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They walked along a quiet, red-carpeted corridor, Milo setting a slow pace she could keep up with, leaning on her stick. He stopped at last, at a door. ‘Here you are, miss, this will be your room for tonight.’
He produced an electronic key card, and unlocked the door, standing back to let her enter, then laid the key on the bed.
‘I’ll leave you the key. If you lose it, come to reception and we will make you a new one. I had this ready for you.’
So he had known she was coming – she had wondered if he had been informed.
He explained the contents of the room to her. ‘You have a mini-fridge, which contains bottled water and soft drinks, only. There will be no charge, of course. There is a telephone so that you can talk to reception, or other rooms. Dinner is at eight; the dining room is off reception.’ He put her case down. ‘If there is anything you need, please telephone me. The air-conditioning is set low, but you can turn it up if it isn’t cool enough for you. I can have some tea or coffee sent along, if you want it.’
‘Thank you, but I will be quite happy with the cold water,’ she said, adding rather shyly because she wasn’t sure how he would react, ‘Please, call me Miranda.’
He smiled; she saw gold gleam among his white teeth and was startled. She had heard that some people had gold false teeth but she couldn’t remember ever seeing it before.
‘I hope you will enjoy working here, Miranda.’ He whisked out of the room, closing the door almost silently.
She stood, looking around her curiously. The room was small, but well furnished. There was a neat, narrow bed covered with a white cotton c
over; lime-green curtains, a small white wardrobe, a white counter with a mirror above it, and a chair pushed under it, and a polished hardwood floor on which lay one lime-green cotton rug. The effect was springlike, cheerful.
She walked over to look out of the window. Outside a tree moved, throwing shadows on the white wall, trembling leaf patterns in black. Gardens stretched in front of the hotel; smooth, manicured turf, small beds of roses hedged with lavender, the elegant sway of silver birch trees and hazel, the sun shining down through them, and behind them the white bungalows, half-hidden by leaves.
Miranda’s heart lifted. She began to feel happy. But despite the air-conditioning she was very hot after that drive and she would die for a bath.
She investigated her en-suite bathroom, which was the size of a cupboard; there was no bath, just a shower and toilet. Stripping off, she took a long, refreshing shower, put on white shorts and a pink t-shirt, and lay down on top of the bed. Within minutes she was asleep.
When she woke up there were shadows in the room, but outside it was still bright, the sun had not yet gone down. She changed into a thin summer dress; a blue-and-white tunic just covering her knees, slid her bare feet into white sandals, and went out to explore the gardens before dinner.
As she came out of the hotel she saw Milo walking very fast through the trees, carrying a covered tray; and idly followed in the same direction. Was he delivering room service to one of the bungalows? she wondered.
The air was mild and slightly salty, a faint breeze blowing off the sea ruffled her hair and whipped her dress against her warm body as she set off with her stick, swinging her plastered foot.
There was another scent, too, less identifiable – herbal, pungent. Thyme, marjoram, mint, and was that basil? Charles had said it grew wild here and that smell was unmistakable.
The tall birches gave her a strangely pied appearance, arms and legs now black, now white, her dress chequered like a chessboard, the shadows shifting over her as she moved. At least it was cool under the leafy trees.
She walked past bungalows and heard voices, splashes in a pool beside one, saw people moving about inside the buildings. The she was back among trees, thicker, now, closer set. Ahead of her from time to time she caught another glimpse of Milo, like the White Rabbit, hurrying along with his tray. Where was he going? They had left the bungalows behind now, and the carefully tended gardens. They were in wilder territory, bushes, trees, long, rough yellowish grass, like over-ripe corn, which rustled as she walked through it, the bearded stems rasping her bare legs.
She was some distance behind Milo when she saw him entering a house. Not a bungalow, a rather elegant house built in something akin to a Georgian style, with well-proportioned windows and a small portico, resting on two white pillars, above the dark wooden front door.
Miranda hesitated – should she turn back now, before Milo returned and caught her, realised she had been following him?
Well, she hadn’t, really – why should she? He had merely been a marker for her to follow in her exploration. Where he could go she had assumed she could safely go.
She was curious, though – who lived in that house? Pandora’s father, who owned the hotel? Or perhaps this was accommodation for richer guests who did not wish to stay in a bungalow and who demanded privacy, set apart from everyone else. She could see the blue gleam of a pool to one side, and they were near the sea out here on the furthest extent of the hotel grounds.
But she couldn’t hover here, staring. Inside the house Milo or whoever was staying there might be watching her, in turn, wondering what on earth she was doing.
Turning back among the trees she wandered back to the hotel and went to her room for half an hour to do her make-up and brush her hair, before making her way to the dining room.
Milo met her as she entered it, bowing slightly. ‘Are you more rested, Miss Miranda?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Good, good. I’m afraid you will be alone at dinner. Miss Pandora is too tired to get up, and her husband is staying with her. They will be having room service tonight.’
‘I’m not surprised. It was a long journey and Pandora hasn’t been at all well.’
He sighed. ‘It is very sad, she and her husband long to have a child, as I am sure you know. Let us hope she will carry this one to a birth. We must take great care of her now.’
