The Hostess

by L. P. Gibbs

  They seemed to just drive round the block and it only took less than ten minutes to reach the entrance to the grand hotel. A smart, uniformed commissionaire wearing a top-hat and white gloves stepped forward and opened her door as the car came to a halt. Samantha got out in a very lady-like manner and Harvey followed, straightening his overcoat as he hooked out his arm for her to slip her hand through it. They went through and into the vast foyer with its multitude of brilliantly lit chandeliers. A bell-boy approached and Harvey slipped off his coat and the boy took it, waiting for Samantha to remove her own coat. Harvey led her through some double glass doors and they were immediately in a huge dining room.

  There was so much silverware on the white tablecloths that the entire room appeared to be sparkling due to the number of candles set on the tables. They sat at a large circular table containing two other couples. Harvey said his hello's to everyone. He obviously knew them well. Samantha was seated next to an older, rotund gentleman with ruddy cheeks who almost roared when he laughed. As she sat, he turned and smiled warmly at her. She returned his smile, feeling a little out of her depth. Harvey gently nudged her thigh to get her attention.

  “Be very careful what you say to him,” he said with a cheeky grin, indicating Samantha's neighbour. “That's Lord Andrew Woolacott. He's the head of the British Secret Service. Don't worry, though; he's a harmless old devil but a convivial raconteur.” Samantha didn't really know what some of the words meant but simply smiled sweetly as she had been told to do.

  As the evening progressed, they got through no less than seven different courses of food, and a specially selected wine accompanied each course. She watched what others at the table did with their cutlery and just followed their lead. She had no idea that so many different knives and forks could be used for just one meal. The expensive champagne was flowing like water also. Her glass was constantly topped up by a waiter if it ever looked as if it was nearing only a quarter full, even though she drank very little. The older man sitting next to her was, throughout the evening, quaffing the vintage brandy as if it was going to be rationed. Samantha opted for the Eton Mess as her dessert course and, remembering Michelle's warnings, ensured she did not drink too much alcohol, merely sipped gingerly at it. She had just put her spoon and fork down on the plate as she finished when Lord Woolacott levered himself up beside her with some difficulty and stood from his chair next to her, his knuckles on the table to steady himself. He had obviously over indulged with the brandies.

  “If you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a tipsy grin and stifling a burp. “I have to point Percy at the porcelain.” He wobbled unsteadily away between the tables, roaring with laughter at his own joke, heading for the toilets.

  Samantha watched him with amusement and saw him stumble between the tables, knocking over a glass at one point, and then going through the black swing door marked 'Gentlemen'. A tall, moustached waiter in a white uniform followed him in and she returned her attention to the others at the table.

  Listening to their conversation, she realised that she had nothing in common with any of these people and never would have. They were chattering away about things she had absolutely no knowledge of, topics she had never heard of nor had any interest in. Even the way they ate their food was strange to her. Their posh accents were alien to her also. Fifteen minutes passed in this way.

  Suddenly, the Head Waiter appeared at Harvey's shoulder and bent to whisper in his ear. Harvey frowned and nodded a couple of times before the Head Waiter left. Harvey stood and passed behind Samantha's chair, sitting down in Lord Woolacott's vacant seat. He leaned forward and spoke quietly to Lady Woolacott. She suddenly dropped her head to her chest and began to weep uncontrollably. A uniformed policewoman arrived at the table and escorted the crying woman away. Samantha turned to Harvey who had by now resumed his seat next to her.

  “What was all that about?” she asked in a whisper. Harvey replied, his voice lowered so that no-one else at the table would hear.

  “Old Woolly, Lord Woolacott. Apparently, he has had a heart attack whilst he was in the toilets.”

  “Oh my goodness, is he going to be alright?”

  “I'm told that he's as dead as a doornail, I'm afraid.” This put something of a damper on the night's festivities as gradually, news of the peer's sudden demise got round to all the other guests present.

  “Bit of a bugger,” Harvey said as they sat at the table. “The poor old sod was due to retire himself next year.”

  A number of what she assumed to be plain clothes policemen arrived very quickly and prevented anyone from leaving until names and addresses had been taken and some questions asked.

  It was almost an hour later that they emerged and stood in the cold on the pavement of Park Lane to await the arrival of Harvey's limousine which had been summoned by the hotel staff.

  The car arrived and took them straight to Camden Town, letting her off outside her lodgings fifteen minutes later. Harvey got out with her and bade her a good night before pressing a fifty pound note into her hand as she got out. Samantha looked at it in amazement. She had never seen one before, and until she saw it, wasn't even certain that they actually existed.

  “Take that as a little thank you from me,” he told her. “I'm just sorry the night ended early in such a frightful way. I have definitely enjoyed your company and, if it's all right with you, I shall ask for you next time I have need of Miss Allman's services. I find that having a young lady on my arm on some of these occasions helps to allay suspicions, if you know what I mean?”

  Samantha nodded her understanding. Still in a state of shock at the banknote, she told him that it would most definitely be okay. He squeezed her hand and got back into the gleaming black limousine. She watched the twin exhausts of the enormous vehicle purring, smoke swirling as it pulled gently away from the kerb, turning left at the traffic lights and into Camden Road.

