Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,14
Bjårk, who didn’t want to leave the huge raft of fascinating smells coming from all over the boat, down the gangplank with every ounce of dignity he could muster, which, given he was half drunk, splashed with water, and heaving a large, hairy beast whose muzzle was covered in crisp crumbs, wasn’t much.
FINTAN AND ISLA stood watching them approach. Gaspard was delighted and waved cheerfully.
“Hey! Monsieur Chien,” he shouted cheerfully. Bjårk wagged his tail in return.
“Okay. Now we can go,” said Konstantin stiffly, arriving back and slightly peeved that nobody was making a move to carry his ancient leather suitcase for him.
“But . . . but . . .” Fintan started to stutter.
As he did so, the dog walked up to him and licked his palm. Bjårk smelled, inexplicably, of shrimp cocktail. His tongue dangled cheerfully.
“We don’t have room for a dog!”
Isla gave him a side-eye. Colton’s two dogs, ridiculously expensive deerhounds, lived around the place perfectly happily, and everyone quite liked having them around, even though they were trained to tear you limb from limb on hearing a key word that Colton appeared to have taken with him to the grave and Fintan was terrified of saying by accident one day.
“We absolutely didn’t say dogs were allowed. Obviously we wouldn’t offer you a job like that.”
“Okay fine,” said Konstantin, bored now, who made to turn round and catch the ferry back.
Isla gave Fintan a hard stare.
“Okay,” said Fintan finally. “Okay. We’ll sort it out later.”
And the very strange party made their way in silence to the Land Rover.
Chapter 11
It didn’t help that Flora liked almost anyone who came with a dog attached. Back at the hotel, she had found the whole thing patently hilarious, to Fintan’s fury. She looked Konstantin up and down. It was very unlike Joel to make this kind of request for anyone, and it had been very hush-hush. So she knew absolutely nothing about the younger boy except that he was Norwegian and, by the look of things, a bit of a drip. He stood tall in the doorway with his blond hair flopping over his eye, gazing at the Rock as if it were the worst place he’d ever seen.
“Okay, Isla, can you show Konstantin where he’s going to be sleeping and take him round the kitchen? And is it Gaspard . . . ?”
But Gaspard had already disappeared. From the back of the long corridor, Flora could already hear the whoosh of a burner being turned on. She frowned. Fintan had mentioned he was “temperamental.” It appeared to be rather worse than that. Crazy, drunk, and covered in tattoos seemed about the size of it. Fintan himself looked absolutely disconsolate and desperate to get away, even though he should be settling everyone in and leading his new team. Oh lord. This was like herding cats. She felt a sudden wish to be at home, snuggled up with Dougie and Joel in front of some ideally really, really terrible television. She had a bad feeling about . . .
“Oh, hello! Cooee!!”
Flora turned round slowly. There was Pam, who led the Outward Bound group.
Flora would never like to say she had a nemesis. But had she had a nemesis, it would have been Pam, who had never quite forgiven her for, years ago, getting off with her boyfriend. For like two seconds. Actually, Flora suspected, correctly, that Pam found it slightly more annoying that Flora had never given it a second thought afterward, not once she and Joel had found each other.
Pam’s baby, Christabel, was strapped to Pam in a woven homemade baby wrapper that looked oddly confrontational. She was red of face and had her father Charlie’s heavy eyebrows and a permanent frown.
“Hello,” said Flora, smiling at Christabel at least.
Pam blinked, and her voice took on an instant pitying demeanor. “Oh, Flora. Where’s little Douglas?”
“He’s at home with my dad,” said Flora. “Ten minutes down the road. I’m just going home.”
Pam smiled sympathetically. “It’s so hard to be apart, isn’t it? Such a shame you can’t have him with you. What a shame you don’t get any maternity leave.”
“I’m on maternity leave now actually. Just popped in.”
There came the sound of loud swearing in French from the kitchen, and Fintan immediately headed off in the opposite direction, shouting, “Flora, can you see what that is?”
“You know,” said Pam, “I never put Christabel down. Never! It’s called attachment parenting? It’s how our ancestors would have done it in the old days.”