Chapter 5
5
‘Good grief, what are you wearing?’ Jock exclaims as I enter the kitchen half an hour later.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask. As I’m off duty, I’ve put on a faded pair of jeans and a hoodie. I’ve also left my hair down.
‘Sorry, I guess I never saw you as someone who wore casual clothes. What with that and your hair, you look like a completely different person.’
‘Do you want me to change into my uniform and put my hair up? I’d hate to traumatise you.’
‘No, it’s fine. Sorry, I should have thought before opening my mouth. I meant it as a compliment, but it came out wrong.’
‘You don’t exactly look like a chef this morning either,’ I observe, waving my hand at his jeans and T-shirt combo.
Our fashion debate is interrupted by the sound of the back door buzzer and we both glance automatically at the screen showing the CCTV feed. To our relief, it’s Ramon with the laundry delivery and not a pack of journalists.
‘I guess nobody’s told him we’re closed,’ Jock says.
‘Leave it to me. I’ll deal with it,’ I tell him as I make my way over to the door.
‘Once a hotel manager, always a hotel manager,’ he calls after me, and I can hear the laughter in his voice.
‘Oh, hello, Miss Fairhead,’ Ramon says in his heavily accented voice, looking at me curiously. ‘You look different today.’
‘I’m off duty, Ramon,’ I tell him. ‘The hotel is closed.’
‘Closed? Why?’
‘Haven’t you seen the news?’
‘What for I watch the news? Always the same old thing.’
‘OK, well if you had seen it, you would know that we’ve been closed down by the police because it appears Madame was running this place as a brothel,’ I tell him blandly.
‘What is a brothel?’
I sigh. I shouldn’t be surprised really; it’s hardly the sort of word they would teach you in English class.
‘It’s a place where men pay money to have sex with women,’ I explain.
‘Oh,’ he says, and his face falls. ‘That is a bad business. A very bad business.’
‘It is. So the police have taken Madame into custody and closed us down. We’re not going to need fresh laundry today, I’m afraid.’
‘I understand. I will come back tomorrow.’
‘We won’t want any laundry tomorrow either, Ramon. We’re closed for the foreseeable future.’
‘Oh.’
He stands there, obviously unsure what to do.
‘Look, if the situation changes, we’ll let you know, OK?’
He sighs and turns away, dragging the laundry cart back to his van. I’m sure I hear him mutter ‘a very bad business’ once more as I close the door.
Jock is still staring at the CCTV feed when I join him again.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Did you see anyone else out there while you were talking to Ramon?’
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘I was just wondering if the paparazzi had lost interest.’
‘I expect so. There are probably new, more exciting scandals to cover, like a celebrity accidentally showing a bit of body fat. What’s that phrase about today’s news being tomorrow’s fish and chip paper?’
‘I guess you’re right. What would you like for breakfast then? I can rustle up a Petit Dejeuner à l’Anglais if you want, or Oeufs à la Bénédictine if that’s a bit much. I could probably even manage an omelette au fromage et jambon . That’s a cheese and ham omelette to anyone who isn’t Madame.’
Normally, the idea of a full English breakfast would make me feel decidedly queasy; I’ve never been able to understand how someone could eat that much protein and fat first thing in the morning, and I’m just about to go for the eggs Benedict when I realise that I haven’t actually eaten anything since yesterday lunchtime and I’m starving. I didn’t even get to eat my cupcake.
‘Do you know what?’ I tell him. ‘The full English sounds absolutely perfect.’
‘The good news is that we’re extremely unlikely to starve to death,’ he tells me as he lights the burners and puts some sausages in the oven. ‘Madame likes all the food to be as fresh as possible, but one day’s worth of raw ingredients for fifty odd people will keep us going for ages. Do you want hash browns or fried bread?’
‘I don’t know. Which do you think is better?’
‘The purist would argue that hash browns have no place in a full English, but I have to confess I prefer them to fried bread. You need some sort of carb to soak up the egg yolk though, so choose one.’
‘Hash browns then, please.’
I watch as he pulls a bag out of one of the freezers and pops four hash browns onto a tray, before sliding it into the oven with the sausages.
‘Do you think it’s wrong, helping ourselves like this?’ I ask.
‘I wondered about that too, but most of this stuff is perishable. If we don’t eat it, it’ll only go in the bin. Plus, I think we can kiss any form of redundancy payout goodbye, so I don’t feel bad about taking a bit of payment in kind. If we sold the entire wine cellar and pocketed the cash, that’s one thing, but I don’t think anyone would begrudge us having the odd glass of wine and eating food that will only go to waste otherwise.’
‘Fair enough. Is there anything I can do?’
‘I could murder a cappuccino.’
‘It’ll take a while. The machine needs half an hour to warm up after I’ve turned it on.’
‘I’m not in any hurry. It’s not as if I have a string of urgent appointments today.’
Although I’ve never used the barista machine at Hotel Dufour before, I’m familiar enough with how they work to operate it so, after checking that the water supply is turned on, I flip the switch and leave it to heat. Jock’s remark about not having any appointments has brought back into focus something that has been bothering me.
‘Jock?’ I ask.
‘Yes?’
‘What are we going to do for the next week?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll go mad with boredom sitting around here for a whole week. I’m used to being busy.’
‘Hm. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you’re right. We’re under curfew though, so we’re kind of tied to the building.’
‘Curfew, not house arrest. We’re allowed out during the day, aren’t we? As long as we’re back by 7p.m.’
‘Good point.’
A plan is starting to form in my head. ‘How well do you know London?’
