Chapter Fourteen
Gabe drove his hire car up into the hotel driveway with relief. Despite it being early July, nothing about the weather indicated it was summertime. The ferry crossing had been horrific and all he wanted to do was to have a long bath. He’d seen a few poor souls leaning over the edge, but years racing yachts meant that he rarely suffered from seasickness. That said, it was widely acknowledged that the Irish Sea was one of the worst crossings and he was glad to put it behind him. Fingers crossed his flight home wouldn’t also be cancelled. He wasn’t sure he was up to a repeat performance.
He hurried from the car park to the hotel’s reception – the storm hadn’t lessened any, and the mercury was falling. He wished he hadn’t agreed to come in the first place. But what could you do when your father was able to call in favours from your boss? Gabriel St Clair was part of the Harrington family. A financial institution who last year had fallen into partial ruin. Giles Harrington was the current patriarch and was as hard and as ruthless a businessman as you were likely to meet; he ran his family the same way. His first marriage had given him three children, Adam, Rebecca and Paul, each a chip off the old block. His second marriage to Sarah St Clair had resulted in two boys, Gabe and his twin Raphael. When he divorced their mother in their teens, they didn’t really notice the loss. They saw him as much as they ever did, their mother had been well provided for financially and if anything seemed happier. And so life went on. The only change was that they took their mother’s surname; even as teenagers, they wanted to distance themselves from their elder siblings. Their father had laughed and called them fools but Gabe still felt guilty from time to time that he had hurt his father. The third and current marriage had resulted in a little girl called Freya, who Gabe and Rafe doted on whenever they met up. A far more pleasing sibling than their older and meaner brothers and sisters, the twins would regularly offer to babysit or take her out for the day.
As the doorman opened the door Gabe was disappointed to see that a coach had arrived before him and he was at the back of a queue of frazzled-looking Chinese tourists. No doubt they had been on the same ferry as him. They were already divesting themselves of brightly coloured plastic rain macs and frilly umbrellas – perhaps donned to simply cross the car park – and were now generally causing havoc. Shaking off his own jacket, Gabe ran his fingers through his hair and realised that he probably looked like a scarecrow. His blond wavy hair was unruly at the best of times and he spent a fortune on keeping it in check. No one wanted a lawyer that looked like a surfer – they wanted thin and sharp-eyed, not a hale and hearty-looking bumpkin. He also laughed too much, he couldn’t help himself, it was just how he was. However, a laid-back manner often meant that people underestimated him, and he was happy with that as well.
Looking around, he could see a tall woman, about his own age, also waiting to check in. He had spotted her on the boat muttering to herself and had wondered if she was praying. There was a point when chairs had slid across the dining room floor that he might have joined her .
Now her bag was clasped to her chest and she was still praying. Having nothing better to do than wait he decided to see what he could learn about her. It was a game he used to play with his mentor, to size up clients from only a few clues.
She was tall, slim and striking. So a model was a starting guess, but her clothes were distinctly ordinary. Smart brogues, black jeans, and a plain raincoat. She kept hitching up her trousers suggesting a recent rapid weight loss. Probably not a welcome loss or else she’d have replaced her clothes with new ones. Besides, she was already slim, and skinny wasn’t healthy. So that was another cross against model.
Except for that bag. That was a large leather Mulberry hold-all, and he knew that couldn’t be bought for under a grand. No wonder she had it clasped to her. So, she had money. No ring on her finger, no varnish on her nails. Chances are she bought it for herself. Doing what? Her profession was obviously well-paid but not focussed on appearance.
She turned before he realised he was staring at her and met his perusal with an arched eyebrow. Smiling, he nodded at her, and looked away quickly. So, she was confident as well. Lots of tall girls slumped, she didn’t. She stood there looking around the room, gradually stepping forward as the queue diminished.
He recalibrated what he knew about her. Good-looking but probably single – although from her dismissive look just now, she wasn’t in the market for a fling. She appeared confident, but her demeanour was nervous: the way she held the bag and kept muttering into it was odd. She was certainly a puzzle and he still hadn’t made up his mind about her as she got to the head of the queue and put her bag on the floor.
