my card and passport along with an old-fashioned metal key. “Number 21, right up those stairs.”
“I don’t suppose you do room service?”
The woman laughed and shook her head.
After consuming a ploughman’s special like I’d never eaten, I fell into a deep sleep, still in my clothes. I woke hungry just before midnight. It would be hours before food would be available. So, I rummaged through the tote and found two protein bars that had been stowed sometime in the past. I didn’t check the expiration date because I didn’t want to know. I’d rather deal with the consequences, whatever they were, than be hungry.
The fact that they were still good probably meant they were more preservatives than nourishment. So much for health food.
Satisfied that would tide me over until… I looked around for some kind of literature that might mention when breakfast would be served downstairs. The drawers were empty, but there was a flyer-style info sheet framed and hung on the wall. Seven o’clock. A little over six hours. I told myself I could make it if I kept myself distracted and drank the entire two-liter bottle of water that had been left as a thoughtful touch - for an additional five pounds.
I brushed my teeth, pulled out the clean clothes I’d planned to wear in the morning and, by that, I meant when it was light outside, and looked out the window to the parking lot below to make sure Romeo was okay. He was fine. I suppose I’d decided that Romeo was a male obscenely expensive and gorgeous car because of the voice. I reread the letter from the solicitor several times while questioning what in holy schmoly I was doing.
Then I turned on the TV, lowered the volume, and began the search one channel at a time. Talking heads and “Torchwood”. I didn’t know anything about “Torchwood” but I knew I wasn’t in the mood for world news in the middle of the night.
By six o’clock I’d found that, indeed “Torchwood” had been a distraction, and I was a guilty-pleasure-type fan.
A bath and fresh clothes went a long way toward making me feel presentable. Hopefully, breakfast would top me off and give me the confidence I’d need to complete the drive to Hallow Hill, with stops on the way for snacks. Lots of snacks. I’d learned a valuable survival lesson. Never be caught away from home without portable food.
At six forty-five I was sitting at a table by the parking lot window waiting for the breakfast bell. I had scrambled eggs with tomatoes and coffee. I’m not a connoisseur, but still, I wished I’d skipped the coffee. I said, “This bread is toasted on both sides.”
The server looked blank, but said, “Yes. Isn’t that the usual way?”
I said, “Not according to Sting. ‘Englishman in New York’.”
“Hmmm,” he said and moved off.
At seven thirty I returned the key to the pub bar and headed for the door with my tote over my shoulder, wearing the kind of thick black jeggings that hide a history of good times, an oversized white knit sweater that fell to mid-thigh, and a long aqua scarf that people say brings out the turquoise in my eyes. I was more nervous than excited, but eager to see what the day would bring.
“Good morning, Mad… I mean Rita,” said Romeo, as I got behind the wheel.
“Hey. So. Who’s driving? You or me?”
“I’m very sensitive and fun to drive on two-lane roads, but if you prefer to sightsee, I will drive.”
I decided I could test out Romeo’s sensitivity another time. Since he’d done such a good job of getting me thus far, I said, “You drive.”
“Excellent choice.”
“How far is it?”
“Four hours. Some of the roads are narrow and what some would call off the beaten path.”
“Carry on then.” I don’t know if Brits actually say that, but it felt like going native to say it out loud.
Half the trip was spent on the kinds of roads I’d only seen in sports car commercials. Curving and narrow blacktop flanked by gray stone walls cut across undulating hills complete with grazing sheep and buildings that looked like movie sets in period films. By eleven, we were pulling into the village of Hallow Hill.
It was a fairy tale. I found myself in amusement-park mode thinking what a marvelous job they’d done of recreating a charming English village and had to remind myself that it wasn’t a knockoff.
The center of the village was a large cobblestone circle surrounding a