One Summer Night At the Ritz Read Free

tour stand, the tourist stall. She wanted to unzip the lid and hand her travel purse, rape alarm, waterproof and sturdy boots to whoever would take them. She wanted to be standing in the heat and smog of the city unencumbered. It was so big, so hot, so bright and addictively overwhelming. She looked behind her at Green Park, saw above the wall the lush green of trees and then down at her feet the pigeons pecking at leftovers. She saw a sign for Buckingham Palace and a wave of unexpected excitement flickered through her. She knew from her pocket A to Z that Constitutional Hill was straight ahead and Birdcage Walk and Westminster Abbey and…she glanced around searching, took a few steps, dodging out the way of the steady flow of tourists and business people, looked up, and there it was. Bright-white bulbs spelling out The Ritz.
    She stopped right where she was, entranced. She heard people swear at her but, this time, she didn’t care. In front of her was by far the most brilliant building she’d ever seen.
    It was like a castle. Grey brick at least eight stories, a million windows and a million arches, with chimneys like turrets and flags drooping low in the heat. Her heart did an involuntary flutter. She did a silent nod of thanks to Emily for making her ditch the Birkenstocks and for forcing her to sit for an hour with foils on her head.
    Passing the fruit and veg stand and heading under the arch of the hotel’s covered walkway, Jane could feel her pulse race. There was fine jewellery for sale in the window and tourists peering in through the etched-glass windows of The Rivoli Bar, trying to get a peek inside. There were limousines and black taxis pulling up out the front and doormen, exactly like in Enid’s diary, with black top hats and long jackets embroidered with gold.
    ‘Can I help you, madam? Offer directions?’ said the one nearest her as she got to the entrance.
    ‘No I’m here,’ Jane said.
    ‘You’re a guest with us, madam?’
    Jane nodded. ‘Yes, I have my booking.’ She started to rummage around in her handbag.
    He held up his hand to stop her. ‘Madam, come this way. Welcome to The Ritz.’
    She paused, stopped rummaging as she found that the man had picked up her case and was ushering her through the revolving door. ‘Reception is right this way.’
    ‘Thank you very much…’ She paused and looked at his name bag. ‘Trevor.’
    ‘You’re very welcome,’ he replied and she thought he paused, so she said, ‘Jane.’
    He laughed. ‘You’re very welcome,
Jane
.’
    And she blushed as he went back outside.
    At reception there were two couples checking in in front of her. One were American tourists, the others were just rich – she was dressed all in white with jewels as big as robins’ eggs on her fingers. Her hair was coiffed and bouffant and her heels as high as a ruler.
    Jane caught a glimpse of herself in one of the gold panels behind reception. Saw her own newly flumped-up blonde highlights, the layers of make-up that made her eyes pop out like a bushbaby and the lips that suddenly seemed to exist. She had never been pretty. She had never been terribly thin. Her mother had said she was beautiful but then didn’t everyone’s? She still didn’t think she was terribly pretty now as she looked at her reflection but she certainly looked the best she’d ever seen herself. She caught the bouffant woman’s eye in the mirror and instantly blushed scarlet. Looking at herself wasn’t something she ever did, and she certainly didn’t want to get caught doing so. But when the bouffant woman looked away again, something pulled Jane back. Maybe it was the glinting of the chandelier behind her, the lavish decorations, the man behind the desk checking her reservation, the simple fact that she was standing in the Ritz, something made her look again, and this time she angled her face slightly to the left, did a little eyebrow raise and sucked in her cheeks a bit and thought, I don’t actually