“Suddenly I have a sister who’s not just greedy but a drug addict and alcoholic, and now one of my best friends is dating my boss and refusing to discuss it with me. Could it get any worse? Don’t answer that! ” She looks up at the ceiling, her way of communicating directly with God, curse words and all.
The Highfield Inn is not far. It is one of three hotels in town. There is the Berkshire Arms, an exclusive small boutique hotel with trendy restaurant attached, a Marriott that survives only because it provides conference facilities and is thus regularly packed by visiting business people, and the Highfield Inn.
Originally a Howard Johnson, it was not-so-sensitively restored a few years ago. It changes hands every few years, with every new owner vowing to turn it into something truly special, but it still looks like a motel, just a motel with some clapboard siding and a fresh coat of paint.
There is nothing luxurious about the Highfield Inn, and it is not a place anyone “obsessed with money” would ever stay. It sounds like Ginny is making up stories.
Kit has had one glass of wine. Surely she’ll be safe to drive. She could pick up the phone and call this Annabel Plowman, determine by the sound of her voice whether she sounds trustworthy, whether they should meet, but it would be easier still to jump in the car and zip over there, perhaps get a glimpse of her close up, just to get a sense of who exactly she is dealing with.
Kit won’t have to meet her, not tonight. She can go in disguise, a baseball hat and glasses, her hair in a ponytail, a big scarf covering the lower part of her face. God knows it’s cold enough, and what else does she have to do?
She goes upstairs to her closet to grab a hat, and less than five minutes later she’s heading to the Highfield Inn, Annabel’s letter lying next to her on the passenger seat.
Chapter Fourteen
A few blocks away from the Highfield Inn, Lotus, a trendy Asian fusion restaurant, is hosting Charlie and Keith, Alice and Harry, and Tracy, who, unexpectedly, brought with her Robert McClore.
The manager of the restaurant is fluttering around, quivering with excitement, for this is a first: not only does he have the owners of the hottest restaurant in Highfield in for dinner, but with them is the famous author, Robert McClore!
The waiters, who are mostly Korean, have no idea who Robert McClore is, but they are terrified of their manager, and are following instructions to bring out free tastings, and to provide the best service of their lives.
Alice chose Lotus. She chose it because while they eat at the Greenhouse every day, while they try to eat organic, local produce, no refined sugar, no white flour, nothing with any additives and preservatives, she can’t resist the occasional cravings for spareribs and sesame chicken, or a velvety chicken korma with sag paneer.
And they eat at their own restaurant so much, she didn’t want to have the same food, didn’t want to be interrupted every few minutes with questions from the staff, who, she knows, can handle everything perfectly well themselves when they don’t have the option of asking her.
So when Tracy phoned and talked about meeting for dinner, she jumped in before Tracy mentioned the Greenhouse, and suggested the Lotus instead.
It takes a while for everyone to relax. These are, after all, people who don’t know one another well, and Robert McClore is an unexpected guest, and it is hard to be normal, to not focus on the fact that there is a huge celebrity sitting at their table.
Do they ask him about his books, confess they are huge fans or pretend that he is just like them?
It reminds Alice of the time she went to a party in London and Mick Jagger was there. He was the only celebrity in the room, and for most of the evening nobody spoke to him. It was Mick Jagger! Standing feet away from her, and every time she caught his eye, he smiled, looking desperately lonely, desperate to talk.
But no one wanted to be uncool, no one wanted to give away that they knew who he was, or that they were impressed, and so he stood, on his own, until one die-hard fan finally bit the bullet and went over to say he had been to every Stones concert in London in the seventies, and what was up