Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [26]
“Sounds as if you have everything well organized,” said Dick, as a waiter placed a bowl of borscht in front of his wife.
Maureen spent the rest of the meal telling Dick about some of the treasures that they would see when they visited the Hermitage. By the time Dick had signed the bill, Maureen had drunk the bottle of water.
Dick slipped the empty bottle back in his pocket. Once they had returned to their room, he filled it with tap water and left it in the bathroom.
By the time Dick had undressed and climbed into bed, Maureen was still studying her guidebook.
“I feel exhausted,” Dick said. “It must be the time change.” He turned his back on her, hoping she wouldn’t work out that it was just after eight p.m. in England.
Dick woke the following morning feeling very thirsty. He looked at the empty bottle of Evian on his side of the bed and remembered just in time. He climbed out of bed, walked across to the fridge and selected a bottle of orange juice.
“Will you be going to the gym this morning?” he asked a half-awake Maureen.
“Do I have time?”
“Sure, the Hermitage doesn’t open until ten, and one of the reasons I always stay here is because of the hotel’s gym.”
“So what about you?”
“I still have to make some phone calls if everything is to be set up for Monday.”
Maureen slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom, which allowed Dick enough time to top up her glass and replace the empty bottle of Evian on her side of the bed.
When Maureen emerged a few minutes later, she checked her watch before slipping on her gym kit. “I should be back in about forty minutes,” she said, after tying up her trainers.
“Don’t forget to take some water with you,” said Dick, handing her one of the bottles from the table by the window. “They may not have one in the gym.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Dick wondered, from the expression on her face, if he was being just a little too solicitous.
While Maureen was in the gym, Dick took a shower. When he walked back into the bedroom, he was pleased to see that the sun was shining. He put on a blazer and slacks, but only after he’d checked that none of the bottles had been replaced by the hotel staff while he’d been in the bathroom.
Dick ordered breakfast for both of them, which arrived moments after Maureen returned from the gym, clutching the half-empty Evian bottle.
“How did your training go?” Dick asked.
“Not great,” Maureen replied. “I felt a bit listless.”
“Probably just jetlag,” suggested Dick as he took his place on the far side of the table. He poured his wife a glass of water, and himself another orange juice. Dick opened a copy of the Herald Tribune, which he began to read while he waited for his wife to dress. Hillary Clinton said she wouldn’t be running for president, which only convinced Dick that she would, especially as she made the announcement standing by her husband’s side.
Maureen came out of the bathroom wearing a hotel dressing gown. She took the seat opposite her husband and sipped the water.
“Better take a bottle of Evian with us when we visit the Hermitage,” said Maureen. Dick looked up from behind his paper. “The girl in the gym warned me not, under any circumstances, to drink the local water.”
“Oh yes, I should have warned you,” said Dick, as Maureen took a bottle from the table by the window and put it in her bag. “Can’t be too careful.”
Dick and Maureen strolled through the front gates of the Hermitage a few minutes before ten, to find themselves at the back of a long queue. The crocodile of visitors progressed slowly forward along an unshaded cobbled path. Maureen took several sips of water between turning the pages of the guidebook. It was ten forty before they reached the ticket booth. Once inside, Maureen continued to study her guidebook. “Whatever we do, we must be sure to see Michelangelo’s Crouching Boy, Raphael’s Virgin, and Leonardo’s Madonna Benois”
Dick smiled his agreement, but knew he wouldn’t be concerning himself with the masters.
As they climbed the wide marble staircase, they passed several magnificent