The Secrets Of Ghosts

‘If you want it quiet, you don’t live in a hotel. You live on an island or on your own private estate or something.’

‘But there’s quiet and then there’s silent. If you live in a hotel you get to be around people, but not have to interact with them — at least, only on your own terms. You get to be alone but not lonely.’

‘You sounded almost wistful then,’ Katie said. She pushed open a door marked ‘private’, then turned to Anna. ‘If I’m not back in five minutes, send out a search party.’

Anna gave her a thumbs up.

Katie stepped aside so that Max went in front of her down the short flight of stairs. If you walked in front of people on steps they could push you down them.

‘You know, we don’t keep any cash in Lost Property,’ she said, wanting to distract herself from the fact that she was entering an enclosed space with a strange man.

Max shot a charming smile over his shoulder. ‘Handkerchief, remember?’

‘Of great sentimental value,’ Katie said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

He nodded. ‘I’m distraught.’

‘I can see that,’ Katie said.

Downstairs, underneath the kitchen and next to the wine rack, was a short, wide corridor.

One side was completely filled with shelving and boxes.

Max pulled one out a little way and put his hand inside.

‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Katie pointed to the handwritten label on the outside of the box, faded from time and barely legible.

‘Teeth? You’re serious?’

‘You’d be amazed at the number of people who leave their dentures in their room.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘And then there’s the knickers.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Look.’ Katie pulled out a bigger box from further along the row and produced a handful of silk and lace from inside. ‘Women bring their best undies when they visit a hotel. Then they have a night of passion and leave them at the bottom of the bed. Totally forget about them and — bam — they end up in our knicker box.’

‘Please tell me you’ve washed those?’

Katie dropped the crotchless pink thong back into the box. ‘Of course. Well, Housekeeping did. Not me personally.’

‘Why do you keep them?’

‘In case their owners come to reclaim them. We’re custodians of the lost pants, the dentures, the vibrators—’

‘No. Really?’

Katie nodded.

‘Any jewellery?’

‘Sure.’ Katie stepped closer and stretched her arm to reach for a shoe box on a high shelf. It was filled with watches. Leather straps, plastic straps, a red Swatch and a huge diver’s watch.

‘Why don’t you send these on to the guests? You must have their details.’

‘Anything really valuable — like a diamond ring — we do break the pact and contact the MOP, but for everything else...’

‘What pact?’

‘The pact of “see nothing, hear nothing”. Very important in the hotel trade.’

‘Okay,’ Max said, looking confused.

‘It breaks the illusion of invisible service if your knickers turn up in the post three days after your holiday. It’s like slapping them in the face with them.’

‘Right. Fair enough. But this is worth about three hundred quid.’ He picked up the diver’s watch.

‘Really?’ Katie peered at it. ‘It’s fugly.’

‘It’s waterproof to two hundred metres, measures depth up to one hundred metres and is made of titanium.’

‘Woo-hoo,’ Katie said.

‘Ah, come on. It’s shiny.’

‘And being more evolved than a kitten that isn’t enough to excite me. Sorry.’

There was a pause that lengthened past the point of comfort.

‘Okay, then. Moving on,’ Katie said, hating the fact that she knew she was blushing.

Max was standing close. He leaned towards her and, just for a moment, Katie leaned towards him.

Then she regained her senses and took a step back. ‘You want to look for your handkerchief?’

‘My what?’ Max’s voice had gone a bit husky. He cleared his throat.

‘Your hankie,’ Katie said. ‘The deeply sentimental one.’

‘Right. Is there a box for those?’

Katie pointed further down the corridor.

‘Oh, bugger,’ Katie said, sorting through the shoe box of watches. ‘How am I supposed to know which one is his?’

‘You didn’t see him wearing it?’