Page 19 of The Facilitator: Part 3
“No.”
I turned and walked out. I called The Berkeley Hotel and booked both dinner and a room for two nights. I wondered if I’d get either and was thankful I could. A table would be ready at eight, perfect timing. Although not that far from where we lived, I’d meet her in the bar. I called for a car to take me home before her.
I packed an overnight bag, rifling through her underwear drawers. I pulled out stockings, panties, and a matching bra because Lauren wouldn’t wear underwear that didn’t match. I grabbed a white shirt and trousers, jeans and Converse with a blouse. I’d checked the weather forecast and it was going to stay clear but I put a jacket in, just in case. I hoped she wouldn’t notice the missing items, which left me with a dilemma. I couldn’t take her toiletries, which wasn’t an issue; there would be some in the room. I couldn’t take her makeup or hairbrushes. I snapped photographs of what I thought were necessary items, having not a fucking clue whether they were or not. I called the hotel. I explained what I wanted and was passed to a personal shopper.
“Hi, I have a suite booked for the weekend, it’s a surprise for my wife so I need someone to source some items for me. Is that possible?”
“Of course, sir, would you like to give me a list?”
I gave details of her foundation, powder, mascara, and lipstick; I detailed her hairbrush as best I couldwithout mentioning that it would make a fantastic paddle. “Is that all, sir?” the woman asked.
“I have no idea. Do you think that’s all she need?” I asked.
“Do you have a budget in mind?”
I laughed. “No, what does that stuff cost normally?”
“If you allow two hundred pounds, I’ll make sure she has all she needs,” I was told.
“Perfect, thank you.”
I then called my favorite store. I ordered some items and to be sent over to the hotel and gave instructions for the boxes to be left in our bedroom.
Spontaneity was something I loved. It kept us both on our toes where our relationship was concerned and after her heartache, I wanted Lauren to have a wonderful weekend. I had no plans beyond that evening but would ask the concierge if we could get tickets to the Tutankhamun exhibition that was currently fully booked and she’d expressed an interest in.
It was also part of number one on her list.
I headed to the garages and pressed for the doors to open. Black was the selection for that day. I opened the trunk of my Aston Martin and placed our bags in. I cursed, having to fold my suit carrier. Although I had the two Bentleys on order, I’d never get rid of my Astons. They were quintessentially British and I loved them.
If I’d forgotten anything, I was sure we could buy it somewhere.
I climbed in the driver’s seat and started the engine, feeling the vibrations under my feet. I revved the engine and smiled. I’d always been a gearhead but then my smile slipped. Being a drunk and high gearhead is what caused my fertility problems as well as killed my friend. I paused, letting the engine idle. I shook my head; I couldn’t go back to those thoughts.
I drove to the hotel and checked in. I unpacked our bags, and left the unopened boxes on the bed. Those would be for Lauren to open. A knock on the door startled me. I opened it and was presented with a Berkeley bag that contained the makeup I’d ordered. I thanked and tipped the shopper.
I ordered champagne to be brought to the room later and breakfast in the morning. The suite had a sitting room, a bedroom with large en suite, and a terrace that looked out over the rooftops of London. What I wanted to see, and was pleased to, was a daybed and a firepit.
Once I was satisfied with the suite, I relaxed. I took a shower and changed into my suit, leaving my jacket and tie for when I was ready to meet Lauren. I opened my laptop and checked in with her driver. I smiled as the image of a red car bleeping on the tracker. I knew he’d arrived to collect her. He’d been given instructions to tell her to head to the bar.
I was going to recreate the first night I met her since it was the anniversary of that date.
I waited until I knew she’d be there and I ignored my cell, knowing that she’d messaged and tried to call. I smiled as I headed to the bar.
She was sitting on a stool, although she hadn’t ordered herself a drink. She saw me walk in and smiled, then frowned when I ignored her and took a stool a couple down.
The barman approached her. “What can I get you?” he asked.
She looked at me and although I stared back, I didn’t reply. She had frowned but then I thought she understood. A slow smile began to form.
“What do you suggest?” she asked.
“We have some nice wines. I can recommend a blush.” He held up a bottle for her to look at.
“Have the lady try a Redbreast 21 Year Old over ice,” I said. I stood from my stool and walked to the one next to her. “May I?” I asked.
She bit down on her lower lip, trying to contain her laughter. I didn’t wait for her answer. I removed my jacket and hung it over the back of the stool and sat.
“I’ll have one of those as well,” I said, watching the barman pour the whiskey.
