Offshore: A short story collection by Ann Cleeves

Author:Ann Cleeves [Cleeves, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781447276623
Publisher: Macmillan

The Soothmoothers

I always take more than a professional interest in the guests who stay in the Ravenswick House. Partly it’s a matter of pride. I manage one of the best hotels in Shetland and our visitors deserve more than a perfunctory welcome. It’s an effort to get here and, after thirteen hours on the ferry or a bumpy flight, the least they should expect is a pleasant smile and a cup of good tea by the fire. And partly of course it’s curiosity; I’ve always been inquisitive by nature.

These particular visitors fascinated me from the moment they walked in. They’d run down the steps from the car park through one of those gusty showers that come out of nowhere in the islands and arrived in the lobby shaking the rain from their clothes. A woman and two men, all soothmoothers. Confident English. You know the sort. Voices slightly too loud, expensive shoes, good haircuts. I could tell they were in Shetland on business, not pleasure.

It was hard to read the relationships. More than just colleagues, I was sure of that. There was an emotional charge, sexy, edgily flirtatious. But who was flirting with whom? It was hard to tell. I wouldn’t even have been surprised if the men had turned out to be lovers and the woman a voyeur or a fixer. They’d booked single rooms and I put them on the same landing, with views over Mousa. They continued their conversation as they followed me up the stairs. ‘A quick shower, then we’ll meet up in the bar, shall we? A large G&T before dinner? At least we don’t have to drive anywhere tonight.’ That was the woman, and she looked at the younger man hungrily, as if she wanted him to take her into his arms. She was well preserved, but ten years older than him. Perhaps I’d found the cause of the sexual tension in the group. But I thought there were other secrets holding them all together. Of course they took no notice of me. They treated me like a servant, as if I was invisible, and they didn’t realize I was listening.

The Ravenswick was built in the nineteenth century by an English gentleman and the hotel keeps the atmosphere of a country house. There’s a library with leather chesterfields, and the lounge has slightly faded Persian carpets on the polished floor. An ancient rocking horse stands on the landing. Only the perpetual sound of wind and water brings Shetland into the place.

I saw them again in the bar when I took their orders for dinner. They were the only people there. By now a force-ten north-easterly had blown up and the locals were staying at home. The hotel is so close to the shore that in a storm from the east it’s like being in a ship; when waves break on the rocks below the spray rattles the windows and there’s the smell of salt indoors. I stood for a minute watching, before I approached them.

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