by David Munro
I shook my head. “Personal.”
“Your first time in Jersey?”
“I’ve visited the island on a previous occasion for a short break.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
I nodded. “Are you on a business trip?” Her sober white blouse, navy blue pinstripe jacket and skirt suggests so.
“Hic!”
Maybe not so sober.
“I was in Edinburgh on business, and now returning home.”
“With its vibrant economy, Edinburgh is an ideal place for business.”
She nodded, then glanced at her trim silver watch. “This flight should have taken off by now.”
“What is it you do?”
“I represent a Jersey chain of hotels.”
“I’m booked into the Hotel de France, in St Helier.”
“Dinner, bed and breakfast?”
I nodded.
“It’s not one of ours.” She smiled. “Pity, I could have arranged a good discount.”
A pity, indeed.
“Why not cancel?”
“I booked online with my credit card, they have my money!”
“How long are you staying in Jersey?”
“Three days.”
The lady took a card out of her jacket pocket, and leaned forward, revealing her cleavage. “If you’re unhappy with the hotel, contact me and I will arrange alternative accommodation in one of ours.” She brushed a blonde hair off her lapel. “Damn!”
I read the burgundy-coloured card with italic gold letters. ‘Diana Bray, Director of Sale, Stylon Hotels’.
“The card allows you to access our website.” She pointed to the gold insignia logo. “You can book accommodation, a variety of function suites, or even a meal in one of our hotel’s fine restaurants.”
“Splendid.”
“What is it you do?” I don’t get this guy.
“Business consultant.”
“What sector?” The lady’s blue eyes flickered.
“Most sectors, I suppose you could describe me as a general consultant.”
She yawned.
I should have said time traveller.
The lady looked up. “Here comes the boring safety demonstration, a waste of time.”
I fastened my seat belt, and paid attention to the presentable uniformed air hostess.
After the demonstration, my window seat passenger had her eyes closed. I took out a magazine from the seat pocket in front, and started to read. Minutes later, the aircraft took off, and a head of long blonde hair rested on my shoulder.
I collected my suitcase from baggage control, and walked to the exit gate for a taxi. Whilst waiting at the stance, my fellow passenger appeared. “Can I give you a lift into town?”
I smiled. “You certainly can.”
“This way.” She pointed. “My car is in that direction.”
I glanced at her suitcase. “Let me take that for you.”
“I can manage.”
Arriving at a shiny black BMW Convertible, Diana Bray opened the boot, and we deposited our luggage. I eased into a black leather passenger seat, and the BMW took off.
“A lovely car.”
“I have to watch my speed.” She glanced at me.
“Did you get caught?”
“Last August, on my way to the airport. The authorities maintained I was doing 72mph.”
“And were you?”
“I’m sure it was closer to 80!”
I laughed. “Late for your flight?”
“Why, yes!” Once more, she glanced my way.
“You won’t be able to achieve the car’s potential within Jersey.”
“I would like to.”
I laughed.
It wasn’t long before we reached Jersey and then the Hotel de France. I collected my suitcase, and as I stood at the passenger door, the window slid down. “Hope you don’t like your accommodation.”
“If not, you will receive a call.”
“What are your plans for this evening?”
“Dinner in the hotel, then an early night.”
“That sounds dull!”
“Any other suggestions?”
“Meet you for a drink in Minosas at nine o’clock.”
The car moved off, and I walked up several steps, then entered the hotel. A large foyer with magnolia-coloured walls and brown leather couches greeted me. Approaching the reception desk, my footsteps could be heard on the marble floor. A grey-suited male member of staff came forward. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon.” I laid my suitcase on the floor.
“Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Your name, sir?”
“Mr Carsell-Brown.”
The member of staff checked a black register book. “Ah, yes, a late booking.” He turned around, removed a key from a numbered hook, and put it on the desk. “Second floor, sir, please sign the register.” He turned the book around, and handed me a pen.
I wrote my name and address, then picked up my room key. The member of staff turned the book around, and looked at my details. Lifting my suitcase, I started to walk, then realised I had put his pen in my inside jacket pocket. When I gave it back, he smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“My apologies, I have a similar pen at home.”
“You almost had two!”
I laughed. “What time is dinner served?”
“Between 7-9pm, sir.”
I took a lift to the appropriate floor, and upon entering my room, observed a modern spacious habitat. I unpacked, then put the contents into one of two wooden wardrobes. From the bowl of fruit, which lay on a table, I picked up an orange, and peeled it. As dinner isn’t for several hours, now would be an ideal time to catch a couple of hour’s sleep. After finishing the orange, I removed my shoes, and lay back on the comfortable bed. As I became drowsy, the bedside telephone rang and stretched my arm towards it.
“James?”
“Yes.” It’s Diana.
“How is the room?”
“It appears okay.”
“Just okay?”
“It’s suitable.”
“Do you want me to book you into one of our hotels?”
“I’ll stay here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, see you tonight.”
“Bye.”
