"Good evening, Mr White."
I looked up from my screen to see my fellow receptionist, Rachel, smiling warmly at the tall, dark figure approaching our desk. I glanced at my watch and wasn't at all surprised to see that it was exactly ten o'clock.
The man leaning casually against our desk was at least six and a half feet tall, and nearly as wide, his muscular frame squeezed into a dark grey suit. He wasn't wearing a tie tonight, and I noticed how thick his neck looked through the open collar of his crisp white shirt.
"Good evening, Miss Kane, and good evening Miss Grant," he said, only briefly taking his eyes off my colleague to glance over at me, nodding a greeting in his curiously formal manner. He had a rather deep voice with a trace of some kind of accent, maybe eastern European. If I'm honest, I suppose I felt a little jealous; it was clear he was attracted to Rachel.
I'm not bad-looking in a girl-next-door kind of way, petite with hazel eyes and my chestnut hair scraped back into a neat ponytail, although I'd put on a little weight since I started doing these night shifts and fallen out of my usual gym routine. But I wasn't too surprised that Mr White only had eyes for Rachel with her slim figure and fair complexion, all blonde curls, glossy pink lips and dark blue eyes.
"You're looking well. How are you?" she said, flashing a bright smile at him as she fumbled beneath the desk for the key to the Peabody suite.
"Fine, thanks. Do you need to see my booking confirmation?" he asked, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket.
"No, no need, we trust you," she said, handing him the key, and watching it disappear into his big, meaty hand. He asked this every week, but he was just being polite. We all knew that the bridge club he worked for had a block booking from ten pm until three in the morning, and had rented the Peabody Suite for as long as anyone could remember. Certainly as long as I'd worked at the Grand Hotel, which was over two years.
"Thanks, I'll hand it back later," he said with a curt nod.
I waited for him turn and stride off purposefully down the long corridor, then rolled my chair closer to Rachel and nudged her elbow.
"You're looking so well, Mr White, have you been working out, you great big hunky man?" I whispered in a high-pitched parody of her voice, as I fluttered my eyelashes coquettishly.
"Come on, I'm not that bad!" she protested.
"You are! You're such a shameless flirt, Rachel!"
"Was it that obvious?"
"Duh, yeah."
"Well, he is a good-looking man, you can't deny that," Rachel said defensively, as we watched his large frame disappear around a corner.
"Yeah, well I suppose if you like your men tall, dark and handsome, dressed in a nicely tailored charcoal grey suit, I mean if that's really the kind of man that does it for you..." I said.
I got on well with Rachel. I'd moved here to west London from my home town of Bristol a couple of years back, and she'd always done her best to help me settle in at the hotel. Although as I was still relatively new I seemed to get stuck with these 'graveyard' shifts. I guess I didn't mind too much; they paid more and the cost of living here was so much higher than I was used to.
As suggested by its name, the Grand Hotel was well regarded but a little dated. It had been built in the era of Art Deco and although there'd been some recent attempts to modernise it, it still felt stuck in the thirties with its cut-glass chandeliers, large gilt mirrors and garish floral carpets.
Before long, the members of the Hades Bridge Club started to arrive. I smiled politely and said 'good evening' as they drifted through the lobby, in groups of three and four. The men smartly dressed in dark suits with open-collared white shirts, and the women in expensive-looking evening gowns, all headed for the Peabody Suite where they'd spend the rest of the night, leaving in the early hours of the morning, towards the end of my shift.
"Don't you think it's odd?" I said thoughtfully.
"What?" said Rachel, who was smiling and nodding as a tall lady in a slinky bottle green dress walked past clutching a tiny bejewelled gold handbag, barely glancing in our direction.
"This bridge club, they're all so well-dressed. Have you ever actually been in there and seen them playing?"
"Well, no, I think Peter keeps out any non-members, that's kind of his job."
"Oh, it's 'Peter' now, is it?" I teased, causing Rachel to roll her eyes.
"And that's another thing: why does a bridge club meet so late on a Friday night and need a bouncer?" I continued.
