Grand Hotel II – Embracing the Changes

A sequel to the popular All Change at the Grand Hotel, that may be enjoyed without reading the earlier story. A couple of weeks after Ms Pinch, the new General Manager, had commenced making changes, this story is told by Julia Parker, a regular guest at The Grand Hotel, when she reacquainted herself with the loyal staff …

Prologue

As I entered The Grand for the first time in a couple of weeks, I could immediately sense that something had changed. Although the staff remained efficient, they acted more distant. As always, they presented a smart appearance, but they looked overly stiff and formal. However, after my long and challenging day with my most demanding client, I was too tired to investigate what may have changed.

As always, my focus was to get to my room as quickly as possible, tidy up any loose ends from work, and then relax over dinner with my friend. Catching the eye of the unfamiliar receptionist, I stepped confidently up to the desk prepared to make my regular demands for my stay.

As a management consultant with a respected international firm, I frequently travelled to prestigious business clients around the country. Spending a brief time with each one, I reviewed the progress of the project teams I had installed and investigated any issues raised by my clients. Rarely staying in one place for more than a couple of days, it was a busy life but one which I had found interesting and financially rewarding for twenty years.

The head office of my largest client was situated in the town as where The Grand was located. Due to the size of their business, I spent proportionally more time with them than I did with my other clients. Consequently, I had stayed at the hotel regularly and the friendly and loyal staff had become familiar with my modest requirements. As well as the comfortable rooms and the excellent food that they provided, The Grand offered another significant attraction that kept pulling me back.

‘Good evening, Miss Parker,’ the unfamiliar receptionist welcomed me by name. It was always a nice touch but unexpected on this occasion as I had failed to recognise the young woman. I assumed she had only just commenced her employment as I would undoubtedly have remembered the unusual haircut she wore. ‘Very nice to see you again, and I have reserved your usual room.’

‘Thank you, er …’ I replied hesitantly, feeling awkward that I had no recollection of the young woman behind the desk, despite her knowing who I was. Priding myself on my dealings with people, I casually leant forward to peer at the name tag on her blouse. I could not help but notice that, unusually for The Grand, she had it buttoned it up tightly at the neck. The hotel’s owner had always encouraged staff to display individuality with their uniform, including wearing an open collar or accessorising with a scarf.  ‘Yes, thank you, Jasmine,’ I said politely, having noted her name.

I took a moment to study the receptionist more closely, doing my utmost to ignore her peculiar hairstyle. ‘Jasmine?’ I murmured disbelievingly.

‘Yes, Miss Parker,’ she chirped, smiling stiffly to acknowledge my eventual recognition, as she handed me my room card. ‘There you are. And I have reserved a table for you in the restaurant at 7.30 as usual. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance, Miss Parker, and I trust you will enjoy your stay with us.’

‘Thanks, Jasmine … er, but … but …’ I stuttered, refamiliarising myself with her features but taking a moment for another sly glance at her frightful haircut.

‘Yes, Miss Parker?’ she questioned, looking extremely worried, as if she had inadvertently forgotten to do or say something.

‘No, Jasmine, that’s fine,’ I said, waving a dismissive hand, before spinning around and marching over to the lifts.

As I waited, I covertly studied the receptionist’s reflection in a mirror next to the lift door. Feeling embarrassed, I recalled that young Jasmine had worked at The Grand for a considerable time. She had been instantly recognisable, and we had been on friendly terms but, on this occasion, she looked so different.

In the past, Jasmine had worn her abundant hair in a messy half-up and half-down style. And her uniform blouse always had one too many buttons left unfastened, revealing a glimpse of her ample cleavage. Habitually, she had artfully twirled one of the loose curly tendrils of hair around her fingers as she spoke, but there was no longer any chance of her doing that. And, with her blouse tightly buttoned all the way up to her neck, I could forgive myself for failing to recognise her.

Jasmine’s appearance had suited her youthful exuberance. Her superiors had been unconcerned by her overly casual approach to individualism, recognising that she was still young. However, her more formal manner and appearance suggested that major changes were occurring at The Grand.

I had sensed the change in ambience as soon as I entered reception. I had always found the hotel’s owner relaxed in his management style and that translated into the way staff interacted with guests. The owner simply expected everyone to work well together and for every guest to leave extremely satisfied. I wondered what or who was behind the disconcerting change.