I replaced the black handset into its matching cradle, then lay back. No additional business for Stylon Hotels on this occasion, then my thoughts turned to April and why I am in Jersey. Being a small island, finding a forty-six-year-old bank employee from Edinburgh shouldn’t be difficult, and with St Helier having the majority of Jersey’s population, I’ll start here.
Following dinner, I went to the reception desk, and handed in my room key. Smiling, the female member of staff took it.
“What’s the quickest way to Minosas?”
“After leaving the hotel, turn right, go straight on for a hundred yards and then second left.” The receptionist pondered. “No, it is third left.”
“Thanks.”
“Have a good evening.”
I departed the hotel, and adhered to the given directions. After entering a street with no bar in sight, I retraced my steps, took a second left, and came across the establishment. Two solemn suited male stewards, full of muscle, stood outside barring any access. When I approached, they let me in and gave a courteous nod. Given the sophisticated lighting and decor, my first impression was positive. Looking around, I observed a downstairs and an upstairs bar, then a slim young woman in a revealing dress came up to me. Her long dark auburn hair rested upon her bare shoulders. “Are you looking for the night club?”
“Night club?”
She pointed. “It’s upstairs, along with the piano bar.”
I glanced upwards, then at her. “No, I’m looking for an acquaintance.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
The young woman stared behind me.
I
turned around. “Good evening.”
The young woman departed.
Diana smiled. “I nabbed you just in time.”
“A hooker?”
“No, a predator!”
I turned around, and saw the young woman approach a well-dressed man standing at the bar. Acknowledging her, she then put an arm around his waist and other men nearby looked on with envious expressions.
“Let’s have a seat,” said Diana.
She led me into a busy dimly lit lounge with black leather couches and white cushions. We found a vacant couch, and Diana sat down.
“What would you like to drink?”
“A glass of Chardonnay, large.”
I made my way through a crowd of people to the bar, and whilst there, noticed the young woman conversing with a younger man. She glanced at me, then continued to chat with her new acquaintance. The cut of his suit and youthful looks no doubt assisted in gaining the young woman’s attention.
“Yes, sir?” said a male bar person.
“A glass of Chardonnay and a lager, please.”
“Large, sir?”
“Yes, a pint.”
“I meant the glass of wine, sir.” He smiled.
I nodded.
The bar person stood at the Stella Artois font, pouring into a pint glass. He set it in front of me and then filled a glass of wine. “£16.65, please, sir.”
£16.65! I handed him two £10 notes. In future, hopefully, I’ll end up back in time.
After examining both notes, he put them in a till, then handed me a bundle of coins. I put them into my jacket pocket, lifted both drinks, and headed back. When I eventually reached there, a man stood beside Diana. She introduced him as a business acquaintance within the Hospitality sector, and then he left. As soon as I set our drinks on the table, Diana picked up her glass, and took a swig. I lifted mine, and took a sip, whilst she finished hers.
“Another?” She stood.
“I’ll get it.”
“What do you want?”
“Just a half of lager.”
After she left, I lifted up my glass and then took a swig. Keeping pace with this lady may prove difficult. I took a second swig, laid my glass on the table, and cast my gaze around the popular location. For women of all ages and sizes, black appears the popular colour – including Diana. Male attendees wore suits, or similar to me, a casual jacket and trousers. I perceived the atmosphere as cordial, therefore, a plausible reason for its popularity. Diana returned with my lager and a large glass of wine, then set them down.
“Are denims allowed?”
Diana lifted her glass, took a swig and then shook her head.
“A strict dress code exists?”
“Since it opened, that has been the case.” She took a sip.
“I can’t imagine trouble occurring.”
“Only on one occasion that I’m aware of.”
“What happened?” I lifted my pint glass, and took a swig.” She doesn’t believe in half measures.
“The person I introduced you to has a brother, and a political firebrand. A discussion with another guy on migrants became heated, several punches were thrown and then a fracas erupted between two groups of men.”
“Has the owner banned political debates?”
Diana nodded. “Due to the recent Referendum, there must have been much discussion around Scotland?”
“Indeed, one member of a political party had eggs thrown at him by opposition supporters!” I grinned. “However, no brawls.”
She laughed, drank her wine, and set the empty glass down.
I took another swig. “Another?”
“Please, hic!”
I put my glass on the table, rose, and went to the bar. Waiting for service, I spotted the voluptuous young woman in the company of another man, and drinking out of a champagne glass.
“Yes, sir?” said the male bar person.
“A large glass of Chardonnay, please.”
“And for yourself, sir?”
“Just the glass of Chardonnay, thanks.” I don’t want a hangover.
I observed the young woman finish her drink, and from a bottle of Bollinger in an ice bucket, her gentleman friend filled her glass. Given the bubbles, no doubt an expensive brand.
“Two large glasses of Chardonnay, sir.” The bar person laid them on the counter.
I raised my eyebrows. “Two?”
“Did you only want the one, sir?”
I nodded.
