“Check out what they’re doing,” she replies, gesturing towards a car parked under a tree.
In many hotel car parks you get a few dark and dodgy spots where the floodlights don’t quite reach, well, that’s clearly not the case at the Roseby. Which explains why the couple making out against the side of a flash BMW have parked under the tree – it’s the only thing affording them some degree of privacy.
I lean forward and squint into the shadows. “Who is that…?”
Esme shrugs. “No idea, but things are looking pretty hot and heavy over there.”
A female voice drifts towards us on the night air. “Stop it!”
“Do you think she needs help? Is she OK?” I frown, straining to listen.
“Don’t do that here!” the woman says before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Let’s go to your room.”
The man grabs her hand and they stumble out from the shadows and into the security lights of the car park. I still don’t know who they are, but it does register that the man is wearing jeans and a leather jacket, whilst the woman is dressed in the hotel’s uniform.
“Hi there!” Esme says, walking towards them from her hiding place and startling the couple. “Nice night for it, isn’t it?” She inclines her head back towards the car park, making it obvious she saw what they were doing moments earlier.
The woman blushes and looks as though she wants to make a run for it.
“You work at the hotel?” Esme directs her question to the woman.
“Yes, and I’m late for my shift, so I really need to go,” she blusters, stepping away from us.
Placing a hand on her arm I say, “Isn’t it against the rules for staff to mingle with hotel guests in the way the two of you were just doing?” I have no idea if that is indeed the case, but I can well imagine the hotel imposing such rules in employee contracts.
“Perhaps you might be able to help us,” I add, holding her gaze and trying to project a don’t-mess-with-me air, just like I’ve practised so many times in training. “We need to get into the hotel.”
She blinks several times then, taking in our scruffy appearance, asks, “Are you guests?”
“No,” Esme says with a smirk. “But that doesn’t matter in the circumstances, does it?”
“I suppose I can let you in the staff entrance,” the woman replies nervously.
“No good,” Esme says with a shake of her head. “We need access to the main hotel.”
“Follow me,” the man interrupts, walking towards the side entrance of the hotel. “I’ll let you in.” He swipes a key card against a panel and we dip inside before the door closes behind him. “I’m going to my room. I trust nothing more will be said about any of this? I don’t want Tammy to end up in trouble with her employers.”
Esme taps him on the shoulder. “Your secret is safe with us.”
“Do you need anything else?” he asks grudgingly.
“Which way to the bar and lounge areas?” I check.
“Down that corridor,” he replies, before turning and disappearing in the opposite direction.
We make our way along the corridor, taking in the thick carpet, decadent gold scrolling on the hall’s cornices and the probably-worth-a-fortune paintings on the walls. Eventually, we find ourselves in the hotel’s bar. I look around. Logs roar and crackle in the grate of a very impressive stone fireplace. Red velvet and dark wood chairs and settees are arranged in small groups around the room, most of them empty. Only two tables in the bar are occupied. Sitting on a cluster of chairs by the huge bay window, which overlooks the floodlit grounds, I spot Taylor and Dorothea, along with the three bridesmaids.
Across the room, close to the fire, sit James and Charlie.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Charlie? What’s he still doing here? I thought he was heading off to his bed and breakfast for the night. But then he and James are friends. The two of them have worked several cases together for the agency over the years. James probably just invited Charlie to join him for a quick drink, rather than head back to his room alone at the local bed and breakfast.
It can’t be anything more than that, can it? My stomach clenches at the thought Charlie might be here to pull some strings. He knows how much I want to pass this last part of my training and be offered a job with the agency. He wants me to succeed and become a support officer too. He wouldn’t be tempted to fix things though, would he? Is he trying to ensure I pass and get a job offer? He probably could do that. He’s an experienced special agent and has been with the CCIA a good few years. He’s widely regarded as one of the best operatives they have. If he wanted to make sure his girlfriend got a job, well…
“Excuse me, ladies.”