As he stepped forward in the queue, he heard her chatting to the receptionist and grinned as he heard her strong East End accent. With her almost-black hair and bright blue eyes he had assumed she was Irish but now he knew she was as London as it got. Chances of the bag being genuine were receding. Just as he was about to pat himself on the back for having happily packed the woman into a box, his mentor’s voice chided him. Only a fool relies on statistical probability . His other mantra was: Judge a man by his words not his accent . Okay then , thought Gabe, think again, what do you know? Working class, East End girl, confident, good-looking. He was happy with working class, as middle-class girls tended to ditch or blend their local accents. Bag fake or genuine?
He didn’t feel like he had made much progress when four of the Chinese guests returned to the desk and swamped the concierge with rapid questions. Without their tour guide the concierge was at a loss as to what they were saying. Gabe wondered if he could try to help. He had a translation app on his phone that might be useful.
At that moment, the girl who had been the focus of his attention broke into Mandarin. The four now turned to her and attacked her with their questions and she smiled as she clearly asked them to slow down. Then she turned back to the concierge.
‘I think they would like some extra towels in their rooms.’
She turned to the group and spoke again in Mandarin as the four all nodded .
‘Yes. More towels, please. There may be more, but my Mandarin is not much beyond beginner level. They could also be asking for wildebeests.’
The concierge looked alarmed and then smiled.
‘Tell them we’re fresh out of wildebeest but I’ll get extra towels to their rooms straight away if they can give me their room numbers.’
As the group left, they bowed to each other and the girl checked in. Gabe tilted his head. Proficient in Mandarin. That was a bit out of left field and raised the probability that the bag was genuine. She had dealt with both parties with manners and humour, and despite her saying she was a beginner she was pretty confident. Maybe she worked for a Chinese company? That would make sense.
As he continued to watch her she concluded her business, picked up her bag and headed off towards the staircase, once again muttering quietly. Good-looking, clever, weird. Well, whatever else she was, she was interesting.
He stepped forward towards the reception desk. ‘Hello, Gabriel St Clair, I’m booked in for the next few days.’ Gabe smiled at the man behind the desk, but he didn’t get much further. The girl from a minute ago came running back in a complete state, any sense of her previous calm had completely disappeared.
‘My bag! My bag has gone. This isn’t my bag!’ She waved the large Mulberry bag at the man. ‘It’s not mine! Where’s mine?’
Well, that settled it, thought Gabe, the bag was genuine, no one would be this freaked out over losing a fake. Still at least he had a solution .
‘Excuse me.’
The girl rounded on him, her expression wild.
‘It’s just that the Chinese party you were helping just now, one of the ladies had a terribly similar bag. Maybe—’
Her face lit up. ‘The two bags got swapped over!’ She turned quickly to the receptionist. ‘Quick, call them. Please. I’ll do the talking, what’s their room number? Please hurry.’
The man recoiled under her urgency.
‘I can’t just give out the room number of other—’
‘Yes. You can. Please. Quickly, what is it? I need my bag now.’
She was sounding panicky, and Gabe wondered about her recent weight loss. Could there be medicine in her bag that she needed? That might explain her desperation.
Suddenly, there was a call from the other side of the foyer and one of the two couples from earlier came hurrying back. They were walking in a curious manner as though they wanted to run but didn’t want to jostle the bag. They held it out in front of them like it contained dynamite.
When the Chinese lady saw the second bag, she called out rapidly and the younger woman dashed across the foyer where the older woman offered her bag reverentially to her. She looked inside and Gabe looked on in astonishment as a tiny little brown nose poked out, followed by a long snout, two dark eyes and big floppy ears. A dog in a handbag. Well, he hadn’t pegged her as the sort of woman that carried a pet dog in a bag. Looking at the little animal, Gabe decided it was a dachshund.
‘Oh my God. I thought I was going to die. ’
Gabe looked at her and was concerned, her voice was shaky, and all her previous reserve seemed to have disappeared.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked with a smile. Turning to the concierge he asked if they were serving breakfast yet and suggested a drink before breakfast. ‘Come on. Why don’t we go and settle down and recover from that awful crossing and then you can introduce me to your friend? I’m Gabe St Clair, by the way.’