The Hotel Nantucket — Chapter no 25

25. The Last Friday of the Month: August

Lizbet and Edie are in Lizbet’s office at 11:58—and at 11:59, Lizbet taps on her Instagram icon. As soon as her phone says noon, she visits the Hotel Confidential account and refreshes, but all she sees is the review from the Sea Castle Bed-and-Breakfast in Hyannis Port.

“Come on, Shelly,” Lizbet says. She turns to Edie. “Has she ever

been late before?”

“Hit refresh again,” Edie says.

Lizbet inhales, then hits the refresh button.

On her screen is a picture of Zeke and Adam, framed inside the grand front doors, both of them waving and smiling; Lizbet sees the potted flowers on the steps and one wide rocker and fireplace table on the front porch. She blinks. This is real? This is their hotel? Those are their bellmen? Because it feels like a figment of Lizbet’s imagination. A manifestation.

Edie, who is holding her own phone, shrieks—and Lizbet reads the caption.

She leaps out of her chair and grabs Edie and the two of them dance around the office. Lizbet’s eyes blur with tears; she can’t believe it, and yet she knew, she knew they would do it. In her heart, she knew. She used to think that meeting JJ and running the Deck

was her dream come true—but no, it’s this. This is what she was meant to do.

“We did it!” Edie shouts. “We! Did! It!”

Adam and Zeke come running in; Adam is on the phone with Raoul, who has just seen the review at home. Alessandra slips in and Lizbet gives her a hug, because any way you look at it, they couldn’t have gotten five keys without her. Lizbet texts Mario: FIVE KEYS!!!!

Adam says, “Has anyone read the actual review yet?”

“No!” Edie says. “Let’s all do it at the same time. One, two, three —”

“Wait, I’m not ready,” Adam says. He scrolls. “Okay, go!”

They click on the link.

Hotel Confidential by Shelly Carpenter

August 26, 2022

The Hotel Nantucket, Nantucket, Massachusetts

—5 KEYS

Hello, friends.

I’ve been reviewing hotel experiences for nearly fifteen years and never once have I been tempted to use the word best. It’s not an appropriate qualifier for a hotel. How can one compare the Siam in Bangkok to Auberge du Soleil in Napa to the Dulini River Lodge in South Africa? The answer is, one can’t; though all exquisite, they’re different species.

However, after a recent visit to the Hotel Nantucket, I find myself struggling for a word other than best. I have, for the first time, awarded a property five keys, and there’s no doubt in my mind that this coveted fifth key is well deserved.

The Hotel Nantucket, originally built in 1910, has survived a fire, financial difficulties, and owners with poor taste. It fell into severe disrepair and sat on the market for over ten years until it was purchased by London billionaire Xavier Darling.

As you know, friends, the most important quality for me in any hotel is a sense of place. Unlike the three other luxury properties on Nantucket—the White Elephant, the Nantucket Beach Club and Hotel, and the Wauwinet—the Hotel Nantucket isn’t located on the water. It claims a full block of Easton Street, which is easy walking distance from the cobblestoned streets of Nantucket’s downtown. The lobby is a large, airy room that blends historical elements (the building’s original oak beams, an authentic whale boat that serves as a chandelier) with modern (comfy chairs, ottomans, tables laden with books and games). Unlike some other lobbies I’ve visited, the lobby of the Hotel Nantucket is one people gravitate to. The hotel’s simple but extraordinary continental breakfast is served here every morning between seven and ten thirty (don’t miss the percolated coffee or the almond croissants), and while I was in residence, a young chess prodigy played with any guest brave enough to challenge him. Often, a crowd gathered.

The magnanimity that was extended to me throughout my stay began at check-in: I was upgraded to one of the hotel’s exquisite suites for the price of a standard street-view room. The living area

of the suite included a library wall that was lined with books—a mixture of current bestsellers (with a whole shelf dedicated to “beach reads”) and classics. There was a cushioned window seat wide and long enough to actually accommodate a reclining adult human (so often, I feel that window seats are only for show). Also in the living area was the complimentary minibar.

That’s right, friends, I said complimentary.

The minibar was stocked with local beer, wine, and spirits, smoked bluefish pâté and guacamole from local fishmonger 167 Raw, and packages of crackers and chips (gluten-free crackers available upon request).

