***
My absence from Goodmans Hotel for four days proved that it could operate perfectly well without me. The deputy manager of Housmans Hotel, except for a few hours off during the quiet periods of early afternoon and late evening, had lived in on duty the whole time. He brought me up to date with which rooms were occupied, and showed me a substantial amount of cash that had accumulated in the desk drawer. After we counted this together he said he had one last thing to report, that someone had called to see me, had not wanted to leave his name but said he would call back. He ended his long stint of being on duty with the words: 'Not complaining, but it will be a relief to be able to go out with a few friends for a quiet drink tonight.'
On Tuesday morning, as I put out the rubbish for collection, a sweet scent from one of the winter flowering shrubs planted by Darren perfumed the air around the gate. Looking back at the hotel, the paintwork on the facade still fresh, the business again seemed to me to be all that I could have wished it to be.
This feeling of self-satisfaction lasted until Tom's brother came up to me outside the newsagent's a few hours later. He had had his hair cut shorter than ever and I was not sure who he was until he started to speak. 'Oh good,' he shouted, 'lucky I saw you, I called in at the hotel the other day but you was out.'
'Did you?'
'Yes. What's happened to Tom? What's he doing down in Portsmouth?'
'Working, so far as I know.'
'There's plenty of work for him round here. What's he doing down there?'
'Don't know. We're not seeing each other.'
'What's that supposed to mean, not seeing each other?'
'If your brother hasn't told you, why do you expect me to?'
He frowned and looked down. 'You've always been a stuck-up bastard. I never had nothing against you, you know.' He waited for me to speak, but wanting the encounter to end I remained silent.
'What's happened? Don't you two like taking each other's pants down no more?' With that aggravating remark he turned and swaggered off down the street.
I paid the paper bill, but the amount of cash still in the desk drawer made a trip to the bank essential. All of the garden centre's vans were in use that afternoon, and despite a light drizzle I set off hurriedly on foot, with just enough time to get there before the doors closed. The money was clutched under my arm in an old portfolio too tattered and scruffy to look as though it contained anything worth stealing. The quickest route, about twelve minutes' walk, was to turn left out of the hotel, across the road and through a mews, then along a tree lined avenue leading to the High Street.