Page 21 of The Plus-One Deal
“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me. My husband’s cruise line brings in half your business. I don’t pay your salary so you can?—”
“Excuse me.” I slid up beside her and held out my hand. “I’m Conrad Farley. Good morning.”
She stared at my hand, thrown off her tirade. “I’m sorry. Do you work here?”
I smiled at her. “No. But I run Constel. You know it. Maybe I can help you here. What’s going on?”
She peered at me narrowly, as though searching for lies. I could feel the distrust coming off of her in waves. But, in the end, her need to vent triumphed.
“My husband and I—” She cast about, didn’t find him, and pulled a sour-grape face. “Well, I don’t see him, but he’s around here somewhere. We come here every year, three weeks in spring. It’s our anniversary, our timejust for us.” She slapped the counter at that, with the flat of her hand. The clerk flinched away, and I took the lady by the arm.
“That sounds lovely,” I said. “How long have you been married?”
“Twenty-two years. Hey, what are you doing?”
I was guiding her out of the way of the counter, letting the desk staff get on with their jobs. “Finding us somewhere quiet to talk.”
“But, that man—” She jerked her thumb at the clerk.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s just a clerk. I doubt he can help you, but maybe I can. What’s going on here, with you and your husband?”
She drew herself up, still trembling with rage. “Everything was perfect, then they let inthose people. Now this whole place iscrawling with God knows who, moms, screaming kids, people who—” Her face had gone purple, screwed up like a raisin. “People who probably havebarbecues.”
I bit my cheek hard, fighting back laughter. “I love a good barbecue. What’s wrong with that?”
“You know what I’m saying. They’re not like us. Youknow. They save up ten years for some scuzzy motel room, four nights in some dump miles from the beach. And suddenly, their planes get stuck, and they get to comehere?They’ll probably steal from us?—”
“Ma’am—”
“—go through our rooms?—”
“Ma’am.”
“They’ll be out on our terraces with cheap beer and firecrackers, hooting and hollering and carrying on. Youknowwhat I mean. This isn’t the kind of resort forpoorpeople.”
I bit back the first response that came to my mind, and the second and third ones. Then, I smiled broadly. “I hear you,” I said. “You flew out here for a quiet vacation, and then the storm came, and that was pretty bad, right?”
She shuddered. “My Brian’s older. He has a bad heart, and that ballroom wasawful. That screaming, that crowd — they should have somewhere private. We didn’t get a wink ofsleep, and now with those moochers?—”
“Now, imagine if you went through that and got up this morning, and the front desk told you, ‘hey, your room’s booked.’ Imagine you found yourself standing outside, in a strange country, nowhere to go. Wouldn’t you want someone to give you a room?”
She frowned, then sniffed. “I’m still paying formyroom.”
The desk clerk shook his head. “Like I said, Mrs. Adelford, we’re not going to bill you. Your suite will be comped for the rest of your stay. Room service as well. Whatever you need.”
I smiled at her. “There. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Not if that baby’s staying as well! That horrible shrieking, I can’t hear myself think.”
I grimaced. “Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”
Mrs. Adelford’s jaw dropped, her mouth gaping wide. I took her by the elbow and hustled her away from the counter.
“Now, listen to me. You’re getting a better deal than any of these people.”
“I—”
“Which room are you in?”