Listen to Your Heart

©2013 Mona
Ingram

All Rights
Reserved

This is a work
of fiction.

names,
characters, places and

incidents are
either the product of

the author’s
imagination

or are used
fictitiously,

and any
resemblance to

actual persons,
living or dead,

business
establishments, events,

or
locales is entirely coincidental.

It was snowing as the cab approached
Whistler Village; lazy flakes that floated slowly to the ground, covering the
dirty patches with pristine white. Morgan smiled to herself. The new layer of
snow represented a fresh beginning; one that she’d been looking forward to for
some time now.

The hotel had offered to pick her up at
the bus depot, but she’d declined. She wanted to discover Whistler on her own;
to savour those all-important first impressions by herself.

“How about here?” The cab driver pulled
into Mountain Lane. “This would be a great spot to walk in, if that’s what you
really want. The Zimmerli is right through there.” He pointed to a well-lit
lane.

Morgan hadn’t changed her mind; she
wanted to walk in, to absorb the atmosphere slowly. She paid the driver,
shouldered her backpack and started walking, her large suitcase trundling behind
over the cobblestones. The lane was well used, judging by the number of
footprints. Mid-November and Whistler was already busy.

The air was crisp and the snow squeaked
underfoot. It was magical. A corny description, she thought to herself, but
true. There was no other way to describe it. A golden glow up ahead told her
she was getting close to one of the squares and she slowed. She only had one
chance to see it for the first time, and she didn’t want to miss anything.

An abrupt turn and there she
was...standing in a perfect little alpine village. “Whistler,” she said aloud,
then looked around furtively. It wouldn’t do to get caught talking to herself
on the very first day. She stood still and took it all in; loving it, hoping
that she wasn’t going to wake up and find out she’d been dreaming.

Shops lined the main streets. Jewellery,
snowboarding gear, fur coats, brandy, smoked salmon and a million
souvenirs...all were offered for sale. The peak Christmas season was still a little
over a month away and yet every restaurant and bar appeared full, spilling
music and revellers into the cold night air. Then she remembered; it was Saturday.
She smiled to herself, knowing that those with the biggest hangovers would ski
the double black diamond runs tomorrow to prove how macho they were. It was the
same at ski resorts everywhere.

She turned another corner, went over a
small faux-bridge and there it was. She recognized it from the website, from the
brochures, and from studying Google Earth. Zimmerli Boutique Hotel. The eleventh
and most recent addition to the chain of exclusive hotels that had been started
in Italy. Lit by soft spotlights tucked into the shrubbery, the building glowed
warmly against the midnight blue of the sky. She allowed herself a moment to
admire it.

Broad, shallow steps led up to the
lobby. Miniature evergreens in black ceramic pots flanked the steps. Each tree
sparkled with tiny white lights, enticing visitors to enter. This was what
she’d wanted; to see it from the point of view of an arriving guest. So far she
liked what she saw.

The lobby was minimalist and elegant.
Morgan recognized the restraint it must have taken not to turn it into a
kitschy copy of a European ski lodge. But then this hotel was owned by Zimco, a
company known for quality and discreet, professional service.

She left her suitcase by the porter’s
desk and crossed the lobby to the registration desk.

The young man behind the counter greeted
her warmly. Behind rimless glasses, he had compelling dark green eyes.

“Good evening and welcome to the
Zimmerli Hotel,” he said.

Her first instinct was to wonder what
he’d done wrong. She’d worked in Banff long enough to know that nobody wanted
the Saturday night shift. He must be in someone’s bad books.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to make
out the name on his name tag. Her eyes were tired from a long day of travel and
she leaned forward to squint at the letters.

“Adrian,” he said with a faint smile. He
looked behind her as though expecting to see someone else.

She gave him her best hundred watt
smile. Might as well; it looked like they’d be working together. “Hi Adrian,
I’m Morgan Dempsey.”

“Yes,” he said, still looking toward the
door. “Mr. Lewis isn’t with you?”

“Mr.?” She tilted her head as though she
hadn’t heard him correctly. “Oh, you mean Dale Lewis.”

“Yes. Mr. Lewis did not come with you?”
He spoke with a slight accept. Could be French, she wasn’t sure. Could be
anything, actually. Zimco, the corporate giant that owned the Zimmerli and its
sister hotels, drew on employees from all over the world.

“No, he didn’t.” She’d love to hear more
of his accent, but she’d better explain. “You see, Dale is female, and she got
delayed back at The Lake.”

He looked up, frowned. “Lake Louise,
right?”

She was tempted to say that nobody in
the business called it by its full name, but managed to bite her tongue. “Yes.”

“She
is
coming, though?”

