As I said in the introduction to another of my stories, I'm no believer in a lot of mostly splashy anatomical detail in the romance section. And of course, all my characters are over 18. Most of them are over 30.
This story has a basis in fact. Once I was working as night receptionist at a hotel on the night before the largest IT exhibition of the year. As usual, relying on some cancellations, we were overbooked. And two people arrived late, when we only had double rooms left. We solved the problem as described, and I often wondered how the situation had panned out.
*****
It had been a long journey and I was tired. For seven hours we had been travelling by train from Inverness to London for the annual computer convention, which we were going to combine with a visit to our latest customer for discussions on a new system we were constructing for them. We would have flown if there had been a convenient flight, but with changes and one thing and another, it would have taken just as long, and we'd have had to keep track of our luggage at each stop. Francis had done his best to make it a pleasant trip, talking, mostly about work, when I wanted to, reading or working when I didn't. I didn't understand how our colleagues at work could have such a negative view of Francis. He was generally considered to be a half-autistic nerd, socially incompetent and extremely shy.
And I suppose, thinkng back, that it was just so that I had seen him when he was first assigned to my group. But as I became familiar with him and he with me, comfortable with me, and particularly when he had begun to appreciate my competence, or so I hoped, he had changed, and now it was hard to remember those early feelings of frustration at his inability to communicate. We had become friends, and he had introduced me to his wife, and we had had threesomes over dinner, or foursomes when I had a boyfriend, for, I must admit, I'm not a great expert myself at personal relations either. Not in Francis's class, I have to say, but not given to opening myself to others willingly.
I often used to wonder how Francis had met his wife, who seemed to be quite normal in so many respects, but I'd never had what I considered to be a suitable opportunity to raise the matter. And now it was irrelevant. His wife had divorced him nearly a year ago, and was now living with another man, planning to marry, and already pregnant.
And here we now were at last, outside the hotel and I was looking forward to nothing so much as to check in to my room, take a shower, eat a late meal in the restaurant and away to my bed. Whilst Francis paid off the taxi and found a trolley for the luggage, I went ahead to begin the check-in process. The receptionist was apologetic.
"You've booked two single rooms," the young woman began. "Unfortunately we've had a problem with the booking system, with the computer convention and all, and we're accidentally overbooked. We were wondering whether you and your colleague could be persuaded to share a room for one night. As a compensation we would be able to offer you both a double room for the remainder of your stay."
At this moment Francis joined me and the receptionist blanched.
"Oh, my god," she said. "We thought you were two women. Someone spelt your name as Frances with an 'E'." This to Francis. "Oh, dear. Then I'm afraid we'll have to pay for a taxi to take you to another hotel where we have been able to book a few free rooms. The problem is it's a fair way out, about thirty minutes away."
We looked at each another. We were both tired. The thought of a thirty minute taxi journey before I could get my shower and late meal - if we could get a meal at all at that time, so far out of town - was not appealing.
"Give us a few minutes to talk about this," I said, and drew Francis over to a couple of easy chairs in the reception area.
"I don't fancy their plan B," I said. "It's not just tonight. It's tomorrow morning, as well. Another taxi ride back, after packing our things again. Can we cope with a shared room for one night?"
"I guess I can cope if you can," said Francis. "But what's the bill going to look like? If we get a bill showing we spent the first night in the same room, it'll be all over the company as soon as bookkeeping gets their hands on it."
"You're right," I said. "There are some who have us down as a pair already. Let's check."
We went back to reception.
"Is there any danger that we'll get a bill showing that we spent one night in the same room?" I asked.
"None at all," replied the receptionist. "Worst case, we'll type out special invoices for your two rooms, the two you will be in tomorrow night and the night after."
We looked at each other once more.
"Then we'll take the double room for tonight."
"Thank you," said the receptionist. "Is there anything we can do for you as a sort of thank-you gesture?"
"You could pick up the bill for our dinner in the restaurant," suggested Francis.
"That we will."
We received our keys and made our way to the elevators. We were silent on the way up to our floor, and a little reserved when we came to the room. I think Francis was more shocked than I was to find that, instead of twin beds, we had been assigned a queen sized double bed, and Francis wanted to go back down and ask for a room with twin beds, but I stopped him.
"It's okay," I said. "I don't want any more hassle."
"So, do you want to shower first?" asked Francis. "I can unpack in the meantime."
I nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. When I returned, wrapped only in a towel, I discovered that Francis had stripped down to his boxer shorts and fallen asleep on the bed. I looked down at him. He had a nice body, I thought, and felt an unaccustomed stirring in my loins, which I quickly quelled. I liked Francis, both as a colleague and a person. We worked well together, and often ate lunch together, usually stuck together when the company had a jippo at the start of a new project or one of the seemingly constant re-organisations. Luckily we had never been "re-organised" into separate groups, and we made a successful team. I had pepped him after the divorce, which had devastated him.
"Wake up, sleepy head," I laughed, and shook his foot. Francis woke with a start, struggled up from the bed, and moved apologetically to the bathroom, hardly daring to look at me, although he appeared to be very much aware of my body, and my long legs beneath the towel. When he returned, I was dressed demurely and sitting in one of the armchairs at the window end of the room, checking my email.
He turned away, dropped his towel, showing me a firm pair of buttocks, and dressed quickly in casual clothes.
"Shall we go?" he asked, turning to me.
I smiled, and stood up.
"You look very nice in that dress," he said, and nearly bit his tongue. "If you'll excuse me making a personal comment," he added.
"I will. And thank you," I smiled.
In the dining room we made no special demands of the hotel, taking two reasonably priced meals from the a la carte menu. The waiter told us that the hotel had included a glass each of the wine of our choice, and I chose white to accompany my fish dish, whilst Francis chose a red wine to his cutlets.
