Chapter Three: The Meeting

Two Years Ago, London

Rain. She knew it would rain; she planned for rain; and now the last thing she wanted to see from the windows of Heathrow airport… was rain. She yanked her luggage behind her, balancing a leather bag on her shoulder as she walked amongst the droves of people heading towards the airport shuffles, cabs, and personal limousines. It was by far the worst location in any airport (including the toilets) where all of the travelers wanted to leave much faster than they arrived.

The first to meet them were the limousine drivers. They appeared in an arch formation and stood like strong pillars, refusing to step aside for the people who didn't employ their services. The drivers wore satisfied smiles, pretending to be pleasant, but secretly enjoying watching the crowds split and the eyes of frenzied London natives darting back and forth, wanting to beat the tourists to the cab queues.

Stupid fancy shmancy people and their fancy shmancy drivers, she thought, maneuvering around people like how a leaf curls and spirals in a wind stream. She weaved around a stumpy man who was arguing with a companion twice his age, and came face to face with one of the drivers. She sidestepped to her left. He sidestepped to his right. She blinked, muttered 'excuse me,' and took a step to the right. The driver then stepped left and cleared his throat, tapping his index fingers on the paper sign. In a bold black font, MISS TOTH was scrawled across it. Her mouth fell open and the driver looked amused, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"But… I didn't call a service." She quickly glanced away from him to the other people around her. No one was eavesdropping and no one was watching them. This is a missing person's ad waiting to happen, the thought flitted across her mind.

"My fees have already been covered by your hotel, Miss," the man said, reclaiming her attention.

"I haven't booked a hotel," she lied.

"My employer has… adjusted your accommodations and relocated you to the Haymarket."

"And may I ask whom your employer is?" She raised an eyebrow, grabbing the strap of her leather bag, hunching it further up her shoulder. She could hit him with it if she needed to; it was filled with three thick hardcover books. Books are almost like bricks…maybe… kind of, she thought.

"Please consider this as a random act of kindness and welcome to London, Miss Toth," the driver said, still smiling at her. He was unabashed in their surroundings and watched her like reading the subtitles on a film he had seen a hundred times; he already knew what would happen next.

She looked back to the cab lines and her judgment was overruled by the lightness of her wallet, her impatience for standing in the rain without an umbrella, and a gray area between personal safety and desperation where the boundaries hadn't been clear since she was a little girl. And perhaps culture shock could be blamed for why she followed the driver to his car… or at least, that's the excuse she would use should this prove to be the stupidest decision of her life.

The driver matched his strides to her pace, only a half step ahead of her, leading her through the crowds out of the airport. He was smart enough not to reach for the bag on her shoulder or her luggage as he unlocked his car that claimed the best curb space amongst the other limousines.

It was a black BMW; the year, she didn't know; and she didn't care. All BMWs were the same to her and this one smelt of money. She refused to use the trunk, shoving her suitcase into the backseat, making sure to roll its dirty wheels across the black leather interior, and sat next to it with her bag on her lap.

The driver took the liberty to close her door for her and she allowed him this small act of chivalry, but it didn't stop her from leaving the door unlocked, the window partway down, and her fingertips touching the handle as if daring him to give her cause to jump out.

She immediately regretted sitting behind him, briefly forgetting that the steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car and that they would be driving on the wrong side of the road to get to the wrong hotel paid for by the wrong person who would probably prefer the wrong morning beverage of tea instead of coffee. This is definitely wrong, she thought as the buildings obscured by the car window flecked with rain droplets flickered past her face.

The hired car pulled up to a white faced building with a short, iron-wrought fence leading up to the door. Beyond the fence were columns, mimicking ancient Greece, supporting another level above it with another intricate, iron-wrought fence. There weren't any balconies, but more windows than she could count as she climbed out of the car and onto the pavement, grabbing both her suitcase and personal bag. A large Union Jack swayed above the door and the driver closed the car door behind her.

"Thank you," she said to the driver, still weary of him. He gave her a slight nod. She felt his smile wouldn't wane until they parted. Clearly his amusement of her hadn't faltered since they left the airport.

The doors to the hotel opened and a woman in a pencil skirt and fitted blazer walked out with a bellhop to meet her. Her umbrella popped open and she smiled.

