The Long Weekend by Veronica Henry Read Free Book Online Page B

when she was at her most unguarded.
    ‘Nick?’ She got to her feet and they gazed at each other across the desk. ‘What are you . . .? Are you . . .?’
    She felt completely at a loss for words. She indicated the computer helplessly.
    ‘Checking in?’ he filled in for her. ‘Yeah . . . Um . . . Do you work here?’
    ‘Actually, it’s mine.’ She gave a faltering smile. ‘It’s my hotel.’ She paused. ‘Me and my . . . partner’s.’
    She didn’t say boyfriend.
    ‘Wow.’ Nick gazed at her.
    Claire shook her head in disbelief.
    ‘This is such a shock.’
    ‘Tell me about it.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Gus will be mortified when he finds out.’
    ‘Gus?’ The name rang a bell.
    There was a pause.
    ‘Gus Andrews. My best man.’ He pushed back his fringe. That fringe she herself had pushed back so many times. ‘It’s . . . my stag weekend.’
    Of course. The six blokes on the third floor.
    ‘You’re getting married.’
    It was a statement. It hung heavy between them, just as Angelica came in, dwarfed behind a huge sheaf of gladioli that had just been delivered from the florist. She plonked them on the reception desk, and looked between Claire and the new arrival.
    ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
    A strange expression flickered over the man’s face. Claire hurried back behind the desk and grabbed a key off the hook.
    ‘Mr Barnes is a bit early, but luckily his room’s ready – it wasn’t used last night. If you could show him up . . .’
    Angelica took the key and went to pick up the bag, but Nick demurred.
    ‘No, it’s okay. It’s heavy. I’ll—’
    ‘I can manage.’
    Angelica took the bag firmly. They had a strict policy of carrying guests’ luggage. And not hovering for a tip.
    The two of them were still staring at each other.
    ‘Would you like to follow me?’ Angelica asked, trying to break the spell.
    ‘Um, sure,’ said Nick, looking back at Claire. ‘Maybe see you later? For a coffee?’
    Claire managed a nod. Angelica moved off towards the stairs.
    ‘The bar’s just through there to your right, if you want a drink.’ She began her introductory spiel. ‘We’ll be serving light snacks on the terrace at lunch. And if you’d like to reserve a table for dinner . . .’
    ‘I think that’s all been organised.’ Nick followed her, allowing himself one glance back, but Claire was starting very intently at her computer screen.
    Moments later, the hall was empty. Claire could hear Angelica chattering away up the stairs, her voice fading gradually as they went up another floor.
    Married. Of course he was getting married. He was what – thirty-three? Two years older than she was. She looked down at her own left hand, bare, ringless, and imagined a slender finger with a sparkling diamond belonging to a shiny-haired blonde. She was astonished at how much it hurt.
    Of all the hotels in all the world, Nick Barnes had to walk into hers.
    Angelica unlocked the door to Room Seven and stood back to let the new arrival in. She surveyed him with approval: fairly typical Pennfleet summer fodder, in jeans and a sage-green cord jacket, everything expensive but subtly distressed and faded, his hair dirty blond and pushed back by a pair of tortoiseshell Ray-Bans. Posh, but without that way of looking right through you that some of the visitors seemed to have. He was distracted, but not rude.
    Swiftly she pointed out the bathroom, the minibar, the heating control and the television remote. He seemed to be barely listening. He obviously couldn’t wait for her to leave. She handed him the key with a welcoming smile.
    ‘Just phone reception if there’s anything you need.’
    He thanked her, and Angelica slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. She ran back down the stairs as quickly as she could, curiosity eating at her. She had never seen Claire look so rattled, and those two definitely had history.
    Claire was behind the reception, wrestling