Annie walked back from the old prom, where she had gone to be alone, to watch the sea. The shops and offices were closing, and the streets were emptying. When she got to the hotel, Linda was on reception. It occurred to Annie that Linda could substitute for the sun moon and stars if ever they let her down.
‘Hi,’ Linda said, as Annie picked an evening paper from the pile.
‘Hello,’ Annie said. ‘I am going to go in there, put my feet up, and read the paper for half an hour.’
Linda looked shifty. ‘There’s mail,’ she said, pushing a small pile of letters over the counter.
‘Mail?’ Annie said. ‘Where on earth did you get mail from at this time of day?’
‘Second post,’ Linda said. ‘Someone must have forgotten to give you it.’
‘You mean Sandra forget to give me it,’ Annie said. ‘She’s been miles away lately. Something more important on her mind, I expect.’
She picked up the letters and went into the sitting room, opening them as she went.
She frowned at the one in her hand, and started again. Then she checked the envelope, but it was indeed addressed to the manager. She read it again.
Dear Sir,
Further to our discussions earlier this month, I am pleased to confirm that we are now in a position to present Phase I of our development plan to Amblesea District Council.
I am therefore writing to confirm our reservation of the Waterloo Room for three days, the 15th, 16th, and 17th of February, for a private, invitation-only exhibition of photographs, models, and plans as discussed.
The invitations will be extended to all the Town and County Councillors, to Council executives, local traders, and of course the Press, which we estimate to be in the region of. . .
Annie had never discussed any such thing with anyone. ‘Damn the man!’ she said aloud, and went marching along to reception.
‘Is Mr Grant in?’ she demanded.
Linda turned to check the keys. ‘No, sorry,’ she said. ‘He’s out. What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Read that!’ Annie stood and fumed while Linda read it. ‘He’s done it again!’ she said, as soon as Linda looked up. ‘I know nothing about that – I could already have booked the Waterloo for all he knows!’
‘Have you?’ Linda asked.
‘No! But that’s not the point, is it?’
‘Well,’ Linda said soothingly. ‘It isn’t as bad as it might have been.’
‘Isn’t it? I wish I had. At least then he’d know he can’t do this sort of thing! Who’s managing this place? Him or me? If he wants to do it, that’s fine by me!’
‘It’s just as well he’s out, if you ask my opinion,’ Linda said. ‘Don’t go steaming up there and talking yourself out of a job, Annie. Think about what you’re going to say.’
Annie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But it’s no good, Linda. He’s always doing it. “By the way, I booked a party of twelve into the dining room tonight. Friends of the Earth – it might be vegetarian.”‘
‘He didn’t say that!’ Linda laughed.
‘He did!’ Annie snatched up the letter. ‘You tell me the minute he comes in,’ she said.
‘Don’t you think you should maybe leave it until tomorrow morning?’ Linda ventured. ‘You know, business hours and all that?’
‘No I don’t!’
She went back into her room, banging the door. Business hours! Fat lot he cared about business hours. All his business was done over large brandies.
Minor alarms and excursions in the kitchen occupied her until just before six, by which time she had vented some of her spleen on the vegetables that she had had to wash and prepare because of the flu which had depleted the kitchen staff. She was having her second go at putting her feet up and reading the paper when the intercom buzzed.
‘He’s just gone up to his room,’ Linda said. ‘He seems to be in a bad mood.’
‘I don’t give a damn what sort of mood he’s in,’ Annie said.
‘Come in.’
Annie, slightly out of breath from her cross refusal to wait for the lift, opened Grant’s door.
Grant was just switching on the television. He smiled. ‘Mrs Maddox,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I received this letter,’ she said, holding it out.
His eyes darted over the contents, and he nodded. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘It’s about the promenade area. Property developers who want to build on it.’ He sat at the dressing table. ‘They want to give the whole place a—’
‘Mr Grant!’ Annie interrupted. ‘The point is that I know nothing about it.’
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.
‘Things have to be done,’ she said. ‘I have to know what sort of exhibits they’ll have – what kind of space they’ll need. It has to be organised—’
‘And is there a problem?’ he repeated. ‘Are you saying you can’t do it?’
