Freeing Alex (The Alexandra Drake Series)

by Ashley, Sarah Elizabeth

  He stands. “Shall we go for lunch?” Clearly changing the subject, not wanting to discuss his pay.

  I decide to leave it for the time being, but it’s something I want to discuss with him, something that has to be discussed. “Umm. I am hungry. I can’t believe I haven’t eaten in the restaurant yet, shall we try it? It won’t be full at this time of day, will it?” I muse as I continue to sip at my hot tea, watching the Bossman as he finishes tidying his papers.

  “No, I’m sure they’ll find the owner somewhere to sit!” he mumbles, still fiddling with the papers.

  I leave my half drunk tea on his desk and collect my bag before starting to walk out of James’s office, aware that he’s still tidying the last few papers and making sure everything is super organised before he leaves.

  I wait impatiently in the doorway, watching him as he sorts himself out and takes a slurp of coffee.

  “Give me a second,” he says as he finalises the paper shuffling and then walks around his desk taking long strides out of the office. He looks very edible in his snug-fitting clothes, finished off with shiny black Chelsea boots. His boots just look like the ones that my dad used to wear, whoa, that brings back memories, good memories. I smile to myself, thinking about the past and my dad.

  He shuts his office door behind him. “Can I show you one of the new suites before we eat? The artwork arrived yesterday, I don’t think you’ve seen it complete.”

  “Okay, Bossman – lead on!” I wave my hand, indicating that he should go first and am rewarded with a raised eyebrow at me as he walks down the corridor towards the staff staircase.

  We descend the stairs to the first floor and I follow him to the far end of the corridor, to one of the newly remodelled suites. He opens the door of the room and we wander into the most sumptuous surroundings. One wall is papered with stunning silver paper with an intricate black pattern, the other three walls are a very dark silvery grey, with a metallic hint that glimmers in the subtle down lighting. The room is dominated by a large light oak four poster, the uprights of the bed are completely plain, no intricate carvings, just clean lines and the headboard section is constructed of several gothic-style arches that interlink with each other. James points out the pictures that have been hung; they’re all photographs of random buildings around London – all of them black and white stretched canvas, no picture frames in here – and they finish the room off beautifully.

  I look around the beautiful, modern suite. “It’s great, James, really, really… beautiful. How much do we charge for this suite?”

  “This one and the other ones the same size as this are between £700 and £1500 a night. Depends on the day of the week and public holidays, that sort of thing.” He smiles.

  “And you said we’re always full, right?” I confirm a conversation we had a few weeks ago about bookings and room availability.

  “Mostly. There are generally a few rooms free, we’re ninety-five per cent full most nights.” He smiles again as he wanders around the room, checking everything’s in order. He strikes me as a bit of a perfectionist, not that it’s bad to be one.

  I pinch myself again as I do daily, it doesn’t seem real, I don’t expect it ever will.

  He walks through the suite and I follow him into the bathroom, which is of a similar theme. The walls are the same silvery grey, and there’s a huge square bath tub and walk-in shower, loo, and his and hers wash hand basins. The fixtures in the bathroom are all attached, the room is ready to go it would seem.

  I look around, contemplating the luxurious surroundings. His taste is impeccable and although I know he’s had designers in, he would ultimately have signed off on the colour schemes and choice of furniture. “It’s beautiful, James, you’ve done an amazing job managing this, you really, really have.”

  “It’s great, isn’t it? I think these trendy rooms will be a real hit with some of our clients. The old stuff is fine, don’t get me wrong, and very luxurious, but it isn’t for everyone!”

  I run my hand over the chaise longue as we move out of the room. “Most definitely, but this is verrry luxurious too.”

  Chapter 3

  James and I walk through the hotel to the restaurant. He’s beside me, so close, in my space again, not that I’m grumbling. We find the restaurant manager, Marcus, at his lectern talking to a couple who have just arrived. We wait until he has them seated and has introduced them to their waiter, then he returns to us. I haven’t met Marcus yet. I haven’t met a lot of the staff, although James has assured me that they all know of Maggie’s passing and that her niece is now the owner of the hotel.