The master bedroom featured the largest bed I have ever slept in (it’s a custom size called emperor). The bed was sheathed in Matouk linens (my preferred brand, as you know) and topped with a cashmere blanket from local weaver Nantucket Looms. The ceiling of the room was hand-painted with the Nantucket night sky by Tamela Cornejo, which was a particularly appropriate touch since Nantucket is the birthplace of noted female astronomer Maria Mitchell.

The bathroom was the Platonic ideal: spacious, luxurious, well appointed. The shower was tiled with oyster shells, the lighting over the sink made my skin look as dewy as Anne Hathaway’s in The Princess Diaries (am I aging myself?), and there was a separate water closet, which I always prefer.

The hotel featured a wellness center (which, I will not lie, friends, I did not visit after my initial inspection, though other guests gushed about the gym, the sauna, and the yoga studio)

and two glorious pools, one a joyous hive of activity for families and one a serene refuge for adults only.

Friends, I am officially over my word limit—but I refuse to stop, because the best is yet to come!

The hotel’s restaurant, the Blue Bar, was the brainchild of Chef Mario Subiaco (I don’t have space to list his accolades; google him). The Blue Bar offered an experience unlike any other on Nantucket; it feels like walking into a swanky A-list party you can’t believe you’ve been invited to. The cocktails were made with top- shelf liquor, the fare was fun-loving (pigs in a blanket), a little retro (church-picnic deviled eggs), and a little decadent (luscious caviar sandwiches). All meals end with a visit from the whipped cream concierge. (Vegan whipped cream available upon request.) A copper disco ball dropped at nine o’clock and the music switched to ’80s dance hits.

The best part of the Hotel Nantucket wasn’t the conviviality in the lobby or the expansive real estate of the bed or the festive atmosphere of the Blue Bar.

The best part of the Hotel Nantucket was the staff. It may have taken me fifteen years to realize this, friends, but realize it I have: Hotels aren’t about rooms. They aren’t about amenities. They’re about people—and the people who work at the Hotel Nantucket are what earned the property its fifth key.

The front-desk clerks, the bellmen, the night auditor, the housekeeping crew, and the general manager, Lizbet Keaton, were attentive. They listened. They were friendly. They were helpful. They were knowledgeable. And above all, they were kind.

Some of you might be wondering if I’m going to address the elephant in the room: Is the Hotel Nantucket, as reported by the AP, the Washington Post, and USA Today, haunted by the ghost of Grace Hadley, a chambermaid who was killed in a fire in 1922?

I don’t believe in ghosts—or I didn’t before my stay at the Hotel Nantucket. During my stay I heard tales of flickering lights, music blaring out of nowhere, the electric shades going haywire. None of those stories persuaded me. However, I did feel a watchful, even nurturing, presence throughout my stay. It’s my unshakable opinion that Grace Hadley makes most of the hotel’s guests (including yours truly) feel safe—and yes, even loved. (But, as with any strong woman, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.) I’m sure some of you have already predicted what I’m going to say next: This will be my final Hotel Confidential post. Some of you might suspect that I’m stopping because I have finally found perfection, my Shangri-La, and there may be some truth to that.

Any property I visited after such a transformative experience would no doubt be a letdown. But the bigger and more important reason I’m retiring from this particular endeavor is because I want more time to stay home and take care of my children. (Surprise! I have two children—and a dog as well!) I’d like to thank you, friends, for accompanying me on my journeys around the world. While hotel reviewing can be lonely (traveling solo and undercover, unable to share my true identity or life’s details with anyone I met), I always felt that you, my readers, were with me. And you haven’t seen the last of Shelly Carpenter!

I’m starting a new blog about finding love after a marriage falls

apart. I’m calling it The Second Story.

Stay well, friends. And do good.

—SC

Lizbet chokes up when she reads the adjectives Shelly used to describe the staff. Attentive. Friendly. Helpful. Knowledgeable. Kind.

Edie sniffles and Zeke plucks a tissue for her from the box on Lizbet’s desk. (Attentive, Lizbet thinks. And kind.) Then she reads the section about the ghost, Grace Hadley, and while a part of Lizbet thinks, Just what we need, more guests showing up expecting a haunting, she realizes that what Shelly says is true. Grace Hadley has been looking out for them all.

