see me while I was at work—she’d been hoping for a free lunch. Arjun eyed her through the kitchen door and said, That’s the flatmate you’re always bending over backwards for? I say cut her loose. She’s ordered three sides, Izzy. That is a woman who takes what she can get.
The phone rings before I can respond to Arjun.
“Forest Manor Hotel and Spa, this is Izzy speaking! How can I help you?”
“Hello,” says a gravelly male voice. “Full name, please?”
“Umm. Izzy Jenkins? Isabelle Jenkins?”
“And can I ask you to confirm the address of your place of work?”
I blink. “Am I, like, going through security for something here?”
There is a slight pause. “I got an email,” the man says. “And I need to confirm that I’m speaking to the correct person.”
“Was the email about a wedding or engagement ring?” I say hopefully.
“Affirmative,” the man says.
Ooh, I love that. I am going to start saying affirmative. When Jem next messages me asking if I’m all caught up on Strictly, that is exactly what I’m going to say back.
“I responded to say I would be in touch when I returned to the UK. I’m back now, and I’d like to request a follow-up email with an image of the engagement ring in question,” he says.
“I can do that for you, no problem!”
“I’ll be in touch once that has been safely received,” he says. “Goodbye.”
“The Ring Thing?” Arjun asks as I click the phone back into the receiver, slightly dazed.
“Yeah. Crap. That was all so weird I didn’t even take his name. Though I’m pretty sure I know who it was.” I look up at Arjun. “Am I being ridiculous about these rings, like Lucas says?”