Foreign Affairs (12 page)

Miss Boyle was another kettle of fish and could do with pulling her socks up a bit. She was far too fond of nipping into the staff hall for a cigarette, and flirting and gossiping with the
housemen and porters. And she was just a bit too lax about her work. Only last week her duties had included cleaning the manager’s office and she had forgotten to empty the wastepaper basket.
Mr Gorman was decidedly unimpressed and, as Monica was on the housekeeping staff, this reflected badly on the head housekeeper’s training of her assistants. Sheila was furious and ordered one
of her assistant housekeepers to keep a very watchful eye on Madame Boyle’s work.

Paula did her share of flirting and gossiping, to be sure. She was extremely popular with the male staff but her work was always done properly and that was all Sheila cared about. Paula
Matthews’s bedrooms were a credit to her. They were always finished by the end of her shift. She wasn’t like that lazy lump Mrs Gunne, who invariably left two or three rooms unfinished
which the rest of the assistants had to help her with. The housekeeper didn’t mind someone not being finished before the end of shift. Sometimes it was unavoidable. Guests often liked to
linger in their rooms and that tended to delay the process. But Mrs Gunne was far too cute, and used that excuse at every opportunity. If she thought that the housekeeper wasn’t wise to her
tricks, she had another think coming. Sheila Kelly had worked her way up from the bottom to her present position. She knew all the tricks of the trade, and young and all as Paula was she was worth
three Josie Gunnes any day. She had actually caught the woman sitting on a bed in one of the rooms eating fruit from the complimentary basket. Josie hadn’t even the grace to look ashamed.
What a pity Paula was leaving, a good worker was worth her weight in gold in the housekeeping section.

Paula waited patiently as the housekeeper flicked through the duty lists until she found hers.

‘Ah yes, here we are, Paula. I’ve given you the manager’s office, my office, and five overnights on the top floor. The room numbers are on your sheet. Then you can just relieve
Maddy Carroll in the linen room for an early lunch at twelve and you’ll be free to go at twelve-thirty.’

‘Thanks very much. Miss Kelly.’ Paula was secretly chuffed. This was the third morning in a row that she’d been given the manager’s office and only overnights. That was
brilliant, most of the overnights left after breakfast so she wouldn’t have to hang around waiting for her rooms to be vacated. And Miss Kelly had only given her five rooms to do. Usually she
had twelve. Miss Kelly liked her, she knew that. The housekeeper had told her several times that she was an excellent worker. God knows her mother had trained her well. There was always plenty of
hoovering and polishing and bed-making to be done at home and, whether she liked it or not, she had to do it. Getting paid to do it made it much more palatable. Paula knew if she was going to get
on, her work would have to be up to scratch. Any fool knew that. And it paid off. Look at today when she’d only five bedrooms to do before getting off early. In the background she could hear
Monica’s sharp intake of breath as she read her duty list. The assistant housekeepers were always on Monica’s trail, checking out her work. It was her own fault, of course, because she
was so slapdash. If she wasn’t careful she’d get the boot. Monica had once called Paula a lick-arse after Miss Kelly complimented her on her work. If Monica expected Paula to be annoyed
she’d made a big mistake.

‘Monica, the fact that you can’t differentiate between lick-arsery and ambition is the reason you’ll never amount to anything and I will.’ The other girl was horsing mad
and had called her a stuck-up fuckin’ bitch.

‘Charming,’ Paula drawled, not in the slightest put out. She didn’t give a hoot what Monica Boyle thought about her one way or the other.

‘Oh and Monica, I want you and Esther to divide up Paula’s remaining rooms between you as she’s leaving early today,’ the housekeeper instructed her thoroughly
disgruntled colleague as Monica went to replenish her work-basket with clean dusters and polish and bathroom cleaner.

She had cleaned the two offices before it was time for breakfast in the staff hall and at eight-thirty was tucking into bacon and egg. Monica arrived five minutes later, full of glowers and
muttered comments about people skiving off expecting other people to do their work. She was just about to fill her plate when one of the assistant housekeepers came and demanded that Monica finish
hoovering the foyer before she started breakfast. She told her that she should know better than to leave one of the public areas half done before breakfast.

