Garden of the Moongate (20 page)

Allendre frowned. "What do you mean, they can't make any money? I thought Shannon House had always paid better than any other hotel on the island."

"That's true, and when Mr. Patrick came back, he did up our wages so they're a little higher than the average now. But since we ain't allowed to take tips no more, my boys just ain't making enough. Most of 'em have families to support, and…"

"But I thought all the hotels here had done away with the tipping system and started adding gratuities to the guests' bills. Surely, when that's divided up among the employees, they earn about the same amount as they did when they were getting tips."

Henry sniffed. "Maybe they would, miss, but the employees here at Shannon don't ever see one cent of that gratuity money. When Miss Hopkins started working it that way, she said all our wages would go up to make up for losing the tips, but they never did until—"

"You mean she never gave you the raises?" Allendre exclaimed softly. "She just left your wages the same as they were before?"

"Of course she did; she didn't want to give us any more than she had to," Henry mumbled resentfully. "Until Mr. Patrick came, nobody here got a raise, and what he gave us sure didn't make up for what we lost."

"So you're all making less money now than you did before, aren't you? Well, no wonder morale is low. I'm surprised all of you didn't quit." Allendre shook her head impatiently. "I can't imagine how Miss Hopkins expected to get by with this without almost everybody quitting. People just don't like it when they start making less money for the same amount of work, and I certainly can't blame anybody for feeling that way."

"Miss Hopkins don't care how we feel, miss. She fired the two people who complained about the change, and when she started reducing the staff, too, nobody wanted to risk making her mad. It's no fun getting fired, miss. You want to find another job, then quit the one you have. And that's what three fourths of the staffs doing these days—trying to find places at other hotels so they can quit here."

"What a stupid, unnecessary mess," Allendre muttered, mostly to herself. Then, as she realized she was going to have to run to Ric with this latest piece of bad news, she looked at Henry with something like pleading in her eyes. "Mr. Shannon will change all this; I'm sure he will. Are you sure you couldn't tell him what you've just told me? I know he wouldn't think of firing you. He
wants
to know what's causing the low morale at Shannon."

"I can't take the chance, Miss Corey," Henry said firmly. "How do I know Mr. Patrick didn't tell Miss Hopkins to do what she's doing?"

"But he didn't! I know."

"But I
don't
know." Henry shook his head emphatically. "No, ma'am, you can tell if you want to—but remember, you promised you'd not tell him where you heard about this."

"All right," Allendre breathed in defeat. "I won't tell him where I got my information. But wait and see: when he hears what's going on, he'll make some changes. For the better."

"I hope so, miss," Henry muttered, shaking his head. "I do hope so."

"Henry, wait," Allendre called as he started walking away. "Do… do you happen to know where Mr. Shannon is right now? I haven't seen him all day."

"Been in Hamilton since early this morning," Henry told her, inclining his head toward the north hall. "But I saw him come in a few minutes ago. He
was
in the lounge."

"Maybe, if I'm lucky, alcohol does make him mellow," she said ruefully to herself. Then she gathered up her courage, left Loretta in charge of the desk, and walked slowly toward the lounge.

A small, cozy room with soft lights, the lounge was more like a typical English pub; it even had a much-used dart board hanging on one wall. Several couples who had already arrived for before-dinner cocktails sat at small tables, but Ric himself was sitting at the bar, chatting amicably with the bartender. Dragging her feet, Allendre approached him, dismayed by the painful knot that gathered in her chest, and irritated at herself for ever letting her emotions run wild until she had fallen irrevocably in love with him. If he had spent last night with Deb—and in all probability he had—he was not the man Allendre had begun to imagine him to be. If he could drift into affairs so casually, then he was too shallow for her and she should never have been idiotic enough to get involved with him in the first place. She shouldn't feel hurt right now, she told herself firmly; she should simply feel disrespect and distaste. But she didn't. She felt betrayed. Biting her lower lip to control the tears that threatened to fill her eyes, she had to force herself to walk up to the bar and stop behind him. For a moment he didn't realize she was there, but as she started to tap his shoulder he apparently sensed her presence and turned, one of those devastatingly attractive smiles lighting his face.

