Guest 3

Is she really a guest? I look over at her, in the lobby of the hotel, evening after evening. She always has meetings here. Maybe her company puts up some of their personnel with us on a regular basis. I should make a point of checking this with bookings.

Her dress sense is stunning. Black for the most part. Usually draped to suit her hourglass shape. I cannot help but notice her as she strides in through the revolving door on her coloured pumps. I don't know her name. She orders the same drink from the waiters in the lobby bar. A crisp white Chardonnay. Never touches the bar nuts, even though they are very good. A hint of rosemary to them. I suppose that she is wary because of the urban legends about bar nuts. But we always discard them after they have been served.

She waits patiently. Her contact, usually male, turns up, although sometimes she meets up with women. They usually have an intense discussion. Business-like, but there is more to it, I can feel it. I never have the opportunity to overhear them. Then they usually leave. I keep on reminding myself to see where they have gone. Out for the night? Or maybe I am ignoring the fact that they never leave at all?