Page 8 of Too Busy for Love

‘Do you think Maria was in on it too?’

‘She must have been. She was directly in charge of the housekeeping team, wasn’t she.’

‘Bloody hell,’ I murmur.

Our thoughts are interrupted by the distant sound of a telephone.

‘It’s the main switchboard,’ I say to Jock as I get to my feet. ‘I’d better get it.’

‘Leave it,’ he suggests. ‘We’re closed.’

‘What if it’s the police, wanting to check we haven’t absconded?’

‘Fine. Answer it then.’

I hurry out into the reception area, which is also in near darkness. It’s eerie out here, and I wish I’d asked Jock to come with me.

‘It’s quite safe. Nobody’s going to jump out at you,’ I tell myself before lifting the receiver and carefully saying, ‘Hotel Dufour, how may I help?’

‘Oh yeah, hi,’ the male voice on the other end says. ‘My name is Robin Bugg, from theMorning Post. I was wondering if you would mind answering a few questions. Can I take your name, for the record?’

‘No, and I have nothing to say to the press,’ I tell him, putting on my most officious tone. ‘Goodbye.’

No sooner have I hung up than the phone rings again. The stress of the afternoon combines with the wine I’ve drunk to tip me over the edge, and I snatch up the receiver angrily.

‘I saidI’m not talking to the press,’ I snarl belligerently. ‘Piss off and leave us alone.’

‘Beatrice, is that you?’ I’d recognise that voice anywhere. Even after thirty years of living in the UK, my mother still has a vestige of a Spanish accent. My relationship with my parents is best described as distant, so I’m momentarily dumbfounded that she’s rung at all, especially using the main switchboard.

‘Oh, hello, Mum. Sorry about that, I thought you were a journalist,’ I say quickly. Mum doesn’t approve of what she calls ‘coarse language’.

‘What’s going on, Beatrice?’ she asks anxiously. ‘We’ve just seen you on the news. Did you know what that woman was doing?’

‘Of course I didn’t know!’ I exclaim. ‘Wait, what do you mean I was on the news?’

‘It was the leading item on the ten o’clock news. Police raided and shut down a brothel that was hiding in plain sight, pretending to be a hotel. They showed pictures of you and ayoung man being escorted by a policeman. I tried your mobile but it just kept going to voicemail. We were worried.’

The accusing tone of her last sentence washes over me as I digest the information. The pictures by the back door. I should have known they’d be sold on instantly.

‘Sorry,’ I tell her. ‘The police have confiscated my phone.’

‘Why? Have you beenarrested?’ She sounds absolutely horrified.

‘All the staff were interviewed under caution,’ I explain quickly. I don’t know if it’s true, but I know she’ll feel better if she thinks it was just a routine thing. ‘But they let me go, so it’s fine.’ I decide not to tell her that I’m officially on bail; there’s no way she’ll be able to cope with that.

‘You poor darling, do you need to come home? Oh, hang on a minute, your father is saying something. What is it, Rod?’

I listen to my parents’ muffled voices while I try to think up a plausible story about why I can’t go home right now, without mentioning that I’m under curfew and might still go to prison.

‘Sorry about that, darling,’ Mum says as she comes back on the line. ‘Your father feels, well, we both feel that it might be best if you didn’t come homeright now, on reflection. You’re something of acelebrityat the moment, and please don’t take this the wrong way because we love youdesperately, but you might draw the wrong kind of attention to us. I’m sure it will all blow over in a few weeks and then we’d love to see you, of course. You understand, don’t you?’

Bloody hell, that’s a low blow, even from them.

‘Of course I understand,’ I tell her flatly. I don’t know why I’m upset; it’s not as if I could have gone anyway, even if I’d wanted to, which I don’t.

‘I knew you would,’ she gushes. ‘OK, well if there’s anything we can do, just let us know. I expect you’re exhausted after all your adventures, so I’ll let you get to bed. Bye darling, love you.’

‘Bye, Mum,’ I say, but she’s already hung up. As soon as I put the phone down, it starts ringing again, so I take it off the hook and walk back into the bar.

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