Secret Schemes and Daring Dreams Read Online Free

for the upmarket stuff, but that still leaves us without a waitress or anyone to do the bar or help out in the kitchen when Mrs P’s off.’
    â€˜So can’t the agency find waitresses?’ Tarquin had asked.
    â€˜Most of them are Eastern Europeans and Dad’s adamant that we keep the thing traditionally English,’ George answered. ‘God knows what he’ll say about this Luigi guy.’ He sighed. ‘Besides, they charge a bomb in commission and you can’t have them on a casual basis – they all want contracts and everything. Which would be fine if my sainted parents had managed the place properly. But no – their advertising is crap . . .’
    â€˜George!’
    â€˜Sorry, but it is, and so what happens? We get a weekend with a full house then two weekends with only a smattering. He paused before continuing. ‘I’ve been looking at the figures and between you and me, this season is crucial for us. Dad seriously overspent on the spa last year – he really is Mismanagement Incorporated. The bank is moaning and now Dad’s losing interest and saying that, if we don’t start making decent profits, he’s going to sell up. Shepherd Hotels are already interested in turning the whole place into a conference centre.’
    â€˜Some profit-making, commercial cowboys as my next-door neighbours? No way!’ Tarquin had looked shocked. ‘Well, we’ll just have to make certain this summer is a roaring success, won’t we?’
    â€˜Sure,’ George had replied sarcastically. ‘For successyou need to set the right tone and, whatever the parents don’t do right, they are pretty good hosts. Mum does all the meet and greet and charming the socks off people and running around arranging days out, and Dad does the bar and chats up the brides-to-be and that is
so
not my scene . . .’
    At which point, Emma had assured him that he need worry no more. She pointed out that someone like her, who had been accepted to study psychology and human behavioural sciences at uni could only be an asset; and, of course, her interpersonal skills were second to none. (She knew this because her father told everyone whenever he got the chance.)
    â€˜And don’t forget, I was a real hit last year when I did the serving wench thing at the medieval banquet,’ she had reminded him.
    â€˜But this would be real work, Emma – not prancing around in a plunge neckline pouring glasses of mead,’ George had retorted. ‘What if you break a fingernail?’
    â€˜Better than you bursting a blood vessel every five seconds,’ she had snapped back. ‘Besides, I’m not offering to waitress. As if. Lucy can do that. She’ll be thrilled.’
    She smiled at George. ‘I’ll do all the meet and greet bit,’ she had announced. ‘Just till your parents are home again. Only not Tuesday mornings because that’s massage and hair, and then next Saturday there’s a gig on – oh, and Lucy’s birthday is . . .’
    â€˜Real help you’ll be then!’ George had snapped. ‘I’ll just tell the guests that they mustn’t need anything until they’ve checked your diary!’
    â€˜Forget it,’ Emma had said. ‘Either you want my skills or you don’t, and frankly —’
    â€˜Skills? Airs and graces more like!’ George had countered. ‘You’ve always been the same —’
    â€˜Oh great – so who put sandpaper on your loo seat, then?’ Emma had barked back.
    â€˜Will you two stop it right now!’ Tarquin had ordered. ‘Honestly, anyone would think you were still children arguing over who should go up the ladder to the tree house first!’
    George had looked at Emma, and she had stared back. Then they had both burst out laughing. Admittedly, George’s laughter had only lasted a millisecond, but it was long enough, to Emma’s intense