Sarah Morgan - The Twelve Nights of Christmas

‘So how’s the job going?’ Her grandfather used his most bracing voice. ‘I told Mrs Fitzwilliam that you have Hollywood stars staying and that you’ll be meeting and greeting them personally. That shut her up. Nosy old madam.’

Evie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was going to be struck down for lying to her grandfather. On the other hand, the alternative option was disappointing and worrying him. And she did ‘meet and greet’ guests. Sort of. If she met someone, she greeted them, didn’t she? The fact that they usually ignored her didn’t count. ‘The job’s great, Grandpa. Brilliant.’ She’d been demoted and the slimy hotel manager had made a pass at her but, apart from that, it was all perfect.

The man started the engine and Evie sprinted across the pavement to stop him, her feet slithering on the ice. ‘Wait—’

Her grandfather was still chatting. ‘I’ve been watching the shares of Zaccarelli Leisure. They’re soaring. You picked a winner there, Evie. At least your job is safe.’

No. No, it wasn’t safe. Her entire existence was balancing on a knife edge.

Evie had a sudden urge to confess that the manager had tried it on with her, but stopped herself in time. She didn’t want to upset her grandfather. And she also had a sneaking worry that he might somehow get on a train, find his way to London and deal with Carlos Bellini personally. Despite his eighty-six years, her grandfather was a real man.

‘My job is…it’s…well, it’s great,’ she said firmly. ‘Really good.’

‘Going to any Christmas parties? I’m sure you’ll be able to have your pick of men if you do! And you won’t be able to make it through the Christmas season without singing The Twelve Days of Christmas at the top of your voice. You know you always love doing that.’

‘No parties planned. And I’m not quite ready to meet another man yet, Grandpa.’ Dragging the bag behind her, Evie slithered towards the van. As she let go of it, the top gaped open and her tiny silver Christmas tree tumbled into the snow and slush. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’ A lump in her throat, she stared at her Christmas tree, which was now lying in a puddle. Her whole life felt as though it was sinking into a puddle.

‘Don’t hang around, Evie. I’m not getting any younger. Next year I want to be bouncing a great-grandchild on my knee.’

What? ‘I’ll do my best, Grandpa.’ Wondering how on earth she was going to fulfil that particular wish when she couldn’t find a man who wanted to talk to her, let alone sleep with her, Evie forced out a cheery goodbye and dropped the phone back in her pocket.

As she retrieved the dripping Christmas tree, the man drove off, showering her with slush.

It was snowing steadily and Evie was just wondering whether it was worth wading through the contents of the bag to find her umbrella when her phone rang again.

‘Why am I suddenly the most popular person in the world?’ Looking at the number flashing on her phone, she groaned. Oh, no. ‘Tina? I know I’m late, but I’ve—’ she flinched as her boss gave her a sharp lecture ‘—yes, I know Salvatorio Zaccarelli is arriving tomorrow and—yes, I know it’s important because he’s looking at the way the hotel is run and we’re all under scrutiny. Yes, I know I was lucky you gave me another chance with this job when you could have fired me—’ She gritted her teeth as she listened. ‘I—yes, the Penthouse will be perfect, I promise—I’m lucky that Carlos wants me to do the job personally—I do know Mr Zaccarelli is the most important guest we ever have—I know he doesn’t suffer fools and won’t tolerate anything less than perfection—’ the guy was obviously a cold, heartless pig ‘—I feel the same way,’ Evie lied, making a mental note not to be anywhere near the scary, ruthless tycoon when he arrived at the hotel. The way she was feeling at the moment, she’d probably punch him. That was one ‘meet and greet’ that was not going to happen. If she saw him coming she was going to dive for cover.

Tina was still talking and Evie slithered her way towards the bus stop, the rubbish bag banging against her legs, her clothes soaked through. Snow landed on her hair and water dripped down her neck. ‘—Festive? Sparkling? Yes, I’m going to decorate the Christmas tree—I’ll be there ever so soon, but I just need to—’ she broke off; I just need to find somewhere to sleep tonight when I come off my shift at midnight ‘—catch a bus. The buses are mad because of Christmas, but I’m on my way now.’ All she ever did was tell lies, Evie thought, struggling with the bag. She lied to protect her grandfather from more worry and she lied to Tyrannosaurus Tina because, until she’d found something better, she couldn’t tell the woman where to stick her job. Maybe she should suggest to scary Salvatorio Zaccarelli that the first person he should fire was the manager of his flagship hotel.

As she sat on the crowded bus, jammed between stressed out Christmas shoppers, Evie wondered if she should have just told her grandfather the truth. That London was lonely. That she missed him. That she’d been demoted after just days in her new job by a boss who hated her. Apparently, she’d been too friendly.

Evie sighed, well aware that she’d probably been a little too desperate for human company. But she still didn’t understand why that was a crime. As a receptionist in a hotel, how could you be too friendly? Anyway, she had no opportunity to be friendly now because, as a member of the housekeeping staff, she didn’t often meet any guests. She didn’t meet anyone. She’d taken to talking to herself as she cleaned bathroom mirrors.

Trying to take her mind off it, Evie picked up a discarded magazine and flicked through the pages, staring gloomily at the slender models wearing the magazine’s recommendations for glittery dresses perfect for the party season. Apparently, silver was bang on trend. Absently, she picked the one she would have worn if she had money and had actually been invited to a party. Shimmering silver, she thought, with diamonds and swept up hair. Except that she’d look ridiculous dressed like that.

Face it, Evie, you’re a bit of a freak.

Hearing Jeff’s voice in her head, she dropped the magazine back on the seat, jumped off the bus and walked towards the back entrance of the prestigious hotel that provided a bolthole for the world’s rich and famous. She was just wondering where she was going to hide a rubbish bag when a sleek black Mercedes drove through a puddle and muddy water sprayed over her tights and shoes.

‘Oh, for—’ Hopping to one side, soaking wet, Evie glared after the expensive car, imagining the warm, luxurious interior. ‘Thanks a lot. Just as long as you’re comfortable in your cosy, rich cocoon.’ Her eyes widened in disbelief as she read the number plate. ‘TYC00N.’ Drenched and shivering, she wondered what it was like to live a life of luxury, filled with diamonds, shimmering silver dresses and ostentatious car accessories.

‘Hi, Evie, you’re late.’ A colleague hurried past her in a cloud of perfume and hairspray. ‘You’ve already missed the staff briefing. Tina said you were to go straight to the Penthouse because she doesn’t have time to waste with you. The big boss is arriving tomorrow. Rumour has it that he is going to axe anyone who doesn’t fit. Even Creepy Carlos is nervous. Personally, I can’t wait to see Rio Zaccarelli in person. He’s the most stunningly good-looking man I’ve ever seen.’

Chilled to the bone, Evie sneezed. ‘You’ve never seen him.’

‘I’ve seen him in pictures. Red-hot Rio, that’s what we’re calling him.’

‘Ruthless Rio is what I’m calling him,’ Evie muttered and her colleague frowned at the bag in her hand.