The Burnout(83)

“Live a little,” says Finn, grinning. “This is the Rilston Hotel, don’t you know?”

He pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me.

“That’s yours,” I protest.

“Yours now.” He grins again. “Maybe we’ll have to share. I’m not sure Nikolai can face us a second time.”

Sure enough, when there’s a knock at the door a few minutes later and Finn calls, “Come in,” it’s Herbert who totters in, bearing a single cup and saucer on a tarnished salver with a price tag dangling from it.

“Herbert!” exclaims Finn. “Good to see you. Shall I take that?”

Herbert is silent for a few moments, his eyes shifting constantly between Finn and me, then he offers the salver to Finn, who removes the cup.

“Good morning.” Herbert finally speaks. “Sir. Madam.”

“Good morning,” I reply, trying to smile at him, but Herbert dodges my gaze and hastily turns round. He heads to the door, and as he exits the room, I hear him saying, “It’s true, all right.”

“It can’t be true!” Cassidy’s muffled voice penetrates the door. “What, just like that?”

“They are couple!” Nikolai’s voice sounds impassioned, even through the door. “I tell you, they have coupled!”

For a few minutes the conversation in the corridor dies down to the level of mumbles. Then there’s a brisk knocking, and the door begins to open.

“Good morning, Mr. Birchall,” Cassidy’s self-conscious voice greets us. “I just wanted to check …” She rounds the doorframe, sees me in bed, and stops dead, her eyes huge. “I just wanted to … um …” She stops again, her gaze moving avidly from Finn’s naked chest to my bare shoulders. “To … um …”

“Check …” prompts Finn politely.

“Yes! Check the … um …” I can see her casting around. “That the heating is satisfactory.”

“The heat situation is great,” Finn says, deadpan, squeezing my thigh under the duvet. “Would you agree, Sasha? How’s the heat for you?”

“Hot,” I say, swallowing down a laugh.

“It can always be hotter.” Finn’s fingers are moving upward, and I feel a blush come to my face.

“It’s good.” I try to address Cassidy naturally. “Thanks.”

“You two!” Cassidy’s professional demeanor completely collapses into unvarnished glee. “You two!” She points a finger at me, then Finn. “I knew it! We should have had bets on it. I wanted to have bets on it,” she adds confidentially, “but Simon was all like, ‘It’s unprofessional to bet on whether the guests will shag or not.’ ” She rolls her eyes. “He’s such a spoilsport.”

“Spoilsport.” Finn nods. “I would have placed a bet. I wouldn’t have given myself good odds.”

“Aww.” Cassidy’s eyes soften, and for a moment I think she’s going to sit on the edge of the bed and ask us how it was. But then she seems to remember where she is. “Can I offer you breakfast in bed?”

“I’d love that.” Finn nods and turns to me. “Would you love that, Sasha?”

“I’d love that.”

“We’d love that,” he says, looking back at Cassidy, and she gives another delighted beam.

“You see? You’re ‘we’ already. I knew, I knew it.…” She heads out of the room, and as the door closes, Finn says, “She didn’t ask us what we want for breakfast.”

“Whatever.” I laugh. “This place.”

“We’re going to miss it when we’re gone.”

“Don’t say that! I’ve been institutionalized. This is home now.”

“You’re never going to leave?” Finn looks amused. “You’ll have to get a job here, then.”

“I’ll be the well-being consultant,” I say, remembering my conversation last night. “No! I’ll carry luggage. In fifty years I’ll be the new Herbert. They’ll call me Herbetta.”

“Herbetta.” Finn grins, then kisses my neck and I reach to pull him closer. The scent of him is intoxicating, and I rub my face against his skin. Breathe in the scent of a hot man should be in the list of twenty steps to well-being. In fact, after last night, I can think of a few other ideas. I could write my own twenty steps, and they could go in Mr. Poppit’s adult show.

“You’re delicious,” I murmur, and Finn gives a rumble of a laugh.

“Never been called that before.”

“What have you been called?”

“Oh, workaholic, self-centered, nightmare.” He speaks lightly, but I draw back to stare at him, because that’s quite a list. Who called him that?

But before I can ask, there’s a knock on the door, and Nikolai enters, bearing a tray. It holds a kale smoothie, an orange juice, a small posy in a vase, and a sprinkling of red rose petals. It looks like something for Valentine’s Day.

“Smoothie, juice for the happy couple,” he says, grinning widely. “Enjoy. May I take your order?”

After we’ve ordered breakfast and Nikolai has retreated again, we exchange looks, then I burst into giggles. I lie back against Finn’s chest, nestling into the crook of his shoulder, and gaze at the peeling ceiling.