Leaving work unfinished to go to the exhibition seemed irresponsible, but as we boarded the taxi taking us to Olympia Peter reassured me by saying, 'Been quite looking forward to this. About time we let up after all the hours we've put in lately.'
On arrival I suggested we go straight to the furniture supplier's stand, where we found Andrew in conversation with a woman sitting behind what looked like a hotel reception desk.
I introduced Peter, and, as though we really were at a hotel reception, Andrew asked her, 'Is there a room available for us?'
Handing him a small plastic card, the 'key' to the room, she said, 'I hope you'll enjoy your stay.' He inserted it into the lock of a panelled door at the back of the stand and led us into what looked like a large twin-bedded hotel room.
Peter was impressed. 'Marvellous! Looks really convincing. You could believe you had stepped out of the exhibition straight into a hotel!' In one 'wall' was an imitation window with a picture of a country landscape cleverly lit from behind to look realistic. Opposite this, behind mirrored doors, were the fitted wardrobe and the en suite facilities. The furnishings included a television, and picking up a remote control unit Andrew turned it on and muted the sound. He pressed another button to bring up a diagram of the room. As he moved an arrow around the screen little menus appeared, and selecting options from these he made the curtains at the imitation window close automatically, dimmed the lights, and boosted the air conditioning. Next he replaced the room diagram with a closed circuit TV picture of the woman at the desk in front of the stand, and holding the remote control nearer his mouth spoke a few words to her.
He flipped open the back of the unit to reveal a miniature q-w-e-r-t-y keyboard. 'This little thing doubles as the room's telephone, and can be used to access the internet. Here,' he said, handing it to Peter, 'would you like to give it a try? I have to pop out for a minute.'
We played with the gadget and sent an e-mail message to Peter's secretary. About ten minutes later Andrew returned with another man he introduced as the furniture supplier's director of finance. He touched my arm and led me out of the room, leaving Peter and the new man together. 'Let me show you our free gifts, assuming we have some left.'
The receptionist opened a drawer and gave Andrew a white cardboard box about three inches square. He took out a clock with a novel feature: every half minute the background colour of the face changed from light grey to dark grey, then back to light again. 'All done with Polaroid, I'm told.'