Page 103 of A Change of Location
“Oh, stop.”
“I’ve been living on New York time for days. Lexi doesn’t need to wake me up for her middle of the night feed. I’m expecting another call, extremely important. Can’t talk about it yet. As soon as the file comes, I’ll send it over. A very special surprise.” Bending down, she pressed a quick kiss on Hannah’s cheek. “See you soon, partner.”
Hannah remained in place, numbed by contrasting and rapidly shifting emotions. True to form, Liz was playing fairy godmother, turning this bizarre night into the nicest.
When she got up, she felt lightheaded. Not in reaction to a series of shocks, but from gnawing, aching hunger. If she didn’t eat something, and soon, she was going to pass out.
She wandered into the restaurant. No host on duty, and the tablecloths had been removed. In the kitchen two young men in aprons loaded plates into an industrial sized dishwasher.
“Sorry to bother you,” she told them, “but I missed dinner. Can I please have some kind of food to take to my room? Anything will do.”
“There’s a leftover pear crumble in the fridge,” said one. “It’ll be cold, though.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He located the oval dish and peeled away the clingfilm. “Some custard in the jug. Shall I pour it on?”
“Yes, please.”
In addition to the crumble, he supplied her with cutlery wrapped in a napkin.
“Enjoy,” he said.
“Thanks, I will.”
Making her way up the staircase to her floor, she wondered whether Alistair had eaten her tortellini as well as his pork chop.
Whoever performed turndown service had already visited. The floral chintz counterpane was neatly folded back and its pillows were plumped and stacked, and the curtains were drawn. Such a pleasant change, this country house hotel—classic décor, unobtrusive yet accommodating staff. The big chains tried too hard. During her scouting years, she returned to her room each night to find a bath towel contorted into an animal figure—elephant, swan, monkey, or frog. She’d always taken a photo and sent it to Chase for his amusement.
Light glowed from the gooseneck lamp on the antique corner desk. She walked straight to it and sat down to eat her crumble. The topping wasn’t crispy like Mum’s, but the fruity pudding underneath it was ever so slightly warm.
After changing into her silk camisole and sleep shorts, she remembered to plug her phone’s charging cord into the bedside outlet. The telephone on the nightstand rang.
“Good evening, Ms. Ballard. There’s a person here at the front desk with a delivery for you. Shall I send him up?”
He must be bringing that file Liz mentioned, she thought fleetingly. Maybe more paperwork I’m supposed to sign.
Unwilling to get dressed for a trip downstairs, she gave permission. She covered herself with the complimentary terrycloth bathrobe, several sizes too large. Hearing the soft rap of knuckles on wood, she opened the door.
Martin stood in the hall. He held a bottle of champagne in one hand and a bouquet of velvety red roses in the other.
Stepping aside, she said, “I’ve stayed in dozens of hotels. Maybe a hundred. I never had finer room service than this.”
“Our earlier parting was unsatisfactory.” After kissing her, he placed his offerings on the sofa table and pulled a champagne coupe glass out of each jacket pocket.
“You think of everything,” she said appreciatively.
“Your planning expertise is contagious.” Gradually he eased the cork from the bottle. He poured the pale golden liquid into each glass. Handing her one, he touched it with his. “To us. To our future. To being together.”
She sipped the bubbly.
“Your turn,” he prompted.
“To new beginnings,” she said. “And next adventures.” She recounted her brief conversation with Liz. “I’m not sure how I survived six months of job title changes and shifting responsibilities. Location scout to location manager to executive assistant to the executive producer.”
“Now you’re a producer yourself.”
“And starting up the UK division of Acorn Films. Which probably requires some other type of visa.”