  “James,” Marcus says as he walks back towards us.

  “Marcus, this is Alexandra Drake. Mrs Drake is Maggie’s niece – our new boss!” James gestures between the two of us.

  “It is an absolute delight to meet you, Mrs Drake,” he gushes, offering his hand, which I accept. His handshake is exactly what I expected from looking at him: limp.

  Marcus appears to be as camp as they come, terribly smart and groomed to perfection, his blond hair parted and swept to one side, his suit pristine. He’s quite short and a little rotund, but that’s putting it very politely. He looks like he samples every single dish available in the restaurant, on a regular basis.

  “Are you dining with us today, Mrs Drake?” he asks; he sounds so affected. I can’t help but wonder where he was educated, wherever it was I imagine that elocution was high up in the curriculum.

  I nod. “Yes, James and I have things to discuss, but if you’re fully booked I’m sure we can take lunch in one of the offices.”

  Marcus picks up a couple of menus. “No, no, no… I wouldn’t hear of it. Please, let me show you to a table.” He directs us with an outstretched arm and a flourish towards a table at the edge of the room. We follow him over and he pulls out a chair for me. Once seated, he flicks my napkin and drapes it across my lap. He then signals for one of the waiting staff and walks to meet them, presumably to tell them who I am. I note that he didn’t place James’s napkin on his lap.

  We are waited on by a young girl, who James tells me is very new to the hotel.

  She says as she brings the menu over to us, “A pleasure to meet you. Can I arrange some drinks?” She’s softly spoken, appearing very polite.

  “Just water for me,” I say and look at James.

  “Same for me, please, Lola.”

  She disappears and returns very quickly with a jug of iced water. She fills our water glasses and asks if we will be taking wine with our meal. When we say “no” in unison, she removes the wine glasses from the table and tells us that she’ll be back in a few minutes to take our order.

  I watch James as he studies the menu. Having quickly glanced over the leatherbound parchment, I’ve already decided that I’m just going to have the fresh salmon with a salad. He must have noticed that I spend most of my time watching him. Here, now, he looks in his element, like he belongs in this hotel. Yes, I decide he’s definitely part of the furniture, but I feel I need to know more. I don’t know what attracts me to this fine specimen of a man, certainly his looks are exceptional, but I’ve always felt that attraction is more than skin deep – after all, I fell for Lewis all those years ago and he isn’t and never has been what you would call attractive! I wish I could put my finger on what pulls me towards James. I feel like a magnet being pulled towards him. I’m very aware of the feelings in my stomach, the longing, the excitement.

  I look at those hands as they grip the menu, those beautiful long fingers. I keep wishing that they were on me! Stop it, Alex, you’re too old for him. I give myself a reality check. Do I even WANT another man? Do I NEED another man? Yes, I’ve missed out on too much, much too much! I do want a partner, a lover.

  James looks at me, distracting me from my day dream. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, just a bit hungry. So, tell me, James, what’s the food like here?” I’m curious, having only had a sandwich in the bar on my previous visits.

&nbs
p; He laughs. “Not bad, not bad at all.” He smiles again and rubs at the stubble on his chin. “As a matter of fact I’ve eaten here several times.”

  “Have you really?” I ask, playing along.

  “Yes, and it’s really very good, the service too!” He smiles, turning his water glass around as he looks at me, his head slightly on one side, weighing me up again, I think.

  We both laugh, not too loudly but enough to make one or two heads turn. I feel so very relaxed in his company, really relaxed and so comfortable, and I think, if I’m reading the signs correctly, he probably feels comfortable too.

  “Oops!” I say, snapping out of my relaxed state. “Better keep it down, we might drive the guests away!”