As I entered the lift, I risked a final glance towards the reception desk. When the drastically transformed Jasmine raised her head and forced a smile in my direction, I shivered.

Preparation

When I arrived in my room, I checked my watch to decide if I had time to shower and change before my dinner date. I needed to check my work emails and respond to any that were urgent. With only limited time remaining, I decided to simply freshen up after sorting out my work issues, and to continue wearing my work attire for my date in the restaurant.

I would normally have considered my tailored navy-blue skirt suit too formal and austere for a social occasion in the evening. However, I knew the man I was meeting preferred me to dress smartly. He had frequently commented on how much he admired my traditional sense of style, especially when compared to the dreadful trousers and other modern fashions that younger women favoured. The classic short pencil skirt and matching blazer, paired with a crisp white blouse that had a pretty bow at the neck, was both mature and sophisticated. The outfit complemented my demeanour and my slim figure perfectly.

As always, my hair had remained in place throughout the day. Black and lustrous when loose, I coaxed it into a lovely tight bun each morning. Firmly gelled and sprayed, it held its rigid and immovable style throughout the day, leaving me confident over my smart appearance.

If I had been meeting anyone else during the evening, I might have considered fashioning my locks into a more relaxed updo. However, my date that evening had frequently remarked how my sleek and classy hairstyle suited me so well. As my hair passed his authoritative scrutiny then it was only fitting that I continue wearing it in the manner that pleased him.

Glancing in the mirror before leaving my room, I was delighted with my appearance, and I trusted that he would be too.

Dinner

As my waitress sat me at my table, I heard my phone buzz. Irritation set in as I assumed it was a work email requiring my attention, just before I was settling down for a pleasant evening with my friend. However, on reading the message, I became even more annoyed as my friend had sent it. With an uncustomary abruptness, he informed me that he was working late so I should have dinner without him. He added that he would join me later that evening in the bar.

It was frustrating but what could I do other than enjoy my meal as best I could, drinking rather more red wine than was good for me. Traditionally, I enjoyed chatting with the staff out of politeness. However, the distraction of the message and my subsequent disappointment at eating on my own, had resulted in me being perfunctory with my waitress.  As I signed my bill, I added a sizable tip as compensation for any rudeness she may have perceived.

‘Thank you so much, Miss Parker,’ my server gushed.

Recognising the voice of a waitress called Emily, I looked up, prepared to address her by name. However, I was confused by what I saw. ‘You’re welcome, Jas… oh, it’s Emily, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Miss Parker,’ Emily acknowledged. ‘Jasmine is the receptionist,’ she explained stiffly, as if I was rather dim.

Before remonstrating with her for telling me something I already knew, I wondered why I believed a receptionist might have my served my meal. Previously, Emily had glorious long dark hair, usually worn in a French braid. On this occasion she had a ridiculously short hairstyle that was identical to the one Jasmine had adopted since my last visit to The Grand.

‘Yes, Emily, I know who Jasmine is, but, er … it’s just, er …’ I stuttered, taking another furtive glance at her dreadful haircut.

‘Yes, Miss Parker?’ she questioned, looking worried, as if she had inadvertently forgotten something.

‘No, Emily, that’s fine,’ I said, waving a dismissive hand, before emptying my wine glass and allowing her to top it up from the bottle.

I found it puzzling that in such a brief period, two attractive young women had given up their lovely long hair and they had received the same unflattering haircut.

As I sipped my wine and watched Emily walking away, my eyes lingered on her shaved neck. As she glanced back over her shoulder, she forced a smile in my direction, and I shivered.

Wine

‘Did you enjoy your meal, Miss Parker?’ called out a familiar voice, but one that did not belong to Emily!

I had been contemplating whether to join my friend in the bar or simply forget him and retire to my room. Playing hard to get was an option. However, as soon as he had sent a message to say he was waiting for me in the bar, I had immediately leapt to my feet, keen to join him.

‘Yes, it was very nice, thank you, Jasmine,’ I replied distractedly, only briefly glancing at the person questioning me.

‘Oh!’ a disappointed voice exclaimed. ‘Julia, it’s me. Beth Carter!’

‘Beth?’ I questioned, baffled why I should have made such an error.

Beth Carter was the senior receptionist – Jasmine’s boss – and, after only a brief glance, I had mistaken her for her subordinate. Of a similar age, Beth and I had become friends during my regular stays at The Grand. We had frequently enjoyed a drink together at the end of a busy day, and hence our use of first names. Her confusion at my failure to recognise her was understandable.

