‘Siamise cat girl,’ he said.
She shook her head again.
‘Rolling Stones.’
‘Ah.’
‘Under the thumb just means … well, what does it mean? Someone else controls you. I can’t imagine that happening with you.’
The compliment was only small, if in fact that’s what it was, and she tried to control the heat in her cheeks. If Roy’s friend was in a relationship with a woman who wore the trousers, then maybe both Roy and the male friend really were bisexual instead of homosexual, or maybe — this was a simpler, sturdier theory, and yet it required more erasure of assumptions — she’d misread every moment to date, and both men were only interested in women, in which case –
‘I don’t suppose you know a gym round here?’
‘We don’t have an arrangement. But there are a couple of places you could try for a one-or two-day pass. I could write them down?’
‘That’s kind. That’d be great.’
‘I suppose you exercise quite a bit, do you?’
‘I do when I can,’ he said. ‘Used to do more. I like to run. Walk my dogs. You’re a swimmer, right?’
‘How did you know?’
‘Thought I overheard something.’
‘Well, I used to be a swimmer. But now, not so much.’
She wished she hadn’t asked the question about him exercising. It was a little-girl question, for sure.
‘You’re very young to have used to bes,’ he said.
‘Why? Don’t you have any?’
‘I’m a few years older than you.’
‘Only a few, though.’
He held her gaze. ‘I suppose that’s true. Old enough to know who the Rolling Stones are, though.’
‘I know them,’ she said. ‘I still go to the pool. But I don’t take it so seriously now.’
‘Maybe you should write down the name for me. Where do you go? I swam when I was younger too. I don’t really know why I stopped.’
‘Probably the chlorine was drying out your tan,’ she said.
He was laughing. ‘This is a natural tan.’
‘Naturally.’
‘It’s a natural tan and I’m deeply hurt by suggestions it’s not, Freya. Where I’m from, people work hard for a bit of colour.’
‘OK,’ she said, stirring her lime and soda with a straw and smiling. She wasn’t wearing her name badge. It was pinned to her jacket, and her jacket was on the stool. She rolled up the bright white cuffs of her shirt and took another sip. He’d called her Freya. It was the simplest of all pleasures, the cleanest and neatest, when a stranger remembered your name.
‘I used to go with someone to the pool,’ he said. ‘And then, when she stopped going, I did too.’
‘Your girlfriend?’
‘My dad, when I was younger. But then a girlfriend, yeah.’
‘And not any more.’
‘No.’
‘What happened? Did she sleep with your best friend?’
‘You’re funny,’ Roy said. ‘But no, my best friend is … You know, Freya, I’m not sure I’d say I really have one.’
‘No?’
He laughed and seemed about to say something important. Instead his face clouded with confusion, or regret. ‘With this girlfriend, it was all going great at first. This was at the start of the relationship, years ago. We were really young, that’s for sure. But I was convinced I could hear old Cupid calling me, y’know?’
‘And then?’
He shrugged. ‘Turned out to be a wrong number.’
She gave a half-laugh, half-snort — exactly the kind of idiotic thing she was trying to eradicate from her range of responses.
‘What happened after that?’ she said.
‘We used to talk on the CB radio. You won’t know about that. Events took over.’
‘Events?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where are you from again? I can’t remember.’
‘I don’t think we discussed it,’ Roy said.
‘Hey,’ she said, reaching over the awkwardness. ‘Have you heard of Lucian Freud?’
‘Freud? Yeah.’
‘Do you like his stuff?’
‘I guess I …’ He shifted on his stool. ‘The name’s familiar,’ he said. He laughed again. ‘Do I get a drink, then?’
‘Shit! Sorry. I’m terrible at this.’
‘Swearing at customers,’ he said. ‘Sackable. Do you have a single malt?’
‘We’ve got these, over here.’
‘Whichever.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m not a big enough buff to be fussy.’
She poured him a Glenmorangie, the one her father liked. She made a note to charge a cheaper spirit to his room.
‘I thought you were more into vodka,’ she said.
His eyes went wide.
‘Sorry. One of the things I’ve got to do, when it’s quiet behind the desk, is copy down the room-service records.’
He looked at the window. He had his left hand over the left side of his face. He nodded as if agreeing with something unsaid. ‘Where’s your dad these days, then? Haven’t seen him around.’
‘He’s — well, he’s been a bit unwell.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah. Ice?’
‘Definitely not.’
He took two short sips and downed the rest.
‘Long day?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Another?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve always wanted to do that.’
‘What?’
‘Drink a whisky in a top hotel like my life depends on it. I feel more heroic already.’
She tried to figure out if she was being teased. ‘Depends if you call this a top hotel.’
‘Are you kidding? Look around you.’
‘That sewage smell yesterday. Would you call that five star?’
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘First off, I didn’t smell anything. And second, the hotel can’t be held responsible for everything. An old place like this probably has a lot of two-and-a-half-inch pipes. And my guess is that a lot of these guests —’ he nodded towards the card players — ‘have three-and-a-half-inch arseholes.’
She laughed too long at this.
‘Simple physics,’ he said.
They talked about the electrical business he owned. She asked if he wanted the same again. He said, ‘Unfortunately I can’t stay.’ Despite never expecting him here, never expecting really to talk to him again, this felt very much like a fresh blow.
‘How’s all the planning for the PM’s arrival going, anyway?’
‘OK, yeah.’ A reprieve. ‘She’s asked — there’s all sorts of requests.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Special foods. Special drinks. Cameras.’
‘Cameras,’ he said.
‘They’ll be installing a load of them.’
‘Of course. But already?’
‘No, a week or so.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘I wonder if you’ll get to hang out with her, with Maggie. Probably her schedule’s pretty packed. You’ll need to locate a free window or two while she’s here. Catch up with her views on apartheid.’
‘Apartheid?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It looks pretty complicated.’
‘Once you know the score, it’s pretty simple.’
‘No! The schedule.’
‘Oh.’ He smiled. ‘Fair play.’
‘It’s changing all the time. There’s a lot of ifs and buts. Look.’ She picked up her jacket. She took the document out of her pocket and put it on the bar. Roy Walsh looked at it for a long while. She was grateful to have steered things back onto a subject she knew something about, territory where she could hold her own.