Castelo do Mar
Castelo do Mar was considered one of the finest hotels in Lisbon; rich, refined, never ostentatious and apart enough from the city to be preferred by the crème de la crème of the rich. The hotel sat east of the Belem tower, overlooking where the Atlantic met the waters of the Tagus River in a spectacular view rarely affordable to the average Lisbon visitor. At Castelo do Mar, everything from the suites to the five diamond service provided within was tasteful, lush, and smooth.
That included service by the staff who were hired for their discretion and efficiency. Most of them were young, ambitious and well-versed in the idiosyncrasies of the wealthy. Maids were trained to be tactful and quick; the room service attendants moved like formal shadows throughout the hotel as they delivered whims and retrieved the aftermath of the same. The concierge worked in tandem with the managers to insure that Castelo do Mar remained a luxurious haven for those who could afford its price, and that directive carried over from the day well into the night.
Unfortunately just as many issues tended to occur after dark, and if it hadn't been for the cool and unflappable patience of the night manager, the reputation of Castelo do Mar might have suffered. As it was, Jonathan Pine worked behind the scenes with ruthless efficiency, making sure his subordinates understood exactly what to do in any given situation that arose. Most respected him; nearly all admired him and appreciated his tendency to take responsibility for whatever great or small disaster occurred once the sun went down. Lost dog? Food poisoning? Disagreement over a bill? All handled with the same serene approach.
That said, the case of the guest in the Concha suite nearly floored him.
"Yes sir, we do have a doctor available. Are you sure we don't need an ambulance?" Pine murmured into the house phone, wondering at the man's pain-filled tone. "I'll summon Doctor Sable right away; what can I say is wrong?"
The man's reply could barely be heard, and even then Pine wasn't sure he'd caught it. "Your . . . penis?"
That was enough. Pine reassured him assistance was on the way, and then switched to the emergency line, wondering exactly how to phrase the situation. A single buzz connected him. "Doctor Sable?"
"This is Doctor Sable," came a low reply. "What's the medical problem?"
"I'm not precisely sure," Pine began cautiously, "but it involves the penis of the guest in the Concha suite."
"Oh God. All right, I'll meet you at the elevators. Please have a shuttle ready, Mr. Pine."
"Right," he replied, and hung up.
Pine made it first to the elevator bank, a benefit of his longer legs and a shorter route. He caught sight of Doctor Sable moving briskly his way, her heels clacking on the terracotta tiles, her expression slightly grumpy as she carried her Gladstone bag. He liked the way she wore her straight black hair in a thick braid in a glossy coronet over her brow, and how she preferred neutral sweaters and dark skirts instead of the hotel uniform.
"I predict it's stuck in a bottle. Most likely a magnum champagne bottle, since those seem to have the most childish appeal to horny drunks."
"You've dealt with this before?" Pine asked before he could stop himself. He'd talked to Doctor Sable only a few times since she was hired, during administrative meetings and her forthrightness was . . . refreshing.
"More than I'd like to," she sighed. "I've got baby oil, duct tape and a glass cutter in my bag—I may need your help."
His eyebrows went up, and against his better sense he smirked. Finally she smirked back, briefly before settling in on a more sedate expression. "Depending on the situation, we may be able to free our guest without too much trouble, however if not, we'll need to get him and his wounded member to the De Egas Moniz emergency room as quickly as we can; hence the shuttle."
"Understood," Pine murmured as he followed her into the elevator.
It was a champagne bottle, and Doctor Sable did indeed know what she was doing. After snapping on latex gloves she spoke soothingly to the red-faced teary young man holding the Moet and Chandon magnum at his crotch. "All right, I'm so glad you called us. We need to get this off of you as quickly as we can, sir. How long have you been encased?"
As she spoke she made the guest take two analgesics and gestured for Pine to assist her; under her direction he wrapped duct tape around the center of the bottle, trying not to look at the grossly swollen stub of the guest's penis plugged in the neck. The young man managed to mumble out a sad story of a great deal of drinking, and a raucous bet despite the fact that there was no one else in the suite at the moment.
"Well these things happen," Doctor Sable murmured soothingly as she applied baby oil at the base of his penis. "I need you to pinch the bridge of your nose tightly; that will help. Mr. Pine," she pointed to the glass cutter, "I believe you can press harder than I can."
He rolled the cutter, pressing it just under the bottom edge of the duct tape while the guest whimpered a bit. When Pine had managed to complete the circumference, Doctor Sable picked up one of the marble ashtrays and brought it down sharply on the lower end of the bottle.