"He's not a bouncer, he's a doorman," she protested.
"Bouncer, doorman, what's the difference? He's there to keep people out, right? To stop people seeing what's going on in there."
"Gosh, your imagination! It's a private, members-only club, it's just that they don't want other hotel guests wandering in and out. I mean, what are you expecting?" she replied, shaking her head, her blonde curls brushing against the padded shoulders of her navy jacket.
"Yeah, it's private alright. Do you know anyone who's actually been in there?"
"Well, no but..."
"I'm just saying they could be up to anything down there."
"Come on, just because we haven't been in there it doesn't mean anything. I mean, what are you suggesting, Beth? You think it's some kind of secret kinky sex club or something? Do you think there's a wild orgy going on in there, people swinging from the chandeliers...?"
"Well no, not a sex club, I'm just saying..." I started to say.
"You know you really need to get out more, Beth. How long's it been since you broke up with Derek?"
"Two months, nearly three."
"Well, you should get out there and find yourself another man. Actually, if you fancy it, there's this new bar..." she started to say, then stopped as a guest approached us.
"Hi, I seem to have lost my key card..." he said, holding out his hands and looking apologetic.
"No problem, Sir, now what's your name...?" Rachel said, ever the professional.
-
It was maybe an hour later when I noticed the young woman. She was standing in the middle of the reception area, under the huge chandelier, alternately glancing at a piece of paper that she clutched in her hand and looking around anxiously.
I'd often noticed guests like her, lingering in the reception area before setting off in the direction of the Peabody Suite. They were nearly always women in their twenties or thirties, and often dressed as if they were going to a party. Rachel was on the 'phone, so I looked over the desk and remembering my refresher training, I flashed what I hoped was a friendly smile.
"Can I help you, madam?" I said.
"Oh! Yes, I'm looking for the Peabody Suite," she said, as she drifted towards our desk. She was slim and willowy; her toffee-coloured hair scraped back and tied in a neat ponytail, held with a black ribbon.
Usually I would have simply directed her towards the long corridor to the right and slightly behind our desk but I saw an opportunity.
"Actually I'm just off there myself," I said, getting to my feet and straightening my navy skirt. "I'll take you down there."
"Oh no, that's okay, I don't want to be any trouble," she said, looking a little nervous and I rounded the desk, and invited her to join me by gesturing towards the corridor.
"Oh, that's okay, it's no trouble," I said, as she fell into step with me. "Are you part of the bridge club?"
"Yes, that's right, the bridge club. I'm just a guest," she explained.
Although it was a warm September night, she was wearing a long, beige raincoat, which she unbuttoned as she walked, and I couldn't help noticing that underneath she was dressed like a schoolgirl.
"So is it some kind of fancy-dress night?" I asked, taking in her fitting white shirt gaping open at the front, a rather short yellow-and-black plaid skirt and a pair of plain, low-heeled black shoes.
"Oh! Um, yes, that's right, fancy dress," she said, blushing prettily as she glanced down at her outfit, as if she'd forgotten what she was wearing.
"Well, you'll certainly turn a few heads," I said, as we rounded a corner. Mr White was standing in front of the doors to the suite, erect and solid-looking, hands tucked neatly behind his back.
"Good evening, ladies," he said, looking a little surprised to see me.
"Our guest was a little lost," I explained as we paused in front of him.
I stood and watched closely as the young woman handed him the piece of paper, her hands trembling slightly. I leaned in close but didn't have time to read it properly; I was only able to skim the text, picking up words like "invitation", "discrete" and "private club".
"Excellent, well welcome to the Hades Bridge Club, enjoy your evening, Cherry," White said, handing the invitation back then stepping aside and opening one of the large wooden doors.
"Thanks," the young woman said, smiling nervously as she slipped inside.
I started to follow, but he stepped in front of me, stopping me with a firm hand on my shoulder.
"I can only let you through if you're a member, or you've got an invitation," he explained.
"But I work here!" I protested.
