she was, entranced. She heard people swear at her but, this time, she didn’t care. In front of her was by far the most brilliant building she’d ever seen.
It was like a castle. Grey brick at least eight stories, a million windows and a million arches, with chimneys like turrets and flags drooping low in the heat. Her heart did an involuntary flutter. She did a silent nod of thanks to Emily for making her ditch the Birkenstocks and for forcing her to sit for an hour with foils on her head.
Passing the fruit and veg stand and heading under the arch of the hotel’s covered walkway, Jane could feel her pulse race. There was fine jewellery for sale in the window and tourists peering in through the etched-glass windows of The Rivoli Bar, trying to get a peek inside. There were limousines and black taxis pulling up out the front and doormen, exactly like in Enid’s diary, with black top hats and long jackets embroidered with gold.
‘Can I help you, madam? Offer directions?’ said the one nearest her as she got to the entrance.
‘No I’m here,’ Jane said.
‘You’re a guest with us, madam?’
Jane nodded. ‘Yes, I have my booking.’ She started to rummage around in her handbag.
He held up his hand to stop her. ‘Madam, come this way. Welcome to The Ritz.’
She paused, stopped rummaging as she found that the man had picked up her case and was ushering her through the revolving door. ‘Reception is right this way.’
‘Thank you very much…’ She paused and looked at his name bag. ‘Trevor.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ he replied and she thought he paused, so she said, ‘Jane.’
He laughed. ‘You’re very welcome, Jane.’
And she blushed as he went back outside.
At reception there were two couples checking in in front of her. One were American tourists, the others were just rich – she was dressed all in white with jewels as big as robins’ eggs on her fingers. Her hair was coiffed and bouffant and her heels as high as a ruler.
Jane caught a glimpse of herself in one of the gold panels behind reception. Saw her own newly flumped-up blonde highlights, the layers of make-up that made her eyes pop out like a bushbaby and the lips that suddenly seemed to exist. She had never been pretty. She had never been terribly thin. Her mother had said she was beautiful but then didn’t everyone’s? She still didn’t think she was terribly pretty now as she looked at her reflection but she certainly looked the best she’d ever seen herself. She caught the bouffant woman’s eye in the mirror and instantly blushed scarlet. Looking at herself wasn’t something she ever did, and she certainly didn’t want to get caught doing so. But when the bouffant woman looked away again, something pulled Jane back. Maybe it was the glinting of the chandelier behind her, the lavish decorations, the man behind the desk checking her reservation, the simple fact that she was standing in the Ritz, something made her look again, and this time she angled her face slightly to the left, did a little eyebrow raise and sucked in her cheeks a bit and thought, I don’t actually look too bad.
‘Ms Williams,’ the man from reception’s voice interrupted her posing.
‘Oh sorry.’ Jane looked back, blushing again, mortified, keeping her eyes firmly away from the reflection and focused on all the stuff he was telling her.
Another man came over and picked up her case.
‘Oh that’s my bag—’ Jane said, trying to reach forward and take the case back from his gold trolley.
‘It’s fine, madam,’ the bellboy replied.
‘No really, that’s my bag—’
‘And I’ll take it to your room, ma’am. That’s my job.’ The bellboy smiled but hardly paused, moving on in order to pick up the bouffant woman’s bags, who made no quibble about the service.
Jane swallowed, feeling foolish. No one had ever carried anything of hers before.
The desk clerk went on as if that conversation hadn’t happened and gave her the details of her room, directions to the bar and the times for breakfast.
Jane nodded, not trusting herself to say anything else in case she embarrassed herself again. Instead she walked to the elevator, past huge vases of white flowers, Louis XV chairs, mirrored doors and over maroon patterned carpet. As she stepped in the lift she leant against the painted panels on the wall and watched as the doors closed in front of her.
And then she allowed herself to slump into an exhale, blow her new too-long side-fringe out of her eyes and remind herself that this was it. She was at The Ritz.
She thought of the passage in the diary, that she’d read over and over, where Enid thought about meeting corporal James Blackwell:
‘This is what his note says: If you want to join me for dinner, I’ll be staying at The Ritz.
The Ritz! I’ve never been to The Ritz. Can you imagine if the only time I went was with a war on? What would I wear? I can’t believe I’m thinking about what I would wear rather than whether I should meet a stranger for dinner.
Of course I’m going to meet him. If we can’t make beautiful memories at the moment, what can we do?’
As she walked out the lift and down the corridor towards her room, Jane thought about how carefree and brave the words sounded, and reminded herself that this was why she was here, too. To make beautiful memories. There had been so many shit ones, over the last couple of years especially, that it was time for the good.
And when she got to her room it took her breath away.
It must have been the size of her whole boat. With its own sitting room. She was sure she hadn’t booked a room with a sitting room. She looked for the bellboy to tell him that there had been a mistake, but her bag was already there, unzipped on the suitcase stand with no sign of him. She went through the door and into the giant bedroom, huge swathes of yellow curtains hung over the window, matching yellow chairs and a tiny table with a vase of giant peach roses stood in front of it. The bed was bigger than any bed she’d ever seen, the width of the length of her sofa back home. She wanted to throw herself on it in delight but, certain she was in the wrong room, went back into the living room and phoned Reception.
As she dialled, she saw a bottle of champagne on the table and a note which she opened as the man answered the phone. The card and champagne were from Emily and Annie. Wishing her luck, telling her to enjoy herself and a final PS:
‘We thought you can’t go to The Ritz without an upgrade! Enjoy xx’
The man from Reception asked again if Jane was OK.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes I’m fine, I just thought…’ She looked around the massive room. ‘I just thought there had been a mix-up, that’s all.’
‘No mix-up, madam,’ the man said and she wondered if she could hear a slight twinge of humour in his voice.
Jane put the phone down. Paused for a second to absorb the awesomeness of the suite, and then ran through to the bedroom and threw herself down on the bed.
She never wanted
