Two more rooms to go and then she could do the corridors. The job was not too bad; if only there wasn't the constant, nagging worry about money. If she couldn't find a way to meet three months' rent in time... Mr Dane had offered her a loan, but she didn't trust him; she'd overheard a conversation about him and it seemed he asked an enormously high rent, and if you didn't pay up - Alice felt she was already in the downward spiral too deep. She had tried to find another job for the evenings, but as yet she'd not had any luck.
She slid her card through the slot of room 206 and wheeled her trolley inside. She shut the door and quickly surveyed the room. Hmm - single occupant, only one bed slept in. Tidy, clothes neatly put away, bed not too rumpled, no junk on the floor - nothing on the bedside table but a wallet... She stopped in her tracks. Her shameful thoughts made her hair stand on end and she sat down for a moment and pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. Damn it all. If her mother had not been so ill, and all her own fault, too - she shook herself. Perhaps... she went to the bedside table and tried to block out her conscience.
Dave had flown in the night before on business. He was a quiet, soft-spoken man who knew exactly what he wanted, but who had found out life didn't always deliver the goods. His marriage had failed completely; it transpired his wife, who after a very short time continually found fault with her life and everything in it, not excluding him, had had lots of others and he had cleanly severed their bond. Her new boyfriend had been very rich and she had simply left without trying to bleed him white - she had done so when that next relationship had lost its shine for her. Bah, no more women for him. He had decided that life alone held too much appeal for him; he had been on his own for years now. Here, he could visit Gene Greenfield, a very old friend - they always spent a lot of time together talking. They shared a taste for classical music, jazz, sixties pop... Good company, Dave thought.
That morning he had had a slow and quite good breakfast, and then he had gone to the nearby tube station. He went to buy himself a ticket and found to his annoyance that he must have left his wallet in his hotel room.
He legged it back to his hotel fast, took the stairs for speed, dashed into the room and stopped short.
"Now what on earth do you think you're doing?" he said.
She froze and all colour left her face. Oh God. She turned around. "Er, I..."
"I see," Dave said as he fixed her with stern, unsmiling eyes. "I will call the management and let them deal with you."
"Please," she said almost inaudibly. "Please don't - I can explain - I will never get a job any more - I can try and keep you company while you're here - I..."
He cut her short; he would be late if he sorted this out now. "Good," he said. "Hand me my wallet. I expect you here tonight at six - and you had better think of a very good explanation indeed. I will not report you until then."
Fuming he made his way back to the tube station and he was only just in time for his first appointment.
That day's business went very well; but there was one thing that drove everything else straight from his mind. He had planned to visit Gene at his office at three but when he arrived at the old address the old brass nameplate was gone; instead there was a marble one indicating the edifice housed an insurance company he did not usually deal with. He raised his eyebrows and went in. The girl at the desk told him she was very sorry, but alas, Mr Greenfield had suddenly died last November. Yes, it had been a heart attack; she did not know what had happened to his widow.
Dave thanked her for the information and went out into the April sunshine. He felt completely dazed. How could he have missed this? Perhaps Louisa, Dave's widow, who did not care for him much had forgotten to inform him? He went into the nearest pub for a double whisky - he didn't usually drink during working hours, but he really needed a drink now. He conducted the afternoon's business almost automatically, and went back to his hotel room at five thirty. He sat down and started to compose a letter of condolences to Louisa. No matter what she did or didn't think of him, he always tried to round things off correctly.
While he was turning a tricky phrase in his mind there was a knock. Bother, he thought. Who the hell could that be?
He got up and opened the door. In the corridor Alice was mutely waiting for him to tell her to come in.
"Oh yes," he said, "there you are. You'd better come in."
She went in. Her whole body felt stiff, a stiffness that had come over her immediately when she'd heard him come in that morning, and that had not left her during the day. All the muscles in her back were stiff; so were her limbs. She knew the feeling; during her mother's more unreasonable periods she'd felt the same, more or less - the difference was that she did not see any way out now. She stood stiffly, waiting for Dave to pronounce his verdict.
He stood looking at her. He saw a somewhat thin woman with frightened, tired eyes in a dress that must have known better days. He thought her dirty blonde hair had probably been dyed, and she could do with a haircut. She wore cheap make-up and a cheap perfume, rather like bad soap. Her cheeks were hollow. But he like the shape of her bones and he thought she would have nice eyes if she didn't look so tense. Good, he thought. I'll finish my letter tonight.
"My name is Dave Bernard," he said, and raised his eyebrows.
"I'm Alice Green," she said hesitantly.
"Sit down," he told her and directed her into one of the easy chairs near the window. She walked up to it, stiffly, with hunched shoulders and sat down while straightening her dress over her knees. She put her hands together in her lap, her right hand in her left. He could see that she worked the fingers of her left hand as if she were kneading, and got the impression that she could burst into tears at any moment.
"Look," he said, "I'm not going to hit you, you know. Did you have dinner before you came?"
She shook her head.
"Right," he said. He called room service and ordered two meals and a bottle of red wine. "We will have dinner first, and then you can try and explain."
She sat, head bowed, and looked at her shoes.
Dave followed her gaze. She wore carefully polished sensible shoes that had obviously seen better days, too; the heels were completely worn. He wondered how to begin; his thoughts were cut short when room service arrived with their meals. Dave signed the chit and poured them both a firm glass of wine.
"You do drink?" he asked.
She nodded again. "I used to, now and then," she said.
"Good," he said. "Let's eat, then. Have a nice meal."
"Thank you," she said.
They ate in silence. Dave kept looking at her; she looked at her plate, her thoughts and fears milling in her head. But the food was good, and gradually she allowed herself to enjoy it a little.
When they had finished eating Dave said, "Well then. You had better tell me all about yourself."
"All about myself?" she said hesitantly.
"Yes," he said, "I can't think of any other way to explain what you tried to do."
She sat staring ahead for some time.
"I er, I don't know where to begin - I've never said anything to anyone. My job -"
"Just tell me about yourself," Dave suggested. "Let's leave your job for the time being."
She pulled down the corners of her mouth. Then she fixed her eyes on the vase of flowers on the table and began.
"I am thirty-five years old," she said, "and I was born here. My father was a musician; he played the violin in an orchestra. He was very nice. He died when I was ten, a few days before Christmas, of food poisoning. My mother started to drink then, and later she tried cocaine; when I was seventeen she was taken into rehab, and she went in and out of rehab for years. But she ruined her body, and when I had almost finished my studies she became so bad that she needed to be looked after all the time. I took up a job to pay my way, and then my mother seemed to recover and she went away for some time. When I thought it was safe again to pick up my studies in the evenings she returned. She was very ill then. She died three months ago..."
"I'm sorry," Dave said. "Do you miss her?"
