‘Where is she?’
‘In Brussels. She works for the EU.’
How convenient. But the noiseisdeafening, and I am a bit curious about the suite and the duvet.
‘Fine. Then I really do have to go.’
‘Of course.’
Lewis’s suite is two floors down, a plush corner room in muted tones boasting a super king-sized bed and a separate lounge area with an impressive Art Deco sideboard. There are two bendy metal floor lamps with glowing gold shades lighting the space and a peek of the castle out the window.
‘Nice decor,’ I say, leaning against the doorframe. Although my senses are dumbed by rum, I still have the presence of mind to wonder if fraternising with a client is a good idea.
‘Come in. Don’t loiter by the door,’ he says, waving me over to the bed. ‘Check this out.’
Oh yes, the famous duvet. Unsteadily, I launch off from the doorframe like a ship from port, and the door swings closed with a click. Decision made. Too late now.
‘Feel it, you’d never know the difference.’ Lewis holds out the edge of the peacock-blue duvet cover to me.
I squish it in my fist like a marshmallow. ‘It’s so soft!’
Lewis beams. ‘More than three million water bottles are going to be diverted from landfill into the hotel’s bedding.’
‘That’s great.’
‘I know, it feels really good to be doing something to clean up the planet.’
‘I bet.’
But I’m not sure I could sleep under this duvet, knowing people’s mouths have been on the bottles that it was made from. Euch. But I don’t tell him that.
‘Do you live here?’ I enquire as we make our way to the lounge area. Lewis waves me to a comfy-looking green velvet armchair, and he sits opposite me on a fawn leather couch, a polished dark-wood coffee table between us.
‘No, I just use the room when I come here for functions,’ he says. ‘I live in Leith.’
‘With your girlfriend?’
‘Yes, though Moira’s away so much, and I’m busy here. We’re like ships that pass in the night. But she said she’d try to make it to the party later.’
‘Cool.’
‘Anyway, enough about me. Tell me more about you.’
‘I’m not that interesting.’
His lips curl, showing the tips of even white teeth. ‘I beg to differ.’
I readjust my glasses on my nose and don’t say anything.
‘Why don’t we play a game? If I guess something right about you, you have to down a shot of tequila. And vice versa.’
Since I like games I can win, I agree. There’s no way he’s going to guess my secrets.
‘OK. Where’s the tequila?’
‘Voilà!’ Lewis presses the corner of the sideboard behind the couch, and the door springs open to reveal a sizeable spirit collection, including at least a dozen bottles of whisky.
I goggle at the selection. ‘Wow, that’s a lot of whisky.’