‘No – I’m saying that I should have been told.’
‘It slipped my mind,’ he said.
‘Slipped your mind? They should have been speaking to me in the first place!’
‘Should they?’ His manner grew stiff and formal, and a little foreign, as it always did if he was crossed. ‘Do I have to remind you, Mrs Maddox, that I own this hotel?’
‘And you employ me to manage it! We can’t both do it. What if I’d booked the room out?’
‘Mrs Maddox – do I gather that there is no problem at all about this booking?’
Annie gritted her teeth. ‘There’s no problem about the booking,’ she said carefully. ‘There is a problem about your doing my job.’
‘On the evidence of the Waterloo Room, I seem to be doing it rather more successfully than you,’ he said.
‘Oh, are you? Then maybe you’ll roll your sleeves up and start chopping vegetables tomorrow night! If you want to do my job, Mr Grant, you go ahead and do it!’
‘Mrs Maddox, there really is no need for you to speak to me in this—’
‘Excuse me,’ Annie said, abruptly shushing him with an outstretched hand, as she saw Gerald’s photograph on the TV. She turned up the volume.
‘. . . just three weeks ago, in his London flat. Terrorist involvement has still not been ruled out, according to a statement issued today by Scotland Yard.
‘In Eastham and Foley, Mr Culver’s parliamentary constituency, it has been decided that the by-election . . .’
‘I’m sorry.’ Annie turned the volume down again. ‘I interrupted you.’
‘You have an interest in that story?’ he asked, his voice puzzled.
Annie nodded.
‘A personal interest?’
‘Yes,’ Annie said. She looked up. ‘Mr Culver and I were—’ she began, her voice defiant. But she flushed and dropped her eyes. ‘Mr Culver and I were friends,’ she said quietly.
‘Friends?’ Grant repeated.
She looked at him again, and sighed. ‘More than that.’
‘Are you saying you were lovers?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
Grant looked stunned. ‘Do the police know?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘But they’ll find out,’ he said. ‘And the newspapers. Some of them are just waiting to find out something like this.’
‘I know.’
‘People must know,’ he said. ‘He was a well-known man – people must have seen him.’
‘You didn’t,’ she said, and sat down. ‘He wasn’t well known, anyway. Not until he was dead,’ she added bitterly.
‘Did you meet him here? Was he a guest?’
Annie nodded.
‘He was a guest at this hotel,’ he said. ‘How do you suppose that will look if it comes out? The papers will really like that.’
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You had no right to get involved with a guest, Mrs Maddox.’
‘No.’ She looked away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I know how you must feel. And I can’t promise they won’t find out,’ she added miserably. ‘I can’t. I should have told you before.’
Grant nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, and sighed. ‘I’m very sorry –you must have been through a great deal.’ He smacked his hands on his knees. ‘And you are quite right,’ he said, suddenly brisk and loud again.
‘Sorry?’ Annie said.
‘I shouldn’t be here, getting in your way.’
‘Does this mean I’m not fired?’ she asked.
‘My dear Mrs Maddox, I don’t want to fire you. I want to ask a favour.’
‘Oh,’ Annie said.
‘You are quite right,’ he said again. ‘I should not be trying to do your job.’
‘I think I was perhaps a little—’ she began, but he shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You were right. And I think it’s time I moved back into the house. I’ll move back within the next few days, I promise.’
‘Oh, Mr Grant, I really didn’t mean to drive you away—’
‘My wife will be home soon,’ he said. ‘It’s time I moved back.’
‘And the favour?’ Annie asked.
‘Let me take you to dinner one evening,’ he said. ‘Somewhere very exclusive, very expensive, and not a bit like a conference hotel.’
Just when she thought he had given up. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind of you, but—’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘You don’t feel you should go out enjoying yourself. But you’ve been through a great deal, Mrs Maddox, and I haven’t helped, getting under your feet. I think an evening off, away from this place, would do you the world of good.’
Annie smiled. He obviously thought anyone who had the nerve to shout at him must be suffering some sort of breakdown. ‘You really don’t have to,’ she said.
‘I know I don’t have to,’ he said. ‘But I would be most grateful if you would accept.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It would be lovely.’