However, I could easily explain my error as Beth’s signature long hair, normally worn loose, had disappeared. She sported the identical short haircut worn by her colleague, Jasmine, as well as Emily, the waitress. It may have been the effect of the wine with dinner, but the weird turn of events with the women’s hair was making my mind spin.

‘Sorry, Beth,’ I apologised, forcing an unconvincing chuckle. ‘I was preoccupied,’ I explained, waving my phone as if that provided the answer to my confusion.

‘No problem, Julia. I expect you were confused by me addressing you formally,’ she explained quietly, so I simply nodded, keen to swiftly conclude the strange conversation. ‘There’s been changes since you were last here,’ Beth stated in a doom-laden voice, ‘and Ms Pinch has told us we must not socialise with the guests,’ she added, looking around her furtively as if the unfamiliar woman she had mentioned would suddenly appear. ‘But we must catch up for a drink soon, Julia, but it will have to be away from The Grand.’

‘Sure …’ I acknowledged.

I stared, distracted, at the short cap of hair bouncing up and down as her head moved around, revealing her nape that was shaved to the skin. Last time I had seen her, she had hair past her waist, held back from her face with a hairband in an informal but professional manner that suited her perfectly. As with Jasmine and Emily, the mushroom-like haircut did not suit her at all.

I needed answers. ‘Beth, I just wanted to ask -’

‘Oops, sorry, must go … it’s Ms Pinch!’ she interrupted in a whisper. ‘Nice to see you again, Miss Parker, and enjoy your stay,’ she added more formally and loudly, as she spun around and promptly trotted off.

My eyes went to the corner of the restaurant where Beth had been looking. Loitering there, a dark silhouette with glinting eyes stared back at me, before gliding away into the shadows.

It was all quite spooky, resulting in two questions competing for attention in my mind. Why had a group of staff members suddenly decided to adopt the same, awful haircuts? And who the devil was Ms Pinch?

Samuel

I strutted into the hotel bar, surprised to find that Samuel was not casually perched on his usual stool at the end of the counter. Peering around the dim interior, my eyes eventually settled on him hidden away in one of booths, urgently gesturing for me to join him.

I sat down opposite Samuel and reached out for the large gin and tonic he had the foresight to order for me.

‘Hello, Julia, I can’t stay long,’ Samuel whispered.

An unflattering welcome by any stretch of the imagination. Looking around furtively, he suddenly loomed across the table and pecked me on the cheek.

‘Good evening, Samuel,’ I huffed, sipping my drink. ‘And yes, I am very well, and thank you for asking,’ I added sarcastically.

Over the years, as I travelled around the country with my work, I had made the acquaintance of a variety of men. There were those I shared a drink with – sometimes sharing more – then I never saw again. Others lasted a while longer before I became bored. However, Samuel was different, and he was the one to whom I frequently returned. Fortunately for me, as he worked at The Grand that I visited regularly, invariably he was available whenever I stayed.

I really liked Samuel, and he said he liked me. However, I had been frustrated that our relationship had not progressed as quickly as I would have liked. I accepted that only staying one or two nights on each occasion did not help the situation. However, his unwillingness to join me for dinner on this occasion after a prolonged interval, increased my frustration. Furthermore, his caution as he sat there in the dim lighting, reminiscent of the anxiety exhibited by Beth, only added to my annoyance.

While undertaking my work, I always expected to get my own way, and I was rarely disappointed for long. In my personal life I had always demanded the same but, invariably, weak-willed partners always left me disappointed and unfulfilled. I had always felt the situation was unfair t was so unfair, but I continued to have high hopes for Samuel meeting my expectations.

Samuel was classically handsome, always dressed smartly and conservatively, and well-groomed in a traditional sense. His dark hair immaculately barbered, and his short beard neatly trimmed. And even on that evening, he had dressed smartly in a three-piece suit, with a crisp white shirt, and a modestly patterned tie. Given his attire, I suspected he had come straight from his work, although it was unusual for his occupation to keep him so busy. Samuel was in his fifties but as he was tall, slim and well-dressed he looked younger. With me approaching fifty but looking good for my age, the age difference was immaterial.

After my sarcastic retort, he had simply stared at me, appearing confused by my tone. With his unwillingness to speak, I wondered if I would need to spell out my reasons for being upset by his behaviour.