  From then on, most of her other escorting jobs seemed to be very mundane, although very well paid. Dinner parties, being a companion to someone stuffy at the opera, sometimes just being a dinner companion to a businessman at a high class restaurant. All very boring. The only exception was an exciting assignment she undertook to escort a famous musician to the opening night of a new film showing at the Odeon in Leicester Square. On that occasion, she even had her photograph printed in the following day's edition of the Daily Mail, showing her walking slowly along the red carpet, hanging on the gentleman's arm and smiling broadly for the cameras. She felt like a film star for that one night.

  It became a little tedious at times, though. The dinner parties were mostly boring as everyone present was from a different class and most of them knew she was a paid escort and paid her very little attention.

  On another assignment, she had to accompany the Managing Director of a small engineering company to Epsom Downs for the horse racing. Halfway through the afternoon, the gentleman, Anthony Beechwood, gave her a hundred pounds in ten pound notes and told her to go off and place some bets for herself. Samantha had absolutely no idea of what to do but was assisted by Helene, the wife of one of the other directors. Between them they placed their bets. By the time the last race ended, Helene had collected quite a bit of money and Samantha had won two hundred and eighty-five pounds. She offered the original hundred pounds back to Mr. Beechwood but he would hear nothing of it and told her to enjoy her winnings. She did too.

  With three hundred and eighty-five pounds in her purse, the very next day found her shopping for clothes in Oxford Street and treating herself to a good lunch in the restaurant on the top floor of Selfridge's Department Store. She struggled back home, carrying a number of bags.

  Some of the work was good and well-paid but Michelle couldn't guarantee regular assignments. She liked Samantha and tried her best to push work her way but there just wasn't enough to go round for a full-time job which is why she remained working at Silk's most nights.

  One day in October, she was offered an assignment w
hich involved accompanying a man at a gala dinner to be held in the Burstin Hotel in Folkestone. It paid a hundred and eighty pounds due to the travelling time to and from the assignment. Michelle gave her a return ticket for the train and it was arranged that Samantha would be met at Folkestone Central station at six thirty on the Sunday.

  On leaving the station in her finery, she was met by a taxi driver, holding up a sign with her name upon it. She indicated her presence with a wave and he ushered her into the back of his taxi.

  “I've got to take you to the Burstin, love,” he told her over his shoulder as he executed a U-turn at the end of the short road.

  With very little traffic on the road at that time of day, the journey only took five minutes. They drove down a very steep hill giving views over the Channel to the twinkling lights of Boulogne in France, twenty eight miles away. The trip came to an end under the canopy at the entrance to the hotel.

  The man she was due to meet was waiting for her carrying a large bouquet of flowers. He knew it was Samantha as the taxi driver was used by him on a regular basis. He opened the taxi door for her with a beaming smile that spread right across his face. Samantha guessed him to be in his late forties. He was a little on the chubby side and extremely well dressed, sporting a red carnation in the buttonhole of his smart, white dinner jacket. She could smell the sweet aroma of the flowers wafting across to her as she got out of the cab.

  “My dear Samantha,” he said through his grinning teeth as he took her hand. “I'm so very pleased to meet you. I'm Geoffrey Gambrelli. My grandfather was Italian, hence the name.” He threw his head back and laughed in a shrill manner, his jowls jumping up and down at the action. “Miss Allman has spoken very highly of you,” he continued when the laughter had subsided. “and looking at this vision of loveliness before me, she had every right to.”

  After what felt too long a grasp, she managed to prise her hand away from his. The man was making her feel very uncomfortable. Creepy was the adjective that immediately sprang into her mind.

  “Shall we go inside, my dear?” he asked. “There's quite a respectable bar and we should have a couple of drinks before things get under way.” He hooked her arm through his and led her into the foyer, across the other side and in to a bar. He pulled a chair out for her at one of the small, round tables, ushering her to sit down as he placed the bouquet on the edge of the table.

  “Now, what can I get you to drink, Samantha?” he enquired, that smile still attached to his almost rotund face.

  “Just a small glass of white wine for me, please,” she replied. Samantha was always aware that she should never drink too much whilst on these assignments. Michelle Allman was very clear on that subject. The man frowned slightly as if taken aback at this statement then turned on his heel and headed rapidly for the bar. She looked at his back as he ordered and he returned a few minutes later with two large, empty wine glasses and a chilled bottle of Chardonnay. Still standing and leaning across her shoulder, he placed the glasses on the table and filled them both almost to the top. She looked up at him and realised his unblinking eyes were staring down at her not inconsiderable cleavage. It appeared that he was almost drooling as he ogled her. This only served to increase her misgivings about the man. Placing the now two thirds empty bottle in the centre of the wooden table, he sat down in the chair opposite her and raised his glass.

  “Here's to a delightful evening, my dear,” he said. She raised hers in return and put on a sweet but false smile. As far as she was concerned, the sooner this assignment came to an end, the better. She sipped gingerly at the wine and noticed that he drank very little as well.