"Welcome, Miss Toth," said the woman. She stepped forward to share her umbrella and shelter her from the rain. "Nathan will take those for you," she said, gesturing towards her bags. They weren't very heavy, but she felt herself surrendering both of them to Nathan, the gangly bellhop.

"I'm Clara," said the woman. "I tend to the requests of very particular and special guests of the hotel." Clara walked them into the building, which was a very short walk from the pavement.

This is… not what I expected, she thought, looking around the lobby. The floors were a beige hardwood and the walls were custard. The armchairs and sofas were black and yellow with graphic pillows sitting on them. A black and white painting hung on the wall—she had no idea what it was supposed to be—and the grand centerpiece was a chrome sculpture that looked like Salvador Dali got his hands on some metal. She even thought there were two faces coming out of it.

"It's very beautiful," she said to Clara, who was unceremoniously hiding the now wet umbrella behind the front desk.

Clara smiled, "Thank you. Each room has its own palette of colors. We like to think quirky can also be sophisticated."

Nathan, who still had her suitcase and bag, was nowhere to be found. She assumed he had taken her things up to her room. After all, it made little sense for a hotel to steal anything she brought with her. Especially since she felt self-conscious in the jeans and jacket she was already wearing. She ran her hands through her hair as she followed Clara to the elevators where Nathan was patiently waiting for them. Clara was going through a detailed tour about the hotel including their luxury pool, library, restaurant and bar, and even the surrounding district of shops and galleries.

Entering the elevator, Nathan pressed the button for the fourth floor once they were settled inside. Clara's continued speech about the hotel never faltered. She must have given it over a hundred times.

"—dinner will be at seven. We will send someone up fifteen minutes prior to escort you to our private dining room where you will meet your benefactor. He has been kind enough to have an outfit sent up to your room. The dress has already been pressed, so you won't have to worry about unpacking tonight. And if you have any questions, there is a packet already inside your room on the desk and our concierge will help you with anything you may need."

The elevator stopped on the top floor and when she stepped out of it, there was only one set of double doors. Clara opened the room with a swipe of a plastic

Clara's smile was brief and Nathan's departure even briefer after they showed her to her room.

"Welcome to Haymarket, Miss Toth," Nathan said, giving a stiff nod before closing the doors behind him.

She looked around. She must have been in the penthouse suite. If they even called it that, she had no idea. All she knew was that this was the first hotel room she had ever been in where there was an actual living room and there wasn't a bathroom to your immediate left once you stood in the doorway.

The couches were coral, the armchairs were olive green, the curtains were pink and white, and there was even a fireplace mantel, but whether or not the fireplace actually worked remained to be seen.

In truth, while she would never buy any of these pieces, the room did look very nice. Quirky.

Plus, the couch alone probably costs more than my car, she thought.

There were weird paintings on the walls that were mostly bright silhouettes of dogs. It led to her thinking that the theme of this room was 'Chic, Dog-Loving Niece of Crazy Cat Lady.'

She stood there for several minutes, waiting for the gravity of the situation to cause her to flee the building, screaming at the top of her lungs, but it never came. She couldn't move her feet and she couldn't run away from the building until she saw what the bathroom looked like. She figured if there was a stand-alone tub, she would stay and meet her benefactor for dinner, but if there was only a walk-in shower, she would leave. And she liked her odds, either way.

The analog clock on the wall, smacked between two windows directly across from her as she stood in the foyer. There weren't any numbers on the clock, so she had to squint before realizing it was just after four.

"So... just three hours until you die," she said dryly. She slung her bag over her shoulder, yanking her luggage behind her heading through the living room to find her bedroom.

Inside the bedroom, it wasn't unlike the living room with its sense of high-end, sophisticated quirk. There was a huge, king-sized bed that she would have to climb up to in order to go to sleep that night. There weren't mints on the pillows, but she did pass a small kitchenette, which was probably stocked to the nines. The bathroom looked like it had never been used with its marble countertops, framed mirrors without a trace of watermarks, and the briefest hint of disinfectant. She wrinkled her nose.

And finally, there was a stand-alone bathtub that was nestled beside a gas fireplace, both of which stood haughtily in front of a window draped in a sheer white curtain as if to mock her for ever doubting their existence.

Damn these fancy people, she thought, frowning. And damn Clara with her impeccably rehearsed speeches and her lackey bellhop, Nathan.