‘There’s been so many changes since you were last here,’ he suddenly piped up, rousing himself from his thoughtfulness. His tone suggested a hope that his statement excused his conduct, but it failed. ‘For the greater good, we are told, but I don’t know …’ he mumbled, before gulping down his drink.

‘Changes?’ I questioned when he went silent again, slowly shaking his head.

‘As you will have gathered, the owner of The Grand has always had a relaxed attitude to management, and his approach has contributed to the success of the hotel. Staff remain loyal, and satisfied guests frequently return,’ he explained, pointing at himself then gesturing towards me to illustrate his point. ‘Well, the owner has taken a step back from the day-to-day running of his business. He has appointed a General Manager who approaches the responsibility completely differently,’ Samuel droned on relentlessly.

I failed to understand why Samuel believed I required a detailed explanation of the running of the hotel. I had no interest in his petty work issues. If one of my team had provided me with such inconsequential detail, I would have balled them out. I wanted to tell Samuel that he should try running projects involving hundreds of people every day and juggling all the issues that arose. But I judged that would be unnecessarily spiteful, and it do little to secure our future relationship.

‘I see …’ was my rejoinder to his irrelevant discourse, as I attempted to keep the conversation flowing.

‘So, we all need to be careful all the time,’ he added cryptically, furtively looking around, then glancing down at his watch once more. ‘I can’t stay long,’ he repeated.

‘I know, Samuel, you have already said,’ I snapped. ‘Now settle down and relax, and I’ll order you another drink.’

Another glance around resulted in him intently staring into one dimly lit corner of the bar. ‘Oh no, there’s Ms Pinch!’ he abruptly blurted out. ‘I need to go,’ he added, panicking, as she rose to his feet.

A slight movement drew my eyes to where Samuel had been looking. Loitering there, a dark silhouette with glinting eyes stared back at me, before gliding away into the shadows. As with Beth a brief time earlier, it felt increasingly spooky.

‘Look, Julia,’ he murmured, already edging away, ‘meet me in my shop the hotel’s atrium tomorrow … after 9am when it is less busy … and then we can talk properly.’

And, just like that, Samuel was gone. As I walked past the bar, heading back to my room, a familiar voice called out.

‘Goodnight, Miss Parker,’ I heard the bar manager say.

I turned to face her. I had always enjoyed passing the time chatting with her, admiring the way her long ponytail that swung from side to side as she prepared beverages. ‘Goodnight, Mari- … oh!’

I cringed as I observed lovely Marianne’s cruelly shortened hair, savagely chopped into what was becoming an increasingly familiar hairstyle around the hotel.

Without another word, feeling I had stepped in to a strange variation of The Stepford Wives, I hastened my way back to my room.

Explanation

‘I am so sorry about yesterday evening, Julia,’ Samuel apologised, his expression an unsettling blend of undisguised pleasure at seeing me, and abject misery at needing to be so clandestine.

I had a restless night, unsure whether I should continue my relationship with Samuel or simply move on as I had so often in the past. However, having enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, I was in a better frame of mind. As I was not meeting with my client until much later in the day, I had the entire morning free.

Confirming it was past 9am as instructed, I had sauntered through the reception area. Entering the Atrium and proceeding to the far end, I had found myself facing Samuel’s shop. Despite all the times I had stayed at the hotel, it was the first time I had ventured inside the Atrium and seen The Grand Barbershop. Given the narrow storefront, I decided the revered name on the signage deserved punctuation to clarify its purpose and be more accurate regarding its dimensions.

When I appeared, Samuel had been hovering in the doorway, peering anxiously in every direction. However, on catching sight of me, his relief and delight had been palpable.

‘Samuel, truth be told, I was extremely disappointed with the evening,’ I huffed, laying it on the line and then pausing for effect. ‘But at least we can talk now. So, what is the problem?’

‘You look very nice,’ he said distractedly, avoiding my question.

Although I was not due at my client’s site until much later in the day, I had donned my most striking office attire. A dark grey, daringly short pencil skirt with its matching tailored blazer, worn over a red silk blouse with a smart bow at the neck. As always, I had slicked my hair away from my face and firmly secured it in a neat bun on top of my head. It was a look that I knew Samuel appreciated.

‘Thank you,’ I said, delighted with his praise but irritated by his inability to get to the point of what we needed to discuss. ‘So, Samuel, would you prefer us not to meet any more?’

