Trouble on Her Doorstep. Nina Harrington

Otherwise known as Dee. Dee S Flynn. Tea supplier to the stars. I’m the person you are looking for, Mr...?’

      He took two long steps to cross the room and shake her hand. A real handshake. His long, slender fingers wrapped around her hand which Dee suddenly realized must be quite sticky from dispensing cake and biscuits and clearing away bowls covered in cake batter.

      His gaze was locked on her face as he spoke, and she could almost see the clever cogs interconnecting behind those blue eyes as he processed her little announcement, took her word that she was who she said she was and went for it without pause.

      Clever. She liked clever.

      ‘Sean Beresford. I am the acting manager of the Beresford Hotel, Richmond Square. Pleased to meet you, Miss Flynn.’

      ‘Richmond Square?’ She replied, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘That’s the hotel where I booked a conference room for February. And...’

      Then her brain caught up with the name he had given her and she inhaled through her nose as his fingers slid away from hers and rested lightly on the counter.

      ‘Did you just say Beresford? As in the Beresford family of hotel owners?’

      A smile flickered across his lips which instantly drew her gaze, and her stupid little heart just skipped a beat at the transformation in this man’s face that one simple smile made.

      Lord, he was gorgeous. Riveting.

      Oh, smile at me again and make my blood soar. Please?

      And now she was ogling. How pathetic. Just because she was within touching distance of a real, live Beresford did not mean that she had to go to pieces in front of him.

      So what if this man came from one of the most famous hotel-owning families in the world? A Beresford hotel was a name splashed across the broadsheet newspapers and celebrity magazines, not Cake Shop and Tea Room Weekly.

      This made it even more gut-clenching that he had just been in close and personal contact with her floorboards.

      ‘Guilty as charged,’ he replied and touched his forehead with two closed fingers in salute. ‘I am in London for a few months and the Richmond Square hotel is one of my special projects.’

      ‘You’re feeling guilty?’ she retorted with a cough. ‘What about me? You almost had an accident here tonight. And I could have dropped you. Oh, that is so not good. Especially when you have come all the way from the centre of London late in the evening to see me.’

      Then she shook her head, sucked in a long breath and carried on before he had a chance to say anything. ‘Speaking of which, now we have the introductions sorted out, I think you had best tell me what the problem is. Because I am starting to get scared about this special project you need to see me about so very urgently.’

      He gestured towards the nearest table and chairs.

      ‘You may need to sit down, Miss Flynn.’

      A lump the size of Scotland formed in her throat, making speech impossible, so she replied with a brief shake of the head and a half-smile and gestured to one of the bar stools next to the tea bar.

      She watched in silence as he unbuttoned his coat, scowled at the missing buttons then sat down on the stool and turned to face her, one elbow resting on the bar.

      Nightmare visions flitted through her brain of having to tell the tea trade officials that the London Festival of Tea was going to going to be cancelled because she had messed up booking the venue, but she fought them back.

      Not going to happen. That tea festival was going ahead even if she had to rent the damp and dusty local community centre and cancel the bingo night.

      She had begged the tea trade organization to give her the responsibility for organizing the event and it had taken weeks to convince the hardened professionals that she could coordinate a major London event.

      Everything she had worked for rested on this event being a total success. Everything.

      Suddenly the room started to feel very warm and she dragged over a bar stool and perched on it to stop her wobbly legs from giving way under her.

      Focus, Dee. Focus. It might not be as bad as she was thinking.

      ‘I only took over the running of the hotel today so it has taken me a while to go through all of the paperwork. That’s why I only started working through the conference-booking system this afternoon. I apologize for not calling in earlier but there has been a lot of catching up to do and I didn’t have any contact details.’

      She swallowed down her anxiety. ‘But what happened to the other manager? Frank Evans? He was taking care of all my arrangements in person and seemed very organized. I must have filled in at least three separate forms before I paid the deposit. Surely he has my contact details?’

      ‘Frank decided to take up a job offer with another hotel company last Friday. Without notice. That’s why I came in to sort out the emergency situation at Richmond Square and get things back on track.’

      She gasped and grabbed his arm. ‘What kind of emergency do you have?’ Then she gulped. ‘Has something happened? I mean, has the hotel flooded or—’ she suddenly felt faint ‘—burnt down? Gas explosion? Water damage?’

      ‘Flooded?’ he replied, then tilted his head a tiny fraction of an inch. ‘No. The hotel is absolutely fine. In fact, I went there straight from the airport and it is as lovely as ever. Business as usual.’

      ‘Then please stop scaring the living daylights out of me like that. I don’t understand. Why is there a problem with the booking?’

      ‘So you met Frank Evans? The previous manager?’

      She nodded. ‘Twice in person, then I spoke to him several times over the phone. Frank insisted on taking personal responsibility for my tea festival and we went over the room plans in detail. Then we had lunch at the hotel just before Christmas to make sure that everything was going to plan. And it was. Going to plan.’

      ‘In any of those meetings, did you see him recording any of your details on a diary or paper planner? Anything like that?

      ‘Paper? No. Now that you mention it, I don’t remember him taking any notes on paper. It was all on his notebook computer. He showed the photos of the layout on the screen. Is that a problem? I mean, isn’t everything loaded onto computers these days?’

      There was just enough of a pause from the man looking at her to send a shiver across Dee’s shoulders.

      ‘Okay; I get the picture. How bad is it?’ she whispered. ‘Just tell me now and put me out of my misery.’

      ‘Frank may have taken your details but he didn’t load them onto the hotel booking system. If he had, Frank would have found out that we were already double-booked for the whole weekend with a company client who had booked a year in advance. So you see, he should never have accepted your booking in the first place. I am sorry, Miss Flynn, I have to cancel your booking and refund your deposit... Miss Flynn?’

      But Dee was already on her feet.

      ‘Stay right where you are. I need serious cake washed down with strong, sugary tea. And I need it now. Because there is no way on this planet that I am going to cancel that booking. No way at all. Are we clear? Good. Now, what can I get you?’

      * * *

      ‘I don’t understand it. Frank seemed so confident and in control,’ Dee said in a low voice. ‘And he loved my oolong special leaf tea and was all excited about the conference. What happened?’

      Sean was siting opposite and she watched him sip the fragrant Earl Grey that Dee had made for him. Then took another sip.

      ‘This is really very good,’ Sean whispered, and wrapped his fingers around the china beaker.

      ‘Thank you. I have a wonderful supplier in Shanghai. Fifth-generation blender. And you still haven’t answered my question.