Balchik Secret

CHAPTER ONE

Balchik, Tuesday, June 6, 2006

One single room, please.

Sylvia’s melodic voice pierced the silence of the small reception in the musicians’ hut, in which the silence was disturbed only by the sea breeze.

How long will your stay be? Would you like some breakfast?

The fingers with a brand new red manicure flickered on the glass reception desk and stopped when the young girl realized she had about 40 euros, which would have been enough for three evenings. Neon light flashed from the computer monitor on the inside of the reception. They didn’t have any current reservations—according to the information system, which directed the regular reservations to the manager—it led them , arranged them, and distributed them.

I will need an ID to accommodate you. – The manager was careful not to show her despair, as she was well aware that this was only the second guest in the first week of June.

Her fingers moved in the air as if she was arranging an invisible task and was eager to continue. The neon light from the monitor kept flashing. One never knew if a short stay might turn into a two-week or a monthlong stay.

Yes, we have available rooms. – The manager’s voice became more impatient, and she raised her badly cropped eyebrows. – It is the beginning of summer. We have vacancies and prices are low. Her gaze wandered between the neon light and the girl’s expression.

“I’ll stay for two nights,” said Sylvia more abruptly, used to planning her finances to the penny. That was perhaps the most distinctive feature of her character, and it was probably also the main reason that brought her 400 miles from the city she was studying in. - No, I won’t ask for breakfast. She knew that a nearby supermarket would offer her a more sensible alternative than a hotel breakfast. – Her fingers trembled again.

Outside, the bright light of the setting sun passed by the small windows from which one could see an indescribably beautiful view of the picturesque Balchik Bay.

Workers in overalls placed two of the awnings on the still-closed “Damba” beach alley establishments, and the pavement itself was illuminated by the last of the day’s sun rays.

The young woman pursed her lips as the manager handed her the key. Too bad, she told herself, that I’d have to give up all that splendor in just two days.

Here you go. Down the hall to the left.

Her confident tone suggested excellent accommodation conditions, but she probably attached importance to herself in an attempt to keep the last pieces of her pride. The composer’s hut in Balchik was supported by the Bulgarian Ministry of Culture, and it did not invest the necessary funds for a long time.

Both of her eyebrows soared high as she entered the small room with clean white sheets, a washbasin, and a toilet at the bottom that had great views of the bay. Her hand relaxed on her thigh as if she were already mentally resting, and the last rays of sunshine were reflected in her eyes.

Sylvia leaned on the clean pillow and tried to concentrate more as she stared at the blue waters, and her mind was already plotting a more extended stay in the seaside town. In fact, no one was waiting for her in Blagoevgrad. The man with whom she kept in touch from a distance worked in England and was due to return home in the autumn. She felt loneliness but also a desire to enter into something new. Someone should be looking for staff for the summer, she thought.

BALCHIK, On the next day

Sylvia stared down Primorska street. It was a street pulsing with life, with recent car models busy moving along, their occupants late for meetings with staff and suppliers.

By all things, there was a feverish preparation for summer 2006. From wherever one looked at them, the signs of the inhabitants of Primorska Street’s social status were not discreet. The well-maintained buildings of small family hotels corresponded perfectly with the expensive limousines parked in front of them.

In fact, the second street from the beach was where most tourists wanted to stay because of the lower prices, the excellent quality of the service provided and the proximity to the sea. There was no way any of these neat little family hotels weren’t looking for someone for any job.

But she had to find the perfect employer. The rumors about the owners’ bad attitude on the Bulgarian Black Sea Coast had reached her, and she definitely did not want to fall victim to sexual harassment, beating or work without pay. Most girls who started working on the coast did not know that appearance is not enough, intellect is not enough, and the desire to work is not enough. And if they didn’t even know they had to know that, how could they even protect themselves?

The man in front of her knew it, but he was lucky enough to be the first hotel manager in the row, and perhaps the best move he had made after years of being a waiter was to realize that he was ready to run the whole building. She turned her back on the light breeze, which blew and toyed with her dress. She stood looking down at him as he sat on the hotel terrace, calm brown eyes staring at her from his wrinkled, smoothed face.

‘Are you looking for staff for the summer?’ The young woman asked.

The man leaning against the chair stared at her carefully, as a cat would stare at a mouse before the attack.

Yes, we’re looking for someone for the cold kitchen.′

The young girl sat in the chair opposite him. Her beautiful, youthful figure was inconspicuously accentuated by the ethereal white summer dress, her recently-dyed long red hair covering her shoulders. She liked her hairstyle so much after her visit to the hairdresser that she carefully kept it from getting mussed throughout the trip and on the first night of her stay in the seaside town. There was almost no make-up on her face, and her youthful skin revealed a perfectly symmetrical face with emerald green eyes.