‘No, no, no,’ he blustered, giving me hope for the future. ‘But this new General Manager has been making all manner of changes at The Grand. For the greater good, she says, but who’s greater good no one is sure. She is even threatening to close my shop unless I draw in more customers and I make more profit for the hotel,’ he grumbled.

‘I see …’ I remarked, recognising the injustice, despite the inconsequential power struggle being such a trivial matter.

‘I suspect she has a plan to use my premises for something else,’ he wailed. ‘Selling something that increases the hotel’s profits. Beth thinks scarves, but Jasmine reckons socks. It’s awful, and just not fair -’

‘I see …’

‘I need my job, Julia,’ he whined.

Samuel made his job as a barber sound as important as mine as an international management consultant. However, I could see for a proud man like Samuel, practicing his profession – having his own business – was, justifiably, important to him. As he had been loyal to the owner of The Grand for a long while, I agreed that the potential change was unfair. Furthermore, if our relationship was to flourish, I did not want to date an unemployed person.

‘I see …’

While I was trying to formulate a more substantial response that would things in a more positive light, a woman’s voice rang out from the Atrium.

‘Sam!’ she called, punctuated by the sound of heels clicking on the tiled floor. ‘Are you ready for me?’

Interruption

On hearing the woman’s voice, I did not know whether I should be concerned by her ambiguous question or simply bemused. However, Samuel gave me no time to dwell on a suitable response.

‘Oh, no!’ he cried. ‘I had forgotten about Jasmine. Quick, Julia, go around the corner and hide in my waiting area,’ he demanded, in a panic, flapping his hands to usher me towards the proposed location. ‘She won’t see you there and then she can’t tell Ms Pinch. Come along, Julia … quickly, quickly!’

‘Jasmine …?’ I asked mystified. Surely, she was far too young for the two of them to be having any sort of relationship, I reasoned. ‘What, the receptionist …?’

‘Yes, yes, yes … we’re not supposed to socialise with the guests,’ he bleated, ‘so she must not see you, otherwise she might tell Ms Pinch!’

‘Fine,’ I bristled at him dismissing me in such an offhand manner, ‘but we need to have a very serious conversation once she has gone.’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he said impatiently, shooing me around the corner to ensure I was out of sight of the main area of the shop.

‘You hadn’t forgotten that it’s time for our weekly session, had you, Sam?’ I heard Jasmine ask.

A “session”? It appeared that I did have justifiable cause for concern, despite their age difference. Unless they were in a relationship, why else would a young woman enter the staid confines of a gentlemen’s barbershop.

‘Of course I hadn’t forgotten you, Jasmine,’ Sam replied, sounding anxious. ‘Make yourself comfortable. As you know, I won’t take long.’

Increasingly worried, I adjusted my position slightly and, while still hidden, I found a convenient gap through which I could observe the pair. Unfortunately, what I could see did not fill me with joy. In some ways, it was even worse than I had surmised.

Jasmine had made herself comfortable by settling herself down in the barber’s chair. Samuel had enveloped her in a huge haircutting cape that reached the floor. Just her delicate small head was visible above the cape, topped off with the newly acquired mushroom-like haircut. Worryingly, Samuel was running a comb through the young woman’s hair with one hand and held fearsome buzzing hairclippers in the other. It was a fearsome sight.

I gasped when, without warning, Samuel suddenly thrust the menacing blade of the hairclippers towards the short hair that covered Jasmine’s nape. It was chilling but, like watching a disastrous event over which one has no control, I was unable to turn myself away from the sickening vision.

I was unable to comprehend why Jasmine, a beautiful young woman, was allowing an old men’s barber to shear off the little that remained of her formerly long hair. Or, indeed, why my Samuel – a barber for gentlemen – was willing to perform such a horrific task.

I gasped more loudly when the shining blade of the hairclippers peeled back the short hair on Jasmine’s neck and revealed a fine pelt of dark bristles, reminiscent of the six o’clock shadow on a man’s face.

Samuel must have heard me gasping for air as he stared admonishingly in my direction. However, I reasoned that Jasmine could not have heard with clamorous sound of the hairclippers stripping the short hair around each of her ears. Jasmine’s hair had already been painfully short, so I failed to comprehend why Samuel was making her suffer further indignity?