Thank God I won’t have to sit looking at her mush for breakfast, Paula thought gratefully. And then I won’t have to see her until September. The thought cheered her up immensely and
she enjoyed her breakfast, joining in the lively chit-chat and banter that went on around her. She was just finishing her coffee when Esther Walsh arrived in beetroot red and giggling
uproariously.

‘Oh lads, ye’ll never guess. Amn’t I just after barging in on top of the hunk in 301 and there he was standing in all his glory with a willie on him that would put a randy
elephant to shame. I’m not the better of it.’ She collapsed in a chair all afluster.

‘Arrah you have all the luck, Esther Walsh, he’s a fine thing, why didn’t you give his stalk a pull, you might have got a big tip when he was leaving?’ Josie Gunne gave a
lewd chuckle.

‘Oh you’re a filthy-minded slut, you never think of anything else,’ giggled Esther.

‘That’s ’cos I never get any, my fella’s got a permanent brewer’s droop,’ Josie snorted.

That’s what you think, Paula said to herself. Charlie Gunne was a notorious lecher always making crude comments to the young girls of the village. It was well known, except to Josie, that
he was having an affair with Angela Brennan, the local hairdresser. And hard up she must be to let a creep like Charlie Gunne near her, Paula considered as she finished her coffee and headed off to
make up the bedrooms.

Number 208 was vacant so she drew the curtains, opened the windows wide, put the breakfast tray outside the door and then began to strip the bed. The guest who had stayed the previous night had
left the room in good condition. Sometimes people left them in a shambles, she reflected, as she put on fresh pillowcases and spread freshly laundered crisp white sheets on the mattress.

She didn’t get away so lightly with her second room. There were red wine stains on the bedspread so she had to go and get a clean one from the linen press. There was a big cigarette burn
on the bedside locker that necessitated a call to maintenance, and there were two shitty disposable nappies in a corner of the bathroom and a scummy ring around the bath which made her heart
sink.

When she knocked on the door of her third bedroom, the door was opened by a woman in her mid-twenties. She was wearing a pristine terry-towelling robe and had obviously just showered and washed
her hair. She was tanned and glamorous-looking and Paula felt a familiar twinge of envy. How she would love to be on the other side of that door. It must be wonderful to be a guest in a hotel. To
have room service breakfast and not have to wash up after it. To be able to get out of bed and not have to turn around and make it. To be able to linger in a bath with water that came up to your
shoulders and not have to worry about how much hot water you were using. What luxury.

‘I’ll be checking out in about twenty minutes,’ the woman assured her, and in the background Paula could see a smart suit laid on the bed and a slim leather briefcase open on
the floor. A businesswoman! Paula was deeply impressed. Businessmen occasionally stayed at the hotel but this was the first time she had seen a smart sophisticated businesswoman. She wondered what
line of business she was in. It didn’t matter. It was clear she had it made whatever she was. Paula closed the door with a smile. She could do up the room next door. She knew it was vacant
because she’d seen the couple who’d occupied it walking down the corridor with their luggage. She’d made up the bed and was standing at the big trolley in the corridor getting
soaps, shower caps and shampoo for the bathroom when the woman walked out of the bedroom. She smiled at Paula and strode briskly down the corridor. Paula watched with huge admiration. The woman
looked so classy and in control in her superbly tailored grey suit with a scarlet silk scarf around her neck and a matching red silk triangle in her breast pocket. In her right hand she carried her
briefcase, and over her right shoulder a smart shoulder bag. In her left hand she carried an elegant overnight bag. She oozed confidence and Paula felt uplifted looking at her. There was nothing to
stop her from being like that woman. Nothing at all. One day people would look at her and be as impressed as Paula was right now. With renewed vim and vigour she turned back to her trolley. Somehow
she knew she was going to get out of St Margaret’s Bay and go on to greater things.

A door across the corridor opened and she saw Brian Whelan, one of the barmen, emerge with his arm around Kim Bennett, one of the waitresses. He winked when he saw Paula. Kim, who was only six
months married to a local fisherman, laughed as brazen as you like. Helen maintained that St Margaret’s Bay was a den of iniquity. Sin City she called it. Her aunt was always amazed to hear
of the various affairs and carry-ons. Dublin was only trotting after them, she maintained.