Next, Lizbet reads the shocking news of Shelly’s retirement.

“Whaaaaaa?” Edie says. “Shelly Carpenter is staying home with

her two children and her dog?”

“And her dog?” Zeke says.

“Lots of people have two kids and a dog,” Adam says. “The whole world has two kids and a dog.”

Then Lizbet reads about Shelly Carpenter starting a new blog.

“‘About finding love after a marriage falls apart,’” Adam reads over Lizbet’s shoulder. He honks out a laugh. “It is Kimber. Kimber is Shelly Carpenter!”

At that second, the door to Lizbet’s office opens and Richie steps in.

Edie says, “We got five keys, Richie, did you see?” Then she gasps. “Did you know? Did you know Kimber is Shelly Carpenter?”

“I found out the night before she left,” Richie says. “Kimber didn’t want to tell me until after the review was finished. She’s a professional.” At that second, there’s a buzzing noise and Richie pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Hey, boo,” he says. “Yep, they figured it out. We’re all in Lizbet’s office.” He pauses. “Aw, okay, I’ll tell them. Love you.” Richie hangs up and gives them a sad smile.

“She says she misses you already.”

August 28, 2022

From: Xavier Darling ([email protected])

To: Employees of the Hotel Nantucket

It was a pleasure and a privilege to meet you all in person this past week. I’m only sorry I couldn’t stay longer.

Congratulations are in order for the fifth key from Shelly Carpenter of Hotel Confidential. Hear, hear! Shelly has been a formidable critic of hotels and resort properties across the globe, and it was my not-so-secret goal to win the fifth key, but ultimately it was you, the staff, who impressed Ms. Carpenter the most. I will be including a thousand-dollar bonus in everyone’s check this week.

Unfortunately, I must follow this up with some rather somber news: I am putting the Hotel Nantucket on the market, effective tomorrow. I have already received an offer on the place from a friend and colleague who wants to use the building as a satellite office space. This means that, unless another buyer comes

forward with a competitive offer, the Hotel Nantucket will no longer operate as a hotel.

I thank you all for your time, energy, expertise, and dedication this summer. Every one of you should feel free to call on me for a letter of recommendation as you move forward into your various futures.

All best, XD

An e-mail from Xavier arrives in Lizbet’s in-box at five o’clock on Sunday evening, and Lizbet nearly ignores it because she’s exhausted from the excitement of the past week. She wants to pick up a pizza from Pi, draw a bath, and then climb into bed to watch Ted Lasso until Mario gets finished with work. But it’s Xavier, so she can’t wait until the morning.

Putting the hotel on the market. Use the building as a satellite office space?

She feels like she’s reading her own obituary.

Edie cracks open the door and says, “Lizbet? Did you see?”

“I…I…” Lizbet doesn’t have words. For the past two days, she has been floating. Everyone on the island has reached out—calling, texting, messaging on Facebook and Instagram—to congratulate her and the rest of the staff on the fifth key from Shelly Carpenter. JJ sent a bouquet (the first flowers from him in a year that she hasn’t sent back). Lizbet’s parents called from Minnetonka. She has heard from countless news outlets, including the New York Times, Travel and Leisure, CBS Sunday Morning, Afar, the Armchair Explorer podcast—wanting to do interviews, articles, segments. But most

meaningfully, Lizbet heard from her old dorm mate Elyse Perryvale, who was the reason Lizbet came to Nantucket in the first place.

Elyse wrote that her family had, sadly, sold their house on the island but that she would like to book rooms at the Hotel Nantucket the following summer for two weeks.

Lizbet had wanted to talk to Xavier about raising their prices ever so slightly because the phone has been ringing nonstop the past two days; at this rate, the hotel would be completely booked with a waiting list for next summer by Labor Day. You don’t sell a hotel when the entire next season is booked! Lizbet thinks. Did Xavier not even glance at the financials? The business is booming, and now that they have the fifth key and all this media attention, they should be moving full steam ahead. Lizbet dreams of refurbishing the fourth floor and adding more rooms and maybe also extending their season through Christmas Stroll. She’d love to create a sunset-viewing platform on the widow’s walk, maybe hire Adam as their full-time lobby entertainment, creating a little competition for the Club Car piano bar. Their Instagram could use some beefing up; she could give Edie a side hustle of being their social media manager. There are so many things…they’re just getting started!

