by Sue Welfare
‘And do you know who she was meeting?’
‘Yes, of course. His name’s Leon, Leon Downey.’
For a moment Helen thought the night porter was going to say something but in the end he just looked fixedly at the register and said, ‘And this Leon Downey, he told you that he was staying here tonight, did he?’
Helen nodded.
‘And what sort of meeting did you say it was?’ asked the man, casually, over one shoulder.
‘Business. It was about some work. We were hoping he might take us on, give us a job.’
‘A job,’ repeated the porter.
Helen glanced at Harry. ‘Yes. Leon Downey is an agent, in show business,’ Helen said. ‘And Charlotte and I are singers. He said he could get us some work.’ She hesitated. Was that what he had said? She couldn’t remember now exactly what it was he had offered them.
‘Right,’ said the night porter, nodding, his finger working down the list in the register. ‘Well, your Mr Downey is not booked in tonight as a guest. Or at least he’s not on the register.’
Helen frowned. ‘I’m sure that he said he was staying here. I saw them come in –’
The night porter nodded. ‘Oh, there is a good chance that he is staying here. He’s just not in the register.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Helen.
‘Oh it’s an old trick – just depends on who’s on duty,’ the man said, turning his attention to a board behind the reception desk where dozens of keys hung from row after row of small brass hooks. His gaze worked backwards and forwards scanning the bunches rather than meeting Helen’s eye. ‘I don’t know what Mr Downey told you and your friend, but you seem like a nice sort of girl. I’d steer well clear of him if I were you.’ The man continued to scan the rows of keys as he spoke. ‘I don’t like to speak ill of people but if you were my daughter, well, let’s just say he’s not the sort of bloke you want to get yourself mixed up with.’
‘He told us he was in show business.’
The porter sniffed. ‘That’s what they’re calling it these days, is it?’
‘He did say he could get us work,’ Helen pressed.
The man glanced at Harry and then with some discomfort, said, ‘Leon Downey runs a strip club; he calls it exotic dancing but no one’s fooled. He’s got a place over in Battesfield and another one over in the Canaries. Lanzarote I think. He drinks in here sometimes, always bragging about his girls and how much money he’s making; too flashy by half that one.’
‘But Charlotte’s a singer,’ Helen protested lamely.
‘I’m sure that she is, pet, and I’m sure that’s she’s very good, and maybe he’s taking her on to sing; but I very much doubt it, he’s not usually looking for girls with much in the way of brains or talent if you get my drift.’
Helen stared at him. ‘He told us he was staying here,’ she said.
‘And like I said he most probably is, but he’s not booked in the register. What he’s done is slipped one of the other staff a few quid and got himself one of the rooms that isn’t booked for the night. It’s the way some of the lads earn themselves a few extra quid on the sly. Slip the chambermaid a drink in the morning to change the room up and no-one’s any the wiser. Sacked without a leg to stand on if you’re caught, but it doesn’t stop them. And Mr Downey is well known in here, he gets the lads into his club for nowt, a few drinks on the house, oils the wheels –’
‘So what are we going to do now, then?’ asked Helen.
The porter glanced at her. ‘You didn’t come to pick your friend up at all, did you? You came to rescue her.’
Helen reddened. ‘It’s so late and she hadn’t come back, and I was worried about her. And then her dad rang. And Leon Downey seemed really dodgy and Charlotte wouldn’t listen. She thought he could help her get on the stage –’
‘Aye, well you can’t tell some people. They need saving from themselves. Did you say there were two of them?’
Helen nodded. ‘Vince somebody.’
‘Vince Leadbetter, I know him an’ all, bad as each other, those two. You were right to steer well clear.’
‘So what can we do?’ said Helen in desperation. ‘I can’t just leave Charlotte with them.’
‘Do you know which rooms have got guests in?’ Harry said, frantically looking up at the key board.
The old man nodded.
Helen was beginning to get impatient and even more anxious.