  “And we couldn’t have that, Mrs Drake, could we?” he whispers, leaning forward slightly. Despite our initial frosty start, we do seem to be getting along together very well. He has such a pleasant disposition, easy to talk to, possibly one of the reasons why the girls seek him out. Not that many have called, to my knowledge, not since the one I saw on the first day I met him.

  He places his menu down on the table. Obviously he’s made his choice and signals over to Lola. She’s with us in a second and takes our order, a pretty girl of about twenty years, I suppose, at a guess, maybe a little younger. She’s stunning in a unique sort of way, such fair hair and complexion, hardly any makeup, and is dressed smartly in the standard restaurant issue uniform: straight black skirt, white blouse with a narrow dark green tie and a black waistcoat. She appears very efficient.

  “How long has she been here?” I ask James once she’s left us.

  “About three weeks. We’ve a few new waiting staff, some are evenings only and a couple are working in the bar area.” He continues to turn his water glass as he talks, looking down and then up at me.

  “I’d like to meet them all at some point, just to say ‘hello’. I don’t want to be a faceless owner.” I sip my water, my stomach starting to rumble with hunger.

  He smiles, presumably at the rumbling. “I can arrange that for you. Maybe a staff meeting, something like that,” he suggests.

  My stomach gurgles again, I flush a little with embarrassment. “Yes, I think that would be good.” I smile, looking down at my noisy stomach.

  We chat away, discussing the hotel and who’s stayed here: there have been some celebrities in the recent past, and one or two sporty types last year during the Olympics. James tells me that we had a bumper four weeks with the hotel being full and lengthy wait lists. I look around at the guests that are here now. The restaurant is quiet with only a handful of tables taken, and everyone here appears to be very well dressed in expensive clothing. Initially I felt quite poor visiting here in my chain-store clothing but that’s changing slowly, steadily. I look back at James, he’s studying me intently.

  “What are you thinking, Alex? You look miles away,” he asks, a slightly concerned look on his face, a caring look about him.

  “I was just thinking…” I pause, and look at my lap. “Nothing, day dreaming, I suppose. Who’s that lady? She’s very well dressed.” I nod my head in the general direction of a woman about the same age as me, sporting a beautiful black fitted dress, with a low neckline, the finest stockings, or maybe they’re tights, who knows, and killer black patent heels.

  “She’s a regular – brings her clients here.” He’s indifferent, presumably because he sees her all the time if she’s a regular.

  “Her clients?” My draw drops. “As in, clients?”

  “Yes, she’s always bringing them here when they’ve won a case.” He looks at me, confused by my obvious horror at the word clients.

  “Won a case?” Oh, Lordy – I thought she was some sort of escort!

  “Yes, as in won a case in court. What did you think? Oh!” He laughs. “No, not that sort of client!”

  I flush again, colouring up from my neck, but am saved any further embarrassment by the arrival of our food. It looks very good, it is very good.

  We continue our chat about this and that as we munch our way through the delectable food. I couldn’t eat here all of the time, I’d soon lose my figure!

  As we finish eating, Marcus appears. “I hope that everything was to your satisfaction?” He looks directly at me.

  “Absolutely superb, Marcus, thank you.” I dab my lips with the linen napkin and reach for my water.

  “Is there anything I can help you with whilst you’re in my domain?” He really is so very pompous.

  “I think…” I start, but am interrupted when James stands up.

  “Mrs Drake is planning to drop into one of our staff meetings. If you need to raise anything, can you do it then?” James is very firm, making efforts to end the conversation now.

  The rotund restaurant manager sniffs the air, looks at James indifferently and continues with his own agenda. “So there’s nothing you want to see now?” he asks again.

  “I don’t think so, but please tell whoever prepared our lunch that it was wonderful.” I stand and place my hand on his forearm. Is he trying to brown-nose or is he just fearful for his position? “Thank you, Marcus.” I smile as we leave the restaurant and head back to the offices.

  We walk across the foyer side by side. I turn and look up at James. “What brought you into the hotel industry?”

