Francesca

I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE a good look, to mingle with the guests this morning. To show I'm one of them.

It was a little awkward when everyone turned to stare when I entered the restaurant; I suppose they all know who I am. For a lot of people I'm "the face of The Manor" (I think that may actually be a direct quote from the Harper's Bazaar article about me).

I take a sip of my drink: a vegan turmeric shake—we press our own almond milk here. Ugh, not great. I put up a finger and beckon over Georgina, the Seashard manager. "Georgina, darling—this is so watery? We can't be giving our guests something they could get out of any old carton! Yes?"

Georgina nods, meekly.

"OK, you're amazing! Run along and sort it, thank you my lovely. I so appreciate it."

She melts away.

It's not the almond milk, though. Something else is off. Similar to that feeling when you're in the sea and you swim into a patch that's much colder than the rest, with no obvious explanation. Yes, that's it: a cold current of bad energy on this gloriously warm day. I am highly sensitive to such things.

I glance around the breakfast room to ground myself, to remind myself that this is my space. Nothing can affect me here—

I stop short. Somewhere in the crowd I spotted a face. A face that... shouldn't be here. I try to find it again among the bustle of the room. It's like when a word on a page jumps out at you before you've read it, but you can't recall exactly where you saw it.

No, I remind myself. It's not possible. We've asked the guests to submit little potted bios "so we can best accommodate you and tailor your experience accordingly." I want to know who's staying with us. Nothing sinister, just so we have a true sense of community. I looked them all over myself, as I plan to do going forward. So I would know if anything were amiss. Then why do I feel so horrible, like I've been poisoned...? I can just imagine the flood of cortisol through my veins.

I take another sip of the drink and almost spit it out. It tastes awful. A horrid metallic flavor in my mouth. I stand up and my chair clatters backward. The guests at the next table look up. I see the man glance at my mouth and wince. Instinctively, I put my fingers to my lips. I hadn't even been aware of it but I must have bitten into the flesh, because my fingertips come away stained with blood.