by Ali Ryecart
More signs. Another arrow, another diversion.
“Those wooden signs,” Georgie said, frowning, “they’re really odd. I’ve never—”
“The GPS has stopped working. I’ve got no idea where we are. Do you recognise it around here?” Roland barked, swinging around. His face screwed up in irritation, eyes boring into Georgie as though it were his fault they were being shunted down one narrow lane after another.
Georgie ground his teeth together as he peered out the window. There was nothing to recognise. The landscape was featureless and there were no signposts pointing the way to any one of the many small and tucked away villages.
“No. I don’t know where we are.”
Roland muttered under his breath as he pulled out his phone.
“I need to cancel my dinner reservation. Bloody hell, I don’t have a signal. Do you have anything on yours?”
Georgie’s face prickled with heat. “I don’t have a mobile phone.”
“What?” Roland’s brows shot up. “Everybody has a mobile.”
“Not me.”
Can’t afford it, and who would I phone if I did?
Roland said nothing, but Georgie thought he saw a flicker of understanding in the man’s eyes.
Or maybe that’s my imagination.
Roland’s phone was top of the range, but if it couldn’t get a signal it was nothing more than a useless chunk of plastic.
Georgie settled back into the seat as Roland inched his way along the lane, just as he had before. Where they were going and when they’d get there, Georgie had no idea, as he gazed out of the window and stared at the bleak and featureless countryside.
Chapter Five
The dull ache that had settled behind Roland’s eyes was turning into a full scale headache. The relentless snow that beat against the windscreen, and the growing conviction they were heading further and further away from town, was taking its toll. And where the hell had this snow come from, anyway? A light fall had been forecast, far to the west, but he was heading north-east, and towards London. But maybe he wasn’t, not anymore. He had no idea where they were.
The diversions felt as though they were taking them around in circles. He knew the surrounding countryside, or thought he did, but since they’d come off the main road there had been nothing even remotely recognisable. He leaned forward, peering into the white wall that filled his windscreen, inching forward.
Where in God’s name were they?
If they got to town, hours away most likely, he’d book into a hotel for the night and make his way to London in the morning.
Roland glanced in the rearview mirror. Georgie’s face was glum as he stared out over the featureless landscape, and it was no wonder. He’d missed his train, and the likelihood of another running today was nil. Like him, Georgie would have to find a hotel, but it was doubtful that would happen. A kitchen boy earned so little, and a night in a hotel in the prosperous and well-heeled town they were allegedly aiming for would easily blow the best part of a month’s wages, if not more. The boy couldn’t even afford a basic mobile phone…
He swore under his breath.
What the boy did when they eventually arrived wasn’t his concern. But… He’d committed to getting Georgie to the station, but it would be a miracle if the trains were running. He couldn’t just dump him there. Or could he?
No.
Roland massaged his brow as he squinted into the blinding whiteness.
“Do you want a couple of these?”
“What?”
Roland quickly glanced at Georgie’s outstretched arm, across the back of the passenger seat. In his open palm was a blister of small tablets.
“They’re just over the counter pain killers. You keep rubbing your brow, so I reckon you must have a headache.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. It’s difficult driving in these conditions.”
Georgie popped a couple of tablets and handed them over, and Roland dry swallowed them.
“Thanks.”
Georgie nodded but said nothing as he slumped back into his seat.
Roland glanced at the clock on his dashboard, and jolted.
Three o’clock? That was impossible. They’d been on the road for three hours?
“What time do you make it?”
“Erm, nearly three,” Georgie said. “It’s slow going, but I didn’t realise it was that slow. And it’s beginning to get dark.”
Roland looked up at the sky, away from the whiteness in front of him which his headlights were having difficulty penetrating. Georgie was right. The light was fading fast and it wouldn’t be too long before it was dark.
Disquiet creeped through his gut. If they didn’t get back on the main road soon, and get to town, they faced being stranded in a back lane in the middle of God alone knew where. He threw another glance up at the sky, sure that it was darker than just a second or two ago.
“What the—?” Roland cried out as a blast of heavy snow hit the windscreen hard, clumping as though it had been thrown deliberately. The car lurched to the right as it skidded on the icy road, coming to a stop with a hard bump.
“Are you all right?” Roland twisted around in his seat and stared at a wide-eyed Georgie.
Georgie nodded. “Yeah, but where did that come from? It’s not like there are any trees a big clump of snow could have fallen off of, is it? I mean, look, it’s just fields.”
Roland stared out at the bleak, desolate landscape. Fields, hedges. Not a tree in sight.
“A blast of wind must have whipped some from the hedge,” Roland said, as he turned back to face the front. It was the only explanation. “I hit something so I’d better—”
“Look.”
Georgie leaned forward and pointed. Just peeking over the bonnet of the car was a sign: hotel this way.
Roland released a long breath. At last, somewhere they could stop. He only hoped they had a couple of spare rooms, because there was no way he was going to be driving around in circles all night long.
Righting the car, Roland followed the sign. It was a few yards further on before another hotel this way sign pointed them to the left.