"I… Could I talk to you?" she asked stiffly. "It's important."

"Of course, Allie," he murmured, his blue eyes wandering over her. "I want to talk to you, too. Let me get you a drink and we'll go sit at a table."

Allendre shook her head. "Nothing for me, thank you."

"I insist," he said, still smiling, though more mischievously now. "You've never tried a Shannon Daisy, have you? You'll like it. It was my grandfather's creation, and it's very refreshing."

"But I don't…"

"One Shannon Daisy, Mac," Ric told the bartender, ignoring Allendre's protest as if it hadn't been uttered. Picking up his own drink, he cupped her elbow in one large, warm hand and guided her across the room to a secluded table in the corner, where he sat down facing her. As she clasped her hands together on the tabletop he covered them both with his and began to toy idly with the tips of her fingers. "I want to apologize for not calling you last night," he said softly. "I wanted to, but—"

"You needn't explain to me," she interrupted tautly, trying to pull her hands from beneath his, but to no avail. "I… You didn't promise to call; you only said you might."

His dark eyebrows lifted as he examined her tense features. "You're upset. I'm sorry. I really meant to call, Allendre. But while I was in the office with Deb, she started talking about Lawrence, about how worried she is about his health, and she got herself so upset that I had to take her to my cottage and give her a chance to calm down a little. I didn't think it would do Lawrence any good to see her that way. By the time she stopped crying, it was too late to call you."

"I see," Allendre mumbled, though she wouldn't allow herself to believe a word he'd said. She couldn't see Deb Hopkins dissolving into pathetic tears, even over her uncle. But if that was what Ric wanted her to believe, then she'd play along. Though her cheeks felt stiff, she gave him a tiny smile. "I understand."

"No, you don't, obviously," he said with restrained impatience. "For some reason you don't want to believe me. I'd like to know what that reason is, if you don't mind."

"I believe you," she lied, then felt unreasonably disappointed when he released her hands to reach into his pocket for a cigarette. She managed a smile for the waitress who brought her drink, which was served in a tall frosted glass. Self-conscious with Ric watching her closely over the rim of his own tumbler, she pushed the maraschino cherry aside with the tip of her little finger and took a sip. The amber liquid, a mixture of lime and pineapple juices and what she guessed was probably rum, tasted very good, but, as she swallowed, a burning sensation trailed down her throat and she barely managed to prevent herself from gasping. Heat suffused her cheeks, though she wasn't embarrassed until she glanced up and noticed Ric watching her with a puzzled frown that rapidly changed to a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Then nothing would have induced her to tell him that the drink was a little too strong, but she didn't need to admit that, anyway. Lifting his hand, he beckoned the waitress. "Bring Miss Corey about four ounces of lime and pineapple juice in a twenty-ounce glass, please."

Though the girl seemed a little taken aback by the unusual request, she nodded, went away, and returned in less than a minute.

"Pour your drink into that," he told Allendre. "It'll weaken the rum."

"But it's fine the way it is," she lied, taking another sip to prove her words and feeling mortified when her eyes watered revealingly. "Well, maybe it is a little strong for me."

Ric leaned forward and poured the contents of the smaller glass into the larger one. "There you are." He smiled. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Before her courage could desert her, she told him what she had learned from Henry, without mentioning his name and without embellishing the facts. As his expression grew increasingly more grim she shrank back in her chair, realizing he might not appreciate hearing such news about Deb after spending the night with her. Allendre steeled herself for the possibility that he might blame her for being the bearer of such tidings, but luckily he wasn't that unfair.

"That girl," he muttered, placing the blame right where it should be placed, on Deb. "No wonder she goes into a song and dance whenever I question her about the excess profits. And now I suspect all her concern about Lawrence last night was a ploy to keep me from asking her more questions about July's financial report."

Allendre's eyes widened. He must have been telling her the truth about last night, after all, or else he was a very thorough liar. Angry as he was right now, she could hardly believe he was interested in elaborating on a lie simply to make it sound more plausible, but she wasn't sure of that. As far as he was concerned, she wasn't sure of anything. She was sure, however, that she wouldn't have traded places with Deb for anything in the world when the older girl sauntered into the lounge and Ric's eyes grayed to that steel glint.

