said Debbie, gesturing down the corridor. ‘Bathroom break! I’m bursting – won’t be a tick.’ And she bounded off towards the ladies’ room.
Amy stood and chewed her lip, feeling awkward, wishing Debbie hadn’t gone, trying to conjure up the mantra used by Jesminder in situations like this: ‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent!’ But this receptionist was so glacial, her cheekbones so sharp and her disregard of Amy so total that it was hard not to just apologise and run out.
Oh, for heaven’s sake – have a word with yourself, Marsh!
Amy was wondering where in Eastern Europe the ice-queen receptionist was from – could she even be Marta Kowalski, the very woman she was looking for? – when her eye fell upon a gigantic poster that took up the whole of the staff pinboard behind the desk.
NEWCASTLE POLISH SOCIETY
ANNUAL BALL AT THE MARBURY HOTEL THIS SATURDAY FORMAL DRESS CARRIAGES 3 A.M. DANCING TO THE ALFONS ALEKSANDER SWING BAND TICKETS FROM POLISH CENTRE OR MARTA OR IWONA KOWALSKI, DELSEY’S GYM, LOMBARD LANE, NEWCASTLE
She was close then. Excited, Amy took a step forward, only for the door to open behind her, and for Adonis to walk in. At least, if you asked a hundred women to describe their version of Adonis, then pooled all the images into a single big, blond, beefy hunk of love, it’s highly likely this is what you’d end up with. Amy gawped. She’d never seen such a ludicrously perfect specimen of muscly manhood and for some reason had to stifle an urge to bark with laughter.
Not my type at all, but if ever I need a wall built …
On seeing the man’s arrival, though, the receptionist hurled the phone down as though it had caught fire, and rushed across to fawn over him, practically knocking Amy over in her flight. They triple-kissed enthusiastically, left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, exchanging greetings in Polish, but then, drawing apart, Adonis somehow found a moment to flick a brief, appraising glance in Amy’s direction.
‘So, then, beautiful, have you had a busy day?’ he asked the receptionist in heavily accented English. Then brazenly, he shot another, longer look at Amy before once again returning his full attention to the woman under his nose.
Amy’s skin prickled uncomfortably.
Huh, I know when I’ve been mentally undressed. And I bet he’s only speaking English to keep his options open.
‘As always,’ oozed the reply. ‘There is never time to … relax in this place; you know what I’m saying?’
She flicked her ponytail with her fingertips, then lasciviously licked her lips, laid a hand on her hip and bang! The right side of her body dropped until she stood in a provocative, thrusting pose that owed nothing to subtlety and absolutely everything to Marilyn Monroe.
Amy watched, anxiously chewing her fingernail, yet entranced by the display. I am receiving an award-winning lesson in shameless flirting – even Debbie would struggle to match this pair. Outstanding!
Just when Amy thought the heat couldn’t rise any higher, the staffroom door flew open, and an Amazonian blonde shot out and hurled herself over to where the other two stood. Practically pulling the receptionist off the man, she rubbed her hand provocatively down his arm and purred, in the same foreign accent, ‘Well, hallo, stranger!’
Adonis was loving it, Amy could tell. Both women had fit, athletic builds – it was clear that any spare time they had left after flirting was taken up working out in the gym.
‘So, what can I be doing for you this evening?’ the blonde woman lisped, her mouth about two inches from the man’s ear. ‘Come to arrange a little personal training, hmm?’
‘Hey!’ the receptionist barked. ‘It is me who is in charge tonight!’ She wriggled between the blonde and Adonis. ‘So! How can I help?’
Adonis took a moment, probably to savour the hedonistic delight of having two women squabble over him so blatantly. He looked first at the blonde, then at the brunette, and sighed, ‘Ah, ladies, I need to buy two tickets for the ball, naturally. I can get them here, yes?’
Immediately the women fell away from him, trying to disguise looks of crushed disappointment.
‘Oh?’ The receptionist’s striking face snapped back into an impassive mask. ‘Well, you must wait. I must see if there are any tickets left.’
‘Who is lucky lady?’ the blonde hissed, trying to appear uninterested when her eyes shrieked the opposite.
Adonis shrugged his massive shoulders, and treated the two to a smouldering look. ‘I have not decided yet …’
The receptionist whipped round. ‘Plenty of tickets! I have just remembered!’ Amy, by now fully blended into the background, was slightly annoyed at being ignored, although another part of her was quite enjoying the pantomime being played out before her.
Debs, hurry back – you’d love this.
‘Hmm. Excellent.’ He was still appraising the women, like a tiger who’d accidentally caught two gazelles at once. ‘I would not want to come between sisters, however. Catch you, as they say, later.’
And with that, he tore himself away, swaggering down the corridor towards the gym.
You could crack nuts with those, Amy thought, inwardly giggling at his pert departure.
The receptionist and her blonde sister were standing bickering in the same spot where Adonis had stood between them.
Amy spoke up. ‘Erm, excuse me?’ It was now or never.
The women turned to glare at her. Amy raised a hand in a self-conscious little wave.
‘Yes? Oh, it is you – you are still there.’
Taking a deep breath, Amy said, as confidently as she could, ‘Yes, I am still here. I’m sorry to bother you, I can see you’re very busy, but I believe you have a Marta Kowalski working here?’
The sisters exchanged looks. Then the receptionist, narrowing her eyes, replied, ‘And you are?’
‘My name is Amy Marsh, but Marta doesn’t know me. I need to speak to her about a mix-up over a pair of shoes she bought on eBay.’
There was a silence. Amy was certain she felt a crackle of recognition pass between the two, though their faces remained impassive.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Yes. I … I sold them by mistake, and I was wondering whether I could possibly get them back. Buy them back, I mean, obviously …’
‘We don’t know what you are meaning. Do we, Iwona?’
Iwona? This must mean that the receptionist is Marta.
The receptionist glowered at her sister, then hissed something to her in Polish. Iwona responded sharply, her sister snapped back, and soon, gesturing and glowering, they were on course for another quarrel.
Stumped, Amy let them get on with it for a few minutes,