“I didn’t know there was a hotel around here — if I knew where around here was, exactly,” Georgie said.
“I’ve got no clue where we are. As long as there’s a meal, a bath, and a bed waiting, I don’t care.”
Roland frowned in concentration as he bumped his way along what felt more like a farm track than a road. He’d long since lost his sense of direction, and they’d been in the car for three hours, but how far had they really gone? He knew every hotel and restaurant for miles around, not that many of them were worth knowing. But his own internal GPS was as screwed up as the one in the car, so which one it would be, he had no idea, and as the snow beat at the windscreen he cared even less.
Wherever it was he was heading, with his kitchen boy in tow, he’d soon be finding out.
Chapter Six
Roland cut the engine and stared out at the hotel. In the near darkness, it appeared to be built entirely of wood, like a ski chalet. But that was as far as the comparison went.
“What is this place?” Georgie said.
It was a good question. Two stories, with a steeply pitched roof, and a couple of big chimneys from which hazy smoke drifted up into the air. Every window was lit with soft and inviting light, and on either side of the arched doorway stood a big, bushy Christmas tree dressed with twinkling fairy lights.
“Do you know it? Because I don’t. It’s like something out of a fairy story. A slightly creepy fairy story,” Georgie said.
Roland huffed, and shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
But he knew what Georgie meant. The place was beyond odd, and being so odd, or individual as the hotel no doubt marketed itself as, he would — should — have known about it. Then why didn’t he?
“We’ll get some coffee, something to eat and also find out where we are, along with directions so we can set off early tomorrow.”
Roland opened his door and was hit by an icy blast. God, but it was cold. They needed to get into the hotel, and quickly.
From the boot, Roland grabbed a bag, and slammed it shut. Hunched against the buffeting wind, he’d only got a couple of steps before realising Georgie hadn’t followed him. Irritation bubbled through Roland. He was tired, his head still thumped despite the painkillers, and he was pissed off by the way the day had panned out. He turned back, and wrenched the door open.
“Why aren’t you getting out of the car?”
Georgie’s eyes flickered between him, to the hotel, and back to him.
“I don’t have the money for a hotel and this place isn’t going to come cheap. I’m not even sure I could afford to buy coffee here.” Georgie bit his lip as a flush broke out over his face. “Perhaps I can sleep here, in your car? I won’t nick it, I promise.”
Roland sucked in a hard breath. All he wanted was to get into the hotel, and hope there was a half decent dinner to be had, along with a comfortable bed for the night. He hadn’t thought twice about his plans for the evening when he’d pulled up, he didn’t have to because he could afford it. Unlike Georgie.
“You’ll freeze to death if you try and stay overnight in the car. I’m not prepared to have that on my conscience. I’ll book us a room each and you can pay me back in instalments.”
“Instalments? It’d take me the rest of my life to pay you back.”
“Then you’d better make sure you live a long life, hadn’t you? You’re not sleeping in the car.”
“But—”
“There is no but. Get out of the car. Now.”
Roland stood aside, the door held wide, pushing the door shut with a hard thud as soon as Georgie got out.
The path up to the hotel was covered with only the slightest dusting of snow, as though it had very recently been cleared. As they made their way towards the heavy wooden door, Roland looked for any sign to say what the place was called and where it was. There was nothing.
Is this actually a hotel? Perhaps he had misread the sign and it was really a private residence… No. It had clearly said hotel and Georgie had seen it, too. They hadn’t come off the track because there had been no place to come off. The first sign of life they’d come to since they’d left Pendleton Manor was here, where ever here was.
Roland pushed open the door and walked into a wall of warmth. On one side of the entrance hall, two huge Christmas trees stood sentinel either side of a deep brick fireplace alive with dancing, flickering flames, filling the air with the scent of pine and sweet apple. Holly and ivy, and sprigs of mistletoe, hung in garlands from the walls. Opposite the fireplace was a dark wood reception desk, with a light above it, but it was switched off, giving the reception a closed down look. The hotel didn’t appear to be very big, so perhaps reception wasn’t always staffed. But he was tired and hungry, so somebody was damn well going to come and book them in for the night.
“Where is everybody?” Georgie said, as he looked around him.
“Hello? Reception?” Roland called as he strode across the entrance hall to the desk.
In any hotel in the country, in the middle of the afternoon, staff and guests would normally be milling around. His call should have brought somebody to the desk, but other than him and Georgie, there was no sign of anybody. Roland supposed the bad weather had forced the guests to their rooms, or into a lounge or bar, if there were those, but there should have been more signs of life. And there most definitely should have been staff on duty.
Roland huffed out an impatient sigh. He wanted to put the day behind him, but until somebody arrived to check them in, the day was just being dragged out. He was about to call out again when an elderly man appeared behind the desk. Roland blinked hard. The man hadn’t been there, just a second or so ago, and then he was. He rubbed his aching head.
I must be more tired than I thought.
“Can I help, gentlemen?” The old man said, the skin around his twinkling blue eyes creasing as his lightly white-bearded face lit up in a smile.
