Keepsakes from the Cottage by the Loch (Loch Cameron #6)

Chapter 9

NINE

‘The thing is, I booked a king size, ensuite room. But the ensuite has a bath and not a shower.’ The woman – Tara estimated she was in her late thirties – stood at the reception desk with her hands on her hips. She was petite, perhaps five feet one or two, wearing high heels with a platform sole and leather-look leggings and a fluffy white T shirt. Tara thought she looked very pretty, but she did wonder at the practicality of those heels on Loch Cameron High Street’s cobbles.

‘Right… okay.’ Tara frowned. ‘You’re in room six, aren’t you? That’s got the roll-top bath.’

‘Yes. It’s huge. I can hardly get in and out of it.’ The woman sniffed while her boyfriend stood behind her, looking awkward.

‘Oh. But you would have seen pictures of the room when you booked online?’ Tara said, looking at Dotty’s laptop and the online booking system she used, which was open on it. ‘Ms … Hemsley?’ she added, checking the booking name on her computer.

Dotty had explained that most bookings came in online these days, though some people still called by phone and asked for availability. Occasionally, her mum had said, they still had more elderly guests who would write a letter to enquire about availability, and expect a handwritten letter back to confirm. In fact, Dotty had directed Tara to a pad of special Loch Cameron Inn notepaper and envelopes in the reception desk drawer that were to be used for just such a purpose, though had expressly told Tara that if she did receive any letters asking to make bookings, Tara should bring the writing pad up to her and she would reply, because, in Dotty’s words, she had by far the nicer handwriting, dear .

‘Emma. Emma Hemsley. Yes, I did. But it had a shower when I looked online,’ the woman argued. ‘How am I supposed to wash my hair?’

Tara opened the Loch Cameron Inn’s website, clicked on ‘Rooms’ and went to the pictures of room six, which very definitely showcased the room’s beautiful, large, white cast iron roll-top bath with its black cast iron claw-footed base, and no shower.

‘There’s not a shower there, I’m afraid,’ Tara said, carefully, knowing that the customer was always right, even when, on occasions like this, they were absolutely, one hundred per cent wrong. ‘There is a shower attachment for the taps, and I’ve used it to wash my hair. It’s pretty good, actually. Good pressure,’ she added.

‘Well, that’s not good enough,’ Emma argued. ‘I have a very particular hair washing and conditioning routine. I need a power shower.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. All the rest of the rooms are booked.’ Tara frowned, checking the booking diary. She was reminded of the demanding parents at Lomond Primary, many of whom also seemed to think that they were owed perfection, and that their children were all special geniuses, cruelly under-appreciated by a dysfunctional school system. Whereas, in fact, Lomond Primary was far and away the most responsive, well-resourced and child-focused school Tara had ever worked at.

‘Well, that’s not good enough!’ Emma raised her voice and actually stamped her foot. ‘This is our holiday and you’re not making any attempt to correct your error! You’re going to ruin our lovely time away!’ Her voice rose and she looked on the verge of tears.

Tara exchanged a brief glance with the boyfriend, who put a gentle hand on Emma’s arm.

‘Maybe you should try the shower attachment, love,’ he suggested, querulously. ‘It might be fine. And you look lovely anyway.’

‘Shut up, Colin,’ Emma snapped, and shook his hand off. Tara raised her eyebrows, and wondered what her mum would do with a difficult customer. Tara was inclined to give this little madam a piece of her mind, but she knew she couldn’t.

‘Okay,’ she said, in her most placating voice. The voice she used on the head of the PTA at Lomond Primary, and on the most troubled children at the school when they got into a tantrum and needed to be taken into the quiet room for a bit. ‘Let’s think about what we can do. What about if you use the shower in my room? And, as an extra way to make up for the… confusion,’ Tara said, diplomatically, ‘I can gift you dinner on the house one night this week. I recommend tomorrow, if you’re available, as we have some lovely salmon coming in. From the Laird’s own fish farm.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s very nice of you,’ Emma said, haltingly. ‘I’d probably need to use the shower twice. Or three times. Every other day,’ she said.

‘That will be fine. Just let me know when you need to use it. I’m working most of the time anyway.’ Tara smiled.

‘The offer of dinner’s really kind, thank you.’ Colin gave her a grateful smile that said thank you, I know she’s a bit much . ‘Salmon sounds lovely tomorrow, doesn’t it, darling? ’

‘It does sound quite nice,’ Emma admitted, begrudgingly. Tara wondered what it would take to make her actually enthusiastic about anything. The roll-top bath was a real feature, usually: room six got booked all the time, and people even shared pictures of it on social media because of the amazing view over the loch that you got, lying in it and looking out of the big window beyond. It was a lovely room: really, the best at the Inn.

‘Great. Happy to help.’ Tara smiled until she thought her face was going to stretch permanently. The couple made their way out, and Tara watched them go, waiting for them to leave the Inn completely until she relaxed her face, stuck her tongue out and let out a long sigh. How did Dotty do this every day? Being a primary school teacher was one thing, but customer service was something else completely.

Tara was starting to realise that though she’d felt for a long time that her mother hadn’t understood her feelings or her life, it was possible that she’d also had a certain idea about who Dotty was, that wasn’t all that accurate. Tara had never considered what it took to keep the Inn running and for it to be as successful as it was – she was starting to realise that Dotty had to be far more sensitive to other people than she’d ever given her mother credit for.

Tara was happy to help, but this had never been her dream – and, customers like Demanding Emma weren’t doing anything to change her mind.

And, the dreams she’d once had… well, she didn’t think about them anymore. She couldn’t. It was too painful.