Meanwhile Harry’s gaze followed the old man’s back to the register. ‘So then we just have to work out which room are occupied and which other keys have been taken?’ asked Harry.
‘Not necessarily,’ said the night porter. ‘Someone could easily have slipped your Mr Downey one of the master keys, but to be honest that’s not likely. They probably just wedged one of the doors open for him. So he won’t be needing a key, nor have taken one.’ The man’s attention moved back to the register. ‘If I was to bet I’d reckon he’s probably on the fourth floor. We’ve had a conference in this week, a few of them were planning to stay over and make a weekend of it. Check out late Sunday morning. No one’s going to notice an extra room or two in amongst that lot. That’s who I thought you two were. Away from home, out all hours – they lose their keys, roll in steaming drunk. Animals, some people.’
‘So can we go and find Charlotte?’ said Helen.
Both men looked at her.
‘Well, what else am I supposed to do?’ asked Helen.
‘You can’t just go banging on people’s doors, not at this time of the morning,’ said the porter. ‘Place’ll be in an uproar.’
A light flashed on above the reception desk.
‘Is that for room service?’ asked Helen. ‘Leon Downey said they were going to get room service.’
The night porter shook his head. ‘No, that’s the front door and no, Downey hasn’t ordered anything. And he’s not likely to if he was blagging a room for the night. I’d have known. I’m the only porter on tonight – they’d have to be mugs to order anything, they have to sign for it, you see. Everything gets booked out against a room number.’
The light flashed again.
‘Look, just hang on for a minute, will you? I’ll go and see who that is and then we’ll sort something out.’ He grinned. ‘I suppose I could always set the fire alarms off, that’d get everyone out.’ With that the man picked up the phone, his concentration moving away from the two of them.
‘Hello, how can I help?’ There was a little pause and then he said, ‘Right you are, sir, I’ll be there in a second –’
As the porter headed off Helen caught hold of Harry’s arm. ‘Come on,’ she hissed.
Harry stared down at her. ‘What?’
‘The fourth floor. We have got to find Charlotte.’
Before Harry could argue Helen was running across the foyer and up the stairs with Harry hot on her heels. At the top of the first flight he pointed towards the lift. ‘Come on, we’ll take the lift. There’s no point killing ourselves,’ he said, guiding her in through the open doors. ‘Although you do know that the porter was only guessing about which floor she was on. He could be wrong. She could be anywhere.’
Helen nodded. ‘I know, but we have to start somewhere.’
‘Have you thought about what we’re going to do when we get up to the fourth floor?’
‘Not really. I thought maybe we could listen at the doors,’ she said. ‘And if not there’s always the fire alarm.’
Harry did a double take and then laughed. ‘Are you serious?’ When she didn’t answer he grinned. ‘Just what I’ve always wanted, to be arrested loitering around outside some strange woman’s bedroom. Come on, let’s get going before the porter comes after us and throws us out.’ And with that Harry pressed the button for the fourth floor.
The lift made silent stately progress upwards, the doors finally gliding open like oiled silk as they reached their destination. Helen felt a ripple of anxiety as she peered out into the gloom.
Ahead of
them, off the landing, the hotel corridor stretched left and right; the walls lined with the same heavy wooden panels as those downstairs, the floor covered in the same dense red carpet; but whereas downstairs it looked rich and warm, in this smaller narrower space it felt claustrophobic and dark. Helen stared into the gloom. It was going to be close to impossible to find Charlotte without either help or a real stroke of luck.
‘This is madness, isn’t it?’ whispered Helen. ‘We’re never going to find her, are we?’
‘We will, we’re here now and if she’s not on this floor there are three more we can search,’ Harry said and then grinned when he saw her expression. ‘It’s a joke, Helen, we’ll be fine. Don’t worry, we’ll find her. She’s got to be here somewhere and if she is then we’ll track her down. Let’s make a start.’
Helen smiled at Harry, grateful for his optimism and his unquestioning support.
‘It might be better if we split up. You take this side, I’ll take the other,’ he said.
