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‘Good thinking, Sid. Trouble is I reckon I’ve got the feeling of the place without even going through the doors.’
Sid does not say anything but puts his foot down so hard that I am practically on the back seat as we skid to a halt outside the hotel. Sid waits for a moment, presumably to see if anybody comes out to greet us, and then opens the door of the car.
‘Right. That’s one thing you’re going to be able to do something about,’ he says.
‘Whadyermean, Sid? You reckon me for a blooming commissionaire or something?’
‘We’ve all got to play a part,’ he says. ‘No skiving about at the beginning.’
Marvellous, isn’t it? And I thought I was going to start moving up a few rungs. We go through the swing doors and I practically have to hang on to Sid’s coat tails it is so dark. Like the Chamber of Horrors only with less character.
‘Very restrained, isn’t it?’ I say.
‘Shut up.’
The reception area is deserted and I will swear there are cobwebs on the register. Pinned above the desk is a poster stating the films that are on at the Roxie. I remember passing the Roxie on the way to the hotel. It is now a Bingo Hall.
‘Perhaps we could take a leaf out of Sir Giles’s book and run holidays for those in love with the past,’ I say. ‘How about starting off with the Norman invasion?’
‘One of the first things I’m going to miss about you is your marvellous sense of humour,’ says Sid. ‘Now get some service around here before I do my nut.’
I have bashed the bell about three times and am wondering whether the grey stuff on top of the elk’s head is dust or dandruff, when an oldish bird with a black dress and matching cardigan comes up some stairs beside the reception. She has thin wispy hair and a twisted jaw that looks as if it has been left out in the rain and got warped. Round her neck is a gold chain to which are attached a pair of specs.
‘I’m not deaf,’ she says irritably. ‘I’m not deaf.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘We would like to book a room.’
‘You what?’
‘We would like to book a room!’ The tone of Sid’s voice betrays the fact that the Cromby is appearing less of a gold mine than it did a few hours previously. The old bag shuts her book.
‘I’ve told you once,’ she says. ‘I’m not deaf. There’s no need to shout like that.’
Sidney makes a big effort and controls himself. ‘Is it possible for my friend and myself to book a double room–with single beds?’
‘What? You’ll have to speak up. You’re whispering. What is it you want?’
‘I’d like an axe,’ grits Sid.
‘What do you want an axe for? Have you come to chop wood? You should have gone round the back.’
‘Give me strength,’ says Sid, turning away.
‘What does he want strength for?’ says the elderly nut. ‘Has he come to chop wood or not? I can’t stand temperament. Especially about a little thing like that. Young people today have no staying power.’
‘We would like to book a room.’
‘You what?’
‘Forget it,’ says Sid. ‘I can’t understand why I ever thought it was a good idea in the first place. Let’s have a bash at the pier and go home.’
‘You want some rooms,’ says the old bag. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’
‘It never occurred to me to ask,’ I say, revealing once again my aptitude for the lowest form of humour.
‘We would like our room with two single beds,’ says Sid, pronouncing each word like one of those birds on Parlez-vous francais?.
‘Oh?’ Madam looks us up and down and it suddenly occurs to me that she thinks we are a couple of poofters. The very idea!
‘He’s my brother,’ says Sid.
‘Oh, well I suppose that’s alright.’ She does not sound very convinced. ‘Do you want a bathroom?’
‘No thanks,’ says Sid. ‘The sight of him naked might inflame my fevered imagination to the point where the floodgates burst and I be carried away in a maelstrom of primitive lust.’
‘Just a basin, then?’
‘That should prove very adequate. What time is supper?’
‘Dinner,’ she stresses the word, ‘is from six forty-five to seven thirty.’
‘Very continental,’ I observe to Sid. ‘Gives you all of fifteen minutes to get the sand out of your plimsoles.’
‘We find that most of our guests like to be finished in time for Coronation Street.’
‘I can imagine,’ says Sid. ‘The solid chomp of gnashers battling against the clock–’
‘The best seats in the telly lounge filling up from seven fifteen onwards.’
‘The latecomers wiping the blancmange from their tuxedos as they struggle for the last two chairs.’
‘It’s not like that at all,’ says the Lady in Black coldly as she settles her specs on the end of her nose. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to sign the register.’
‘What about our cases?’ Sid indicates the door.
‘I’m afraid Mr Martin is recovering from a hernia operation.’ She raises her eyes towards the ceiling on the word ‘hernia’ as if averting them from a blue photograph.
‘He’s the hall porter, I suppose?’
‘That is correct.’
‘And may I inquire what your name is?’
‘Miss Primstone.’
‘I should have guessed. Well, if we get our cases perhaps you can show us where our room is.’
