Read Online A Wayward Game by Pandora Witzmann - Free Book Online Page A

he
cannot have been in the job long, but he’s already learned the
importance of discretion.
    “Thank you,
Lorraine,” I say, taking her hand before she can protest or play
for time. “You’ve been extremely helpful. I’ll be in touch with you
as soon as I’ve made a decision.”
    Lorraine looks
for a moment as if she might protest, but she doesn’t yet have the
confidence to argue with her clients, and so just gives me a muted
smile.
    “You’re
welcome. And please, Miss Hollis, do contact me, whenever you
wish.”
    She wobbles out
of the doors on her high heels, and I watch as she heads off in the
direction of the car park. I turn and glance at the concierge. He’s
sitting behind his desk, pretending to concentrate on some
paperwork and studiously ignoring my presence. I begin to rummage
around in my handbag, as if searching for something; and then,
after a few moments have passed, I take a step back, put my hand to
my forehead, and sink into one of the soft chairs provided for the
comfort of visitors. I sit slumped forward, still with my hand to
my head, and try my best to look weak and ill. I glance sideways,
and see the concierge looking up from his paperwork.
    “Are you all
right, Madam? Do you need any help?” A soft young voice, with just
the hint of a Cockney accent.
    I raise my
head, and look at him.
    “No – no, thank
you. I’ll be all right in a moment. I wonder if I might have some
water?”
    “Yes, of
course.”
    He disappears
through the doorway behind the desk. Glancing after him, I see a
small office room, with a computer monitor flickering on top of a
desk. He returns a few moments later, with a small glass of water,
and holds it out to me.
    “Thank you.” I
take a sip. “I get these turns occasionally, I’m afraid. Diabetes,”
I add, in a confidential tone.
    “I’m sorry,
Madam. Do you feel better now?”
    “I will
shortly.” I hesitate, and take another sip. “These little episodes
have been coming rather frequently of late. I’m really quite
worried about them.”
    “Would you like
me to contact someone? A relative, a doctor?”
    “No, thank you.
I’m sure I’ll feel better in a moment or two. I wonder, though—” I
look up at him pleadingly. “Could I possibly use a computer here?
I’d like to contact my doctor, and make an appointment immediately
– for this afternoon, if possible. Normally I’d use my mobile
phone, but the battery has run out.”
    The concierge
hesitates, just for a moment. “We don’t normally allow it, Madam.
The computer in the office is for staff use only.”
    “I’ll only be a
minute or two, I promise.”
    “Well—” I sense
him weakening, his timid gallantry slowly overcoming his innate
caution. “I don’t suppose there can be any harm in it. Please, come
this way.”
    He leads me
into the small, windowless office room, and holds out the chair in
front of the computer screen. I sink down onto it, and smile
gratefully. He smiles back at me, and then turns and goes back to
the main desk, leaving me alone.
    A lifetime of
administrative tasks has honed my talent for locating obscure
information quickly. After a final glance over my shoulder, I open
the folder in which, I suppose, just about all information relating
to work and staffing at Lexwood House may be found. A vast number
of files appear on the screen, and I skim through them. Timesheets,
staff regulations, contact details, bulletins – all the
bureaucratic detritus of businesses and organisations everywhere. I
glance over them, and at last reach a folder titled “Staff
Records”. I click on it, and a list of sub-folders appears. I read
through them, and click on the one entitled “Rota”.
    It’s a slim
chance, of course – so slim a chance, in truth, that I wondered if
it was even worth the effort. But I find, unexpectedly, that it has
paid off. Amongst a list of chronologically-ordered spreadsheets, I
find a file entitled “June 2006”, and click on it.
    It takes