Chapter 8: Champagne

Preston knocked at ten to midnight.

I knew the knock, two soft taps and a pause.

He had been using it on this door for fourteen months.

I looked at myself in the hall mirror, checked the ring on my hand and opened up.

He was holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses by their stems.

His tie was loose and his smile was boyish, and he smelled of expensive soap and something sweeter underneath.

"I couldn't sleep," he said. "I kept thinking about nine days."

"Come in."

I took the glasses and walked ahead of him into the living room.

I turned on one lamp and left the rest of the room dark.

It was the kind of light that makes everyone look kinder.

He poured, and we sat on the sofa with the whole city glittering in the window behind us.

"To Saturday after next," he said.

"To Saturday after next."

The champagne was cold and very good, and I made myself finish the glass.

"Your father says you asked about 1408," he said.

He said it lightly, looking into his glass.

Every muscle in my back went tight, and my face stayed exactly where I had put it.

"Inventory," I said. "Housekeeping flagged a room that's been held two years. I'm trying to clear the books before the wedding."

"It's a client room. Singapore uses it."

"Then Singapore can book it properly, with a name on the folio."

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