that had come in during the last week. Nick had tossed them in a heap on the desk. She leafed through them, then looked around for their latest bank statement. She switched on the computer and after it had booted she put up on the screen the spreadsheet file where she kept the list of cheques they had paid. She looked over them, noted a few differences, and within a few minutes was contentedly occupied by the familiar drudgery of checking her own bookkeeping.
'I'm going upstairs for a bath,' Nick said from the doorway, and tossed in the newspaper. lt landed on the desk, dislodging pieces of paper she had only iust sorted out.
'Anyone in the bar?' she called after him.
'Not at the moment.'
She glared after him, then surrendered once again to the familiar sensation of being trapped in this hotel. She still hadn't completely worked out her feelings about Nick, or even about why she had moved back in with him. Running the hotel was displacement activity of a sort, a postponement of decisions about her own life.
A day never passed when she did not think to herself how easy it would be to leave. But inevitably there was another thought that always followed: leave, yes, but in which direction?
There was nowhere in Bulverton for her, nowhere in Eastbourne or any of the other resort towns along the coast. She had done all that when she was Younger, and she was uncomfortably aware of how long ago that now was. Everything had changed. jase dead, of course,
but all her old friends were married, or had left town. They wouldn't be a solution, anyway: the discontent was inside herself. If she really wanted to improve her life she would have to make a clean break, head away from Bulverton and Sussex. London, of course, was the obvious place, but that didn't appeal. Or somewhere abroad? Once again she dreamed of having the guts to take up Gwyneth's invitation, and give the life in Sydney a try.
But there, or wherever she went, in the end there would be another Nick Surtees.
Nothing appealed. There was only this: a list of cheques recorded in a computer, which she had just about made to agree with the bank statement. They were more broke than she had thought, or maybe remembered. The overdraft was appreciably larger, while takings were continuing to drift down. Only the prospect of guests staying in the hotel gave any hope: the income was erratic, but even when only one person was staying, like Teresa Simons, the place could operate profitably.
Did Nick know this? If he knew, did he care? She remembered his disagreeable expression when he went upstairs, and she listened to the knocking in the plumbing as he ran the water for his bath, as if it were a drumming refrain of why she now regretted her life.
What on earth had brought her back to him? By the time she had realized what she was letting herself in for, she was in for it. She knew you should never blow over old coals; she remembered her mother mystifying her with this saying when she was a child, but it had a meaning after all. lt reminded her of how many times her parents had split up after rows, then blown noisily over their own old coals as they tried to put everything right again. But now there was Nick. Their relationship hadn't worked properly when they were in their teens, and after the recent months with him
she knew it probably never would.
Even so, she was trapped by past events. AR this would continue.
She heard the outside door to the car park open and close, so she trundled her wheeled office chair back from the desk, and craned her neck so she could see along the corridor. Teresa was heading for the staircase, with a heavy shoulderbag weighing her down to one side.
'Mrs Simons! Teresa!'
The American paused, then walked down the corridor towards her.
'Hi,' she said, looking tired but cheerful.
'I was wondering if you planned to be in the hotel for dinner tonight?'
'I guess 1 don't know yet. Yeah, why not? What do you have in mind?'
'Anything you like.' Amy pulled down the menu from the top of the filing cabinet and passed it to her. 'We've got most of what's there in the freezer, but if you would like to decide now, or you want something else, I've still got time to buy it fresh for you.'
Teresa scanned the menu, but quickly, obviously with her mind on something else.
'Maybe I'll decide later,' she said in the end and passed the card back. 'I'm not hungry yet.'
Amy wished she hadn't brought up the subject. She had really intended to ask Teresa as gently as possible how she would feel about moving to another hotel, but when it came to it she hadn't been able to find the words. Or even the wish to find the words.
She stared up at Teresa, again putting off the evil moment and wishing Nick was there to do it instead. She wondered what time these Taiwanese with American names and accents were likely to arrive, but also she was wondering
how she could find out the law on hotel licensing. Could one guest, or one set of guests, really demand that they be the only people allowed in the building as guests? She supposed film stars, or visiting politicians, might do this sometimes, but she suspected that that would be better or more delicately organized. Anyway film stars would never stay in a place like the White Dragon, so it wouldn't arise. Maybe money was the way it was done: people who wanted solitude paid for every available room in the hotel and used only the ones they wanted. But what would they do about people who were already staying there?
Teresa said, 'I've got work I need to do upstairs. I'll be down for a drink a little later.'
'All right. 1 think Nick would like to talk to you about something.'
'Any idea what?' Teresa said. Amy shook her head, still evading an issue she saw increasingly as Nick's, not her own. 'OK, I'll see you later.'
She lifted and eased the heavy shoulderbag, then swung round. In a moment, Amy heard her footsteps as she went up the stairs.