Paula was dying to see Helen. They were going to have so much fun in the next few weeks. She had been living for her trip to the capital and now it was almost upon her. Paula hummed a cheerful
ditty to herself, knowing that in a couple of hours she would be as free as a bird for the rest of the summer.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come to this wedding with you, Helen?’ Anthony Larkin enquired grimly.

‘No, thank you,’ his wife responded curtly with icy politeness.

‘You can’t go down there on your own. What are people going to say?’ Anthony paced up and down the kitchen.

Helen glared at her husband as she paused momentarily from wrapping Louise’s wedding present.

‘Frankly, Anthony, I couldn’t care less what people say. If you think for one minute I’m going down to St Margaret’s with you in tow playing lovey-dovey couples just to
keep other people happy you’ve got another think coming. A hypocrite I am not and never have been. I don’t go around being two-faced about things. I leave that to you,’ she said
bitterly.

‘There’s no need for that,’ he retorted. ‘No need for that at all. I think you’re being totally unreasonable. I’m only thinking of you.’ Helen ignored
him. How dare he! Just how bloody dare he arrive in at that hour of the morning as if nothing was wrong, all prepared to go to Louise’s wedding. And the galling thing was he expected her to
fall at his feet and thank him for his magnanimity. Well stuff him!

‘Look, Helen, there’s no need for this kind of behaviour. We should discuss it. We are adults, after all—’

‘Listen, Anthony, don’t you dare come and lecture
me
on how to behave. What a nerve. I have nothing to discuss with you. Absolutely nothing. Now or ever. You don’t
have to worry about me. It’s a bit late for that now. You made your choice, now I’m making mine. So if you’ll excuse me I’m leaving to go to Louise’s wedding. On my
own . . .’

Paula breezed into the linen room all ready to relieve Maddy Carroll, who went eagerly to her lunch. It was hot and very stuffy and there was a constant noisy drone from the
big washing-machines and dryers. Paula was glad she didn’t work in here all the time. It was very hard work. She had just filled one of the huge washing-machines with sheets when a call came
on the internal phone to tell her she was wanted at reception by one of the American guests who was checking out. She left what she was doing and walked swiftly down the corridor and along by the
offices.

‘Paula,’ Miss Kelly called her as she passed the head housekeeper’s office.

‘Yes, Miss Kelly?’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in the linen room?’

‘Yes, Miss Kelly, but a guest is asking for me at reception,’ Paula explained. The housekeeper smiled. ‘That will be Mr Munroe. He was asking me about you earlier. It seems he
was very impressed by your courtesy and helpfulness and he wants to say thank you personally. Congratulations. That’s the kind of thing we like to hear. It gives the hotel a good
name.’

‘Thank you, Miss Kelly,’ Paula murmured. Mr Munroe was an old dote. She had given him extra pillows and blankets and flirted away with him. After all, he was harmless, he was nearly
eighty.

‘Go up and say goodbye to Mr Munroe then, he’s waiting,’ her boss instructed.

Where was Paula Matthews sneaking off to, Monica wondered as she saw the petite blonde marching down the corridor looking as if she owned the place. She peered into the linen
room. It was empty. She might as well have a quick fag, she decided. She was starving but she was on late lunch, she had a bar of chocolate in her pocket so she could scoff that to keep her going.
She munched away happily and lit up a cigarette. Still no sign of Princess Matthews. Monica’s gaze alighted on the only silent washing-machine in the room. The door was still open and a pile
of dirty sheets were waiting to be washed. A devilish thought made her eyes gleam and she peered around looking for the starch. She found it among the huge containers of washing powders and set to
work with great haste. When she had finished that little task she set the dials to the hottest boil wash and started to laugh.

Ha ha, ya little Queen of Tarts, she thought happily. Let’s see the smug smirk wiped off your face when this lot comes out of the wash.

‘Ah, Monica,’ she heard a familiar voice say. ‘It’s nice to see someone happy in their work. I’ve just come to attend to that last wash. Paula told me she
hadn’t done it, but I see you’ve done the job for me. I let her go early. I’ll stay here for the next twenty minutes until Maddy comes back so you can get back to your rooms.
I’m sure you’ve a few to finish yet?’