Free Between Sisters by Cathy Kelly Page A

to follow her.
    Whatever the question, flat shoes were the answer, she thought, as she walked down endless corridors with Leo scurrying to keep up, arriving finally at the spa.
    Instead of the familiar spa scent of essential oils, non-stop burning of candles and the inevitable hint of chlorine, she smelled paint. Bestowing a glittering and dangerous smile on her companion, Cassie pushed open the double doors to find that the Springfield spa and health club was being repainted.
    ‘Water leakage,’ tried Leo weakly.
    ‘Show me.’
    ‘Well, you know, all over the place …’
    Cassie marched around, pushing into every changing room, checking the hammam – stone cold and it took forever to heat up – and the pool area.
    Painters wandered around with cans of paint, and nobody looked to be in any sort of rush. There was a mañana atmosphere, helped along with the hotel’s jazzy Muzak. All they needed were a few cocktails and the whole thing might turn into a party at the drop of a baseball cap.
    ‘Is anything actually not working apart from it all being turned off so you can paint?’ Cassie asked Leo.
    He took a deep breath and then said, ‘No.’
    Cassie smothered the desire to stab him. Shay would undoubtedly be wildly busy at work and therefore not available to bail her out if she was arrested for the said stabbing. She put her game face on again.
    ‘Right. Get them all finished and out of here tonight, spend tomorrow eradicating the smell of paint, heating the pool and the hammam, and we have a deal. I’ll be here tomorrow first thing to check. Otherwise I will be cancelling and you’ll be getting a call from Loren Larousse about the financial implications of breaking a contract with us. Morally or legally correct or not, I can tell you that Loren will waste no time telling other event management people about this and it will not be good for the Springfield’s future conference bookings. You can phone me on the mobile to discuss in an hour.’ Cassie delivered the final blow. ‘I need to get back to the office to check out where else we can hold the conference. If we have to pay more for a higher quality hotel or for travelling down the country, we will – and trust me, I know that from past experience – Loren will take you to court for breach of contract.’
    At that, Leo paled.
    There were times, Cassie thought, when her boss’s tough reputation within the industry came in useful. In reality, court cases took forever and helped neither side professionally, but still, nobody who knew what Loren Larousse was really like wanted to cross her in business.
    ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that …’ began Leo, blustering.
    Cassie felt momentarily sorry for him, but then thought of all the work involved if she had to even attempt to co-ordinate another hotel, undoubtedly not one in Dublin, and how she’d explain all of this to the conference people themselves. Loren would blame her for not literally camping down in the hotel because there was a new and untried manager around, and she would end up spending Thursday and Friday night stuck in the inevitable room beside the lift, overseeing everything personally in an attempt to make it all up to everyone.
    At these thoughts, her feelings of sympathy withered and died.
    ‘Leo, we are in business. We don’t arrange conferences in hotels where the facilities get closed for redecoration on a whim. I have one hundred and twenty-five important guests coming on Thursday to stay with you for a convention booked six months ago, and you think it’s OK to repaint the spa while they’re here so they can’t use it?’
    ‘Well, you know …’
    More bluster. What was wrong with saying, ‘Sorry, I screwed up’?
    ‘Leo, I will keep my boss from phoning up your chief executive and serving you as Thursday’s banquet main course if you can sort this out. Capisce? ’
    Then she turned on her heel and walked out.
    It took twenty minutes to get out of the hotel and find her car, by