A man in uniform walks towards us, having slipped out from behind the bar. He looks us up and down, taking in our jeans and boots. “Are you guests of the hotel?”
“No, but…” I start to reply.
“I’m sorry, the bar is for hotel guests only,” he recites parrot-fashion. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“They’re my guests.” We all turn to find Charlie standing next to us. “I’m in room number…” He shoots a questioning look back at James who lifts his right hand, showing two fingers, in reply. “Room number two,” Charlie finishes, having taken James’ gesture as an indication of his room number rather than a rude response.
“Oh, I didn’t realise, my apologies,” the barman says, looking between the three of us and clearly not believing a word Charlie says. What can he do about it though? Argue with him in the middle of the bar?
Charlie steps back and raises a hand towards the table he was sharing with James. “Please, come and join us. I’ll get us some drinks, what would you like?”
I’m pretty certain I should not be fraternising with my trainer and a CCIA agent in the hotel bar right now but I’m stuck. The barman is only letting us stay because Charlie has vouched for us.
I shoot a nervous glance towards James. What will the assessors think if they see us all drinking together? I know he said he had approval to be here but I still feel awkward about it. A part of me is annoyed Charlie is taking this risk, putting me in an awkward position. But then maybe he knows that it doesn’t matter what I do or say or who I fraternise in the bar with - because he’s fixed it for me to pass this test anyway. A flicker of irritation bubbles inside of me. If I get offered a job with the CCIA I want to know – no, need to know – I’ve done it on my own merits. Not because I’m dating a CCIA agent.
“Great, thanks!” Esme beams, accepting Charlie’s invitation and plonking herself down in a chair opposite James. “I’ll have a cider.”
Charlie raises an eyebrow at me. “Amber?”
My eyes dart from Charlie to James and then to Esme, chatting away at the table. It looks as though we’re sitting and drinking then. “Orange juice, please.”
Inclining his head towards the bar he says, “Want to give me a hand?”
On the way across the room Charlie reaches for my hand and tugs gently, leading me into an alcove with one table which is out of view of everyone in the bar.
“Charlie!” I hiss at him. “What are you doing? You’re going to get me into a load of trouble. I’m supposed to be working on this assignment!”
He shoots me a hurt look. “It’s fine, don’t worry. James isn’t going to drop you in it. He knows when to keep his mouth shut. I just wanted a few more minutes with you, on our own.”
My resolve to get back to the investigation wavers slightly as he entwines my fingers with his. “I miss you. It’s been so crazy these past few months with you training and me working all hours.”
I nod. Hmm. I need to be firm here but…Charlie is smiling at me in a way which makes me go all mushy. “I know, it has been a while since we had some proper alone time.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to ditch the case for a few hours and come back to my bed and breakfast?” he asks hopefully, slid
ing hands around my waist now.
“I…”
He leans in and plants the gentlest of kisses on my neck.
“Charlie…”
Another kiss, as he pulls me closer. My hands, acting of their own accord, find their way up into his short dark hair.
Oh boy… I need to stop this before my willpower goes completely.
“Charlie, much as I want to, I can’t…We have less than twenty-four hours to complete this assignment and if I fail, then…” I step away and let the sentence hang unfinished, but the meaning is clear. If I fail then I have to go home and try to find a regular job, whilst Charlie jets off around the world working for the CCIA.
He pulls back and sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I’m not being fair at all, am I? You want to focus on this assignment right now. I understand.”
I squeeze his hands. “It’s not just a case of want to focus but also very much a case of need to focus. What if I can’t do this?” Doubt crashes in on me again. “What if I fail?”
“You’re not going to fail,” he reassures me. “You’ve got this, no problem. Right?”
Have I?
He strokes a thumb tantalising down my right cheek. “Right?” he repeats.
I nod. “Yes. I have. It will all come together and we’ll solve the case.” My eyes dart towards the clock on the wall above the bar. “Time is running out though.”
