When the Siren Calls (34 page)

Kaisa looked at him shrewdly for a moment and nodded. “As you wish, Mr. Brooke. Any additional charges will be added to your account.”

Jay gestured his consent and snatched the bill from the desk. It took all his self-control to remain in the building and he walked businesslike to a quiet corner to call Lucy, formulating a plan beneath the soothing light of the chandeliers. The phone rang for what seemed an eternity but yielded no answer. Jay checked his watch and saw that it was now six-thirty.

“Fuck,” he mouthed with a wary eye on the door, his panic increasing with the realisation that if he did not do something in five minutes, he and Lucy would run into Isobel and Maria in the foyer. He backed into the corner, although it couldn’t hide him, and called Lucy again but still he could get no answer. Was she ignoring him, fearing with foresight he would seek to change their plans? He wheeled to face the wall in despair, pushing the phone into his forehead as he screwed up his face in hopelessness.

“Are you all right, sir?” asked a voice behind him.

“Yes, yes, fine,” he snapped, waving away the bellboy with uncharacteristic rudeness.

A dark female silhouette loomed at the doorway and Jay closed his eyes slowly, sure it was over. But no cry of recognition pierced his fear and he opened them again, letting the light flood back in, to see an unknown woman conversing with the bellboy. Jay’s heart raced and he made the rash decision to break his own rule, the first commandment of adultery; he took out his phone and sent Lucy a text.

“Urgent. Call me now.”

He fired off the text, and waited for what seemed an age, yet despite his prayers, his phone remained still and silent. He called again, each ring sounding like a death toll. No answer; he composed a second text.

“Urgent, change of plan. Go directly to Ritz. Do not go to Savoy. I am waiting for you in Ritz. J.”

Jay knew he could no longer stay in the foyer of the Savoy; every second he remained pushed him closer to the end of everything. He briefly debated concealing himself outside, somewhere near the entrance, and intercepting Lucy as she arrived. But as six-forty heralded another stream of guests, he remembered that there were two entrances, and Lucy could use either. He agonised for a few moments, unsure what to do, and glanced at his watch again, ten to seven, Isobel would probably be leaving the room now, on her way down to collect Maria.

Jay sprinted for the concierge desk, slamming his hands down on it with relief and staring wildly up at the concierge, a tall, slickhaired rake of a man with a nose like a beak.

“Yes, Mr. Brooke, how can I help you this evening?” He looked at Jay blankly, battling to remain professional and keep the gloating amusement from his face.

“I need you to do two things for me, right now.”

The man allowed himself a smile; he loved urgent requests, they were by far the most profitable. “If it is possible, Mr. Brooke.”

“I need you to post a man at the Embankment entrance this second, and to intercept the arrival of a young lady. She’s in her late twenties, tall, attractive, and blonde. You know the type. Her name is Lucy Baker. When she arrives, direct her straight to the Ritz. She must under no circumstances come in to the Savoy. Understand?”

Jay handed over two fifty-pound notes, and the concierge nodded to the man beside him who sped off through the foyer in the direction of the back entrance. Jay glanced quickly from his watch to the lifts, knowing Isobel might appear at any moment.

The concierge held his chin as he watched the beads of sweat form on Jay’s brow.

“And the second request, Mr. Brooke?” he asked with a knowing delicateness.

“The same thing, but at the main door,” said Jay, already holding out the money.

The concierge looked at him with the faintest trace of a sneer and did not move. “Unfortunately, Mr. Brooke, as you can see, we are very busy this evening. And my colleague, much as he might like to, cannot be at two entrances at the same time. And I myself am required to remain here,” he spread his arms wide, “at the desk.”

“I only need you to cover the door for five minutes, ten at the most.”

“That is very difficult, Mr. Brooke,” he said, looking pointedly at his pocket.

Jay peeled off another four fifty-pound notes.

“Does that make it easier?”

