'I'm back. Any problems?'
'No. The people you were expecting have all turned up. I took two telephone bookings; one is a regular so I said be sure to let us know if you change your plans, the other was someone new who will confirm by letter. How about you? Are you okay?'
'Yes - why shouldn't I be?' I looked at him, standing in front of me, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his face full of concern. 'You know, don't you?'
'Only since yesterday. Andrew made me promise not to say anything. It wasn't my place to anyway, was it?'
'No, it wasn't. Looks like I'll be relying on you more than ever.'
'Can I make you a coffee or anything?'
'I think I'll go straight downstairs. You'll be going up to bed soon, I take it?'
'Yeah.'
I went down to my flat, poured myself a large vodka and put on the television, switching from channel to channel, unable to find anything to engage my attention. After ten minutes I turned it off and tried to read a magazine, but couldn't concentrate. Thoughts about how Tom and Andrew must have conspired to keep the truth from me kept going around and around in my mind; I could picture them whispering together, deciding on what lies to tell me if I asked awkward questions.
At times Tom had boasted about working for well-to-do clients who went out leaving him on his own in their houses and flats; if they had known the truth about him they would not have let him through the door. If Tom alone were at fault that would be bad enough, but Andrew, who had been the major influence on me in setting up the hotel, who had encouraged me to give up my career for a new more open and honest life as a gay businessman, had been party to the deception.
At least he had done me a favour by persuading me to let Darren stay on in the attic and work for me part-time. All his other actions now seemed suspect. Had he been manipulating me all along to suit his own purposes? Even the meal we had eaten earlier that evening was in a way part of the conspiracy, timed immediately before his departure so it would be difficult for me to withdraw my promise to look after his business interests. How could I ever believe anything he said to me again?
Memories of Tom's actions and words crowded into my mind. The long history of our relationship was rewritten as incident after incident had to be re-evaluated in the light of what I now knew. So that was why he reacted so awkwardly when he first saw the Mercedes. What was that expression he had used? Crated for the Costa, that was it! He had slipped unintentionally into the language of a car thief. His disappearance up to Manchester, for which he gave the touching explanation that he wanted to give me a chance to find someone 'who would be more like my sort of people', was in fact an attempt to break things off with me before I found out about him.