ceiling and a fountain with a brass statue of a naked sprite in the middle of the lobby, it still retained the feel of a rich country house…if the country house was Blenheim or Buckingham Palace.
Ben looked at his watch and cursed when he saw that Joely was fifteen minutes late. He was just reaching for his mobile when it rang and he knew it was her.
‘Honey, you’re late…again.’
‘Working on my birthday is contrary to all the rules of the universe but my day is over and it’s time to play!’ Joely replied and, despite her jovial tone, Ben could hear the exhaustion in her voice.
‘You ok?’ he asked, immediately concerned.
Joely sighed. ‘I really need that drink…and you.’
‘Bad day?’
‘Kind of…and really busy. Apart from being such a treat, having a drink at The Chatsfield is a nice bridge between the blood and gore of the patients from an RTA and my weekend off. Thanks for thinking of this, Ben, you spoil me.’
Only Joely, so undemanding, would think a drink was him spoiling her. He grinned, thinking of the flowers in the shockingly expensive suite upstairs, the rose petals on the bed, the champagne on ice. ‘Well, it is your birthday and tomorrow you can have the day off. Maybe, if you’re really good, you’ll get breakfast delivered to you.’
Which he wouldn’t have to make. Bonus.
‘That sounds like heaven; my only problem is that I’m not really dressed for The Chatsfield,’ Joely said.
Joely had the type of body that would look good draped in a Hessian sack and, for a doctor working in Accident and Emergency who spent most of her days in scrubs, the sense of style of a catwalk model. She always looked fantastic.
‘You’ll be fine.’
Besides he’d packed her a black dress, the sexiest underwear he could find and shoes – he hoped they were the right ones - for her to wear when they had dinner at the two-star Michelin restaurant on the second floor.
‘Well, I’m about three minutes away. Meet me in the lobby.’
‘Already here, babe,’ Ben answered on a grin before disconnecting the call. Standing by the huge fountain in the centre of the lobby, he turned as someone cleared his throat behind him. It was Harrison, the same concierge he’d spoken to when making all of the many, many arrangements it took to set this evening up. Ben, easily able to read people’s faces, immediately noticed that something was wrong.
He lifted his eyebrows.
To his credit, Harrison didn’t waffle and jumped right in. ‘Mr Duncan? The flowers and rose petals you ordered have been mistakenly delivered and set up in the wrong room, sir. My sincere apologies but in the confusion of making arrangements for a very picky celebrity and a demanding sheik and his entourage, my staff entered the incorrect room number and it was set up in room 390, not 309.’
Ok, easy to fix. ‘Can’t you just move it?’
Harrison shook his head. ‘Well, I would but the couple came back to the room unexpectedly and one half of the partnership believed his lover had organised it for him and the other begged me not to let the cat out of the bag.’ Harrison gestured to two well-dressed men walking through the lobby. There was a rose petal in the hair of the blonde.
‘Ah.’
‘While you are having dinner, we’ll dress the room again,’ Harrison said, wringing his hands. ‘Would that be in order?’
‘Sure.’ Ben shrugged.
‘Things like this don’t happen at The Chatsfield. Obviously, we’ll compensate you for our error and we’ll leave a thank gift in your room.’
Take a breath, Ben wanted to say, it’s flowers not a broken vial of the Ebola virus. Jo probably wouldn’t even notice; the woman could spot a potential melanoma at fifty paces but flowers? Not so much.
‘Thank you for your understanding,’ Harrison gushed before leaving.
Hell, in the scheme of things he had a lot more to worry about. Like whether he would ever be able to get his woman down an aisle. Or even talking about
Ben looked at his watch and cursed when he saw that Joely was fifteen minutes late. He was just reaching for his mobile when it rang and he knew it was her.
‘Honey, you’re late…again.’
‘Working on my birthday is contrary to all the rules of the universe but my day is over and it’s time to play!’ Joely replied and, despite her jovial tone, Ben could hear the exhaustion in her voice.
‘You ok?’ he asked, immediately concerned.
Joely sighed. ‘I really need that drink…and you.’
‘Bad day?’
‘Kind of…and really busy. Apart from being such a treat, having a drink at The Chatsfield is a nice bridge between the blood and gore of the patients from an RTA and my weekend off. Thanks for thinking of this, Ben, you spoil me.’
Only Joely, so undemanding, would think a drink was him spoiling her. He grinned, thinking of the flowers in the shockingly expensive suite upstairs, the rose petals on the bed, the champagne on ice. ‘Well, it is your birthday and tomorrow you can have the day off. Maybe, if you’re really good, you’ll get breakfast delivered to you.’
Which he wouldn’t have to make. Bonus.
‘That sounds like heaven; my only problem is that I’m not really dressed for The Chatsfield,’ Joely said.
Joely had the type of body that would look good draped in a Hessian sack and, for a doctor working in Accident and Emergency who spent most of her days in scrubs, the sense of style of a catwalk model. She always looked fantastic.
‘You’ll be fine.’
Besides he’d packed her a black dress, the sexiest underwear he could find and shoes – he hoped they were the right ones - for her to wear when they had dinner at the two-star Michelin restaurant on the second floor.
‘Well, I’m about three minutes away. Meet me in the lobby.’
‘Already here, babe,’ Ben answered on a grin before disconnecting the call. Standing by the huge fountain in the centre of the lobby, he turned as someone cleared his throat behind him. It was Harrison, the same concierge he’d spoken to when making all of the many, many arrangements it took to set this evening up. Ben, easily able to read people’s faces, immediately noticed that something was wrong.
He lifted his eyebrows.
To his credit, Harrison didn’t waffle and jumped right in. ‘Mr Duncan? The flowers and rose petals you ordered have been mistakenly delivered and set up in the wrong room, sir. My sincere apologies but in the confusion of making arrangements for a very picky celebrity and a demanding sheik and his entourage, my staff entered the incorrect room number and it was set up in room 390, not 309.’
Ok, easy to fix. ‘Can’t you just move it?’
Harrison shook his head. ‘Well, I would but the couple came back to the room unexpectedly and one half of the partnership believed his lover had organised it for him and the other begged me not to let the cat out of the bag.’ Harrison gestured to two well-dressed men walking through the lobby. There was a rose petal in the hair of the blonde.
‘Ah.’
‘While you are having dinner, we’ll dress the room again,’ Harrison said, wringing his hands. ‘Would that be in order?’
‘Sure.’ Ben shrugged.
‘Things like this don’t happen at The Chatsfield. Obviously, we’ll compensate you for our error and we’ll leave a thank gift in your room.’
Take a breath, Ben wanted to say, it’s flowers not a broken vial of the Ebola virus. Jo probably wouldn’t even notice; the woman could spot a potential melanoma at fifty paces but flowers? Not so much.
‘Thank you for your understanding,’ Harrison gushed before leaving.
Hell, in the scheme of things he had a lot more to worry about. Like whether he would ever be able to get his woman down an aisle. Or even talking about
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