others: so long as they got the grade of room they had booked – or a better one – they tended to be happy. Most of their guests were decent. It was just the occasional arse, like Owen O’Doherty, who took delight in finding fault.
‘What’s keeping him?’ Ling asked.
‘He’s taking a shower, messing up the bathroom, so Housekeeping will have to do it all again.’
‘It’s been twenty-nine minutes,’ Vihaan said. ‘I think you’re wrong.’
The phone rang – but it was an outside call, from Gemi, one of the drivers. ‘Good morning, Cara. I’m with Mr and Mrs Nilsson. We should be with you in four minutes.’
‘… Thank you, Gemi.’ Shite. ‘The honeymooners will be here in four!’
‘They’re early!’
By almost an hour. ‘Vihaan, get Madelyn back off break. Ling, get the flowers and the paperwork.’
… And what now?
Anto darted into the lobby, exuding panic. ‘Incoming,’ he said. ‘People-carrier. A man, a woman, three kids. The mother is in a sari.’
The Ranganthans? They weren’t expected until tomorrow. Unless … Oh, God, no.
‘Second people-carrier behind with the luggage. Tons of it. Like an LV shop on wheels.’
It was then, with impeccable timing, that Owen O’Doherty decided to call. ‘This room sucks.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr O’Doherty.’ Cara grabbed Vihaan and scrawled on a pad, ‘Get Hospitality NOW.’ The Ranganthans would need to be fed and watered while their booking mix-up was untangled. ‘Mr O’Doherty, is there anything in particular about your room?’
‘Try all of it. Too many tassels and flowers and shit. It’s fugly and, ya know, old-timey.’
Here came Mr Ranganthan, trailing his wife and three children. Still stuck to the phone, Cara widened her eyes and smiled madly at them.
In her ear, Owen O’Doherty barked, ‘I want a calm space. Don’t you have a Zen sorta room?’
Still smiling like a loon, she said, ‘Sadly not, Mr O’Doherty.’ She knew what was coming.
‘You gotta have a room that’s all white.’ Right on cue, he said, ‘What about your Honeymoon Suite?’
Thinking fast, fast, fast, she went through the permutations: she could upgrade the honeymooners to the Penthouse Suite. They were young and would probably be thrilled. But the Honeymoon Suite was romantic – it even had an outdoor hot-tub on a tiny roof-garden, shielded from the neighbouring buildings by honeysuckle topiary. ‘I’m afraid our Honeymoon Suite is booked.’ Sudden rage flared. ‘By honeymooners.’
‘Can’t you move them? No? What about the penthouse?’
See, that’s what he wanted. Not the penthouse per se, just to be the most important person staying in the hotel.
And the thing was, she could move him there.
But the Ranganthans were here, milling around impatiently in front of the desk, and even though it was her fault that they didn’t have a reservation for tonight, she could fit them in, in the penthouse and the connecting room on the lower floor.
If she moved the people who’d been booked into the connecting bedroom to another. She could actually move them into Mr O’Doherty’s room. Which meant that the mezzanine was still available.
‘We’re fully booked tonight,’ she said. ‘But juggling things around, there is another room I could free up. It’s bigger and has a roof-garden. However, the décor is similar to your current room. Very old-timey.’ She couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice. He’d stayed here in the past: he knew what their look was. ‘Why don’t you view it? If that’s to your liking, we can you move there. You’ll take a look? Well, that’s …’ in exaggerated fashion, she cooed into the phone ‘… peeeeeeachy. Vihaan will be with you shortly.’
‘Gimme five. I just took a shower.’
She put the phone down, ready to devote herself to the Ranganthans – and her heart banged hard when she found Patience standing behind her. Had she overheard her sarcasm?
‘Mr Ranganthan, Mrs Ranganthan.’ She hurried to greet them all. ‘Izna, Hiyya and –’ What was the youngest one called? ‘Karishnya!’
The by-now-familiar routine: latex gloves in the bin, cotton buds, concealer, mouthwash, comb, clips, hairspray, finish. She took a breath, stepped out into the corridor – face to face with Patience. The shock wiped her clean and blank.
‘Cara?’ Patience asked. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Aaah …’ She shouldn’t have to feel guilty: it wasn’t illegal to use a bathroom.
‘Come upstairs,’ she said. ‘Henry’s office. We’d like to talk with you.’
‘… Now?’
‘Right now.’
Every explanation deserted Cara. It was as if her brain had shut down. But she’d better come up with something …
‘Ah.’ Henry’s round face wore an expression of concern. ‘Shut the door and sit down.’
On trembling