Death's Door. Meryl Sawyer

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      ‘It’s all paid for; just sign this and I’ll take you to your room,’ Tiffany said, pushing a clipboard under her nose. ‘Just the date and your signature is all we need.’

      Nicola fleetingly thought Tiffany should be asking for an imprint of her credit card for mini-bar purchases too – a bag of chips in her room for tea was looking likely – but didn’t have the energy to point out her error.

      ‘Where have you parked?’

      ‘In the car park around the side – is that okay?’

      ‘Perfect. Where’s your luggage?’

      ‘Still in the car – I can get it later.’ The words were half-hearted; the last thing she felt like doing when she finally got settled into her warm, cosy room was to have to come back out again. Where was a porter when you needed one?

      ‘We can do a bit of a detour and collect it on the way if you like – save you the extra effort.’

      ‘Thanks, that’d be good,’ Nicola said, beaming at the girl and feeling a wave of gratitude.

      Tiffany came out from behind the counter, strode to the front door and held it open. It took Nicola a few moments to catch up.

      ‘I can’t walk in heels – well, not ones that high,’ Tiffany said, staring down at Nicola’s feet.

      ‘I don’t seem to be able to either now,’ Nicola said with a pained smile. She was suddenly aware of just how sore her feet were – the soles were burning and she could no longer feel her toes.

      Nicola followed Tiffany outside and around to the four-wheel-drive as quickly as she could, grateful for the girl not showing the least sign of frustration with her slow pace.

      Tiffany didn’t let out so much as one exasperated sigh when Nicola spent ages fossicking in her handbag for the keys, only to realise she’d put them in the pocket of her suit jacket. Finally they wrestled her suitcase from the back.

      ‘Round the back here – you can also get to your room through the pub,’ Tiffany said, leading the way.

      They rounded the corner of the hotel and Nicola stopped when she saw that surrounding her were not quaint old stone outbuildings but something that looked more like the concrete ablution block in a caravan park.

      Two things told her the expanse of beige concrete was in fact motel accommodation: the black plastic numbers on a series of regularly spaced mission-brown doors, and the net curtains visible in the aluminium framed windows. She was careful not to show her disappointment; it wasn’t Tiffany’s fault – it was bloody Bill’s!

      At least it didn’t look like the building was made from asbestos; thank God for small mercies. And the way she was feeling, she didn’t care what the bed felt like as long as she could take these bloody shoes off and get out of the suit that was now starting to feel stifling.

      Anyway, it’s what’s inside that counts, Nicola reminded herself, wheeling her suitcase along the concrete path.

      ‘Here we are,’ Tiffany said, putting the key in the lock beside the number 8 and throwing open the door. Turning back she added, ‘You can get back into the pub from that door over there – see?’

      Nicola followed her pointing finger and nodded.

      ‘Breakfast is from seven to ten. I’ll leave you to it.’

      Nicola watched her make her way towards the back door of the hotel, which she now noticed was almost identical to the entrance at the front.

      She closed the door behind her, dumped her bags and looked around the room. It was like the set of a low-budget porno: a sagging bed covered with a faux patchwork quilt, a white vinyl studded bedhead, and a dusty plastic floral arrangement glued into a vase on the TV.

      Her nose twitched. The obnoxious scent of cheap rose deodorising spray unsuccessfully masked the odour of stale cigarette smoke.

      She summoned the courage to check out the bathroom, and with fingers crossed, slowly pushed the sliding door aside.

      Vitreous china, the colour of caramel, was the only plain colour amid a sea of cream tiles with a fancy geometric design that was probably meant to be floral but to Nicola looked more like fuzzy monsters top to tail with their mouths open, screaming. God, she’d go mad if she stared at that too long!

      ‘Bath,’ she crooned. ‘At least there’s a bath.’ That could almost be considered a feature to redeem all, she thought, as she pulled the clear plastic shower curtain, with strategically placed palm leaves, aside. Great, she’d have to soak with her ankles wedged under her bum, it was so bloody small.

      Nicola plonked herself askew on the toilet and put a hand over her mouth to stifle the erupting giggles.

      Bloody Bill. This was no doubt his way of stopping her getting big-headed. She laughed even louder when she caught sight of the time-yellowed, once-considered-slimline phone by her left shoulder, and was unable to resist.

      ‘Hey, it’s me.’

      ‘Hey,’ Scott replied, his voice crackling and hollow through the ancient handset.

      ‘Just wanted to let you know I arrived safely.’

      ‘Thanks – good to know. How was the trip?’

      ‘Exhausting. But can you believe there was nowhere to eat along the way – I’m absolutely starving. And of course I get here and they’ve stopped serving meals. Missed it by ten minutes.’

      ‘I’m sure Bill’s budget will stretch to a meal from room service.’

      ‘There is no room service.’

      ‘Thank God for mini-bars then, hey?’

      Nicola began to laugh. Was she becoming delirious from tiredness and hunger?

      ‘Scott, you would so not believe this place. It’s like something out of …’

      ‘Apparently the place we’re going to this week has only four stars. Can you believe it? The rooms probably won’t even have baths. I hope you’ll think of me slumming it while you’re soaking in your tub full of bubbles.’

      ‘Well I’m in the bathroom but …’

      ‘Phone in the bathroom, eh? Bill really is taking care of his star these days.’

      ‘Well actually it’s …’

      ‘Look hon, I’d love to hear all about your marble and complimentary toiletries but I’ve really gotta run – sorry.’ ‘Right, um, okay. I’ll let you go … Love you.’ ‘Yeah me too, bye.’

      Feeling refreshed after her shower, but again reminded of her hunger, Nicola ventured back across to the hotel.

      The reception desk now had a cage pulled down over it with a sign that read Closed – All Enquiries To Front Bar.

      Swallowing her СКАЧАТЬ