Chapter 4

Drifting on down the winds of the sea
Hiding away from your blatant decree
Seeking the deepest trenches of time
For the infinite pressures of deep blue brine
Shades of Blue (B. Lake) 2015

ZERO HOUR +3

We set off from the mall, and within fifteen minutes I drew up outside a big square red-brick building. One of the staff brought out a trolley and loaded the cases and Summer’s shopping bags onto it, before leading us towards the reception desk.

A little niggle in my brain suddenly came to the fore and I drew her to one side. “I only have one room booked. I’m going to have to tell them that we’re a couple. Are you okay with that?”

“It’s all right. Don’t worry about it. I do know how hotels work,” she replied. “I haven’t been trying to be anonymous my whole life. Show them your passport.”

Summer fussed with the bags as I presented my passport and sapphire credit card at the same time, which seemed to create bigger smiles all round, and do away with any questions while the receptionist booked us in.

“What’s the round building over there?” I asked, trying to distract her from asking for ID from Summer. I wasn’t sure how it worked here, but in Europe everybody booking in had to show ID.

“That’s the Century Two,” she said, returning my credit card and handing me a room card with it. “It’s one of Wichita’s landmarks. Would you like a brochure?”

“Please,” I said, turning and giving the room card to Summer. “Why don’t you head up to the room, love. I want to find a place we can go this evening.”

She looked a little puzzled until I winked at her.

“Okay,” she said, and kissed my cheek, which made that part of my face surprisingly happy.

I watched her butt as she followed the baggage trolley to the lift, then turned back to the clerk once more, who was holding out a brochure.

“There’s a guest appearance by an Eastern European youth orchestra playing tonight sir, if you enjoy the classics. They’ve had very good reviews.”

“I do,” I said, reading the name on her badge. “What’s your opinion, Miss Arthern?”

“That’s Annie-May, sir. And I really enjoyed them – they were very good.”

“Can you book me two tickets?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll put it on your account and send the tickets to your room as soon as they arrive.”

I wasn’t actually planning on going, but it had distracted Annie-May from asking about Summer – even if it was an expensive ploy.

“What’s the dress code?” I asked.

She pursed her lips. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, I guess. A lot of ladies go in cocktail dresses.”

“Is there a fashion boutique nearby? I think my girlfriend might want a new dress for that.” I’d deliberately gone out to emphasize that we were a couple

She glanced at her watch. “I think most stores will be closed by now.”

She bit her lip, considering. “I have a friend who owns a dress store that she might open up again if I ask. Or she might bring some dresses here. What size is your partner?”

“English sizes and American sizes are different, aren’t they?” I asked, and she nodded. “And you’re a woman, Annie-May, so you probably know better than me. Tell you what. If you wouldn’t mind, would you ask your friend to bring some examples of her wares, evening and daywear – if she would be okay with that, of course?”

“I’ll do so, Mr Lake. Oh, and if I might say so, I really enjoy your music. I especially loved the one you wrote for Sam Smith.”

I was gratified that at least someone knew my work. Songwriters are on the whole very much like scriptwriters at the Oscars – more likely to draw a ‘who the fuck is that’ than cheers, approbation and the throwing on stage of panties by screaming groupies. Writing is perforce a dark and lonely existence – no matter the medium.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say so.”

She smiled as I confirmed her guess as to who I was, and got on the phone. While I was waiting for the lift, I overheard the words, “ ... and such a cute accent!” which made me smile.

On the way up to my room on the top floor, I thought of something and couldn’t help smiling again. Perhaps we could actually go to the concert, if Summer wanted to. God knows, she needed something to distract her from her troubles.

When I entered the room, I tipped the bellboy and looked around. It was large, airy and well-appointed, with two big king-sized beds – probably enough sleeping room for six adults or seventeen kids by British standards. They were completely covered in a gay profusion of colours – courtesy of Summer’s new clothes

I grinned and shook my head. It had taken just two minutes for Summer to turn a luxury suite into an unreasonable facsimile of my sister’s room back at home. Hearing a shower running at full tilt from behind a door, which I presumed led to the bathroom, I sat at the desk and called down to reception.

“Yes, Mr Lake?”

“How did your friend respond, Annie-May?” I asked.

“She was very happy to help, sir. She’ll be here within an hour with a selection of her ranges.”