Read Online Flashback by Jenny Siler - Free Book Online

asked, desperate to keep him there. “What else do you know?”
    The waiter looked down, fear flashing across his face. “You are a patron of the hotel, Ms. Boyle,” he said, trying to compose himself. “And a lovely lady. You drink vodka martinis with a twist. This is all I know.”
    â€œAnd Mr. Haverman?”
    â€œA friend,” he said, repeating his previous answer, “a customer like yourself. This is all I know.”
    Nadim had made no attempt to remove his wrist from my grip; now his arm was beginning to tremble. The man at the other table waved again, and I loosed my grasp. “I’m sorry,” I told him as he hurried away, obviously embarrassed by what had just happened.
    I finished my drink, ordered another, and watched the crowd revolve. Toward the end of the evening the American film crew from the Continental showed up. They were loud and underdressed, as Americans almost always are, throwing dollars around and ordering overpriced Scotch.
    It didn’t seem possible that this had been my life, and suddenly I didn’t want it to be. I wanted my old clothes back, and if not the convent, some place like it, a small plain room and a little garden on a hill, a bell ringing the hours.
    The piano player tapped out the first few lines of “As Time Goes By,” and a smattering of applause rose from the tables. Giving up on Brian, I downed the last of my drink, stood, and made my way out of the bar. It was late enough that the rest of the hotel was nearly deserted. Out in the courtyard the only sound was the splash and gurgle of a fountain, and a woman’s quiet laughter that drifted down from an open window somewhere above. The stars were out, a carpet of faraway sun catchers. The black shape of a bat cruised silently overhead.
    I climbed up into the empty lobby and headed for the front desk, where a young woman in a blue suit was bent over a computer keyboard. She looked up when she saw me coming and straightened, fixing some unseen crease in her jacket. I watched her face for some expression of recognition but saw none.
    â€œMay I help you?” she asked.
    I nodded, thinking of the form I’d filled out when I’d checked in at the Continental. Surely a hotel as nice as the El Minzah would require just as much information from its clients, if not more. If I had been a guest here, there might be some record in the computer.
    â€œHow long have you worked here?” I asked, stepping forward, propping my elbows on the marble counter.
    â€œSix months,” the woman said. She was meticulously made up, her lips stained the same dark red as the drapes in the piano bar. Her name tag read Ashia .
    I smiled. “I stayed here about a year ago,” I explained. “I’m trying to pin down the dates. I just can’t seem to remember. Do you keep a record of your guests on file?”
    Ashia nodded. She looked at me expectantly and when I didn’t answer, cleared her throat. “Your name, Madame?”
    â€œBoyle,” I said.
    â€œ B-o-y-l-e? ” she asked, already typing the name into her computer.
    â€œYes,” I said, hoping it was the right answer.
    She hit ENTER and squinted down at the screen, her brow furrowing as she manipulated her mouse. “Hannah?” she asked without looking up.
    â€œSorry?”
    â€œYour first name, Madame.”
    â€œOh. Yes.” I nodded. “Hannah.”
    â€œHere it is. Fall of last year. You spent eight days with us. September twenty-eighth to October fifth.” She glanced up and smiled, appreciative of her own efficiency, then tapped at the keyboard again and frowned.
    â€œIs there a registration form you have guests fill out?” I asked, pushing my luck and not caring. “You know, address, passport number, credit card?”
    She nodded, half preoccupied by whatever she saw on the monitor. “Normally, yes, but I can’t seem to find the information