The previous day I had noted that, since my last visit to The Grand, Jasmine’s bountiful long hair had disappeared. It had complemented her youthful character, unlike the unflattering severely bobbed hairstyle that had taken its place. Despite what I was witnessing, I desperately wanted to believe that my Samuel would not have performed Jasmine’s original, and despicable, transformation.

While I contemplated the bizarre turn of events, Jasmine just sat in Samuel’s chair patiently, acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Short snippets of hair fell on the cape, while the hairclippers left only a dark shadow of bristles below the rim of the mushroom-like glossy cap.

Adjusting his position, Samuel sliced through Jasmine’s fringe. He created a blunt line, straight across, high up on her forehead. Following that same line, he levelled the perimeter of her mushroom-like cap until all her hair sat pertly on her crown, high above her ears.

In less than ten minutes, Samuel had transformed Jasmine’s lamentable bobbed hairstyle that was already far too short, into an even shorter version. It looked as though someone had fashioned it by simply placing a pudding bowl on her head and shaving off all the hair that peeked out below.

‘Thanks, Sam,’ Jasmine sighed with the usual joy in her voice uncharacteristically lacking. She motioned that she was ready, just awaiting the removal of the cape.

‘Not so fast, young lady,’ Samuel chided. ‘I trust you remember the latest rule to be adhered to, requiring that you have the back and sides shaved completely clean. You’ll be the first to experience the foil shaver,’ he added gleefully.

‘Oh, lucky me,’ Jasmine grumbled sarcastically, slumping back into the chair.

‘Yes, very much so,’ Samuel chuckled, picking up a small rectangular box that began to hum as she flicked a switch. ‘This provides a lovely smooth finish.’

The device in his hand resembled an electric shaver that a man would use on his face. Unbelievably, he placed it on Jasmine’s neck and began shaving away the shadow resulting from the dark bristles that the hairclippers had left behind. Very swiftly, the foil shaver had eliminated the dark shadow, replacing it by gleaming pristine skin.

‘There we go, Jasmine,’ Samuel announced proudly. ‘Much smarter, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

As Samuel unfastened the haircutting cape, I could clearly see Jasmine’s freshly cut hair. The back and sides of her were completely bald, with just a smooth glossy cap of hair perched on top of her head. There was no doubt it was a smart hairstyle, but it was ridiculously severe.

‘Yeah, right,’ Jasmine murmured, sounding unimpressed, as she hauled herself to her feet. ‘Well, thanks, anyway,’ she added with no joy in her voice, more out of polite duty, rather than in genuine appreciation.

‘No problem, Jasmine,’ Samuel acknowledged. ‘Same time next week, or we’ll both be in trouble.’

I could not understand why Jasmine would have wanted such an awful style when her long hair had been so glorious. Furthermore, it was strange that she had asked a barber to cut it for her, even if he was conveniently located. On top of all that, I found it unbelievable that my Samuel had agreed to do it. He had always been complimentary about my long hair, and he expressed a preference for women to follow traditional fashion. In my opinion, what I had just witnessed was completely bizarre, on so many levels.

What made the incident even more peculiar was that Jasmine’s haircut closely resembled that of her colleagues. Most notably was my friend, and her boss, senior receptionist, Beth Carter. Another was Emily, the waitress who served me at dinner. But I had noted other employees too. Why had they chosen the same awful haircut? And had Samuel cut it for them too?

‘Bye for now, Jasmine,’ Samuel called out as the young woman sloped off, absently rubbing her bald neck as she disappeared into the Atrium.

I was extremely worried by Samuel’s uncharacteristic behaviour. Rising to my feet, I contemplated making a swift exit from his shop, unsure whether I could face any more of his poor explanations. However, while sweeping Jasmine’s hair from the floor, he saw me furtively moving away.

‘Don’t worry, Julia. No need for you to hide now,’ he claimed. ‘You can come out!’

Clarification

‘So, as I was saying, Julia,’ Samuel said brightly, as if Jasmine had never appeared to interrupt us. ‘All the staff need to be far more careful now with the new General Manager in charge. Amongst all the changes, she forbids socialising with the guests. If she found out about our relationship, I am sure she would close me down instantly. I need my job, Julia, so please be careful,’ Samuel implored, wagging his finger at me.

Being a guest at The Grand, I was unsure how I was supposed to be careful, but I nodded to acknowledge Samuel’s ridiculous instruction. More importantly at that moment, I needed to understand why he had not felt the need to mention why he had scalped poor young Jasmine.

