“She was an actress,” he says. “Theatre. I think she just wanted an excuse to stay out even later than she already did. That woman could dance the feet off a caterpillar.”
“Sounds like a girl after my own heart,” I say, rearranging the fir branch on the mantelpiece. Though actually it’s been ages since I’ve danced. Except for that day in Shannon’s flat, which I am now having to try very hard not to think about.
“So, what’s he got planned for you?” Mr. Townsend asks, nodding in the direction Lucas went.
“Sorry?”
“It is Lucas Day, isn’t it?”
“Who told you that?”
Mr. Townsend tries looking mysterious for a moment, and then gives up and says, “Ollie.”
“Who told him? No, don’t tell me, it was Arjun. So does everybody know?”
“I don’t think Barty does,” Mr. Townsend says. “But Barty never seems to know what’s going on around here, does he?”
I manage not to laugh at this, and give myself rare full marks for professionalism. A family pass on their way to brunch in the dining room, and Mr. Townsend and I pause politely before launching back in.
“It may be Lucas Day officially, but I think it’s an Izzy day really,” I say. “After all, you’re happy . . .”
“Perfectly,” Mr. Townsend says, reaching for his glasses.
“The muses are striking away at Mrs. Muller . . .”
“The housekeeping team are no doubt thrilled to hear it.”
“And I got baby Jacobs to sleep!”
“Certainly an Izzy day,” Mr. Townsend says gravely.
I lift my chin, putting the finishing touches on the mantelpiece decorations. Lucas needs to up his game, I’d say.
* * *
? ? ? ? ?
“Oh my god. No.”
“No?”
“No!”
“Is that Fuck right off, Lucas no?”
I grimace. “Well, no, it isn’t. But I don’t want to do this. I thought you’d make me do gross stuff, like scrubbing bathrooms! I didn’t think you’d make me”—I wave my hands around the computer screen—“digitalise.”
“If you become more familiar with the system, you will learn how useful it can be. Even Poor Mandy likes it now.”
“She likes it if you’re asking. When I ask, she says she prefers the booking book.”
“Of course she does. But what happens if there’s a fire and the booking book burns? Everything will be lost forever.”
I do know that the online system is more sensible. I’m not a total Luddite. I just love the ritual of the booking book, and guests do, too—signing in with the fountain pen, flicking through the thin pages, the heft of that leather cover as it thuds closed on the desk . . . It’s all part of the hotel experience, like the gold bell they ding if they need us and we’re not there. We could have an intercom-type system for that, but we don’t, because dinging is fun.
“I’m updating guest profiles this morning,” Lucas says. “Which means you are, too. Here,” he says, pushing one of the old booking books my way. “You can have 2011. Your ring was lost the summer of that year—maybe you’ll find something useful.”
Reluctantly, I reach for the book and drag it towards me. Lucas gives a satisfied nod and returns to his computer screen, tapping away.
“How long am I doing this for?” I ask, logging in.
“Until I say so.”
I can feel his smile.
He keeps me at the desk like this for an hour and a half. This might actually be the longest I’ve ever sat still at work, and it’s definitely the longest I’ve sat next to Lucas without one of us speaking to a guest or running off to do something else.
It’s oddly companionable. Mostly we don’t talk, but occasionally Lucas makes an idle remark, and at one point, astonishingly, he makes me a cup of tea. We coexist, basically. I’m quite surprised we have it in us.
Infuriatingly, Lucas is right: I do find something useful for my ring. As I transfer everything to Lucas’s system, I notice that a few of the guests on extended stays were missed when I made my list of people to contact, because they’d checked in several weeks or months before the time when the ring was found.
I scribble down their names, pen pausing when I hit Mr. and Mrs. Townsend. It’s sort of happy and sort of sad to think that Maisie was with him back then. I make a note to speak to him—the ring can’t be Maisie’s, since she wore hers until the day she died, but he might remember someone losing their engagement ring during one of his stays at the hotel.