“He’s selling it,” Edie says. “He already has a buyer.”

Lizbet gives Edie a wink. “He must be cranky about something else,” she says. “This isn’t real. He won’t sell.”

“He won’t?”

“Let me talk to him,” Lizbet says. As Lizbet dials Xavier, she wonders again if something happened while he was here. He left so early, so quickly, without saying goodbye. Maybe it was business— but Lizbet’s gut tells her it was something else.

The call goes straight to voice mail. It is eleven o’clock on a Sunday night in London, but Xavier sent the e-mail only ten minutes ago. Surely he’s still awake. She calls again from her phone. Voice mail.

She sends him a text, something she has never done before. It has always seemed too casual, too familiar, but this is an emergency. Xavier, can we please talk about your e-mail tonight? I’m not sure I’ll sleep otherwise.

She stares at her phone, trying to manifest a response. Sure enough, three dots rise on Xavier’s side of the chat. What is he going to say? She needs to talk to him, ask him what happened.

Wasn’t any negative experience he might have had while at the hotel washed away by Shelly’s five-key review?

The dots disappear but no text comes through. Lizbet checks her e-mail—nothing. He doesn’t want to talk to her; it’s this that fills her with a hot, loose, watery panic.

She runs into the Blue Bar kitchen, even though the bar is filling up with guests and Mario has started service. She catches a glimpse of him, gorgeous as ever in his white chef’s jacket, houndstooth pants, and White Sox cap, at the pass inspecting the plates, and she fully expects him to tell her to leave—she’s never interrupted him at work before—but instead he steps away and says, “Beatriz, cover for me, please. I need a minute.”

He takes Lizbet by the hand and they step into the quieter service kitchen, where a huge bowl of dough is proofing. Beatriz’s croissants

for the next morning.

“You heard?” Lizbet says.

“He did just what I was afraid he’d do,” Mario says. “Pulled the plug.”

“But why?” Lizbet says. “Doesn’t he realize how great everything is?”

“He got what he wanted,” Mario says. “The fifth key. Guys like Xavier aren’t in this for the money or the greater good—restoring an historic building, boosting the local economy, creating jobs—they’re in it for the bragging rights. He probably bet some guy he met at Annabel’s that he could buy a hotel and get the fifth key. And he did and now he has no use for it anymore.”

Lizbet wants to feel angry but she’s too tired, so what overcomes her is grief. She cries against the front of Mario’s pristine white jacket and he holds her tight, rubbing her back. “It’ll be okay. We’ll go to California. You can work at a hotel there. I know the GM at Shutters, you’ll like that, on the beach in Santa Monica.”

“I don’t want to work at someone else’s hotel,” Lizbet says. Does she sound childish? Probably, but she can’t imagine getting a job in Los Angeles. She also can’t fathom finding another position here on the island. She made one monumental change—successfully!—but she can’t turn around and do it again.

“We’ll figure it out together, okay?” Mario says. He eases her off him so he can look her in the eye. “You aren’t alone anymore. I’m here, and I’m out of a job too.”

“We need to make Xavier change his mind.”

Mario sighs. “He isn’t going to change his mind, Lizbet.”

Suddenly, Zeke comes charging into the kitchen, and his presence is so startling that Lizbet thinks Xavier must be on the phone. He called back, he’s willing to talk!

Zeke says, “Lizbet, we need you in the lobby. Stuff is going down.”

Stuff is going down: When Lizbet gets back to the lobby, she sees Richie with three gentlemen in suits, one of whom is handcuffing him!

“Wait!” Lizbet cries out. Her head feels like it’s going to topple off her body. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Decameron is under arrest for wire fraud,” one of the gentlemen who’s not cuffing Richie says. He holds up a badge.

“Agent Ianucci, FBI.”

Lizbet blinks. Mr. Ianucci, formerly of room 307.

“Richie?” she says.

Richie hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Lizbet.”