"Here you are, Mr. Marston, the Victoria Suite. Just like always, sir."
The words were buttered with a smile as the clerk placed the key on the
desk.
"Thank you." Elliott Marston signed the register and pocketed the key.
"Of course, sir, you know that serving you is our greatest pleasure. We at the Royal Hotel believe that." The young man's voice droned on and joined the background noise as Marston looked around the lobby.
The usual dinnertime crowd occupied the posh lobby of Fremantle's premier hostelry. Men sat in the dark leather club chairs, reading months' old copies of the London Times and pretending to find the news fascinating. Another leaned against a faux marble column and examined the world with sharp eyes, stroking a solid gold watch chain. Elegantly gowned women sailed through the lobby on their way to the restaurant, the only public portion of the hotel they were allowed to enter.
But something was missing. Marston scanned the scene again.
There she was, half hidden behind a large rubber plant. Sitting in one of the club chairs and glaring at him through stormy blue eyes. No doubt about it. Sam Flanagan was not happy.
He smiled back. He was very happy. Her presence was a matter for self- congratulation. She had put up a ferocious fight against staying at the same hotel and allowing him to pay for it. Appeals to reason (which he disputed), frugality (which he laughed at) and discretion (which he disdained) had been followed by a flat declaration to stay nowhere but with her family.
But it had been difficult to carry on an argument on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. And when she discovered that a porter had already carried her bag inside, she had little choice but to swallow her refusal to pass through the ornate doors. The disappearance of the Marston Ranch hands and the wagons meant that she was stranded without escort or transportation to the other side of town.
And then he had revealed his winning hand: she would receive no pay until she was officially a guest of the hotel. Waves of speechless fury had buffeted him all the way to the registration desk.
"And I found Miss Flanagan a very nice room in the west wing -"
Marston turned and looked at the clerk directly for the first time. The young man faltered to a halt.
"Put her in the room next to mine. The one with the connecting door."
"Well, you see, sir, it's just that -" The clerk licked his lips. "it's our policy, sir, that single ladies are in the west wing to make sure they aren't, uh, bothered or.or anything."
"She won't be bothered." Marston held out his hand. "I'll take the key."
"Uh, well, sir." The clerk scanned the page in front of him. "Well, there's the William Room, just across the hall." He glanced up, then hastily returned to the page. "And the George Room, right beside yours, is free." He handed over the key without looking up again.
"Thank you. You've been most helpful." Marston weighed it in his hand. "Now please arrange for two baths to be prepared in our rooms immediately. And send a messenger to Jasper Connaught informing him of my arrival."
The clerk nodded quickly to Marston's rapidly departing back.
"Thank you." Elliott Marston signed the register and pocketed the key.
"Of course, sir, you know that serving you is our greatest pleasure. We at the Royal Hotel believe that." The young man's voice droned on and joined the background noise as Marston looked around the lobby.
The usual dinnertime crowd occupied the posh lobby of Fremantle's premier hostelry. Men sat in the dark leather club chairs, reading months' old copies of the London Times and pretending to find the news fascinating. Another leaned against a faux marble column and examined the world with sharp eyes, stroking a solid gold watch chain. Elegantly gowned women sailed through the lobby on their way to the restaurant, the only public portion of the hotel they were allowed to enter.
But something was missing. Marston scanned the scene again.
There she was, half hidden behind a large rubber plant. Sitting in one of the club chairs and glaring at him through stormy blue eyes. No doubt about it. Sam Flanagan was not happy.
He smiled back. He was very happy. Her presence was a matter for self- congratulation. She had put up a ferocious fight against staying at the same hotel and allowing him to pay for it. Appeals to reason (which he disputed), frugality (which he laughed at) and discretion (which he disdained) had been followed by a flat declaration to stay nowhere but with her family.
But it had been difficult to carry on an argument on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. And when she discovered that a porter had already carried her bag inside, she had little choice but to swallow her refusal to pass through the ornate doors. The disappearance of the Marston Ranch hands and the wagons meant that she was stranded without escort or transportation to the other side of town.
And then he had revealed his winning hand: she would receive no pay until she was officially a guest of the hotel. Waves of speechless fury had buffeted him all the way to the registration desk.
"And I found Miss Flanagan a very nice room in the west wing -"
Marston turned and looked at the clerk directly for the first time. The young man faltered to a halt.
"Put her in the room next to mine. The one with the connecting door."
"Well, you see, sir, it's just that -" The clerk licked his lips. "it's our policy, sir, that single ladies are in the west wing to make sure they aren't, uh, bothered or.or anything."
"She won't be bothered." Marston held out his hand. "I'll take the key."
"Uh, well, sir." The clerk scanned the page in front of him. "Well, there's the William Room, just across the hall." He glanced up, then hastily returned to the page. "And the George Room, right beside yours, is free." He handed over the key without looking up again.
"Thank you. You've been most helpful." Marston weighed it in his hand. "Now please arrange for two baths to be prepared in our rooms immediately. And send a messenger to Jasper Connaught informing him of my arrival."
The clerk nodded quickly to Marston's rapidly departing back.