smiled. She started to greet me, but I dashed into the elevator. I hadn’t a moment to spare. I grabbed my key card from my pocket and swiped it until I could open the door.
No one was there. I stood in the room, sweating and panting, my heart racing and my mind in a whirl. Where was he?
I looked everywhere for a message, some sign he’d been there, but there was nothing.
I collapsed onto the armchair. Had he only just left when I got to his house? Would he turn up here soon? I went to the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror, my hair damp and wild, my face red. If he arrived now, he’d recoil, I thought, and held a cold, wet washcloth to my face until I calmed down.
He didn’t arrive that night and for the rest of the weekend I waited there, too nervous to go out in case I missed him. I paced the room, counting my steps, wishing almost for the reassurance of my Fitbit. And then I’d shake myself and sit down again, try to watch a movie or a game show, anything to take my mind off the fact that Harry hadn’t shown up.
Of course I still felt the pressure to look good when he did get here, so though I was staying in, my face was made up, my hair brushed, and I wore my nicest clothes. But deep inside I think I knew by then that he wouldn’t come, and by Sunday night, my shoulders were slumped and no matter how much makeup I had on, the dejected air I wore took the shine off my face.
CHAPTER 7
Ruby
By Monday morning I was desperate to see Harry. I still had faith in him, still believed something had happened to prevent him from coming to me. If only I could see him, all would be explained.
I hadn’t drawn the curtains the night before in case I overslept, and woke at five o’clock as the first flickers of dawn stole into my room. I leaped out of bed and showered, blow-dried my hair, and ironed my dress for work. By six I was sitting by the window, waiting impatiently for him to arrive. I’d been sure he’d come to the hotel early that morning, to explain what had happened. We’d be interrupted at work, I knew; we wouldn’t be able to talk privately until Sarah left to pick up her kids and this sort of conversation was too important for internal messaging. I tried to think of his diary and whether he had any meetings today, but for the last week I’d been working on automatic pilot and now I couldn’t remember any of his plans. But at least I’d be able to see him. To know he was all right. And to ask him when we’d be together.
Gradually I realized Harry simply wouldn’t have time in rush hour traffic to get here to talk to me and then get back to work, so at seven o’clock I picked up my jacket and handbag and left the room, checking again with reception whether anyone had left a message for me. Nobody had. Of course they hadn’t; I had my phone with me, fully charged and silent as the grave. Before I left the room I stuck a note onto the mirror just in case he turned up while I was out. Call me, it said. I left my number to remind him, though he’d sworn he’d never forget it. Call me anytime. I love you x
* * *
? ? ?
The car park at Sheridan’s was half-full. I couldn’t see Harry’s car there. I looked at my watch. He was usually here by now. My anxiety ramped up and I drove around a couple more times. He definitely wasn’t here. I parked away from the rest of the staff; I didn’t want anyone to notice that my car was crammed full of bags and cases.
I saw my friend Sarah in the distance and hurried toward her. We walked into the building together.
“Good weekend?” she asked. She knew nothing of my affair with Harry, of course. Nobody did.
“It was okay.” I tried to keep my voice bright. I thought of the hours and hours I’d