Garden of the Moongate (5 page)

Though Allendre couldn't hear, she watched with some amusement as the three hastily straightened their blue uniforms and their expressions changed from lazy insolence to respect. And when Ric inclined his head toward the hotel entrance, they trotted away obediently to escort the waiting guests inside.

"Where are your bags, Allie?" Ric asked rather wearily.

"Outside. I left them when I came in to look for a bellman. They'll bring them in, won't they?"

Nodding, he turned toward the desk again, beckoning the older girl. "You, what's your name?"

"Loretta, sir," she answered squeakily. "Loretta Smithers."

"Well, Loretta, you handle the desk, since that dress you have on isn't a total disaster." He shook his head at the other two clerks. "Both of you live in the staff quarters?" he asked patiently, and when they nodded, he added, "Go change to white blouses and dark skirts. When you come back, Loretta can go change, too. From now on, come to work dressed neatly, or don't come at all."

"Yes, sir," they sang out as they darted away.

"Now, Loretta, check Miss Corey in, and when the other guests come inside, try not to keep them waiting too long. Call the bar and have them send a couple of waiters up here. The least we can do is provide some refreshment to compensate a little for their inconvenience."

"Very good, sir," Loretta said, giving an oddly satisfied little smile. Then she glanced past Ric and inclined her head. "There's Miss Hopkins now, Mr. Shannon."

As both she and Ric turned, Allendre watched Debra Hopkins lift her hand in a lazy wave as she strolled down the long east hall toward them. Tall and boyishly slim, clad in a poppy-red jump suit, she had short chestnut hair styled softly around her face and big hazel eyes that, at the moment, saw no one except Ric.

"Patrick," she drawled rather nasally, "you infuriating man." Planting a lingering kiss on his mouth, she draped a long bare arm across his shoulders. "Why didn't you tell us you were coming?"

"Would I have found things running a little more smoothly if I had told you, Deb?"

Still clinging tenaciously to his shoulder, Debra leaned back slightly to examine his face. "You sound a little angry. Is something wrong?"

"Is something wrong?" he repeated softly yet impatiently. "Yes, something's wrong! Deb, I hardly recognize this place! What's going on here?"

With a dramatic sigh that sounded very phony to Allendre, Debra rested her cheek briefly against Ric's shoulder. "Well, you know Uncle Lawrence has been ill. I've been doing all the work myself, but I guess it's just too much for me to handle. I'm so glad you're here, Ric. I need you. I've tried, but…"

"I'm sure you've tried, Deb," he relented slightly, obviously because she seemed to be on the verge of tears. "But answer one question. Why on earth did you hire that bum Cooley as assistant manager?"

"Oh, but Gerald's not a bum," Deb protested laughingly. "He happens to have a college degree."

"I don't care if he has a hundred degrees; he's still a slob," Ric replied, his voice low, his words clipped. "The guests certainly don't care about his education. They only want someone efficient, which he isn't, and someone with decent manners and professionalism, which he certainly doesn't have. I just can't imagine what made you think he would ever make a suitable assistant manager."

"Oh, please don't fuss at me, Ric," Deb whined, wriggling closer to him. "I did the very best I could, really I did. Say you're not really mad at me."

"We'll talk about this later," he replied, raking his fingers through his hair. "Right now help get these guests checked in. They've had to wait long enough already."

After disentangling himself from Deb's arms, he walked behind the desk into the office Gerald had vacated. Until he shut the door behind him, Deb stood with her head inclined, the perfect picture of the dejected and helpless woman. But once Ric was gone, she proceeded to bully Loretta and even tried to take some of her frustration out on Allendre.

"What do you want, miss?" she snapped hatefully. "Are you waiting for something?"

Shaking her head, hardly aware of the older woman's rudeness, Allendre signed the register, then took the room key Loretta handed her and wandered in the direction of the elevators. As she stood waiting she stared back at the closed door behind the desk. Ric Shannon could be a harsh man sometimes—as she had learned more than once during the course of the day—but, harsh as he sometimes was, it was obvious that Shannon House meant a great deal to him. Because it did, Allendre liked him, though she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Overlooking the palm-fringed beach, Allendre's room was large, airy, and quietly elegant. She loved it. A black wrought-iron railing enclosed a tiny balcony graced with two wrought-iron chairs and a small matching table. During the five minutes it took for her luggage to follow her up, she stood on the balcony, breathing in the fresh salt air. Three stories up, she had a panoramic view, and the late-afternoon sunlight glimmering on crystal azure waters created a loveliness no picture postcard could truly capture.

When a knock on her door interrupted her quiet enjoyment of the scene, she went back into the room rather reluctantly and answered the door.

"My, that was fast," she remarked as one of the young bellmen swept past her to set her suitcases on the low reed table at the foot of the huge cedarwood bed. "Are all the other guests getting settled?"

"Yes, miss, as fast as Miss Hopkins and Loretta can get 'em checked in," he answered pleasantly, his accent distinctly Bermudian, yet with a hint of British inflection. "It's amazing how fast people can work when they know the boss is around."

