Page 15 of Christmas Spirit
“Tomorrow, I’ve got to get the train to London. So, erm, could you or a member of staff take me? Obviously I’m willing to pay.”
Oh please let it not be too far, please let it not cost too much money…
“Let tomorrow take care of itself.”
What kind of answer was that?
“But I have to get back to London. Surely somebody could help?”
Nicholas inclined his head. “I will make enquiries, sir. If you would care to wait?”
Nicholas gestured towards a sofa in front of the fire, and Georgie stepped forward, his gaze flickering towards the plaster Santa, the Santa who—
Get a grip.
“Erm, sure. Yes. Thank you.” Georgie sat down, on the side of the sofa furthest away from the Santa. “Oh, just one thing, but I’ve been wondering. Where are the other—oh.”
He was alone. Nicholas was gone, and nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Nine
Roland woke up with a start, a thin sheen of sweat coating his partially naked body. He’d been dreaming. Dreaming of Georgie. The boy had been straddling him, smiling, his lips soft and damp, his hips rocking backwards and forwards, before he’d inched down his body and—
“Christ.”
He stared down at his hand, wrapped around his erection, which bulged beneath the thick and fluffy bath towel tied around his middle. His hand felt good there, and he squeezed and pulled, losing himself in the delicious tingle deep in his balls. He was harder than he’d been in — well, he couldn’t remember when he’d last been hard, or not like this.
But for Georgie, his kitchen boy?
Whipping his hand away, he wiped it across his damp brow. It had just been a dream, that was all, nothing more than a reaction to the hard driving conditions, the endless diversions, and this odd hotel, all of it in the company, the unwanted company, of Georgie Forrester.
Roland pushed himself up to sitting. His cock was still stubbornly refusing to deflate. He needed to get dressed, and get dressed quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Georgie to return and find him — like this. He pulled a loose, comfortable shirt and a pair of woollen trousers from his bag before he noticed that the small trolley that had held the tea things was gone.
“Oh no, don’t say…” Had a member of the housekeeping team come into the room when he was asleep and found him with his hand on his…? Roland groaned as he dressed as fast as he could.
A few minutes later Roland closed the door to the room, and looked along the short hallway. Three or four other doors, all guest bedrooms he assumed, and all closed. The hallway was silent. No muffled TV, no indistinct chatter, no sounds of anybody moving around in their rooms. No trays with used glasses or crockery ready for the staff to whisk away. Nothing, other than silence. He and Georgie could have been the only guests. Which of course was ridiculous, otherwise Nicholas wouldn’t have claimed the hotel was busy, and would have offered two rooms.
Roland made his way downstairs to the reception, which was as soundless and deserted as the hallway he’d just come from.
“Hello,” he called out, but nobody answered. as his voice was swallowed into the void.
Roland felt for his watch, but he’d not put it on after his shower. His gaze fell to the large clock on the end of the desk and he gasped. It was already 7.00pm. Had he really been asleep for over two hours?
Seven o’clock… Dinner service should be well under way…
Along with breakfast service, dinner service was one of the busiest times in a hotel’s day. The place should be bustling with guests heading off to their evening meals, or sitting around in groups or couples, talking and laughing as they enjoyed pre-dinner drinks. Wherever he had worked, in large hotels and small, in cities, towns and villages, in England and abroad, it had been the same everywhere.
Everywhere, except for here.
A door leading off the reception caught his eye. Walking across, he stood on the threshold of what appeared to be the guest lounge. The room was decked with festive decorations and a large, extravagantly dressed tree. It was a scene straight from an advertiser’s image of a traditional Christmas but, like the reception, it was silent and empty.
No abandoned newspapers or magazines, no coffee cups on side tables. No indication of the life of a busy hotel, a hotel that was apparently full. There was no sign of any guests, nor of the staff to look after their every whim. Staff at Pendleton Manor were instructed to be unobtrusive, but even then they were visible, always there in the background.
A fire burned bright in the grate, next to which stood a model Santa bearing more than a passing resemblance to Nicholas. And where washe? Roland huffed. He wanted a large G&T, and somebody could damn well get him one.
Roland turned to leave when a sigh stopped him. He peered at the sofa in front of the fire, and a pair of denim clad legs stretched out, ending in a pair of beaten up trainers.
“Were you able to use the land—”
