Death's Door - Meryl Sawyer Mills & Boon M&B

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wasn’t Tiffany’s fault – it was bloody Bill’s!

      At least it didn’t look like the building was made from asbestos; thank God for small mercies. And the way she was feeling, she didn’t care what the bed felt like as long as she could take these bloody shoes off and get out of the suit that was now starting to feel stifling.

      Anyway, it’s what’s inside that counts, Nicola reminded herself, wheeling her suitcase along the concrete path.

      ‘Here we are,’ Tiffany said, putting the key in the lock beside the number 8 and throwing open the door. Turning back she added, ‘You can get back into the pub from that door over there – see?’

      Nicola followed her pointing finger and nodded.

      ‘Breakfast is from seven to ten. I’ll leave you to it.’

      Nicola watched her make her way towards the back door of the hotel, which she now noticed was almost identical to the entrance at the front.

      She closed the door behind her, dumped her bags and looked around the room. It was like the set of a low-budget porno: a sagging bed covered with a faux patchwork quilt, a white vinyl studded bedhead, and a dusty plastic floral arrangement glued into a vase on the TV.

      Her nose twitched. The obnoxious scent of cheap rose deodorising spray unsuccessfully masked the odour of stale cigarette smoke.

      She summoned the courage to check out the bathroom, and with fingers crossed, slowly pushed the sliding door aside.

      Vitreous china, the colour of caramel, was the only plain colour amid a sea of cream tiles with a fancy geometric design that was probably meant to be floral but to Nicola looked more like fuzzy monsters top to tail with their mouths open, screaming. God, she’d go mad if she stared at that too long!

      ‘Bath,’ she crooned. ‘At least there’s a bath.’ That could almost be considered a feature to redeem all, she thought, as she pulled the clear plastic shower curtain, with strategically placed palm leaves, aside. Great, she’d have to soak with her ankles wedged under her bum, it was so bloody small.

      Nicola plonked herself askew on the toilet and put a hand over her mouth to stifle the erupting giggles.

      Bloody Bill. This was no doubt his way of stopping her getting big-headed. She laughed even louder when she caught sight of the time-yellowed, once-considered-slimline phone by her left shoulder, and was unable to resist.

      ‘Hey, it’s me.’

      ‘Hey,’ Scott replied, his voice crackling and hollow through the ancient handset.

      ‘Just wanted to let you know I arrived safely.’

      ‘Thanks – good to know. How was the trip?’

      ‘Exhausting. But can you believe there was nowhere to eat along the way – I’m absolutely starving. And of course I get here and they’ve stopped serving meals. Missed it by ten minutes.’

      ‘I’m sure Bill’s budget will stretch to a meal from room service.’

      ‘There is no room service.’

      ‘Thank God for mini-bars then, hey?’

      Nicola began to laugh. Was she becoming delirious from tiredness and hunger?

      ‘Scott, you would so not believe this place. It’s like something out of …’

      ‘Apparently the place we’re going to this week has only four stars. Can you believe it? The rooms probably won’t even have baths. I hope you’ll think of me slumming it while you’re soaking in your tub full of bubbles.’

      ‘Well I’m in the bathroom but …’

      ‘Phone in the bathroom, eh? Bill really is taking care of his star these days.’

      ‘Well actually it’s …’

      ‘Look hon, I’d love to hear all about your marble and complimentary toiletries but I’ve really gotta run – sorry.’ ‘Right, um, okay. I’ll let you go … Love you.’ ‘Yeah me too, bye.’

      Feeling refreshed after her shower, but again reminded of her hunger, Nicola ventured back across to the hotel.

      The reception desk now had a cage pulled down over it with a sign that read Closed – All Enquiries To Front Bar.

      Swallowing her apprehension, Nicola pushed the door marked Front Bar open and made her way inside.

      ‘Settled in okay then?’ Tiffany asked.

      ‘Yes thanks.’

      ‘What can I get you?’

      ‘Um … er …’ Nicola frantically searched the menu for something remotely appetising.

      ‘Something to drink while you decide?’ ‘Do you have a wine list?’

      ‘There’s probably one somewhere around here,’ Tiffany said, ducking down behind the bar. It didn’t bode well.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll just have a beer thanks.’

      ‘Hey Tiff,’ a loud voice called from around the corner. ‘Dry argument around ‘ere luv.’

      ‘Come on,’ another called.

      ‘Just bloody hang on,’ Tiffany muttered, thumping the glass in front of Nicola and accepting her money.

      Nicola had been staring at the menu a full minute when a voice next to her said, ‘The toasted sandwiches are the closest thing you’ll get to sustenance.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she said, turning. She frowned; the dark features were a little familiar, but from where she wasn’t sure. ‘Have we met?’

      The guy smirked. ‘Yep.’

      ‘When?’

      ‘Oh, about three hours ago,’ he said, looking at his watch.

      Nicola blushed furiously as she realised he was her flight companion – the one who’d held the sick bag for her – the one whose hand she’d held. Oh my God, she silently groaned, could the day get any worse?

      ‘Um, I’m really sorry about all that,’ she muttered, waving an arm casually, feeling anything but casual.

      ‘Alex. Even though we’ve already been somewhat intimate, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he laughed, thrusting his hand at her.

      ‘Nicola, highly embarrassed,’ she mumbled, shaking hands.

      ‘Ah, don’t be.’

      ‘Right, can I get you anything to eat?’ Tiffany asked, reappearing. ‘The ham and cheese toasted sandwiches are almost edible,’ she offered.

      ‘Great, I’ll have one thanks,’ Nicola said. ‘Care for a game of pool?’ Alex asked.

      Why the hell not? Nicola thought. Things could only get better.

      Nicola scowled at the crude sketch of the hotel motel in cream on the gleaming chocolate brown plastic placemat. Despite scanning the Yellow Pages and finding a caravan park the only other option, she was still in denial. Surely there was somewhere else to stay.

      She was also in denial about the amount she’d had to drink. Disconnected images flickered through her mind, vague and grainy like an old silent movie. It couldn’t have been the drink – the ham must have been off.

      ‘Good morning.’ It was Tiffany from the night before.

      The kid was sweet enough but far too bloody cheery when one was suffering a hangover and stiff back. Nicola glowered in response.

      ‘Bread, butter and spreads over there by the toaster, cereal and milk on

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