‘Which number?’ he barks.
His brusque manner gets me in a flap and for a moment mymind goes blank. ‘Oh. Erm, I’m not sure.’
‘So show me.’
‘Right.’ My legs shaking, I walk into the corridor andindicate the room in question.
The noises from behind the door seem to be getting morefrantic by the second.
Logan looks at me with an odd expression, and a vague anduneasy realisation begins to make its way from the deeper recesses of my brainto the very front.
The squeals I can now hear are speeding up, like a runawaytrain, and it very quickly becomes embarrassingly obvious that there’s a boutof loud and very energetic sex going on behind the door of room number twelve.
‘Ooh, you’re so huge... give it to me, bigboy... don’t stop. Yes! Oh, yes!’
I swallow hard, staring at the door as blood surges into mycheeks. I can’t actually bear to look at Logan. And the agony is continuingbecause they still haven’t finished (as the slamming of the headboard testifies).
‘Yes... yes...yes!’
There’s a loud crack that sounds horribly like the hotelwill need to buy a new bed, followed by a woman’s breathless squeals – althoughthis time, she’s laughing.
‘Right,’ says Logan with a neutral expression. ‘Crisisaverted, I think.’
He shepherds me away, and I follow him down the stairs,feeling utterly mortified. I need to talk to him... tell himabout my accident. But at the turn in the stairs, he breaks the silence beforeI do.
‘I’d give them eleven out of ten for effort.’ There’s a hintof a smile on his face, and I relax slightly.
‘Sorry about that,’ I mutter. ‘False alarm.’
He shrugs. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’
‘I guess so.’
We walk the rest of the way down and when we’re almost atthe bottom, I blurt it out. ‘Logan, I wanted to meet you that day. I reallydid. But something happened so I couldn’t.’
He slows his pace but doesn’t turn around, and somehow Imanage to bump into him, and the sheaf of papers he was holding falls from hisgrasp, scattering over the floor.
I help him pick them up. ‘As I was saying, I had an accidentand –’
‘You don’t need to explain,’ he interrupts. ‘No harm done.’
‘But you don’t understand... I reallywanted to be there. You have to believe me. I was gutted that I couldn’t makeit along.’
‘Right.’ He studies me for a moment, his blue eyes piercingmine. Then he shrugs. ‘Well, whatever. So you’re working here now?’
‘Yes. I... I’m a housekeeping assistant.’
‘I gathered that,’ he says coldly, and my heart sinks. ‘CouldI have those, please?’
‘Sorry?’ I stare at him. Then I realise I’m holding hispapers. ‘Are these artist’s impressions of the new Celestial Cafe?’ I askquickly as I hand them over, desperate to keep him talking.
‘Yup. It’s going to be stunning. Open to the stars on summernights but with a moveable canopy, cosy heaters and cashmere blankets forwinter nights.’ With a sense of reluctance, he shows me one of the sketches.
‘It’s really beautiful,’ I say, genuinely bowled over bywhat’s being created.
‘It’s going to be amazing,’ he agrees in a softer tone. ‘Atleast I hope it is. Although I suppose nothing in life is certain, is it?’
I catch the brief flicker of hurt in his eyes.