Pine flinched, but instead of the bottle shattering, the cut end broke off neatly, and the duct tape kept the other half from breaking into shards as the vacuum seal broke. Sable gave a tug and the top half of the champagne bottle slid off, leaving the guest swaying, his oily penis still grossly swollen but free. Carefully Doctor Sable cradled the swollen shaft in one gloved hand, bracing the other on her patient's shoulder.
"All right, it's abraded of course, but I don't think you've done any lasting damage to it. I have some ointment with a numbing agent so you can sleep tonight-on your back, please- and if you're still in pain in the morning we can discuss going to the hospital."
"No, no hospital!" the young man pleaded. "I'm fine now!"
"All right then, but I would still like to check on you in the morning," she murmured, cleaning the injured penis carefully. Pine busied himself picking up the cut bottle and disposing of it. When the doctor was done, she nodded, and they left the suite together, making it all the way to the elevator without making eye contact. Once inside though, Pine chuckled, and she joined in, looking amused herself.
"I've heard of this sort of incident before, but never had it happen at any of my previous positions. Dear God."
"Yes well he's young and stupid and lucky," Doctor Sable sighed. "I'll finish the paperwork and make sure both you and my uncle get copies."
"Very good," Pine murmured. They stepped out together into the lobby, and looked at each other for a long moment in bemused camaraderie.
"Here's hoping it's a quiet rest of the night, Mr. Pine," she murmured.
He watched her for a moment, admiring her elegant saunter as she headed back to her office before turning himself towards the main desk and the other duties waiting for him there.
-oo00oo-
Two weeks later Pine found himself in need of Doctor Sable's services personally, much to his chagrin. He staunched the blood from his leaking wrist as best he could and had Lucia call down to alert the doctor of his impending arrival. Taking the back hallways, he made it down to the unmarked door of the in-residence medical office and nearly ran into Sable as she stood in the doorway. She spotted his bloody sleeve and motioned him in. "Coat, off, shirt too-What happened?"
"Caught the edge of a battered steamer trunk as it fell off a luggage trolley. Had a corner edge like a knife," Pine murmured, slipping out of his coat and tugging his bloody right sleeve up to the elbow. Sable wiped gauze along the outside edge of his wrist, revealing a two inch gash with a little flap on the top. It welled with scarlet again, thick drips sliding heavily down his pale arm.
"You need stitches. I think two, maybe up to four. Last tetanus shot?"
"At least six years," Pine admitted. He had his mobile out, but Sable shot him an annoyed look and took it from him.
"The front desk will cover for you," she assured Pine and made him hold the gauze. "Pressure. Here. Sit."
"Yes, madam," he intoned, half-annoyed, half-amused by her manner.
She laid out her materials, moving quickly to give him a numbing agent before pulling out the sterile pre-threaded needle. "Wrong, Pine. The correct response is 'Yes Oh Mistress Sable' if I even give you permission to speak at all. Since you're wounded and bleeding all over my office, I'll let it slide this time."
Without missing a beat, he murmured, "Yes, Oh Mistress Sable," as a tingle ran through him.
She very nearly smiled, holding back at the last moment. "Better. All right, let's get to work on keeping that red stuff inside you where it belongs."
He held still, watching carefully as Sable cleaned, stitched and bandaged the outer part of his wrist, her touch light all throughout. The process brought her close to him; close enough to smell her warm perfume and note the plumpness of her mouth. Even the little sting of the antiseptic didn't stop him from watching her concentration.
"Look away, Pine," she told him, "I'm not that interesting."
"Yes you are," he bantered back. He added, "Mistress Sable."
"Shhhh, tyro," she ordered, her tone firm and just a touch dangerous.
He felt himself flush a bit, and kept quiet until she'd finished taping the bandage in place.
"Ah, thank you."
Then she did smile, and the way it touched her lips and eyes struck him like a quick glimpse into a lush hidden garden. It was so unexpected that all he could do was stare at her.
"You're welcome. It's deep but not serious; avoid heavy lifting and try to keep the bandage dry. I'll take the stitches out in a few weeks; do you need anything for pain?"
"No, no, this is fine," Pine murmured, still slightly surprised by how he'd been taken unaware for a moment. "Thank you."
"Yes; you're still welcome," Sable told him, handing him back his mobile. "Do you have a spare coat and shirt?"
He nodded, rising. "Yes, in my office behind the door."