  “Oh, family and friends, I suppose. I worked for a family friend, just weekends and holidays, he owns a small bistro not too far from here. He used to be business partners with my dad and taught me lots, not just about working in a restaurant and the bistro, but I learned about Italian foods and wines in general. From there it just sort of blossomed,” he explains as we walk towards the staff staircase, his strides long and purposeful. I find myself almost jogging to keep up with him, he really only knows one pace – fast!

  “A family friend?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Yeah, Roberto.” His face almost lights up as he says the man’s name. I’m intrigued.

  “That’s Italian, right?” I look up at him as I jog along, those curls and that strong jaw line. The open neck shirt, totally not what you expect a top London hotel manager to look like.

  “Yes. Roberto was like a father to me after my dad passed.” The smile disappears from his face as he talks about his father, replaced by just a hint of sadness.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Were you very young when you lost him?” I recall my own father passing when I was eighteen, a difficult age to lose a parent, a vulnerable age. Despite no longer being classed as a child, it is really the time of your life when you, perhaps, need your parents more than ever.

  “Eighteen,” he replies, the brittle tone emerging again. It sounds painful, but it’s something that we have in common, losing a parent at the same age.

  As we walk I quiz him about his background. He’s told me bits, but there are gaps. “So, James, you started working for Maggie about five years ago. How did she find you?” This is something that I feel I really need to know, something that isn’t recorded anywhere and that he hasn’t told me yet. I want to know this, not least because this beautiful man is now running the most profitable business in the portfolio that Maggie left me, and despite my feelings towards James, which are unknown to anyone, I need to be sure that this business is in the right hands, although I have no concerns at present.

  As we continue our brisk walk he explains how he came to be here. “Maggie contacted me while I was working at a hotel in the States. I’d only been there a few months, I didn’t like living or working there, felt alone.” He pauses. “Anyway, she was recruiting for a new General Manager and heard about me. I was looking for an out – a way back to the UK – she literally contacted me one day and asked if I was interested. I wasn’t managing there, I was deputising, but I had been General Manager elsewhere. The rest, as they say, is history. I came back to the UK and haven’t looked back. I loved Maggie and was devastated when she passed way.”

  “So you got to come home. I bet your family were pleased to get you back?”
I smile.

  “I don’t have any family to speak of, so no. Just Roberto and his wife,” he tells me, not giving much more away.

  “And they’re local?” I know I’m pressing, but this information, about himself, seems to be in dribs and drabs.

  “They are, not too far away at all. They’re the closest to family that I have.” He slows his pace and smiles. I think he knows I’m fishing for information.

  Whilst we make our way to the office we talk about the hotel, ideas that James has for small changes. I’m listening to him carefully, taking everything on board, when my mobile starts ringing. I ferret in my bag to fish the thing out from the depths of the bottomless sack of leather. The caller’s number is withheld, possibly my solicitor.

  I formally announce myself. “Alexandra Drake, hello.”

  “Hi, Mrs Drake, its Shauna from Parry’s.” The solicitor dealing with my divorce. I hold my hand out to James to indicate for him to wait, I need to concentrate on this call. He doesn’t move away but leans against the wall, looking down, and indicates to me that he’s going to carry on up to the office. I shake my head and mouth to him, “won’t be a second”.

  “Hi Shauna, how are things going? I wanted to catch up with you this week.”

  “Well, things are going well. Everything’s right on track, I’ve some correspondence from Mr Drake’s lawyer.” I hear the rustling of paperwork. “It appears that Lewis is not completely happy to settle for the £2.5million and the house in Staffordshire. Now, we did say that you’d clear the mortgage on that, didn’t we? It’s a query they have, they want us to confirm,” she asks. I’m stunned that Lewis is arguing about the settlement and even more so that she felt she needed to check the house situation, I thought she had all this written down clearly, with regard to the house anyway. I’m immediately fired up, angry that Lewis is already creating problems with what I’ve offered, I won’t be changing it or increasing it, he can get stuffed .