  Some twenty minutes later as they and the other guests were ushered through to the Victorian restaurant, both of their glasses were left, still half full on the table. The evening seemed to drag on for ever although the meal was very acceptable and, at eleven forty-five after all the interminable, boring speeches had ended, everyone filed gratefully out to the bar, some seeking relief and refreshment, others the exit doors for there was very little air in the dining room.

  Samantha headed out the sliding door, accompanied by Geoffrey. He pointedly looked down at his watch.

  “Are you staying in Folkestone tonight?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “Only you have missed the last train back to London now.” He was looking straight at her as he said this. She found it unnerving, to say the least. She thought about what he had said and thought about her dilemma.

  “I don't know what to do,” she responded. “I hadn't thought about the train times to go back.” He appeared to think about the problem.

  “Tell you what,” he eventually said, nodding vigorously as if agreeing with himself. “I haven't had that much to drink so I can easily drive you back. How about that, eh? I can always get myself a room in one of the cheaper hotels up there when I've dropped you off. I know one or two reasonably priced hotels near Victoria. Whereabouts in London do you live?”

  “Camden Town, just to the North of the West End.”

  The idea of spending a lot of money on a hotel room didn't appeal to her as it would almost negate her earnings for the evening and she knew the man hadn't drunk much of the wine so decided to take the chance. Bombarding her with words and questions confused her slightly and she accepted his offer.

  “Jolly good,” he told her. “It's only about a one and a half hour drive. You can nod off if you want to.” Samantha was still a little apprehensive but he took her by the elbow and led her out into the street beside the harbour to where his car was parked. It was a luxurious Lexus saloon in maroon. “Here we are, then,” he said, unlocking the car and opening the door for her.

  After settling her in the passenger seat, he went round to the other side and got in. The car started and pulled almost silently away. They went around the block and back up the hill towards the town centre before driving along the cliff top then out of the town and down another steep hill. Samantha saw a sign for Sandgate and they drove through it, passing beside the sea wall. In the pale shafts of moonlight, Samantha could see white crested waves crashing on to the pebbled beach, sending up spray that was blown across the road on the strong wind, a fine mist settling on the windscreen. Some minutes later, they went through the small one way system of Hythe and Samantha began to wonder why she had not seen any signs for London.

  “Which way are we going?” she enquired, beginning to get concerned. He glanced sideways at her.

  “We'll go out through Ashford,” he replied easily, averting his eyes from hers. “That way, we'll get on to the M20 motorway a lot quicker. It's the best way to go.” Samantha had absolutely no idea of where she was at that point in time but internal alarm bells were screaming like banshees and all her senses were telling her that something was very wrong indeed.

  Shortly after this, they entered the Cinque Port town of New Romney and the car veered left off of the main road at a set of traffic lights and along a tree-lined avenue. She saw a road sign that showed they were on Station Road. After going over a small, hump-backed bridge, Geoffrey turned left on to a residential side street. Before she had a chance to ask what was happening, he pulled into a gravel drive of a large house with bay windows and stopped by the door. He started to get out of the car and leaned back in to say something.

  “I've just got to make sure that Tribble, my black Labrador, has enough food and water to last until I get back.” Before she could respond, he had disappeared inside the house. He re-appeared about five minutes later and leaned down to open the passenger door to speak to her.

  “I'm afraid there's a bit of a problem, Samantha,” he told her, looking crest-fallen. “There's been a terrible water leak in my kitchen and I've got to wait for an emergency plumber to get here.”

  “How long is that likely to take?” Samantha asked innocently. She wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what was going on here but wasn't going to let on just yet that she knew what he was trying for. She knew for certain that if she went inside this house, she woul
d be in trouble.

  “You'd better come in,” he said. “I'll make us a drink or some coffee while we are waiting.” She took her high-heeled shoes off and got out of the car, buttoning her coat at the same time. As he turned back towards the front door of the house, she started to turn towards the road but he caught her by the sleeve of her coat and tried to pull her inside. Samantha lashed out with her heeled shoe and caught him on his left cheek, drawing blood. The action caused him to release his grip as his hand went to his face. She immediately spun round and ran like hell out into the street, turning to her right at full speed. She heard him calling to her.

  “Samantha! Come back, ….. please.”

  'Yeah, right, that will do the trick', she thought as she ran. Within seconds, she had reached Station Road once more. Fifty yards along was another house and she ducked into the gate, dropping to her haunches behind the privet hedge. Moments later, looking through the bush she saw Geoffrey's big car accelerating along the road. She decided to stay right where she was for the time being. It was a safe hiding place there. He would no doubt come back when he didn't find her and she didn't want him to spot her walking along the pavement.

  Samantha was there for over twenty minutes before she watched his car come slowly back past her hiding place. She heard it turn left into his own road and waited, hardly daring to breathe, for another fifteen minutes just in case. She then decide to take a chance and moved out on to the road. With her shoes still in her hand and her bag slung over her shoulder, she ran again for almost ten minutes until she came to a phone box. On her escape, she had seen no other cars but was wary enough to keep an eye on places to hide if she spotted one. Being in the bright lights of a telephone box would make her easy to find but there was no other option.