“Hey!” Charlie gently chastises. “Believe in yourself. Everything will be fine. You’ve got plenty of time to solve this case.”
“How quickly did you solve your final assignment case when you were training to be an agent?” I frown, wondering if I should have asked that question. He probably did it in about three hours or something, knowing him. Charlie is super competitive, stubborn and extremely determined when he wants to be.
“Not sure,” he replies, feigning forgetfulness. “I can’t remember.”
“Hey! This is not cool!” Our precious bit of alone time is disrupted my James joining us in our little hideaway corner of the bar.
I leap away from Charlie as panic surges through me. “Am I about to be thrown off the assignment?” I ask James nervously, clenching and unclenching my fists.
He shakes his head at me before turning to glare at Charlie. “You’re not the one in trouble here, Amber - he is!”
Charlie holds both hands up as if to say, ‘what did I do?’
“Come on, I just wanted to talk to Amber,” he cajoles. “No harm done.”
James takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “I can’t sit in the bar with Amber and Esme. They’re on assignment and I’m in charge of overseeing this whole case. I need to get out of here.”
“OK. If you must, but I’m not working tonight, so I can stay and chat,” Charlie says, standing firm, arms crossed.
James looks from me to Charlie. “What if Amber doesn’t want you to stay and chat, huh? She needs to concentrate on solving this case. The deadline is going to be here before they know it.”
“Amber, do you want me to go?” Charlie asks, pinning me with his most seductive smile.
My inner good girl is battling with my rebellious side. I sigh. “I don’t want you to go but James is right, in the circumstances, I think you probably should go.”
“OK.” He shrugs. “If that’s what you think.”
“Is there a problem?” the barman asks, suddenly materialising beside us.
“No, no problem,” I reply awkwardly.
“We were just leaving,” James says, grabbing Charlie by the arm. “But the ladies will be staying.” He looks pointedly at the barman. “I trust that will be OK?”
The barman, whose nametag I notice says Michael, nods. “Of course, sir.”
“I’ll ring you tomorrow,” Charlie says, kissing me on the cheek before he reluctantly follows James out of the bar.
“Oh, drama! What was all that about?” Esme asks eagerly as I join her at the table. “We’re not going to get thrown out, are we?”
I slump into a chair. “No. Everything is fine.”
“If you say so. What do you want to drink anyway? Shall we go up to the bar and start our interrogation of the barman?”
“Michael,” I say, as I push to my feet.
Esme frowns.
“That’s the barman’s name,” I explain. “It says so on his nametag.”
She nods. “Oh, right. So let’s go quiz Michael and see if we can find out anything useful.”
“Good evening, ladies. What can I get you to drink?” the barman asks, quickly returning to his post as we approach. “Champagne perhaps?”
“Yes, please,” Esme says, obviously forgetting her earlier order of cider.
“Er, maybe we should stick to something non-alcoholic,” I lower my voice and say to her. “And something cheaper. We can’t put this on expenses and I can’t afford champagne, especially not in a place like this, where it’s probably Dom Perignon or something.”
The barman clears his throat. “Er, I believe the drinks are on the gentleman,” he says smoothly.
I lean forward. “Which gentleman?”
“The one from room number two,” he replies with just a hint of a smirk.
He knows Charlie isn’t actually staying in room two. I can hardly confirm that I know he isn’t staying in room two as well, so I don’t pursue the line of questioning. It must have been Charlie who offered to pay anyway. James wouldn’t have felt it to be appropriate in the circumstances. When did Charlie have the chance to organise drinks before he left?
“Now that we’ve established who is paying, let’s establish what they’re paying for, shall we?” Esme says enthusiastically. “If lover boy is footing the bill then I’ll go for champagne please.”
I reach out, placing a hand on the barman’s arm. “I’m not sure.”
“We have several different champagnes, madam. I’m sure we can find one to suit…”
I shake my head. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean I wasn’t sure about which drink. I meant…” I tug at Esme’s hand. “Can we have a quick word?”
