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“Thank you,” she said, allowing the barman to refill her glass. “My name’s Marianne.”
“I’m Sandy,” he said.
“And what do you do, Sandy?”
“I dabble in stocks and shares,” he replied, taking on the persona of Macpherson. “And when you said ‘run,’ does that mean you’re the boss?”
“I wish,” she said, and by the time Marianne’s glass had been refilled three times, he’d discovered she was divorced, her husband had run away with a woman half his age, no children, and she had planned to go to the Schubert concert at the Usher Hall that night only to find it was sold out. After another drink, he even found out she didn’t consider Brahms to be in the same class as Beethoven. He was already wondering how far the journey was from Edinburgh to Durham.
“Would you like another drink?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “I ought to be getting to bed if I’m still hoping to make the opening session tomorrow morning.”
“Why don’t we go up to my suite? I have a bottle of champagne, and no one to share it with.” Arthur couldn’t believe what he’d just said, and assumed she’d get up and leave without another word, and might even slap his face. He was just about to apologize, when Marianne said, “That sounds fun.” She slipped off her stool, took his hand and said, “Which floor are you on, Sandy?”
In the past, Arthur had only dreamed of such a night, or read about it in novels by Harold Robbins. After they’d made love a third time, she said, “I ought to be getting back to my room, Sandy, if I’m not going to fall asleep during the president’s address.”
“When does the conference end?” asked Arthur, as he sat up and watched her getting dressed.
“Usually around four.”
“Why don’t I try to get a couple of tickets for the Schubert concert, and then we could have dinner afterward.”
“What a lovely idea,” said Marianne. “Shall we meet in reception at seven tomorrow evening?” She giggled. “This evening,” she added, as she bent down and kissed him.
“See you then,” he said, and by the time the door had closed, Arthur had fallen into a deep contented sleep.
* * *
When Arthur woke the following morning, he couldn’t stop thinking about Marianne, and decided to buy her a present and give it to her at dinner that evening. But first he must get two tickets, the best in the house for a show that was obviously sold out, and then ask the desk clerk which he considered was the finest restaurant in Edinburgh.
Arthur had a long shower, and found himself humming the aria from Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He continued to hum as he put on a new shirt, new suit, and began to think about what sort of present Marianne would appreciate. Mustn’t be over the top, but shouldn’t leave her in any doubt he considered last night so much more than a one-night stand.
He went to his bedside table to pick up his wallet and watch, but they weren’t there. He opened the drawer, and stared at a copy of Gideon’s Bible. He quickly c
hecked the table on the other side of the bed, and then the bathroom, and finally his new suit that was strewn on the floor. He sat on the end of the bed for some time, unwilling to accept the truth. He didn’t want to believe such a divine creature could be a common thief.
He reluctantly picked up the phone by the side of the bed and dialed Mr. Buchan’s private number at the Royal Bank of Scotland. He sat there in a daze until he heard a voice he recognized on the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Arthur, “but I’ve lost my credit card.”
“That’s not a problem,” said Buchan. “Happens all the time. I’ll cancel it immediately and your new one will be ready for collection on Monday morning. If you need some cash in the meantime, just pop in and I’ll arrange it.”
“No, I’ve got enough to get me through until Monday,” said Arthur, not wanting to admit that his money had also been stolen.
Arthur went downstairs for breakfast, and wasn’t surprised to discover that there was no garden centers conference, and no one called Marianne registered at the hotel. When he left the Caledonian to go for a walk after breakfast, it was back to window shopping and he even spotted the ideal present for Marianne. It didn’t help. And when he passed the Usher Hall on the way back, there was already a queue for returns. At least that was true.
It was a long weekend of walks around the ancient city, hotel food, and watching B movies in his room that he’d already seen. When he walked past Scott’s Bar on Saturday night and saw an attractive young blonde sitting alone, he just kept on walking.
By Monday he’d exhausted the hotel menu as well as the films of the week and just wanted to return to Ambrose Hall and begin his new life. The only surprise was that he still couldn’t get Marianne out of his mind.
5
BY THE TIME Arthur had packed his bags on Monday morning, he’d decided the loss of a couple of hundred pounds and a watch he’d never cared for, was a fair exchange for the best night he’d ever had in his life.
He checked his watch. It wasn’t there. Arthur smiled for the first time in days. Once he’d seen Buchan, he would take the first train to Ambrose and try to forget the whole incident, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He was feeling a little better by the time he left the hotel to keep his appointment with Mr. Buchan, and when he walked into the bank, his secretary was standing in the hall waiting to greet him. A gesture, he realized, that was only extended to the most important customers.
“I hope you had an enjoyable weekend, Mr. Macpherson?” she said, as she accompanied Arthur through to Mr. Buchan’s office.