‘As I said, I’m interested in whether you’re recruiting for the summer,’ she said. She tilted her head with a visibly worried expression, although her big green eyes looked at him utterly unceremoniously and coolly. After all, it was about a low-paid hotel job that would have allowed her to spend the summer in a place quite different from what she was always living in.

‘Yes, I said we’re looking for someone to make salad and appetizer preparations, a cold kitchen.’

‘I heard it the first time,’ she replied. ‘I was hoping for something like a receptionist position. I speak two languages and have quite good computer literacy.’

‘You’re telling me at what position I am supposed to hire you. Here we need mainly Russian, Romanian and English. And we don’t need computer literacy; we don’t use an information system to accommodate guests.’

Sylvia totally understood him. But she lacked knowledge and experience in the cold kitchen. She preferred the reception and the front office to allow her to meet the hotel guests, and the time would pass imperceptibly.

‘I got it. Alas, it’s not quite for me,’ she said, getting up from the chair. ‘Have a great day.’

‘Good luck searching,’ said the dark-skinned man, who didn’t even introduce himself. ‘How unprofessional,’ thought the young woman. ‘No badge, no name, no presentation, nothing.’

There were two more hotels across the street, and she would have success in some of them. Summer on the seashore was ahead of her. And only 100 meters separated her from hotel number two.

VIKTORIA

The imposing white building was boldly erected right in the middle of the street, and the Roman columns complemented the charm of the building, which was in tune with the city’s overall appearance. The white cliffs of Balchik reflected in it , and the small details of the façade seemed to be looking around at the palace, which was at the end of the sea promenade. ‘His owners definitely had taste,’ Sylvia told herself. Only the new resort’s enormous, gaping hole in front of the hotel disturbed their plans for the season and definitely polluted its windows and façade.

The reception was visible from the door, and there was a young man of about 18 who was staring at the monitor on his computer and seemed to be stubbornly trying to complete the task assigned to him.

‘Hi, are you looking for staff for the summer?’ Sylvia asked anxiously.

‘Yes, they’re looking. They were looking for a receptionist,’ said the boy, who quickly rose from the chair, shook his hand and apparently headed to the restaurant to look for someone on whom the hiring decision depended.

She took a deep breath. All this may have prepared her for a new adventure. If you can handle this, you’ll have dealt with your fears.

A middle-aged man, who had apparently tried to have his lunch before being interrupted, came out.

‘So you’re looking for a job?’ he quickly asked. ‘I am Hristo, and I am the owner of the hotel. What experience as a receptionist do you have?’

‘I worked last summer at a reception in Blagoevgrad. That’s where I study,’ the young woman replied.

‘What are you studying?’

‘Applied linguistics,’ Sylvia replied. ‘I speak fluent English and French.’

‘Do you have any experience at the bar? We’re a small family hotel. We don’t have a lot of work at the restaurant, so we need someone to fill both positions.’

‘Yes, it was like that in the front hotel. I can make coffee and serve.’ She exaggerated a little about the latter because she had never been very good at serving. She had to come back many times to serve a large table, but her charm and appearance always brought her a big tip. She hoped this would work here too.

‘Where do you live here?’

‘I settled into the composer’s hut,’ the young woman replied, not mentioning that her money would only be enough for tonight and that, the next day, she would probably catch the first bus to Sofia.

We’ll find you something else, or it won’t make sense to work just for accommodation. You start tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. We’ll see how it goes and get a contract for the season. Does that sound good to you?′

‘Oh, yes,’ she sighed. ‘I just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.’

‘Get used to it, and make sure you don’t get pregnant this summer,’ he said, a joke Sylvia would know he used a lot.

‘See you tomorrow morning,’ she said, as she headed to the hotel exit.

Viktoria, she said to herself as she walked down the noisy street. That’s a nice name for a hotel. People are changing. Our needs are changing. What was good for me a year ago is not necessarily what’s right for me now. It took courage to accept it. Too many people let themselves live in a routine. They allow a peaceful, settled life to take over them, and they no longer do anything unexpected, nothing challenging. You’re not one of those people, Sylvia; you’re definitely not. You’re only 22 years old, you can do whatever you want, and if staying at the coast all summer will make you feel alive and full of energy, then you have to do it.

‘Success in finding a job should be celebrated,’ she said aloud to herself, deciding to take a long walk at dusk.