The concierge signalled across the foyer and a bell boy sprinted over. “Cover this desk for the next ten minutes.” He turned to Jay. “I believe I have your number, Mr. Brooke. When the young lady arrives we will put her in a taxi, and let you know when we have done so. Now sir, perhaps you would like to slip out through the porter’s entrance?”

The Ritz was illuminated in imposing grandeur, seeming to extend forever into the early evening sky, as Jay’s taxi pulled up beside it. A royal blue Rolls Royce embellished with the hotel number plate stood proudly outside, reinforcing that only the discerning and deep pocketed need cross the threshold. A man in a top hat and coat below his knees materialised from nowhere and held the door open, allowing him to step out onto the pristine pavement like some sort of king. Jay nodded his thanks as he crossed his palm, and all but ran inside, slowing only on the approach to the desk. He scanned the lobby as he walked through, but he saw no sign of Lucy, and had given up on any message from the concierge. The receptionist, uncannily similar to the blonde from the Savoy, smiled an empty smile as he reached the counter.

“Welcome to the Ritz Hotel, sir. How may I serve you this evening?”

“I may need a room for the night, what do you have available?”

“We are very full this evening, sir. I will need to check for any non-arrivals. Were you thinking of a single room, a double room, or a suite?”

Jay tore his fingers back and forth across his brow, instinct and habit called for the suite but he had already paid for one outrageously expensive room that evening.

“A double.”

“Twin beds, double, or king size, sir?”

Jay was beginning to feel like he was at a fast food restaurant; he drew himself up to full height and spoke with stern assertiveness.

“If the hotel is as full as you say it is, how about you just check what you’ve got, and I’ll make the decisions?”

“As you wish, sir, just a moment please.” She tapped away at lightning speed as Jay’s eyes wandered apprehensively to the doors once more. “I can offer you a double room with a king size bed, or a penthouse suite overlooking Green Park?”

“How much for the suite?”

“Three thousand pounds, sir.”

“And the double?”

“Let me see, that would be twelve hundred pounds, sir.”

Again, routine called for the suite but Jay had a horrible feeling, from the way Andy had been talking, that his next set of expenses might be on his own tab. The blonde glanced at her watch and back at her computer screen as if watching the last second bids of an online auction.

“I’ll take the double.”

Jay only just had time to arrange himself comfortably in a chair before Lucy arrived, feasting on the opulence around her with wide, hungry eyes.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said lightly, kissing him on the cheek. “I got held up at Clapham Junction. I got your texts so I came straight here. Is there a problem?”

Jay laughed to himself as he thought of the two concierges outside the Savoy, waiting for a blonde that would never arrive, but it was a brief and bitter sound — it was shaping up to be an expensive evening.

“No problem,” he said with a casual wave of the hand, “I just wasn’t happy with the room in the Savoy. I think someone had been smoking cigars around the clock in it. So I thought I’d treat you to the Ritz.”

Lucy’s eyes swept the foyer, resting on the fine jewellery outlet with approval. “The Ritz is great.”

“I thought we’d go to dinner first, if that’s ok, maybe the Caprice next door?” Jay volunteered, physically and emotionally exhausted by the afternoon’s exertions and resigned to further five-star expense.

Lucy shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Jay; I grabbed something at the station, I was famished. So it’s not food I’m hungry for. I vote for enjoying the hotel. Maybe you can order up.”

She bounced into the room like a child, inspecting everything with glee. Jay watched her in amusement as he lounged on the bed, only thinking to speak as she began to take her clothes off. For all her beauty and outward confidence, Jay was often struck by Lucy’s contradictions; she never sought to deny her cosmetic enhancements, and as he drooled at the perfection of her breasts, blessed with nipples he could hang his umbrella on, his mind went to the night he first asked her why she had invested in implants. “So the boys can tell the front from the back,” she had told him with endearing and self-effacing honesty.

“We’re not going anywhere then?” he asked.