"Hello, darling," Deb cooed, pulling out a chair and joining them at the table, apparently unaware of his murderous look. "Ooh, I'm just dying for a drink. Something really cool." After giving Allendre the briefest of acknowledging nods, she waved the waitress over. "A bourbon mist—and be sure and tell Mac to use crushed ice, not chipped."

"I'm sure Mac knows how to make a bourbon mist," Ric said through clenched teeth. "He's been a bartender for over twenty years and he knows his job, which is more than I can say for you."

"I'd better go," Allendre said hastily, not eager to stick around for the explosion. But as Ric caught her hand and demanded that she stay she subsided in her chair and nervously took several quick sips of her Shannon Daisy.

"What was that little remark supposed to mean?" Deb asked heatedly. "You sound like you're mad at me again, and I can't imagine why you would be."

"Can't you, Deb?" Ric's icy gaze raked over her. "Well, maybe this will give you a clue. Why didn't you tell me all our extra profits came out of the pockets of the staff?"

"Pockets of the staff?" Deb blustered. "What in the world do you mean? How could I—"

"Don't try to bluff your way out of this one, Deb," Ric commanded, his voice deceptively low. "I know you started adding gratuities to the bills, but you didn't bother to pass that money on to the people who do all the real work. What were you thinking of? Didn't you realize you can't expect to keep an excellent staff by lowering the amount of money they make every week? For God's sake, Deb, our employees don't work here just for the fun of it! They work here to feed their families; and, considering what you did to them, I'm surprised they didn't all walk out on you long ago."

"Well, they didn't," Deb said with a smirk. "And do you know why? Because they knew they were getting fair wages for a change. The entire Shannon family's always pampered the employees here, but when I took charge they knew the free ride was over and they accepted it. Heavens, everybody and his brother used to want to get a job at Shannon House because the wages were so much higher and—"

"And that's why Shannon was the best hotel on the island," Ric interrupted, glaring at her furiously. "Because we paid better, we could hire the best people. I thought you had sense enough to realize that."

"You're wrong, Ric," Deb argued foolishly, playing with the ice in her drink. "If you pamper employees, they just stop working."

"Really?" he countered mockingly. "They seemed to work a lot harder before Lawrence became ill. At least, judging by what I saw the day I arrived here, they weren't eager to work for you. Of course, you'd not only stopped the pampering; you'd started stealing from them."

"That's not fair, Patrick," Deb whined, finally realizing how upset he was. "I wasn't stealing. I never took a penny of that money for myself, and you know that. What I did, I did for you."

"No, Deb, you did it for yourself," he muttered, raking his long fingers through his hair. "You thought you'd impress us with the extra profits, but it didn't quite work out that way. Shannon House doesn't just mean money to my family, and it seems to me you've known us all long enough to realize that. But you don't really know the family or me at all, do you, Deb?"

Deb's lips quivered. "You're being so mean, Patrick. How can you? After last night…"

Unwilling to hear more, Allendre started to rise to her feet, then sank back down in her chair when Ric gestured impatiently and his cold gray eyes met hers. During the next half hour, as the sparks continued to fly, she sat in her protective silence, watching the other two and automatically sipping her way through her first drink, then a second that Ric ordered for her. Finally, much to her relief, he tired of Deb's pathetically weak arguments in her own defense.

"Enough," he demanded, interrupting Deb midsentence. "I have nothing else to say to you on the subject—except this: we will repay the employees what's owed them, and you will apologize to them."

"But, Ric, I…"

"You will," he said emphatically, "And remember that I won't tolerate any more of your interference in the policies here at Shannon. In other words, Deb, one more stupid incident and
you'll
be looking for a job. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Deb snapped, pushing out her chair and jumping to her feet. Then she turned on Allendre with a look of unbridled hatred. "I suppose I have you to thank for this little sermon, don't I? Someone talked to you, and you couldn't wait to come tattling to Ric."