“Good afternoon. I would like to book two rooms please, for one night only.”
The old man reached under the desk and pulled out a large old-fashioned ledger. Roland blinked again. It had been years since he’d been anywhere that used a ledger to book in guests. Where was the computer console for the electronic booking system? Every hotel had them, even Pendleton Manor, which on the surface at least adhered to very strict traditional appearances.
“Would you mind telling me the name of this hotel? I can’t see anything that—”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the old man said, regret furrowing his brow as his words cut across Roland. “We appear only to have one room free. It’s Christmas, you see. It’s our busiest time of the year. Shall I book you and Mr. Forrester in for the night?”
One room? No. No, no, no. There was no way on earth he was going to share a room with his kitchen boy.
“We couldn’t possibly share. Is there somewhere else around, somewhere else close by?”
Roland winced as pain flared through his head, as tight and sharp as wire. The idea of getting back in the car, crawling through the snow in the dark, looking for somewhere else…
“Oh no, sir,” the old man said. “There’s no other hotel around here for miles and miles, and I really wouldn’t recommend driving in this weather. I would be delighted for you both to be our guests for the night, but it would have to be in the one room.”
Another sharp finger of pain seared through Roland’s head, making him squint as he met the old man’s eyes, still twinkling, still smiling, and fixed on him.
Nothing else for miles around… The old man was right about the weather… It was for one night only…
“Erm, how did you know my name?” Georgie tilted his head to the side. “I didn’t tell you what it was.”
Roland looked between Georgie and the old man. Georgie hadn’t said a word to the old man, it was true, and he was sure he hadn’t mentioned Georgie’s name. His gaze settled on the man, curious as to what he would say.
“Why, your name’s on your badge, sir. Forrester. Georgie Forrester.”
“I’m not wearing—”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Roland muttered. “Why are you wearing your staff name badge?”
Roland glowered at Georgie, who stared down at his still buttoned up coat, where his Pendleton Manor badge was pinned squarely to his chest. Blue and gold, it was hard to miss. Georgie must have been wearing it all the time, although goodness knows why, yet Roland couldn’t remember seeing it.
Without a word Georgie unpinned it and thrust it into his coat pocket.
“So, would you like me to make the booking, sir?” the old man asked, his twinkling eyes locking onto Roland’s.
I don’t have any other bloody choice.
“Yes, thank you.”
“If you’d care to sign — Ah, I seem to have mislaid my pen. One moment, please.”
The old man disappeared through a door behind the reception desk.
“How much is it?” Georgie whispered. “You didn’t ask, and as I’m going to be paying half of it, I need to know how much it is.”
“I don’t care how much is. It’s a room and that’s all that matters. And I’ll pay for it.”
“I don’t want you to pay my share. I told you,” Georgie hissed. “But I do need to know how much I’m going to end up owing.”
“Stop making such a fuss. I know you can’t afford it—”
“That’s not the point,” Georgie spat back, his face reddening.
Roland ground his teeth. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so blunt, but it was no more than the truth and he was in no mood to argue.
“I am not going to have this argument. I will pay for the room. End of discussion, so—”
“I’m sorry to have kept you. Here you are, sir.”
The man handed Roland a heavy, old-fashioned silver fountain pen, and turned the ledger around for him. T
he page on which Roland was to sign his and Georgie’s names was white, pristine and empty.
“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher Jones,” the man said, scrutinising the backwards sloping scrawl of Roland’s signature. “Your initial, sir. Would that be for Roland?”
“I’m sorry?”
Roland flinched. He’d signed the way he always did, R. Fletcher-Jones. Always his initial only, never his first name.
“Your name. Roland? I am correct, aren’t I?”
“Er, yes. Yes, you are. But why did you think Roland? Most would assume Richard, or Robert.”
“I know exactly who you are, sir.” The old man inclined his head.
He knows Pendleton Manor, so—
“Your room is on the top floor. I’m sorry there’s nobody available to take your luggage.” He pointed to an ornate wooden staircase to the side of the door through which they had come. “I trust you will enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you. And your name is?”
“Why, sir, my name is Nicholas. Good evening to you both.”
Roland picked up his bag and with Georgie on his heels, headed for the staircase. He stopped. Dinner. How could he have forgotten to reserve a table?
“Can you tell me what time—?” he said, turning, but the reception desk was empty, the small light above it turned off, the area nothing more than shadow.
Chapter Seven
“This is completely unacceptable.”
The bed was huge and dominated the room. The fourposter must have been almost twice the size of a standard king-size. Red and gold brocaded curtains were attached to each of the posts by a large green bow. Sharing a room with Georgie was bad enough but sharing a bed, even one as large as this, was unthinkable. His chest tightened, and ice settled in his stomach. He hadn’t shared a bed with another man since—
Don’t go there. Don’t ever bloody go there.
“Suppose I can sleep on the floor, or prop myself up in one of those chairs by the window,” Georgie muttered. “There’ll be spare pillows and blankets. You can have the bed, seeing that you’re paying for the room.” Georgie flushed.