She throws me a curious look, shrugs and follows me away from the bar. “What’s up?”
“I don’t think we should accept Charlie’s offer to buy our drinks.”
“Why not?” she asks, tilting her head questioningly.
“It just doesn’t seem right. We’re here to work and…” I stop, not wanting to share my worry that Charlie might be here for a reason other than a kiss and catch-up session. That he might be here to fix my case success. “Let’s just get our own drinks, OK?”
“If you insist,” she says, heading back towards the bar.
“We’ll pay for our own drinks, thanks anyway,” I say to the barman who looks confused, as well he might.
Michael nods. “As you wish, madam.”
I clamber onto a barstool. “I’ll have an apple juice please. Esme, what do you want to drink?”
“Champagne is what I want to drink,” she says. “Can’t I accept Charlie’s offer to pay for my drinks even if you, for some reason, don’t want him buying yours?”
I shake my head and she sighs, turning to the barman. “Can I have a mineral water please? Ice and a slice.”
Michael nods and heads off to get our drinks.
“So, what’s with you and lover boy? Did you have a tiff or something?” she asks, resting an elbow on the bar and watching Taylor and the others over my shoulder.
“No, nothing like that. I’m just worried that he might…”
The barman returns with our drinks in record time and sets them in front of us on small, gold mats featuring the hotel’s name and logo.
“Anything else I can help you with this evening?” he asks.
“Yes, actually there is,” I reply. “The wedding that should have taken place at the hotel earlier today, were you involved with it?”
He nods. “I was due to work in the marquee today serving drinks.”
/>
“The wedding party arrived a day or so ago, didn’t they? Did you speak to the bride at all?”
He nods. “Yes, I did. The day they arrived she came into the bar alone in the afternoon. I think the groom was meeting with the hotel manager to finalise some details. The rest of the wedding party hadn’t arrived at that point.”
I fidget in my seat. “And how did she seem to you? What did she say?”
“Are you friends of the bride?” he asks warily.
Esme nods. “Yes. Friends. That’s right. We were all at school together.”
“I see. Well, she did seem a bit…” He pauses, clearly searching for the right adjective to describe the bride-to-be’s behaviour.
“Yes?” Esme and I lean forward in rapt attention.
“Well, I’d say she seemed as though she had a lot on her mind,” the barman eventually replies. “She looked anxious and worried.”
“Did she say much to you?” I ask.
“No, but she did take a call on her mobile phone whilst she was in the bar, and as it was quiet at the time,” he blushes slightly, “well, I did overhear a few snippets of what she was saying.”
“And?” Esme prompts.
The barman straightens up to his full height. “I must assure you that the privacy of our guests is of utmost importance here at the Roseby.”
Esme waves a hand in dismissal. “Yes. Yes. We know all that stuff. Tell us what you heard.”
He clears his throat. “Well, I seem to recall she said something about, not long now.”
“Not long now for what?” I ask, shooting a querying look at Esme, who shrugs and turns back to the barman.
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he says, now polishing an already pristine glass with a cloth as he speaks. “Knowing when to be discreet is all part of a bartender’s job, especially in an establishment like this where we have a good proportion of celebrities as guests.”
Now is so not the time for our barman to go all coy on us. I wonder if he’s angling for money in exchange for information. Are we allowed to offer an incentive for this man to tell us exactly what Poppy said when she was in this bar? What would Charlie or James do in this situation? Would they discreetly tuck a few ten pound notes under a drinks mat and slide it across to the barman? Would they go down the route of being all imposing and threatening? Well, whichever of those they might do, neither option is realistically open to me. I can’t be imposing or threatening. Based on her earlier performance with Mitch, Esme probably could, though I don’t particularly want the poor barman to become another victim of her wrestling moves. And I don’t have anything more than a solitary five pound note in my purse which, let’s face it, is not going to go very far in the bribery stakes.
On Trial Page 6
