of a hobby, photography,’ she said, dismissively, tugging the strap over her head and tucking the camera into her tote bag. He followed her as she headed for the door.
‘Let me escort you downstairs, Miss…?’
She didn’t supply a name, setting off another alarm in his mind. Could you see through the windows of the Purple Suite if you hung out of the window of room 214? Was this some kind of security breach? He dismissed the thought carefully. Only a handful of people knew that the guest staying in the Purple Suite was Betsy Warrender. And in Joe’s experience, when one journalist turned up they were never alone. Paparazzi photographers travelled in packs. He hadn’t seen so much as a sniff of anyone looking remotely like a journo or wielding a camera except for Green Eyes, and she really didn’t cut it as a seasoned hack. He’d headlocked enough paps in his time to know one when he saw one and she wasn’t it.
The door of 214 clicked shut behind them. She was a good foot smaller than him as he kept pace with her down the corridor. Almost imperceptibly she increased her speed. By the time they reached the lift she was almost trotting.
‘Really, there’s no need for you to accompany me,’ she protested as he stepped into the lift beside her.
In the enclosed space they stood shoulder to shoulder and he could pick up the notes of her perfume, something clean and floral that perfectly suited the summer’s day outside.
‘No trouble at all. I’m heading to the lobby myself.’
She impatiently pressed the button marked G for a second time.
‘Where next then?’ he probed. ‘Natural History Museum? Buckingham Palace?’
She stared sideways at him.
‘Your sightseeing tour,’ he said.
She laughed a touch too loudly.
‘Actually I thought I’d have afternoon tea in the lounge,’ she said.
The lift opened onto the marble-floored opulence of the lobby and he braced himself for the possibility of a paparazzi onslaught. Nothing of the kind. A group of four guests stood near the velvet sofas in the corner. As he watched, one of the concierges joined them and collected their luggage. There were a couple of people at the reception desk talking through a map in low voices with one of the receptionists. People came and went. Not a single thing out of the ordinary. Nothing to indicate that the fact a global star was ensconced two floors above them had become common knowledge. He breathed easier as he crossed the lobby.
He attracted the attention of the waitress as Miss 214 pointedly took a seat in the lounge near the window and looked up at him.
‘Thank you for saving me,’ she said, smiling. ‘Not that I needed saving.’
He nodded politely at her as he retreated from the room to cover up the surge of heat that had seared down his spine under her green gaze. Damsels in distress were his particular weakness. Luckily for him she’d turned out to be the least distressed damsel he’d ever come across. He had enough on his plate without distraction of the female kind.
Anna let her backside rest on the edge of one of the berry red velvet sofas in the lounge just long enough for Joe Marshall to retreat through the polished double doors.
The instant that dark grey gaze was gone she stood back up and headed for the door herself, and never mind that she’d give her right arm for a calming cup of tea right now. Afternoon tea was like everything else in this place - extortionate – and she needed to keep her eye on the prize.
A quick glance around the door to check that Columbo had really gone and she took a sharp left down the corridor toward the dining room, left the hotel by a side door and sprinted to the back of the building where the staff entrance was. Her crowd of supportive pavement passers-by had long since dispersed.
Lucy met her in the sparse staff room. Opulence didn’t extend to this part of the hotel. The walls were festooned with staff rotas and notices and there was a kitchen area in the corner with a battered old kettle. The chairs looked as if they might have been part of the hotel dining room once upon a time. Now they wouldn’t have looked out of place in a skip.
‘Let me just get this straight,’ Lucy said, handing her a mug of steaming coffee and sitting down in the threadbare chair opposite. ‘I get you the hot tip, I get you into the sodding room across the hall, and then you blow the whole lot by hanging out of the window for half of London to see? Are you mad?’
‘I was trying to see into the suite through the balcony doors. I was using my initiative. You try staring at a locked door for three hours,’ Anna protested. She took a defensive sip of her coffee. ‘And you didn’t mention there would be a security presence.’
Lucy looked momentarily blank and then her eyes widened.
‘You mean the hot new guy.’
‘He’s new?’
She deliberately ignored the ‘hot’ part of that comment. OK so his dark and brooding good looks wouldn’t have looked out of place in an aftershave commercial but she didn’t have headspace or lifespace for men right now. Even ones who pushed themselves to the limit to stop her from jumping off a window ledge. A wistful pang tugged at her stomach as she recalled how he’d gone from pavement to hotel room in seconds flat to save her. She ignored it. He probably only did that kind of rescue act for basket cases. She knew better than anyone that knights in shining armour didn’t really exist and no one was going to sweep all her problems away any time soon. After the colossal let down that had happened last time she got involved with a man, the single years yawned comfortingly ahead of her.
‘Got here a week ago,’ Lucy said. ‘He’s an ex-bodyguard to the stars. Supposed to lick the staff into shape when it comes to security.’ She pointed her teaspoon at Anna. ‘He might be dreamy but you can’t let him distract you.’
‘Honestly, how many times? I’ve sworn off men.’
Being let down by a man you thought was your future husband did that for a person. Andrew had been long gone before the fact had actually registered with her. When she’d finally pulled him up on his constant excuses and distance it turned out he’d got a whole new life going on. New girlfriend, social life, the works. It had all gone unnoticed because she was too preoccupied with supporting her ailing parents and he hadn’t had the guts (or in the bastard’s words, the heart) to tell her. The thought of her parents brought yet another pang of desperation to save her home.
‘Maybe it’s a sign,’ she said. ‘That we should rethink things a bit.’
‘Bollocks!’ Lucy said. ‘It’s a sign that you should have stuck to our original plan and staked out the suite door. The idea itself is perfectly sound.’
Anna hesitated a beat too long.
‘What?’ Lucy said.
Anna shrugged.
‘The whole privacy invasion thing doesn’t sit massively well with me, that’s all.’
Lucy
