Free Between Sisters by Cathy Kelly

spa hotel, it was, in fact, a major conference and wedding hotel because it had four hundred rooms, three giant conference rooms and a ballroom you could play ice hockey in, if you so wished.
    Leo Quirke, the new manager, kept Cassie waiting when she arrived at half two to discuss the problems for the conference starting on Thursday. She sat in the outer room of Leo’s office and thought how she’d never had to wait for his predecessor, who had gone on to run a department of a luxury hotel in Boca Raton and who was, no doubt, delirious to have washed his hands of the Springfield, which had been beset with so many teething problems the joke in the trade was that it needed its own dentist.
    Too big, built too quickly, and with too many corners cut, there were always problems with the hotel. But Fiachra – Leo’s predecessor – had sorted them out. Leo seemed to be more of an ah, sure, whatever type of manager. The type who’d give you a shove on the shoulder to imply a matey we’re-all-in-this-together.
    ‘Cassie, sorry to keep you waiting.’ Leo, who was forty-something, bank managerial in a navy chalk-striped suit he was clearly no longer able to button, smiled urbanely and held out a hand. ‘You are looking lovely, if I may say so,’ he added, doing some eyebrow lifting.
    Cassie gave him the you may not say so stare she’d perfected over many years in the events management business, shook his hand briefly and said crisply: ‘Can we go into your office and sort this out, Leo? I’m pressed for time.’
    She walked in ahead of him, sat down at the desk and quickly spread her papers in front of her. Larousse had a watertight contract for the event and it was very specific on deal-breakers. Facilities not working were top of a long list that went over many issues.
    Leo leapt into the fray. ‘Obviously we are doing all we can from this end,’ he said. He did the eyebrow thing again.
    Was that flirting? Cassie had no idea. It was millions of years since anyone had flirted with her. She didn’t give out any signals, did she?
    Right now she had a headache, her hair had dried strangely after that morning’s rain, so she’d had to pull it into a tight bun, and despite the application of Belinda’s make-up, she wasn’t sure how she looked. She knew how she felt , though: tired, headachey – probably the tautness of the darn bun – and worried about what she’d do if she had to pull a conference for a hundred and twenty-five people two days before it was due to go ahead.
    Flirting? Did Leo have any idea how close to the edge she was?
    The set-up crew were due into the hotel first thing on Thursday with the company’s logo boards, presenters and goodie bags, and Cassie herself was due there by twelve to go over the final checks for the meals, drinks and entertainment for Thursday and Friday night. The paraphernalia for the Saturday golfing match was being handled by Jason and his crew from Larousse, who specialised in sports events. Jason was a dab hand with golf events and had several professional players’ managers’ numbers on his personal mobile. Yet secretly he hated golf and only liked golfers for the glory of those shifting shoulder muscles when they hit a fabulous drive; but then nobody needed to know that.
    ‘You were a little unclear on the phone,’ Cassie began in her discussion with Leo. Saying you figured someone had been downright lying on the phone never started a conversation well. ‘What exactly is the problem with the spa, Leo, and what is being done to fix it?’
    ‘We’re doing everything,’ Leo said gravely. ‘You know how tricky spas can be … The hammam has a problem and there’s something wrong with the pool filters …’
    The pool had been refitted at vast expense only last year, Cassie thought, instincts prickling.
    ‘Let’s take a look,’ said Cassie suddenly.
    He hesitated.
    ‘I love the spa here,’ Cassie said, standing up and making for the door.
    He had no choice but