Room Service, by Peter Morford

It was still dark when I woke up and tried to move my legs. My knees hurt but my legs were numb. I knew I was moving my toes but I felt nothing. Remembering what my doctor had said, I rather guiltily uncrossed my ankles without feeling a thing. When I tried to sit up I saw, rather than felt, that her beautiful strong legs were holding me down.
I needed a paracetamol. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, I wriggled and slithered out of bed and limped into the bathroom for the pills. Fully awake now I made coffee and went to sit on the balcony.

In the still air the only sound was the sea lapping the beach 30 metres below me. It was a moonless astronomers’ night. It was nearly 4 o’clock and I could see the first glimmer of the sunrise. The pain was less now as the circulation returned to my legs. It wasn’t deep vein thrombosis after all. I carefully went back to bed and adjusted myself around her.

I lay there thinking about our holiday. After our long flights we had spent Sunday just relaxing on the beach, swimming, sun-bathing and talking. On Monday we’d exploredthe Old Town where we sheltered from the sun in the museum and the art gallery and took a tour round the Castle and Cathedral. That evening we went to a concert. We rented a car for a few days and just drifted around, stopping at places whichlooked interesting. We could be energetic or lazy, people-watching from a pavement café; arguing about the things which interested us; or just reading in comfortable silence. We were,I thought, as compatible as anyone could expect or hope to be.

I must have dozed, for when I woke the sun was well up and I could feel the heat through the open doors. She was already up, presumably in the shower. I noticed how quiet the room was and realised that she wasn’t singing this morning.

I went into the bathroom. She wasn’t there. All her make-up and toiletries were gone. I checked her wardrobe. Empty. Cases gone. But for the state of the bed and a trace of her favourite perfume there was no sign that she had been here at all. There was no message. She had just vanished.

You may imagine how I felt. I called Room Service and asked for Luis, the Night Manager. “Ah good morning Senor Byron. I have a message for you. The courtesy car delivered the young lady at the
airport and she took the 8 o’clock west-bound flight.”
“Thanks, Luis. I’ll check out after breakfast so have my bill ready. Then I want you to give me a different room on Floor 10, facing the sea.”
He said, “I understand Senor. Will you excuse me for a moment – my other phone is ringing.”

After a few seconds he was back again. “Senor – I’ve just heard from my driver at the Airport. He tells me your wife’s plane has been delayed by an hour and will land at 10 o’clock. She should be here by noon.”
“In that case Luis, make sure that you put a bottle of champagne and flowers in our new room for her arrival.”
   I could hear his chuckle. “The usual procedure, Senor?”

Not for the first time I praised the hotel for its friendly service.