‘Right. Interesting.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Should I say yes straight away, or wait until I hear what it is?’
‘A couple have just turned up at the hotel. She’s eight and a half months pregnant.’
‘Hang on, is this Christmas Eve? Did they arrive by donkey?’
‘It’s their wedding anniversary,’ Didi went on. ‘They got married a year ago at the Wickham. Four months ago, the husband booked the Midnight Suite for tonight as an anniversary surprise.’
‘You mean someone at the hotel messed up and double-booked the room?’ Shay raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh dear, was it you?’
It was good that he was joking, but not so good that the way he was looking at her was turning her insides to jelly. She said steadily, ‘It wasn’t me. He arranged it online through a booking agent, without realising they were scammers. The agency reserved the suite with us, sent him the confirmation, then kept the money he sent them. When we didn’t receive the payment, the booking was automatically cancelled. The first this guy knew about any of it was half an hour ago when he and his wife turned up for her surprise stay. Which turned out to be more of a surprise than either of them were expecting.’
‘Right.’ Shay nodded slowly.
‘She burst into tears.’
‘Poor woman.’
‘And she’s . . .’ Didi spread her arms, miming a vast pregnancy bump swelling out in front of her.
‘So you’re wondering if I’ll do the gentlemanly thing and give up my suite for the night.’
‘Yes.’
‘Go on then, you’ve twisted my arm.’ His mouth turned up at the corners. ‘I’ll move to another room. All in the name of romance.’
Didi took a deep breath; she hadn’t finished twisting his arm yet. ‘Thanks, that’s great. The thing is, we’re completely booked up, so there isn’t actually another room for you to move into.’
‘Right. Maybe they could share my suite,’ said Shay. ‘I’ll sleep in the bath.’
She broke into a grin. ‘You’re a hero, but it doesn’t have to be that drastic. I thought you could move into my place for the night and—’
‘Are you serious? Does Aaron know about this?’
‘I thought,’ Didi continued, ‘that you could move into my apartment for the night and I’ll stay over at Layla’s.’
Shay considered this for a second. ‘What about Aaron? Does Layla have room for both of you?’
‘He’s had to stay in London this weekend. Busy with work.’
‘OK.’ He nodded, then gestured around the living room. ‘Well, I was going to put in a couple more hours here, but should I go back now and move my stuff out?’
‘Are you definitely happy to do this?’ Didi double-checked.
‘Not a problem.’
Phew, relief. ‘Thanks so much. You’re a star.’ Pulling out her phone, she said, ‘And we can take care of everything if you’d rather carry on here for a bit. I’ll just give Sylvia a call and let her know.’
‘How about you? Are you on duty tonight?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Why?’
‘Would your fiancé object, do you think, if I asked you to have dinner with me?’
A zing of adrenalin shot through her body. Aaron might not be deliriously happy about the prospect, but he was off to a ridiculously glamorous event this evening at the Goring in Belgravia and she knew for a fact that two of his ex-girlfriends who worked for the same company were going to be there too.
So he could hardly object, could he?
‘Hello?’ said Sylvia, answering the call. ‘And?’
Didi exhaled. ‘Shay’s happy to do it. Can you let the couple know, then get his things moved into my apartment?’
‘Oh thank heavens for that! I knew he wouldn’t disappoint us.’ Sylvia’s delight was evident. ‘I could kiss him!’
‘No need to go that far.’ Ending the call before Shay could overhear anything even more inappropriate, Didi looked at him. ‘Aaron isn’t the jealous type. He won’t mind at all.’
‘Good. Was that Sylvia? What else did she say?’
‘That she could kiss you.’
‘Wow.’ His mouth twitched. ‘Sounds like it’s my lucky day.’
Rosa finished rereading the letter that had arrived earlier and heaved a sigh. She put it down on the kitchen worktop and the breeze through the open window sent it gliding to the floor.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’ Bending, Red retrieved the hand-written letter with the attached photo. ‘What is this, another order?’
‘Yes. Well, kind of.’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Can I read it?’
She wavered, already knowing what his reaction would be, then shrugged. ‘Go ahead.’
Red studied the photo for a couple of seconds, then began reading aloud:
Dear Rosa,
Here is a photograph of my darling little granddaughter Maisie who I love more than life itself. She is six years old and gets bullied by all the other children at school because she has to wear glasses and also has a big birthmark on her neck and it just breaks my heart.
Maisie is a dear sweet girl and she cries every day because she has no friends and says nobody else in the world looks like her. Well, last night I saw a video on Facebook about a little boy opening a parcel from you and it was so wonderful. I was in floods of tears when he saw the doll you’d made for him. It would just be so lovely if my little Maisie could have a doll that looks like her. I would do anything to make her smile again, but the sad thing is, I can’t afford to buy one of your dolls. I am an old-age pensioner and a widow with hardly enough money to get by, so I was wondering if you ever made dolls for free out of the goodness of your kind heart. If you could do this, I would be so grateful and you would make my darling Maisie the happiest little girl in the world!
Bless you in advance.
Yours sincerely,
Pamela Baker
When he had finished reading, the room was silent apart from a bumblebee bashing itself against the window, unable to comprehend why it couldn’t get through the glass.
‘Well,’ Red said drily, ‘full marks to her for trying. She must think you’re a complete pushover. Do you want to chuck it in the bin or shall I?’
‘No!’
‘Oh please, the woman’s a con artist. If it’s even a woman.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s probably some bloke who’d rather spend his cash on beer and women than use it to buy his kid something for her birthday.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Rosa pleaded.
‘It’s a begging letter. Somebody wants something but they don’t want to pay for it. They’re trying to find out just how much of a soft touch you are.’
‘You think that, but what if you’re wrong?’ Maybe she was a bit of a soft touch, but wasn’t that better than being endlessly suspicious and cynical? Her vivid imagination meant she’d instantly conjured up mental images of Maisie and her kind-hearted grandma. She said, ‘It could be genuine. And that poor little girl, being bullied at school, sobbing her heart out . . .’
‘If I’m right,’ said Red, ‘they’ll start targeting you for money next. Trust me, I know what these people are like. I’ve met enough of them in my time.’