Helen nodded and headed off into the gloom. There had to be at least twenty or so doors along the main corridor, with others going off along passages that ran at right angles to the one they were standing in. As quietly as she could Helen moved from door to door, pressing her ear close to the cracks in the frame, praying that no one came out and caught her as she crept along, listening to the snoring, the snuffling and the silence as she tiptoed along the corridor.
‘Psst,’ said Harry, after a minute or two. He beckoned her over. Helen hurried across to where he was standing and listened.
‘What do you reckon?’ he said.
Through the door she could pick out the muffled sounds of a man’s voice and then someone who sounded a lot like Charlotte, although Helen wasn’t a hundred per cent certain.
‘I think it’s her –’ she paused. ‘What are we going to do?’ whispered Helen nervously.
Instead of answering her, Harry knocked sharply on the door. ‘Room service,’ he said briskly and then turning to Helen, said more quietly, ‘Even if it’s not them they’re awake so we won’t be disturbing anybody.’
There were the sounds of hurried activity inside the room and then the door opened a fraction and a rather bleary-eyed Leon Downey peered around the door at them. ‘You’ve made a mistake, we didn’t order any –’
But before he could say another word Helen barged past him, forcing the door wide open, followed close behind by Harry. Leon was completely wrong-footed. ‘What the –’ was the best he could manage as the pair of them burst into the room.
The only lights on were the ones on the bedside tables but they were enough to illuminate Leon, who was dressed in a grubby vest and oversized paisley boxers. Above the waistband hung a great roll of lard-white belly. He still had his socks on. His thin greasy hair was awry, his face florid and sweaty. He was certainly no Adonis. Helen could pick out various items of clothes strewn around the bedroom: shoes, a shirt and Charlotte’s jeans and sweater dropped onto the carpet alongside her underwear.
On the bedside cabinets and dressing table were the ruins of a Chinese takeaway, along with the remains of a bottle of vodka, cans of beer and Coca-Cola, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts – the debris of an impromptu supper. Charlotte was in bed, with the bedclothes pulled right up to her chin, eyes bright and wide – but whereas Leon Downey looked slightly bemused, Charlotte looked furious and defiant.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’ she snarled at Helen.
‘We came to get you,’ said Helen. ‘To rescue you.’
Charlotte threw back her head and laughed. ‘Do I really look like I need rescuing, huh? You’re so much braver now you’ve got your little friend Harry with you. Not so brave earlier, were you?’
‘I didn’t want to end up back here with either him or Vince – and as for needing rescuing,’ Helen said, looking first at Leon and then Charlotte, ‘I’m not the one in bed with some weird fat old man.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake just bugger off, will you,’ Charlotte snorted. ‘I don’t need rescuing by you or anyone else. Who the hell do you think you are anyway, Helen? You’re not my bloody mother. You’ve got no right to come bursting in here. I’m over eighteen, I know what I’m doing.’
‘Do you?’ said Helen.
‘This is my big chance. You just don’t get it, do you?’
‘It’s you who doesn’t get it,’ yelled Helen, finally running out of patience. ‘This isn’t the way you get where you want to be. And him –’ She pointed to Leon Downey. ‘He’s not an agent, Charlotte. He owns a strip club.’
‘It’s a gentleman’s club,’ protested Leon, making a show of composing himself. ‘Now you heard your friend, why don’t you just bugger off before I call the manager and have the pair of you thrown out.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Harry, picking up the phone from the dressing table. ‘Help yourself. I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear from you.’
When Leon didn’t move, Helen said, ‘He didn’t even book this room, he slipped one of the porters a few quid so that he could stay the night.’
Charlotte turned and stared at Leon. ‘Is that true?’
‘Take no notice of them –’
‘Is it true?’ demanded Charlotte.
‘Anyone with any sense does it. It’s purely a cash deal, baby,’ he said. ‘Off the books. It pays to know the right people, that’s all. And I’ve already told you I know all the right people.’ And then turning to Helen and Harry, he said, ‘Just get out, will you?’ pointing towards the door.
