Page 7 of A Dark Fall
Our queue moves fast, and a few minutes later, we’re ushered into a dark, moody foyer where several gorgeous maître d’s are taking coats and signing VIPs in.
“Good evening, doctor,” a six feet tall, black-haired glamazon says to me after I hand over my invite. “So, six of you tonight?”
“Yes, six.” I nod.
“Fab. If I could get you to sign in here, please, and if we could have an address and contact telephone number for you ... I assure you, it won’t be passed on to any third parties. It’s to maintain our VIP guest list,” she tells me professionally.
I hesitate briefly. I never give out my details, but since I don’t want to appear rude or snooty by refusing, I scribble down my mobile number and email address and hand the pen back to her.
“Thank you, Dr. Marlowe. Okay, so we have you at one of our best tables this evening on the mezzanine level. It has a great view of the stage. Our main guest DJ is onstage at midnight, and there is champagne chilling on the table for you right now. Please help yourselves. There will be hosts on each floor should you need anything, and Kyle here will show you to your table,” she says and indicates an incredibly attractive young guy who’s smiling at us eagerly.
Kyle is pretty.
“Oh, and before I forget: There are cards on the table inviting you to pick a name for the club. Why not submit a few? You never know. The person with the winning name gets a magnum of champagne and a VIP table for a year. Worth a shot. I hope you have a great night. Kyle?”
Kyle beckons us forward, and we follow him up an elegant staircase to the mezzanine.
The inside of the club looks more like a swanky hotel than a nightclub, with elegant features such as gilded banisters and intricate paneling on the ceiling, polished wood floors, and gold embossed mirrors. As we’re led down a carpeted high-ceilinged hallway, the music starts to get louder. Kyle stops at a door that reads “Number 3” in gold lettering and slides a hotel-style key card into the lock before pushing the door open.
Inside the main part of the club it’s dark, with lots of exposed brick and warm but moody lighting. Kyle leads us along the mezzanine to a circular table with dark velvet seats and a contemporary black chandelier hanging low. Three ice buckets, each holding a chilled bottle of champagne, and another bucket to chill the glasses await. The girls beam at me in appreciation as we move to sit down.
“Ladies, this is your table for the night. The ladies’ toilets are across the walkway to the right.” Kyle gestures beyond us to a set of lit glass bridges that crisscross over the dance floor, already crowded with dancers. “If you need any drinks, you only need to press this button, and someone will come and take care of you. There’s a bar in the VIP section though, which is down to the left there, and there’s another across the walkway. There’s also one at ground level. At the end of the night, this door will unlock, and you can leave the way you came in. Or, if you are down on the main dance floor, you can exit via the main entrance. That okay?” he asks, and we nod, somewhat awed by his pretty face and professional tone. “Great. Now, can I open this champagne for you?” he says, reaching to lift the bucket from its ice bed.
God, he’s good.
“Yes, please,” we answer together before breaking into stupid unified laughter.
Kyle pours our drinks with a perfect smile and wishes us a good night, though when he turns to leave, he throws a strange look in my direction.
“God, this place is amazing!” Rob exclaims. “I’m definitely coming back. Dan would love it.”
“Seriously though, to think I almost binned these invites. Who do you think the guest DJ is? Anyone famous?” I take a large sip of the cool champers and lift the bottle out of the ice bucket to see it’s Lanson Le Black Label Brut. “God, they must be spending a fortune on this launch night. This is not cheap.”
“Well, I’m glad they’ve spent a fortune. Okay, I’m going to the ladies and to have a look around.”
“I’ll join you,” Becca says, standing.
“Robyn, please don’t spend hours chatting with random strangers in the toilet again. Becca, don’t let her!” I shout as she steps out of our booth. Robyn is notorious for striking up deep and meaningful conversations with complete strangers in bathrooms ... or supermarkets ... or DIY stores. She’s one of those approachable, known-you-forever types of people.
Becca gives me a smiley thumbs-up before they both teeter off across the bridge. While they’re gone, Tamsin and Saskia tell me about their futuristic hotel in Shoreditch, and more specifically about the hot concierge who was one hundred percent angling for Saskia’s number, according to Tamsin.
When Rob and Becca return, it’s with the declaration that this is the best club since Pacha and they’re convinced they saw two Chelsea footballers coming out of the men’s toilet.
“Okay. My turn to pee,” I say after draining my second glass of free champagne. My trip to the loo gives me a better look at the place, and though I’m not really a nightclub-goer—hot, sweaty people pressed together tend to make me think “germ transfer” rather than “good time”—the club is impressive and high-end but somehow manages to feel cool.
I’m coming out of the ladies and heading back across the bridge when pretty young Kyle comes striding toward me, beaming. He looks pleased to see me, as if he was looking for me, though that’s probably wishful thinking on my part. Too young anyway.
“Dr. Marlowe, there you are! Hi! Kyle—do you remember?” he says, pointing at himself.
“Of course, Kyle. Hi.” I smile.
“Eh, listen, I’m really sorry to do this, but one of our guys is feeling a bit under the weather.” He rubs the back of his neck and looks at the floor. “We were going to call for an ambulance, but then we remembered from the attendee list we have a doctor here.” He gives me that beaming smile again—the one that makes me feel like a cradle snatcher because he must be about twenty, if a day. “Any chance you could give him a quick once-over, make sure he’s not about to keel over on us?” He laughs nervously.
I resist the urge to sigh. It really is a twenty-four-hour job. Well, at least they didn’t stop the music and call out, “Is there a doctor in the house?” over the sound system.
“Oh, I think he’s probably fine,” Kyle tells me. “He just took a bit of a ... um ... dizzy turn. Our manager was a bit worried.” He doesn’t wait for my response before he starts to walk toward a set of stairs across from the toilets. He turns and gestures for me to follow him. Which I do.
“Okay, but I have been drinking, and so you know, I would never do a consultation after drinking, but I suppose I can look him over,” I say as I catch up to him.