‘I can find my way about. The bus routes still confuse me sometimes.’
‘I was thinking more about the tourist attractions.’
‘Ah. I haven’t visited any of them.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Really? But you’ve lived in London for ages, haven’t you?’
‘A few years, yes. But you know what it’s like. Work is full on and days off are filled with boring chores like laundry and stuff. Plus, you tend to take the attractions for granted when they’re on your front doorstep, don’t you? So you think it’s fine, you’ll see them another day, but in reality, you never do. Also, these things aren’t much fun on your own, are they?’
‘Are you saying you don’t have any friends down here to visit places with?’
‘Do you?’
‘No.’
‘And probably for the same reason as me. But now we’re stuck with each other for a whole week with nothing to do. So why don’t we use the time to do a bit of sightseeing? It’ll be a hell of a lot better than sitting around here all day, contemplating our fate and being miserable. Do you know, last night, before I came into your room, all I could think about was that going to prison would effectively end my career. This is all I’ve ever wanted, and the thought of losing it is almost worse than the idea of being locked up. I need things to distract me and keep that thought out of my head, so let’s get out and about.’
He considers the thought for a moment before meeting my eyes and grinning. ‘I think that’s a brilliant idea.’
By the time breakfast is ready, I’ve drawn up a list of places we could go and start reading it to Jock.
‘I’ve always wanted to go on the London Eye.’
‘I’d be up for that.’
‘Then there’s the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery.’
‘You’re on your own for those, I’m afraid. Art isn’t really my thing. Have you got the Tower of London on your list?’
‘I have, but I’m not sure about it. Isn’t it basically a prison? Feels a bit like tempting fate to me.’
‘I don’t think it was just a prison, and I’ve always wanted to see the crown jewels.’
‘OK. Madame Tussauds?’
‘Yes. Isn’t the planetarium next door? We could do that at the same time.’
‘Umm, I think that closed a while ago. Sorry.’
‘Oh. Can we go to the Science Museum then?’
‘I’m sensing a theme here. Only if we do the Natural History Museum as well.’
‘Deal.’
The breakfast is absolutely delicious and, to my surprise, I eat it all. After we’ve cleared up, we carry our refilled coffee cups through to the bar and start to fill up a makeshift calendar with activities for each day until next Monday. We’ve got a real mix of stuff, from riding the Thames Clipper down to the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, through a picnic on Hampstead Heath, to attending a service at Westminster Abbey. I was a bit surprised when Jock suggested that one, but he pointed out that, not only would it do us good to get the Almighty on side in case we needed him, but it was also the only way to see inside the Abbey for free. To my amazement, he even begrudgingly agreed to visit the National Gallery with me in the end, although the Portrait Gallery is still hanging in the balance. We’ve checked the weather forecast and been online to make sure we don’t plan activities at times when the attraction we’re supposed to be visiting is shut. I’ve even found a store nearby where I can pick up a cheap digital camera to record our week in the absence of my phone, so I don’t think we could be more organised if we tried.
We’ve decided to get the Almighty on side sooner rather than later, so we’re going to go to Evensong this afternoon, but our first stop today is London Zoo. With a little bit of online sleuthing, I’ve worked out which buses we need to catch, both to get us to the zoo and also back to the Abbey in time for the service at five.
‘I prefer the bus,’ I’d explained to Jock when he’d expressed his worries that we might end up miles from our intended destination if we got it wrong. ‘You don’t see anything on the Tube, and it’s so hot and stuffy down there.’
We’ve pre-booked our tickets for the zoo and, because neither of us have our phones, we’ve also printed off all the information we could possibly need to help us get the right buses, so I’m feeling optimistic as we step onto the pavement, locking the door behind us. We’ve barely covered five metres, however, when a man blocks our path.
‘Hi there,’ he says brightly, whipping his phone out to take a picture. ‘Robin Bugg from the Morning Post . Can I ask you a few questions?’
Of course it was too good to be true. For a moment, I’m tempted to turn on my heel and flee back inside to safety, but there’s no way I’m prepared to let some journalist deny me my freedom.
‘ Lo siento, no hablo Ingles ,’ I say as I grab Jock’s hand and pull him past.
‘I’ve no idea what she said,’ Jock calls as we break into a run, ‘but I’m going to guess she means fuck off.’
‘What did you actually say?’ he asks once we’ve slowed down, checked the journalist hasn’t followed us and caught our breath. ‘I’m not very good with languages, I’m afraid.’
‘I told him in Spanish that I don’t speak English. I couldn’t think what else to do.’
‘Impressive. Is that pretty much all of your vocabulary or are you fluent?’
‘My mother is Spanish, so she brought me up speaking it at home.’
‘That’s so cool. If I had my time again, I’d definitely pay more attention to language classes at school.’
I’m still holding his hand as we make our way to the bus stop but, if he’s noticed, he doesn’t seem to mind. I’m surprised to find that I’m enjoying the sensation, and it makes us look like a normal couple appreciating the spring sunshine. Frankly, I’ll take as much normality as I can right now, even if we’re not a real couple. I’m delighted to see that the front seats on the upper deck of the bus are free when it arrives, so Jock and I grab them and enjoy the views of London as it picks its way through the traffic. Every time we arrive at a stop, I check it against the route plan that I’ve printed off, just to reassure us both that we’re going the right way. The further away we get from the hotel, the more relaxed I start to feel and, at one point, I almost wonder if all the drama of yesterday was just a figment of my imagination. It wasn’t, I know that, but it’s lovely to be able to detach myself from it. I glance across at Jock and smile.
Today is going to be a good day.