I paid for one drink, returned to the lounge and as I sat down, noticed a lipstick stain on my glass of lager.
Diana smiled.
“Did you enjoy it?” I gave her the glass of Chardonnay.
She took it. “Your lager tasted terrible.”
I turned the glass around.
“What type of food do you enjoy?” She took a swig, and put her glass firmly on the table.
“Indian, however, my stomach doesn’t.”
She laughed. “Pity, there’s an excellent Indian restaurant not far from here.”
“What type of cuisine does the local restaurants specialise in?”
“Most types, but mainly seafood.”
“I’m sure we’ll find somewhere suitable.”
Diana smiled, picked up her glass, and drank the remaining wine.
After a light breakfast, I left the hotel dining room, and before reaching the lift, a male member of staff at reception raised his arm. “Mr Carsell-Brown.”
I looked round, and walked up to the desk.
“I have something for you.”
He reached under the desk and then placed a watch in front of me. Smiling, I lifted it.
“Thank you.”
“A woman handed it into reception.” He looked behind to view the circular wall clock. “Almost an hour ago.”
“Did she have long blonde hair?”
“Average build, height, and mid to late thirties.”
Observant. “Did she leave a message?”
“No, sir.”
I entered the lift, pressed the designated floor button, and put on my watch. When the doors opened, I walked along the bright corridor, which didn’t help my fragile eyes.
Beginning my search in St Helier, this morning I will attempt to contact April. I put on my jacket, collected loose cash, and locked the room door. Upon entering the lift, a chambermaid stood, and when we both stepped out, she smiled. As I handed in my key, the member of staff took it. “Have a good day, sir.”
“Thanks.”
Drinking orange juice and coffee at breakfast didn’t cure a dry throat. Two large beers, plus three glasses of wine with a meal last night have taken their toll. I spotted a coffee outlet across the street, and when I entered, a loud bell rang. Of all the mornings, not this one! A tall slender woman laid out cakes and biscuits onto a glass display. She turned around. “Just take a seat, sir, I’ll be over soon to take your order.” She flicked back her long dark hair.
I sat down beside a window, and gazed at people passing by. What does April look like? I’m aware of her age, however, not much else.
“Yes, sir.” The shop assistant paused. “Sir!”
I looked away from the window. “Apologies, my mind was elsewhere.”
She smiled. “What would you like?”
“Just a white coffee, please.”
The shop assistant returned to the counter.
As I turned towards the window, a well-groomed lady walked past, and acknowledged me. Returning the compliment, it struck me that she would be of a similar age to April. It is still difficult to comprehend that I have a daughter, and she is older than I am.
“Your coffee, sir.”
I looked up. “Thanks.”
She set the white cup and saucer on the wooden table, and left.
I lifted the cup, and took a sip – that is strong. Perhaps she thought I needed a jolt. Whilst sipping, I contemplated the next move. In St Helier, there must be a place in which to trace family members. On finding it, I will pas
s myself off as a cousin who has travelled all the way from Ardrishaig, where April’s family comes from. Glad I have my travel receipts on me as proof. I finished my coffee, and as the shop assistant attended to other customers, waited at the counter. Returning, she handed me a receipt.
“£3.25, please, sir.”
I gave her three £1 coins and silver 50p piece.
“Thanks, sir.”
“I’m trying to trace a relative who travelled here some time ago.”
“To St Helier?”
“Maybe.”
“A Scottish woman?”
I nodded. “She’ll be about my age.”
“It’s not much to go on, sir.”
“At some point she may work or have worked in a local bank.”
The shop assistant shook her head. “Sorry, sir, can’t help.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
“Try the Register Office.”
“I will do.”
“Bye.”
I left to the sound of that damn bell, however, since my cup of coffee, it’s not as prominent. Then, I heard a woman’s voice behind me. “Excuse me!”
I stopped, turned around and a woman came towards me. She stopped, took a deep breath, and looked up. “I overheard you speaking to the shop assistant.” She took another deep breath. “There’s a guest house in the centre of St Helier owned by a Scottish woman.”
“About my age?”
She nodded. “But not as tall.”
“Do you know her name?”
“I think it may be Avril.”
“April?”
“Yes, that’s it!”
“Does her guest house have a name?”
“The Fyne Guest House. Fyne has a ‘y’ instead of an ‘i’ letter.”
“Thank you.”
The woman walked slowly back to the coffee shop, and I continued on my way. The Fyne Guest House is appropriate for an owner born and raised in the vicinity of Loch Fyne.
I arrived at the centre of St Helier, and soon found the guest house. Situated in a narrow side street, I observed the sign above a dark green entrance door in bold white letters. With it being closed, I contemplated whether the guest house remained open for business. I pulled a traditional brass bell handle, but no answer came. Trying again, the door opened, and a woman smiled. “Can I help you?”
As this woman looks in her mid-thirties, it can’t be April.
“Are you looking for somewhere to stay, sir?”
“I’ve come to pay April a visit.”