Cat And Mouse.

They were the only two booked in for the weekend: she young enough to be the daughter, him tall, distinguished, with a craggy poker face - not unattractive, but there was something stern & stand-offish about his demeanour.

The first evening they came down for dinner, she followed a few paces behind looking wan and vulnerable in pale taffeta. He wore a blazer and old school tie - possibly Eton, but none of us were grand enough to know.

He ordered for them both. I took the champagne across and soundlessly twisted the cork out, poured a sample into the fluted glass. He sniffed and swirled it, then threw it down his throat. He turned to me and nodded so I filled their glasses, placed the bottle into the ice bucket and retreated to the kitchen to watch them from the round window in the swing-doors. They didn’t look at one another. The girl studied her fingers, seemed to be fretting as she picked at her nails. He lit a cigar and puffed blue smoke that curled towards her. When I placed the prawn starters down, she flinched and looked across at him pleading with her wide doe-like eyes. He lifted his sea food and twisted the heads off, cracked the shells and prised them off with nicotine stained thumbs. He watched her discomfort as he ate the white flesh.

‘May I prepare them Madam?’ I enquired. She looked grateful.

‘No. Bring me some brandy - warmed.’ He almost shouted.

I went and fetched the cognac, a crystal balloon glass and the meth’s burner. I set the contraption up at the side of their table and lit it. I fiddled with the dial to adjust the flame and poured a measure into the glass. I watched her furtively as she sat head bowed, idly moving the prawns about her plate with the fork. I turned the glass over the flame, meths and brandy fumes permeating the air. She sighed and placed her fork down with a clatter as if bored. I removed the plates and fetched the rare steak, hovered to see if they required anything else. Again the man nodded, but this time it was to dismiss me.

When I came with the cheese board, the man asked if I could do him a favour, go to his room and fetch a box he’d left on the dressing table. He dangled the hotel key by it’s over large fob.

I went to the second floor and stood outside the Bismark suite. For some reason I knocked and waited. I thought I heard a movement from within, so I tapped on the door again and hesitated. After a minute I opened it and felt a cold breeze from the open window, rain spots were dotting the ledge. I pulled it shut and through the wet streaked glass noticed something moving along the shadows of the drive. A fox probably, I thought.
The four poster was dishevilled, flimsy underwear lay strewn on the floor. I went to the dressing table and in the middle of a cluster of perfume bottles and cosmetics sat an ornate silver box, a mongramme swirled about inlaid gems. I picked it up and held it, then shook it gently. It sounded empty. I opened it. It was lined with padded red silk and contained nothing apart from a few crumbs. I closed it guiltily and took it down the dining room.
I placed it at the Major’s right elbow. He nodded at the empty glasses so I lifted the bottle, wiped it free of melted ice. As I did so, the man carved small chunks from all the different cheeses and placed them in the box. He caught me watching him.

‘It’s for the mouse,’ he glanced at his companion, who looked down at her lap. The man lifted his replenished glass as if to toast her, winked and bellowed, ‘ She’s the mouse and I’m the cat.’