“She’d be here with me right now if her
supervisor hadn’t been in a minor accident. You know what housekeeping’s like,
with everything so physical. Dale volunteered to cover her shift until Monday.”

“Ah, I see.” He looked at his computer
screen as though it had some explaining to do. “Dale. An odd name for a woman.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. The
last time somebody made a remark about her name, she threatened to rip out his
tongue and...well...never mind what she said she’d do with it.”

He tried to hide a smile but failed. She
took the opportunity to study him more closely. A small horizontal scar sliced
across the bone underneath his left eye socket, starkly white against his
tanned face. Dark brown hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, but
otherwise he was buttoned up. She became aware that he was studying her as well
and looked down at the registration form.

“Are you new here, too?” She scribbled
her signature on the card. The hotel provided free accommodation for two nights
and a generous meal allowance; she wasn’t about to pass that up.

“I’ve been here a few weeks,” he said, then
glanced at his watch. “The restaurant is open until ten, so you have lots of
time. You must be hungry.” There was that little smile again.

“I’m starving.” She was dying to ask
where he was from, but he seemed a little reserved and she told herself not to
pry.

“Where are you from?” she blurted out.
So much for minding her own business.

“I’m from Switzerland.”

“Oh, you’re Swiss,” she said, all
smiles. “I wondered about the accent. So I guess you worked at one of their
hotels over there?” She made a broad gesture. “Zimco?”

“I worked at their hotel in Klosters.”

“Hmmm. Klosters. Wasn’t that the place
Princess Diana made famous when she took Wills and Harry skiing?”

He gave a wry smile. “We like to think
it was famous before that, but yes, that’s the place.”

“What was it like living there?”

“I lived in Davos.”

She nodded as though that made perfect
sense. All she knew about Davos was that there had been a G-8 Summit there some
years ago.

“Where will you be working?” he asked
tentatively.

It was the perfect opportunity. Ever
since she’d been accepted into the concierge training programme, she’d been on
cloud nine. It had been her dream forever.

She glanced across the lobby to where
the concierge desk sat in a small alcove, serenely alone. “I’ll be covering
some shifts at the front desk, but I’ll be in the concierge training programme.
It’s going to be amazing; I can hardly wait to get started.”

Adrian blinked once, twice, three times.
She couldn’t read what was going on behind those eyes, but something had
startled him. He shot a quick glance toward the alcove then looked down at his
computer screen. “Ya, I see,” he said, his accent becoming more pronounced. If
it got any thicker, he’d be wearing lederhosen and yodeling.

“How long have you worked for Zimco?”
she asked.

He blinked again and seemed decidedly
uncomfortable. “It feels like I’ve worked for them all my life.” He shrugged,
drawing attention to his broad shoulders. “But not quite. I started working at
the Klosters hotel when I was a young teenager. Clearing dishes in the dining
room and on the terrace. Stuff like that.”

“Lucky you. My parents wouldn’t let me
get a job in the mountains until I was eighteen. It was mostly about not
wanting me to leave home, even though Banff isn’t that far away from Calgary.
Eventually they gave in.” She paused for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to work
in hotels, so it was inevitable.”

He gave her a look that she couldn’t
quite decipher and held out a hand, suddenly formal. “Very nice to meet you,
Morgan.” They shook. “Morgan. Another odd name.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you
about it some time.” She pointed to the elevator. “Up there?”

“Oh. Yes.” He seemed a bit flustered.
“I’ll have your bag brought right up.” He handed her the room card. “See you
later.”

Morgan found her makeup bag, placed it
on the bathroom counter and dug out her hairbrush.

“I wonder what’s up with him?” she said
aloud, brushing her hair back from her face and securing it with a clip. She
stared at her reflection. “He seemed to pull back, as though I’d said something
wrong.” She replayed the conversation in her mind but couldn’t think of
anything she’d said to offend him. She gave her head a quick shake. “I hope
he’s not going to be a pain to work with.” Her stomach growled, reminding her
that she hadn’t had a proper meal all day. Time to eat.

Adrian was busy checking in a young
couple when she came back downstairs. The restaurant attached to the hotel
wasn’t run by the hotel, but was accessible from the lobby for the convenience
of the guests. She went down a short hallway, opened a door and was met by a
blast of sound.

The hostess looked up and beckoned her
over. “Hi, you must be Morgan; I’m Tess. Adrian called and said you’d probably
be coming down.” She nodded toward a large table in the corner. “I thought you
might like to sit with some of the gang in the casual section. Come on.”

Morgan followed and was greeted
exuberantly by the assortment of people around the table.

“Settle down, people. This is Morgan.
She’ll be working at Zimmerli.” She turned. “What department?”