“First things first, lover boy,” she said, wiggling off the last layer to reveal a fetish-like combination of tight red underwear and stockings.

“Nearly ready for you now, tiger,” she purred as she delved into her bag, retrieving a large tub of plain yogurt from its depths. She glanced at Jay’s puzzled face and burst into attractive laughter. “I think you said you prefer organic?”

Jay did not say anything as she again rummaged through her things, emerging with a set of steel handcuffs dangling tantalisingly from her fingertip. They were no novelty store toy, suggesting industrial strength, perhaps even Metropolitan police issue.

“You going to pull a blue uniform out of that bag next?” asked Jay, greedy hope manifest in his voice.

“Dream on, soldier,” she said with a wicked grin. “Just be thankful there’s no truncheon in here, then you’d really have something to worry about. And the ‘cuffs are for me. So you need to be working out what you’re going to do with the yogurt.”

It was ten-thirty when Jay finally collapsed on the bed, a slippery and satisfied Lucy pressed against him. She fiddled with his watch, stroking the metal and pushing its coldness to her face.

“It’s still early,” she said softly, pushing against his face with her nose, “are you going to show me around the hotel now? And then can we check out a club or something?”

“What type of club do you fancy?” he asked.

“I don’t know. One that’s difficult to get into I suppose,” she replied, sitting up abruptly with excitement. “We have plenty around here to choose from. You got any preference?”

“I did speak to the concierge earlier,” said Jay, also now sitting up and nuzzling into her neck. “He recommended somewhere not far away. Very exclusive, very expensive.”

“Is it one I would have heard of?”

“Hopefully not, I asked him for somewhere a bit different, where there’s definite action, somewhere a bit racy. He said it was a fun place. A bit kinky.”

“Kinky?” She ran her hands up his thighs again, as if the word itself aroused her.

“Yep, that’s what he said. Do you want to give it a try? We can just check it out. If we don’t like it, we can go somewhere else.”

“Ok, let’s give it a whirl,” she said, pulling his arms to get him up, “but if I want to leave, we leave, right?”

Jay led Lucy down the unlit corridor of the club; she held his hand, needing to feel secure in the darkness. At the end of the corridor, illuminated by the ridges of light that outlined a door, stood Eva.

“You must be Mr. Brooke?” she said, looking him up and down as if assessing him for the first time.

“And you must be the lady I spoke to, Eva wasn’t it? This is my friend Lucy. We just want to have a drink and see if it is what we were expecting.”

She nodded and led them through the door. Jay strode in and Lucy followed, squinting in the light and surveying the scene around her. Ten girls stared back at her, draped around in various levels of undress, like strange porcelain figures bathed in a soft red glow.

“Jay, this is a knocking shop,” she whispered, looking around in astonishment.

“Let’s give it a chance,” he replied, “I think she said the shows go on upstairs.”

Jay led her to a sofa and a bottle of champagne arrived before them within moments, proffered by a girl in a tiny black mesh dress.

“Did you order that, Jay?” Lucy whispered, not wanting to raise her voice.

“No, I think it’s sort of compulsory, instead of paying at the door.”

Lucy continued to gaze around, stealing surreptitious glances at the women arrayed all about her.

As she did so a petite girl, perched at the centre of the bar, sought her eye contact and held it. Lucy looked away unsure what to do and the girl slipped off her stool and walked over. She wore only a bra and a wrap that barely joined around her hips. She addressed Jay, perhaps sensing Lucy’s unease.

“Is it I ok if I give your friend a lap dance?” she asked him.

Jay looked at Lucy. “You ok with that?”

“Sure, babe, why not.”

The girl turned to Lucy, her mouth pink and sugary as she spoke.

“My name is Camila, I’m from Argentina. The first dance is free.”

The business-like nature of her words contrasted sharply with the sensual, erotic shapes of her lips and Lucy almost laughed but, aware of Jay’s fantasises and expectations, she decided that she was going to play along.