An Unwanted Guest(6)

‘What will you have?’ asks the young man.

He’s just a kid, really, David thinks. He looks so young. Twenty-one, maybe. ‘What’s your name?’ David asks.

‘Bradley,’ he answers.

‘Are you old enough to serve alcohol in the state of New York, Bradley?’ he quips.

‘I’m older than I look,’ Bradley grins. ‘Twenty-two.’

‘Then a gin and tonic, please,’ David says, smiling back.

He prepares the drink expertly. As David watches him, he catches movement in the corner of his eye and looks up. There’s a youngish couple coming down the stairs.

‘Oh, look,’ the man says, spying the trolley. He smiles and rubs his hands together for effect.

David can’t help but notice his smile. It makes the man instantly likeable. He’s tall and lanky, with rumpled brown hair and a five o’clock shadow – the casual type, in jeans and a plaid shirt, but David suspects he could carry that look off anywhere. David is pleased to see him; he could use some light, distracting conversation. The woman with him is attractive, but not as striking as the woman who passed him a while ago on the stairs. For a moment he wonders if everyone here is part of a couple.

‘Mind if we join you?’ the man says.

‘Not at all,’ David says.

‘I’m Ian,’ he says and extends a hand.

The woman beside him reaches out her hand in turn and says, ‘I’m Lauren.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he says. ‘David.’

‘It seems a bit empty,’ Lauren muses, looking around.

Bradley nods and says, ‘The hotel isn’t full. We have twelve guest rooms but only six are occupied this weekend. We had some cancellations because of the snow. And some of our staff – the bartender, for one, and the housekeeper, for another, weren’t able to make it in. But I’m here, so we’re good.’ He clasps his hands together. ‘I know a few things about mixing drinks,’ he adds spontaneously. ‘The bartender’s been teaching me.’

‘Excellent!’ Ian says. ‘Can you make me a whisky and soda?’

‘Of course.’

‘And I’ll have a Manhattan,’ Lauren says.

‘Did the chef make it in okay?’ Ian asks. ‘Because I’m starving.’

Bradley cocks one eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry. My dad’s the chef. It’s a family-owned hotel. We live on-site – in an apartment at the end of the hall, past the bar.’ He nods towards the hallway. ‘He and I should be able to manage all right until the roads are cleared. Although dinner will be more of a buffet tonight.’

A blast of wind slams angrily against the windows. The guests turn instinctively towards the sound.

‘We get some good storms up here,’ Bradley says.

Now David notices an older man appear in the lobby. Judging by the apron he’s wearing, he came from the kitchen, which must be behind the dining room. Bradley’s father.

‘Welcome,’ he says. ‘I’m James Harwood, the owner of the hotel. And the chef.’ He adds, ‘And don’t worry, I promise we will take very good care of you, whatever the weather.’

David sizes him up. He has a confident air, someone who is certain he can make good on his promise. He’s obviously been very successful with this hotel; he’s proud of his establishment, and it shows. He chats with them for a moment and returns to his kitchen.

David settles back in his chair, once again looking forward to his weekend.

Lauren watches Ian charm the man sitting by the fire. Ian can get on with anyone. He’s already discovered that David is a criminal defence attorney from New York City. Now he’s trying to draw him out about some of his cases.

‘What was the most interesting case you ever worked on?’ Ian asks curiously.

‘They’re all interesting,’ the attorney says, with a slightly evasive smile.

‘Are there any we might have read about in the papers?’ Lauren asks.

‘Possibly.’

At that moment she senses someone coming down the staircase and glances upwards, over her shoulder. She sees that it’s Gwen and Riley. She catches the attorney watching them as they descend. The two women make their way over to them and sit down together on a sofa across from the fire. Gwen gives them a tentative smile; Riley doesn’t look at anyone. But Bradley is there with the drinks, creating a useful distraction. They each ask for a glass of merlot and fall silent.

Gwen looks quite different without her ski hat and puffy winter jacket, Lauren thinks. She’s petite and slim, and her shiny black hair makes a striking contrast to her creamy white skin. Riley is taller, and her blonde hair falls limply to her shoulders. She looks unhealthy next to Gwen.

Ian won’t let it go with David, the attorney. ‘Have you defended any murderers?’ he asks. His enthusiasm finally brings a reluctant smile to the attorney’s face.

‘Yes, I have.’ He swirls his drink around in his glass. ‘Many.’

‘Come on, tell us!’

‘Never mind him,’ Lauren interjects. ‘I think he watches too many crime shows.’

‘It’s not always like it is on TV,’ the attorney says.

‘What do you mean?’ Lauren asks, noting his downturned mouth.