Page 101 of Someone Else's Shoes
Liz Frobisher is wearing a red two-piece fake Chanel suit, with deliberately frayed hems, and a scarf knotted jauntily at her neck. Her red hair, which Sam now sees is dyed, has been sprayed into beach waves, and her makeup suggests upwards of an hour spent at a vanity table.
‘Gorgeous,’ say Jasmine and Sam in unison, and Liz preens a little, as if this is only to be expected.
‘So do we get any free booze?’ says Darren.
‘Darren, you know we’re not drinking,’ says Liz, sharply, then adds, ‘We wondered … you know … whether there were any other things included in the evening apart from just the room.’ Herjusthangs in the air like a vague threat.
‘I’m sure we can rustle something up for our prizewinners,’ says Jasmine, smoothly. Then she writes her number on the notepad by the bed and hands it over. ‘Any problems, anything at all, you call this number. I’m your designated senior housekeeper. Just call me direct. I’ll be only too happy to help.’
Nisha arrives with a brisk knock, sporting a camera that had been left in Lost Property and not yet disappeared, possibly because none of the staff had been able to make it work. She greets the couple with the kind of practised warmth that seems to come easily to Americans, then waits as Liz opens the suitcase. Sam sees Nisha’s eyes widen as she spies her red Christian Louboutin shoes resting neatly on a pale sweater, and watches Liz carefully remove them from the case and strap them on. There they are, Sam thinks, just inches from us, and glances warily at Nisha in case this is the moment Nisha loses the plot and rips them from the woman’s feet. But Nisha seems to compose herself, and if her smile is suddenly a little steelier, Sam suspects she is the only person to notice it.
The three of them, Darren, Jasmine and Sam, wait awkwardly as Nisha instructs Liz to pose by the window, seated at the little table, then she and Darren together by the door until Liz insists that Darren shouldn’t be in this one as he hadn’t shaved that morning, ‘And it wasn’t him who bought the shoesanyway.’ Darren, freed from obligation, starts checking out the television remote control.
‘So what are you doing tonight?’ says Sam, as Nisha clicks away with the blank camera. ‘You’ll be eating dinner in the hotel restaurant?’
‘Oh, Darren had a look at the menu and doesn’t fancy it. He wants to go somewhere else.’ Liz lifts her chin and pouts slightly.
‘Nothing? Not even a nice burger?’ says Sam.
‘We’re going to get Chinese. I like crispy duck pancakes,’ he says.
‘I bet you won’t be wearing those shoes,’ Sam says casually. ‘They’re very high, aren’t they?’
Liz looks down at her feet. ‘Oh, I’m used to high heels.’
‘But you won’t want to walk all the way to Leicester Square in them.’
Liz shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Depends if it rains, really, doesn’t it, Darren?’
‘Those are lovely,’ says Sam, pointing. ‘Those shoes you were wearing when you came in. I’d wear those.’
Nisha is staring silently at Liz’s feet. If a look could burn the Louboutins off her, the straps would be giving off a thin plume of smoke just now.
‘Oh, those are Russell and Bromley,’ says Liz. ‘But I’m not sure they really go with this suit.’
‘They do! Most definitely. They look lovely,’ says Sam.
‘The pavements are very uneven around Leicester Square,’ says Jasmine, plumping another cushion. ‘Be careful you don’t turn an ankle if you wear heels. We had a guest who really hurt herself last week.’ She nods to herself and adds darkly, ‘Really hurt herself.’
Liz sits down on the edge of the bed. ‘No. I’ll probablywear these. They’re my lucky shoes now, aren’t they, Darren?’ She swivels an ankle, admiring her foot.
Jasmine and Sam exchange a look of silent dismay.
‘Right,’ says Sam, backing towards the door. ‘Well, then. We’ll leave you to it.’
‘Don’t forget,’ says Jasmine. ‘Call me direct if you need anything. It’ll be much quicker than going through the switchboard.’
‘Can I see the pictures?’ says Liz, as Nisha walks to the door.
Nisha swings the camera behind her. ‘When they’re developed. I’ll send you a contact sheet.’
The words ‘contact sheet’ seem to please Liz. The three women stand by the door for a moment.
‘Right!’ says Jasmine. ‘Well, have a wonderful time!’
‘It’s lovely,’ says Sam, suddenly, ‘that you came to be here. Just because of your kindness to cats.’ She cannot help herself. She swallows a yelp as Nisha jabs her hard in the kidney. And then they’re outside in the corridor, Jasmine closing the door behind them.
‘Nobody’s going to wear open-toe shoes in this weather,’ says Jasmine, hopefully. ‘Not even her.’
