A Week in Winter(79)

They all agreed to sleep on the problem and to bring new ideas to the table the following night. It had been an entertaining evening and The Walls had enjoyed it in spite of themselves.

Once back in their bedroom, their thoughts went again to Paris. Tonight was when they should have been going to the Opéra. Their limousine would have been gliding through the lights of Paris; then they would have purred back to the Martinique where they would be welcomed by the staff, who would know them by this stage. The ma?tre d’ would suggest a little drink in the piano bar before they went to bed. Instead, they were trying to explain the rules of competition-winning to a crowd of strangers who hadn’t the first idea where to start.

As always, just thinking about it made them discontented.

‘I bet they don’t even appreciate it,’ Charlie said.

‘They probably called off the opera house and went to a pub.’ Ann was full of scorn.

Then suddenly the thought came to her.

‘Let’s telephone them and ask them how they are getting on. At least we’ll know.’

‘We can’t ring them in Paris!’ Charlie was shocked.

‘Why not? Just a short call. We’ll say we called to wish them well.’

‘But how would we ever find them?’ Charlie was dumb-founded.

‘We know the name of the hotel; we know their name – what’s hard to find there?’ To Ann it was simple.

The Walls had already written all the details of the Paris holiday in their competition notebook, including the telephone number of the Hotel Martinique. Before he could think of another objection she had picked up her mobile phone, dialled the number and got through.

‘Monsieur et Madame Flemming d’Irlande, s’il vous pla?t,’ she said in a clear, bell-like voice.

‘Who are you going to say we are?’ Charlie asked fearfully.

‘Let’s play it by ear.’ Ann was in control.

Charlie listened in anxiously as she was put through.

‘Oh, Mrs Flemming, just a call to ask how the holiday is going. Is it all to your satisfaction?’

‘Oh, well, yes . . . I mean, thank you indeed,’ the woman sounded hesitant.

‘And you are enjoying your week at the Martinique?’ Ann persisted.

‘Are you from the hotel?’ the woman asked nervously.

‘No, indeed, just a call from Ireland to hope there are no problems.’

‘Well, it’s rather awkward. It’s very hard to say this because it is a very expensive hotel. We know that, but it’s not quite what we had hoped.’

‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that. In what way, exactly?’

‘Well . . . It isn’t a suite, for one thing. It’s a very small room near the lift, which is going up and down all night. And then we can’t eat in the dining room – the vouchers are only for what they call Le Snack Bar.’

‘Oh dear, that wasn’t in the terms of agreement,’ Ann said disapprovingly.

‘Yes, but you might as well be talking to a blank wall for all the response you get. They shrug and say these arrangements have nothing to do with them.’ Mrs Flemming was beginning to sound very aggrieved.

‘And the chauffeur?’

‘We’ve only seen him once. He is attached to the hotel, and apparently he’s needed by VIP customers all the time. He’s never free. They gave us vouchers for a bus tour to Versailles, which was exhausting, and there were miles of cobblestones to walk over. We didn’t go to Chartres at all.’

‘That’s not what was promised,’ Ann clucked with disapproval.

‘No indeed, and we hate complaining. I mean, it’s a very generous prize. It’s just . . . it’s just . . .’

‘The top restaurants? Have they turned out all right?’

‘Yes, up to a point, but you see it only covers the prix fixe, you know, the set menu, and it’s often things like tripe or rabbit that we don’t eat. They did say we could choose from the fine-dining menus, but when we got there we couldn’t.’

‘And what are you going to do about it?’

‘Well, we didn’t know what to do, so that’s why it’s wonderful you called us. Are you from the magazine?’

‘Not directly, but sort of connected,’ Ann Wall said.

‘We don’t like to go whingeing and whining to them; it seems so ungrateful. It’s just so much less than we expected.’

‘I know, I know.’ Ann was genuinely sympathetic.

‘And individually the people in the hotel are very nice, really nice and pleasant, it’s just that in general they seem to think we won much more of a bargain-basement prize than the one that was advertised. What would you suggest we do?’

The Walls looked at each other blankly. What indeed?

‘Perhaps you could get in touch with the public relations firm that set it up,’ Ann said eventually.

‘Could you do that for us, do you think?’ Mrs Flemming was obviously a person who didn’t want to make waves.

‘It might be more effective coming from you, what with your being on the spot and everything . . .’ Ann was feverishly trying to pass the buck back to the Flemmings.

‘But you were kind enough to ring us to ask was everything all right. Who are you representing, exactly?’