‘Please come with us,’ said Helen.
If Charlotte was at all fazed she didn’t let it show. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ she snapped. ‘Now you heard Leon, just bugger off and leave us alone, will you?’
‘You can’t want to stay here with him,’ Helen said. ‘Your dad rang.’
‘Oh yeah, and what did he want?’
Helen hated the hard icy edge in Charlotte’s voice. ‘To talk to you. He wanted to know where you are. He’s really worried about you. He knows that he let you down tonight, Charlie. He’s being waiting up for you to come home.’
‘Oh, really, and there was me thinking he was off out having a good time with what’s-her-name. It’s just his guilty conscience talking, you know that, don’t you?’ said Charlotte. ‘When he’s got a new squeeze he doesn’t care about anything else or anybody. She’s twenty-two. Twenty-bloody-two. It’s disgusting. You’re just so gullible, Helen.’
Helen stared at her. She hadn’t realised just how hurt Charlotte felt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘But your dad sounded really worried and I think he was genuinely upset that he missed us singing.’
‘Oh yeah, rub it in why don’t you. Just because yours showed up.’
‘My dad was there?’ Helen said in surprise, wondering whether it was a joke.
‘You didn’t see him, did you? I saw him round the front when I went to find my dad. There he was, scurrying away.’ Charlotte paused for effect. ‘Like he always does.’
Helen reddened.
‘I told your dad you would ring him in the morning,’ said Harry briskly.
‘Well, that was really nice of you,’ said Charlotte, voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘And did you tell him where I was?’
‘We told him that you were staying at Harry’s with me,’ said Helen.
‘Did you now?’ laughed Charlotte. ‘In that case he can stop worrying, then, can’t he? Now get out.’
Helen had to give it one last try. ‘Charlotte, please.’
‘I’m serious, just go will you?’
‘You heard the lady,’ said Leon, pointing towards the door.
There was a moment of standoff and then Harry caught hold of Helen’s arm. ‘Come on. There’s nothing else we can do, short of dragging her out of here naked.’
Helen was still reluctant to leave. Charlotte glared at her.
‘Don’t stay here with him. Please –’
‘What’s it to you, Goody-Two-Shoes?’
>
‘You’re my friend.’
Charlotte snorted, ‘Just bugger off and leave me alone. I don’t need friends like you. I can take care of myself, is that clear?’
With a sense of crushing defeat Helen turned away. Leon ushered the two of them out of the room and slammed the door shut behind them. Harry and Helen were standing out in the corridor when the lift doors slid open and the porter stepped out.
He looked them up and down. Helen braced herself for a telling off but instead the man said, ‘So did you find your friend and Mr Downey?’
Helen was about to lie, not wanting to cause another scene, when Harry nodded. ‘Yes, we did. They’re in there,’ he said, pointing towards the closed door. ‘Number forty-two.’
The man nodded and, pulling out his passkey, knocked on the door.
‘What did you do that for?’ whispered Helen to Harry.
‘You want her to come home, don’t you?’
Helen nodded. ‘Yes, but you heard what she said. She’s going to be livid.’
‘That’s true, but at least she’ll be livid and safe and away from him.’
The porter knocked again.
‘What the hell is it now?’ yelled Leon Downey from inside the room. ‘Didn’t I just tell you to bugger off out of it?’
‘This is the night porter, sir. Would you like to open the door or would you prefer it if I let myself in?’
A second or two later the door opened a fraction. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ growled Downey.
‘I think you know exactly what I want, Mr Downey. I’ll have to ask you to leave the premises, or would you prefer to pay for your room?’ There was a moment’s pause and then the porter continued in a calm even voice, ‘Or perhaps you’d rather that I called the police?’
‘What’s it to you?’ snapped Downey.
‘It’s my job, sir,’ said the porter. ‘Now which is it to be?’