Allendre returned his grin. He was a courteous young man and, with his uniform buttoned properly and without his toothpick, he looked very efficient and sedate. Picking up her purse, she started to give him a tip but halted before she opened her wallet when he shook his head.

"Gratuities will be included in your bill, miss," he explained. "I'm not allowed to accept tips."

Detecting a hint of resentment in his tone, she tilted her head to one side inquiringly, but he was already halfway to the door before she could pursue the subject further. After he had gone, she sat down on the edge of her bed, stroking her chin with one finger. She had always assumed that when gratuities were added to a bill, the staff later divided the money; but if it worked that way, why had the bellman seemed to resent the practice? Maybe she had only imagined his tone had been resentful, though, she reminded herself. She
was
tired, and the fiasco downstairs had probably colored her thinking. Getting to her feet, she stretched lazily and eyed her suitcases without enthusiasm. Before she could even have a bath, she had to unpack. So, reminding herself that she would feel much more comfortable here with all her belongings put neatly into their proper places, she began the task.

It was four-thirty when Allendre finished her bath, and the long soak in the warm, scented water had made her feel very sleepy. Setting her small travel alarm clock for six, she stretched out on top of the cool quilted aquamarine bedspread and nuzzled her cheek against the pillow, closing her eyes.

She couldn't sleep. After several minutes of trying to relax, she opened her eyes again, propping herself up on one elbow, wrinkling her nose at her reflection in the vanity mirror across from the bed. Her gaze drifted around the room; it was decorated with imagination and taste. The combining of cedarwood furniture and rattan accessories had achieved a perfect balance between dark and light, while the aquamarine and cream color scheme made the room a cool, comfortable haven. However, it was a long cedarwood divan that added a touch of real elegance to the decor. Intricately carved, with a solid wood back that extended the entire length, it came from a less hectic era when ladies took the time to refresh themselves with midafternoon naps. Its plump, cream-colored cover made it look very comfortable, and Allendre smiled slightly. Perhaps she would have had better luck if she'd tried to take her nap there, like a proper lady. But no, she wouldn't have slept there, either, she decided. She simply had too much on her mind.

Only this morning her assignment here had seemed quite simple, but in the space of a few hours the situation had become considerably more complex. She was no longer certain she could evaluate Shannon House objectively, now that she knew Ric owned it and was so obviously disturbed to discover that its standard of service had been compromised. Knowing him even slightly made it impossible for her to think of the hotel impersonally, and she had no desire to malign the old place or his family's reputation simply because of a temporary management problem. Ric was obviously going to solve that problem, and it didn't seem fair to lower the hotel's rating when he would probably have everything running smoothly again very soon. Still, the service this afternoon had been horrendous, and Allendre couldn't just ignore that fact. Then there were the complaints about bill padding that she hadn't even begun to look into yet.

Mismanagement did seem to be the root of the problems here, and Allendre wasn't really surprised. She hadn't been at all impressed by Debra Hopkins. As far as she could see, the woman simply didn't possess the skills needed to manage a hotel. Actually, Allendre had disliked her, too, from the moment she had first opened her mouth. That patently false nasal drawl, combined with her pseudosophisticated mannerisms, had created a very bad first impression. There was only one compliment Allendre could have bestowed upon her—she
was
pretty.

Sighing, Allendre flopped back down on the bed, chiding herself for even considering personalities. That wasn't her job. Her job was to discover how the typical guest was treated in this hotel. She wasn't supposed to analyze the situation. Mr. Meredith wanted facts, and one fact was that Shannon House was no longer a super deluxe establishment. Even Ric realized that, so why was she so reluctant to say as much in her report? She knew why. Suddenly, she felt like a cheat, a fraud, a
spy
, as Lynn had teasingly called her. She could tell Ric who she was and exactly why she was here; she considered that briefly, then hastily squelched such a crazy idea. Telling him the truth would be as dangerous as standing in front of an onrushing train and daring it to hit her.

At seven Allendre was dressed for dinner. Checking her appearance in the cedar-framed cheval glass, she straightened the braided spaghetti straps of her apricot dress, then made certain that the lace-edged slit in her slip corresponded exactly with the center slit in the front of her skirt. With her fingertips she examined the tidiness of the heavy, loose chignon on the nape of her neck and for a moment considered pulling out the pins that held it in place and allowing her hair to tumble down around her shoulders, the way she usually wore it. But no. She looked more sophisticated with it up this way. After moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she straightened her shoulders resolutely, dropped her key into her black clutch purse, and went out the door.

She wasn't looking forward to dinner. As she took the elevator down to the second floor she tried to relax, but when she stepped out onto the plush maroon carpet in the hallway her stomach was all aflutter. Now she knew she should have realized how out of place she was going to feel staying in this hotel all alone. What if she drew attention to herself because she dined by herself? Would someone begin to wonder why she had even considered coming to a place like Bermuda unaccompanied? Obviously, Mr. Meredith hadn't thought she would be outrageously conspicuous, she told herself firmly. If he had thought so, he would have sent someone with her.