In the past, Samuel had proudly claimed that he was a hairdresser exclusively for gentlemen. He trained in barbering skills, and that was the traditional service, harking back to bygone era, that the owner of The Grand wished to provide to his male guests. It seemed a noble enough trade but not one I had any interest in.

Previously, he had mentioned that women occasionally ventured inside his shop, but usually by mistake, and leaving quickly when they learnt what services were on offer. If pressed, even for a trim in an emergency, he would inform them he was untrained in the art of women’s hair and send them on their away. I told his judgement was sound as I would never contemplate going to a barber, even for an “emergency” trim of my long hair!

Why, I wondered, had his position changed so dramatically. This was not the Samuel I had got know. And, at that moment, I wondered if he was the person I wanted to know better.

‘Samuel, what was that all about with Jasmine?’ I barked, seriously irritated by his uncaring attitude.

He looked genuinely mystified, either by my words, or my tone, or both. ‘I cut her hair,’ he replied, shrugging, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. ‘So, as I was saying -’

‘Since when did you, Samuel, a barber exclusively for gentlemen, start chopping off young women’s hair?’ I asked, growing increasingly exasperated by his curious behaviour.

Three times he opened and then closed his mouth, resembling a goldfish, lost for words.

‘Well?’ I bellowed, standing near the doorway to signal my intention if I found his explanation unsatisfactory.

‘Since Ms Pinch, the new General Manager, told me to!’ he snapped, directing his venom as if it was my fault. ‘She pulled me into her office on her first morning and told me I would have to do it. It was for the greater good of The Grand.’

‘Oh, the “greater good”,’ I laughed sarcastically. ‘Right …’

‘Yes, establishing a new standard of appearance for all female staff. As The Grand Barbershop was rarely busy, she decided it would be more efficient for staff to have their hair styled without the need to travel, as well as employing an under-utilised resource. I’m still unsure if the resource she was referring to was me or the shop,’ he said whimsically. ‘Anyway, she decided to begin implementing the new standard on her first morning, starting with Beth Carter.’

I shook my head in disbelief. ‘And what did Beth think about that?’

Samuel looked awkward. ‘Not a lot, actually …’ he admitted.

‘Yet, you still cut off all her lovely long hair and then gave her that dreadful mushroom hairstyle!’ I yelled. ‘And her hair when worn loose always looked impeccable.’

‘I know. I frequently complemented her on it,’ Samuel acknowledged sheepishly. ‘Oh, and her hairstyle is called a bowlcut, actually.’

‘Is it!’ I sighed, exasperated.

He nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, or other names are -’

‘So, let me get this clear,’ I interrupted. ‘You told Beth her long hair was lovely but still you chopped it all off, and then turned what was left into a pudding bowl -’

‘Well, it’s not really a pudding -’

‘Aaarggh!’ I cried in exasperation. ‘After that, you rounded up all the other staff and did the same to them.’

‘No, no, no, Julia,’ Samuel refuted. ‘After I had cut Beth’s hair, she quickly accepted that a uniform appearance was for the greater good of The Grand. Beth helped Ms Pinch round up all the other staff, and -’

‘And you did the same to all of them!’ I groaned. ‘I find that so hard to believe,’ I stated honestly. ‘But, anyway, why was this all even necessary?’ I said in frustration. ‘Who said it was needed?’

‘Ms Pinch’ Samuel said evenly, smiling, as if that explained everything.

It explained nothing, and I was not smiling as I prepared to leave.

Epilogue

‘I might have guessed, Samuel!’ I spat, tired as I was of hearing that name. ‘Ms Pinch!’

A voice rang out in from the Atrium. ‘Did someone call?’

Samuel stared at me, terrified, as if the devil herself was approaching.

‘Hell’s bells!’ Samuel cursed under his breath. ‘Julia, get back in the waiting area,’ he insisted, flapping his arms for emphasis. ‘Go on, go on.’

Building on the incident earlier, I felt like the naughty neighbour in a television sitcom when a partner arrived home unexpectedly. I felt I should be shinning down a drainpipe or hiding in the wardrobe to escape their wrath. However, there was to be no audience laughter associated with my exploits on this occasion. Far from it, as the cunning plan was enacted far too late.

My eyes followed Samuel’s to the doorway where a dark silhouette with glinting eyes stared back at me. ‘Did someone call?’ Ms Pinch repeated, her voice dripping with menace.

To be continued

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