Chapter Text
This was not a hotel for a one-night stay. This was Zermatt, at the foot of the Swiss Alps, the majestic Matterhorn looming in the near distance. But several times a month Jonathan Pine, the night manager, found himself tending to single-nighters, usually men of a certain type accompanied by women of varying degrees of beauty—from very beautiful to extraordinarily beautiful. It was a source of entertainment for several members of the night staff, as it had been in previous hotels where he’d been employed, but Jonathan mostly ignored it. He was so accustomed to discretion that even after speaking to them, even after accompanying them to their rooms, opening champagne bottles, and turning on the hot tub jets, he almost immediately forgot about their existence. Their names and faces existed only for the moment he attended to them and then he was back to the quiet of his mind and on to the next task. He was thankful that his time in the service had given him the ability to be selective with his thoughts and to live in the present. His mind, for the most part, did not wander.
As the evening drew closer to midnight on his shift, Jonathan was enjoying the mild relief of having all scheduled guests checked in and knowing that the company party in the hotel bar had wrapped up to glowing reviews. He would wait for the gentlemen playing snooker to retire and then go out for his cigarette break, the one thing he looked forward to every night.
He took the time to look over his schedule and think about upcoming events. He would have to leave a note for staff on how to deal with vendors and catering in the morning for a wedding, not that he didn’t trust the managers on the other shifts, but he trusted himself more. Just as he was about to do this, the presence of a person standing before the desk caught his attention.
The elegant lady with wavy, damp hair looked up at him. Her face was rosy and clean, with lingering dark smudges around the eyes as if she’d just removed her makeup. She wore slim silk trousers and a white scarf wrapped loosely over her shoulders to conceal the shear camisole beneath. Yes, he had seen her before.
“Is there anything I can help you with, madam?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve never stayed in one of the Alpine suites before and I don’t understand how the showers work. I keep pressing the button that’s supposed to increase the water temperature, but it doesn’t seem to be doing anything.”
Jonathan nodded in recognition of the common problem.
“It’s very silly for me to be coming to you with this so late at night, but I have to catch a train to Milan very early in the morning and I’d like to shower before I leave.”
“My apologies, madam. Other guests have had the same issue since the showers in those rooms were remodeled. If you will allow me, I can show you how it’s done.”
“Sure. Thank you so much. Again, sorry to be a bother.”
“Not at all.”
Her accent was so indistinct, he thought, as he escorted her to the lift. It was the voice of someone who had learned English to the point of perfect fluency, but he couldn’t place the origin of it. He’d known several people like this while moving from country to country for his father’s work; they spoke many languages with ease. Hers was cool and silvery and lacking any of the affected haughtiness he’d grown accustomed to hearing.
Standing next to her while ascending to her floor was a challenge to his professional poise; his gaze drifted sideways to get a better look at her. She was slightly below average height with brownish–red hair like in a painting by Titian. Her wide-set eyes were accented by neatly arched brows and eyelashes sweeping sleepily to opposite corners. Her figure, what he could make of it, was one of gentle curves and perfect posture. Were he compelled to appraise her looks in the company of other men, as was the degrading custom, he would have had to admit that she was remarkably attractive. She must have come with someone. But whom?
She stepped ahead of him to open the door to her room with the kitschy old-fashioned key and he walked confidently towards where he knew the shower was located in this particular suite, separate from the clawfoot bathtub. The vanity table in the bathroom was covered with cosmetics, accessories, and several pieces of women’s intimates. Nothing he hadn’t seen many times before. Jonathan climbed into the large glass box to reach the digital control panel and she observed with close attention.
“There it is!” he exclaimed, stepping aside. The water poured down from the center of the ceiling like a soft rainfall, hitting the pebbled floor. It was clear from the building steam that it was warm now.
“You only have to press the square button again to set it at the temperature you’d like, you see. Otherwise it thinks you’re being indecisive.” They exchanged a smile.
Jonathan quickly turned the water off before stepping out. It was amenities like this that reminded guests why they opened their wallets for the Hotel Meisters.
“These new-fangled things always cause a bit of trouble at first, but it’s all meant to enhance guest experience.”
“It’s a very nice detail, actually. I suppose I’ll feel like Gene Kelly,” she joked.
He chuckled softly as they walked back to the suite door. “Well, ma’am, don’t sing too loudly. Wouldn’t want to deal with a noise complaint from your neighbors.”
“I promise I won’t, Mister…”
“Pine, madam.”
“Pine. You don’t have to call me madam or ma'am or anything. Isn’t it enough that I’m obliged to call you by your family name? I’m Camilla.”
She reached out her hand and he shook it. It was small and dainty with manicured fingernails just long enough skim his flesh. She had a very calming presence, almost as if were her job to reassure him and not the other way around. Of course, he could not refuse a visitor’s request to be addressed by a preferred name.
“It’s a pleasure, Camilla. Jonathan.”
“Ah, Jonathan. That’s much better. That’s a strong name, Jonathan. I hope you don’t let anyone call you Jon.”
“I don’t, Camilla.” The way the name rolled of his lips sounded dangerously flirtatious and he scolded himself internally for his bad form. He found that he simply could not help acting a bit flustered before this woman. “I like your name as well, Camilla. Camilla of the Volsci.”
“That’s right!” she said, smiling broadly. “Though I can’t really claim the whole virgin thing.”
Now she was the one flirting. Very charmingly and very successfully. It was time, he decided, to take that well-deserved break.
“Well, you’ve been a great help, Jonathan. I guess I’ll let you get back to some real work. Thank you again.”
“My pleasure.”
Jonathan bowed out politely and returned to the front desk, determined to look through the guest database and figure out who this woman was and why he could recall her face, but not her name. There was no sign of a ‘Camilla’ in the records. The room she was staying in had been reserved by a Belgian businessman named Roger van Houdt who was a first time visitor to the Meisters, and Jonathan could not remember anything about him except that he’d checked in alone and had no luggage. She must be a mistress, he figured, and let out a sigh at the realization. He’d always had a great sympathy for such women; they gave their whole selves to men while receiving a sliver of affection, a bit of attention over dinner, a pair of diamond earrings—never a full life.
But who was he to judge? It wasn’t as if he led a full life either. With this melancholy thought he went out into the cold night for a smoke.