She rose up and leaned into him, holding his gaze with hers. "If I were you," Sable spoke softly, "I'd be sure to do light duties for the rest of the night, and when I got home, I'd take a hot bath with a glass of wine before turning in. Something strong. One glass only."
It was on the tip of his tongue to reply 'yes Mistress Sable' but her look was too intense to risk offending her, and Pine found himself nodding instead.
He took her advice, and found that the cup of garrafiera did indeed not only take away the residual ache but put him into a deep sleep as well.
-oo00oo-
Her file held all the basic information he'd expected, but Pine still went through it carefully, unsure of what he was looking for. Medical school in America, residencies in Europe, then a gap of eighteen months. After that, a few years with Medecins sans Frontieres and finally the night shift at Castelo do Mar on the recommendation of her uncle who handled the day shift.
Something was off, he knew. Simone Sable's travels were as sporadic as his own, no clear path obvious. She was divorced with no other family besides her uncle, no apparent ties to any particular group or medical association, and even her letters of reference seemed fairly . . . generic.
Pine tapped the screen at the empty time. "There," he murmured to himself. "Something happened there."
But it was a distraction too, he knew, a way to not think about her playful commands. As a doctor she would be used to giving such, Pine thought. And yet . . . she hadn't done so with the patient in the Concha suite. Her tone then had been soothing and pleasant, not . . . imperious.
No, that wasn't quite right either, Pine thought. Her tone with him had been warmer than that. Almost sensually intimate.
He sighed, rubbing his chin. At the moment he had enough to deal with, including Sheikh Saeed Bin Rasheed, and his entourage who were due to occupy the entire set of suites in the north wing. There was also an ongoing issue with the heating on the lower floors, and one of the elevators was shorting out on a regular basis. Given all this on a full moon, Jonathan Pine knew he could expect more than his share of problems for the night. He buzzed for Lucia.
She bustled into his office, all four feet nine inches of her, and looked at him expectantly. Pine liked his assistant, who was older and Basque and tougher than concrete despite her pixie appearance.
"Rasheed," he began. "Our returning . . . lecher. Please have all maids work those suites in pairs, and make sure any room service requests are filled by male wait staff for the duration of the sheikh's stay. I expect if he doesn't already have female companionship when he arrives, he'll probably arrange for some through various . . . agencies. Have the doormen keep track discreetly."
Lucia nodded, tapping a note into her mobile with her two-inch red nails. "Oh yes. Who else should be notified, Jonathan—Chef Johannes?"
"Yes, and send a note to our associates at PSP as a precaution."
She made a face. "I pray to God there will be no arrests this time!"
"That makes two of us," Pine agreed. "Can you think of any other preventative measures?"
"I'll let a few of the better clubs know our guest is back in town, and I think a word to the doctors Sable would be wise."
"I'll do that myself," Pine murmured, glad of the opportunity. "In the meantime . . ."
"In the meantime, I'll deal with these," Lucia rolled her eyes and waved her mobile. "By the arrows of San Sebastian every time he visits something happens."
"Not on my watch," Pine intoned. "Not if I can help it."
Down in the medical office, Pine found Adam Sable reading, his shaggy silver head bent over what looked to be an Agatha Christie novel. Looking up, the man smiled. "Jonathan! Heard Simone stitched you up a few days ago; let's have a look."
"Yes," Pine held out his hand. "Has she come in yet? I needed to talk to the both of you."
"I don't think so . . . ooh, jagged," Adam murmured, peeling back the bandage and peeking under it. "What did you do, get in a fight with a can opener?"
"Metal corner of a steamer trunk, actually," Pine replied. "It doesn't hurt."
"It's a good stitching job," Adam admitted re-wrapping the wrist. "So why talk to us?"
"Sheikh Saeed Bin Rasheed."
"Shit!" Adam growled. "I thought we were done hosting that pompous old prick. When's he due in?"
"Tonight. "
"Goddamn it!" Adam slammed his novel shut and shook his head. "The man's in his mid-sixties and already his medical file is huge; blood pressure, previous heart surgeries, Viagra abuse . . ."
"Adam, we're on it," Pine assured him. "I just wanted to make sure Simone calls for an escort if she needs to go to those suites."
Adam nodded and turned to his desktop. "Damned straight. I'd better pull up his prescriptions of record and start giving the cardiac wing of de Egas Moniz the heads up. Why can't he pick some other resort to infest?"
"He's on notice," Pine replied. "Anyway, pass the word to Simone to page me if she gets called to those suites."
"I will," Adam assured him grimly. "I will."