“She hated it when guests checked in early. The corridors were still busy with Henry the Hoover and lined with canvas bags of dirty linen, and there was nothing worse than the sight of a hotel room door agape and a stripped bed. There was nothing you could do about it – rooms had to be turned round – but she wished people would wait till after midday at least to turn up. She looked up nevertheless, with her most welcoming smile. If their room wasn’t ready, complimentary coffee and shortbread on ...the terrace usually mollified. ‘I know it’s too early to check in, but I wondered if I could leave my . . .’ The guest trailed off, dropping his battered leather Gladstone bag with a clatter. ‘Claire?’ She dropped her pen with a matching clatter. She’d dreamt of this moment for years. More years than she cared to remember; years that had seemed interminable as she struggled to get him out of her mind. And eventually, of course, in the fullness of time, the dream had faded, only sneaking back to catch her unawares every now and again, in her sleep, when she was at her most unguarded.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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