I wish Sid had not said that because the minute the words have passed his lips, a much better guide appears, patting her jet black curls into place.
‘Sorry I’m late, Miss Primstone,’ says the newcomer, not sounding at all sorry. ‘But we lost a couple of balls in the long grass and I stayed behind to look for them.’ I can see a piece of straw sticking out of her hair so I have no reason to disbelieve her. She has big tits and big eyes which roll all over Sid and me while she is talking. I decide that I have fallen desperately in love with her body.
‘You should have left them there,’ snaps Miss P. ‘Five o’clock is when you’re supposed to come on duty.’
‘Yes, Miss Primstone.’ Miss P. turns to select a key and the bird sticks her tongue out at her and winks at us.
‘We must have a game some time,’ says Sid. ‘Golf, is it?’
‘No, tennis. Are you any good?’
‘I’m a bit rusty at the moment. Haven’t played seriously for years.’
I have never heard such a load of balls. If you gave Sid a tennis racket he would think it was for straining chips.
‘Oh, that’s alright. I’m only just starting.’
‘I’m Sidney Noggett, and this is my brother-in-law Timothy Lea.’
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Sandra.’
‘Hello, Sandra.’
This bird is definitely one of those who carries an invisible banner which has ‘I like sex’ written all over it. She moves as if she is very conscious of her body and she keeps licking her lips and patting her hair. I find that highly strung birds of that type really lap up the sack work. My thoughts are interrupted by Sidney coming the senior partner.
‘Get the cases in, Timmy, will you?’ he says, sliding out his cigarette case and resting his elbow nonchalantly on the counter.
‘Yas sah, Massa Noggett,’ I say in my best Brixton accent. ‘To hear is to obey.’
When I come in again, Sandra is behind the counter and Miss Primstone is drawing her cardigan around herself protectively. ‘We’re having a little trouble with the heating,’ she says. ‘You may find it takes a few moments for the hot water to come through.’
In practice, it takes three days but that is not the first thought that occurs to me when we are shown to our room. It looks like the inside of a mahogany packing case, and it is only possible to stand upright just inside the door.
‘People must have been a lot smaller when this place was built,’ I say.
‘We have never had any complaints.’
‘Probably because people bash their heads on the ceiling and get their mouths jammed shut,’ murmurs Sid.
‘If you don’t like the room, I am certain there are other hotels in Hoverton which would be capable of providing accommodation.’
It is amazing how the old bag can hear when you don’t want her to. I reckon I am going to like the place a lot more when she has left.
‘No offence intended,’ says Sid. ‘Just my little joke.’
Miss Primstone gives Sid a look that suggests she does not like jokes in any size and goes out, slamming the door behind her.
‘What did you say you were going to call this place? The Ritz-Carlton? It’s more like the blitzed Carlton.’
I sit down on one of the beds and the springs make a disastrous creaking sound like someone biting through thirty wafers in one go.
‘Is that a damp patch on the wall or haircream?’
I don’t get a chance to answer because the door suddenly opens and the second bit of good news that day bundles over the threshold. She is small and blonde and wearing a little black dress and a cap like an upturned tennis visor.
‘Oh, sorry ever so,’ she says in a squeaky cockney voice. ‘I just popped in to turn down the beds.’
She looks as if she has never turned down beds in her life and I can see Sidney’s mind travelling down the same well-worn route as my own.
‘Be my guest,’ he purrs. ‘Have you worked here long?’
‘It seems like a long time,’ says the girl, ‘but I suppose it’s only been about five weeks.’
‘Business good?’
‘Not very. There’s one or two old people who live here all the time. Retired, you know. Then there’s the commercials and the other old people who come here because they can’t afford anything better.’
‘No young people?’
‘Young people? You must be joking, dear. There’s the odd bit of stolen lust, I suppose, but most young people wouldn’t touch this place with a barge pole. You and your–your friend are the youngest we’ve got at the moment.’
‘He’s my brother-in-law.’
The maid looks relieved. ‘Oh good. We get a few of those as well, you know.’
‘You live on the premises?’
‘What do you want to know for?’ There is more hope than irritation in her voice.
‘Oh, I just thought if I wanted a sleeping pill or something, you might be able to help me.’
‘Cheeky devil!’ She puts her hand to her mouth and giggles.
‘I hope your bed doesn’t creak like this one?’ I throw in.
‘Oh, you are awful!’
‘I wasn’t suggesting anything.’
‘Not half, you weren’t.’
‘We both have a bit of trouble sleeping, don’t we, Timmy?’
‘You know what I reckon might be good for that, Sidney?’
‘No, Timmo?’
‘Ooh! I’m not going to listen to another word. Wait ’til I tell my friend Audrey about you two.’
‘Does she work here, too?’
