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“Life has a funny way of giving people exactly what they deserve.”
He slams the door as he leaves, and after that, I have an overwhelming urge to call Albie.
Chapter Seven
It’s almost ten o’clock at night when I finally pluck up the courage to call him. Stomach full of butterflies, I’m shocked and almost relieved when it goes straight to voicemail. Must be off.
Before I know it, I’m trawling Twitter and there are rumours of Albie having holed up in a hotel because of all the press standing guard outside his residences.
Whenever news headlines became the bane of his life in the past, he’d take himself off to the Savoy for a few days’ peace and quiet.
I could call Sharon and check with her that’s where he is, but she’d only try to dissuade me, or he might not have even told her. It’d be a hunch, wouldn’t it?
Within ten minutes I’ve taken a quick shower to rid myself of the feeling of being dirty, and changed into my cycling clothes. I grab my road bike, turn the lights on and fasten my helmet, before taking off down the stairs with it and then out of the front door. I’m whizzing in his general direction, my heart pounding the whole time.
Something about Miles made me realise that even if I can’t be with Albie, fuck it, I’d rather know he’s okay. If he’s suffering, he’ll be insufferable to everyone around him. I was always the only one who could calm him down.
Miles and his fakeness are disturbing and now I look back, even in the bad times, Albie was never dishonest with me. No matter what was going on, he never tried to be anything he wasn’t. He’s not perfect by a long stretch and he fucking hurt me, but right now, the only thing I’ve got to compare him to is a filthy pervert and he’s not actually coming off half bad when compared to Miles—the true definition of fucker.
It takes me no time at all to reach the Strand with my fast road wheels and a whole lot of adrenalin coursing through me. I manage to slow the bike but not my racing heart as I pull up around the back of the hotel. I’m locking up my bike near the depot when I notice someone leaving via the staff door. This is the way he’d always come in, he told me once.
The guy who looks like a chef finishing a shift tips his head, and says jovially, “Goodnight.”
Before the back door shuts, I race over to catch it, letting myself in.
No idea where I’m going, I smile politely at everyone I pass, until someone questions my presence.
“How’d you get in here? Who are you?”
I don’t know the man, only that he’s wearing an official-looking tailcoat.
Thinking on my feet, I pull out my SIA card. “I was told by Albie Hart to come in the back way like I have done before. I got a last-minute call to provide extra security tonight, what with—”
He takes the card from my hand to study my photo intensely, incredulous as to my appearance not matching the profession. “You’re a security guard?”
“Seven years, on and off. Grew up in Luton. You know how it is.”
He hands it back to me. “See Selma on reception. She’ll help you out.”
He bustles off leaving me to surmise in which direction I should go, since I just told the fella I’d got in this way before.
Having swerved the kitchens, I find myself walking down a long corridor that does indeed lead to the reception area. A lady with caramel skin and dark hair is working away. Once I get closer, I see her name is Selma.
“Hi, I need to know what room Albie Hart’s in.”
For a moment, I see her hand go towards a switch beneath the desk.
Quickly, I flip my ID card out again. “Extra security.”
“Passphrase?” she asks.
“Star TrekbeforeStar Warsbut neither beforeLord of the Rings.”
She smiles tightly and begins checking for his room number. “Shall I let them know you’re coming up?”
I shake my head. “Who’s up there right now?”
“Don’t know his name.”
