ICEHOTEL by Hanna Allen Read Free Book Online Page A

business-like manner, as though she were reading the news.
    Unlike most Swedes, Marita was short. Her blonde braids,
threaded with red ribbons, were wrapped around her head in a style more
Germanic than Scandinavian. The patterned jacket, threatening to burst open,
and the black skin-tight trousers, did nothing but emphasise the heaviness of her figure. What endeared her to me was that she seemed
entirely unconcerned by it.
    She surveyed the group, her eyes lingering on Mike’s suit. I
could guess what she was thinking: only a complete idiot would dress like that.
Mike smiled at her, apparently oblivious to the effect his clothes were having.
    When Marita had everyone’s attention, she took a deep
breath, pushed her bust out further, and launched into her speech. ‘Welcome to
the Icehotel. As we are 200 km north of the Arctic Circle, the outdoor
temperature can drop to as low as minus thirty degrees Celsius. So before we
take our tour, you will need to dress appropriately.’ She paused for emphasis,
making a point of glancing again at Mike’s suit. ‘Everything you need can be
borrowed from the Activities Room. Now please follow me.’
    Her command of English was excellent, although the words
were thickly accented and the delivery more
sung than spoken . H arry, always unforgiving of
foreigners, nudged me and pulled a face.
    The Activities Room was the size of a small warehouse:
coloured ski suits hung in rows that occupied most of the room. There was
little else apart from the cupboards and slatted wooden benches lining the
walls. Robyn marched to the nearest rack and squeezed a snowsuit with both
hands. She released it quickly and inspected the material as though checking
the quality.
    ‘We have snowsuits of different sizes and thicknesses,’
Marita said, motioning to the racks. ‘On the trays above the suits, you will
find gloves, hats, and ski masks. Outdoor boots are at the back. The cupboards
contain sports items – snow-shoes, skis and ice-climbing equipment.’ She spoke
quickly and confidently, in what was evidently a highly practised routine. ‘Now
let’s get our suits on, as I’m sure you are impatient to see the Icehotel.’
    She picked out a suit from the middle rack and dressed
herself quickly. I took the first medium-sized snowsuit I could find and
clambered into it. It was one of the thicker suits, and I was sweating by the
time I’d zipped it up over my clothes.
    At the back of the room, I found a pair of knee-high boots.
I sat down next to the fire door and struggled with the stiff straps.
    Liz was examining the door. ‘Where do you think this leads
to, Mags?’
    ‘To the outside. It’s a fire door, I think.’
    ‘A fire door, here? Really? In all this snow?’
    ‘I’m sure they have fires, even in Lapland.’ Sweat was
dripping from my brow. ‘What size is your snowsuit, Liz?’
    ‘Small, and extra long.’ She studied me, looking slim and
elegant in her white suit. ‘What on earth are you wearing? I’m sorry to have to
say this, Mags, but you look just like the Michelin Man.’
    ‘Thanks.’ I was sweating heavily now, my clothes sticking to
my back. ‘So where’s Harry?’
    ‘He’s helping Mike with his inside leg measurement,’ she
said meaningfully. ‘Can you stand up in that thing?’
    Ignoring her, I levered myself
off the bench and waddled out of the room.
    We left the Excelsior, and followed
Marita down the slope to the Icehotel. Leo hadn’t been exaggerating: the
temperature was plunging.
    Marita gestured to a low wooden building on our right. ‘That
is the Locker Room, where you will change before you sleep in the Icehotel.’
    ‘About that,’ said Jim Ellis hesitantly. He peered at
Marita, his eyes huge behind his spectacles. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. What
should we wear?’ Robyn glowered at him, as though h e’d
made a social gaffe.
    ‘Wear only a sleepsuit. No clothes.’ Marita smiled
encouragingly. ‘Put your things in a locker, making sure to take