Utrecht 2007

“Howzit? You got here, then?”

“Yes, Joop. I got here. At last.”

“Uh oh. Delays?”

“Right now I’m in a taxi from the airport. Not only did we leave Jo’burg three hours late, but I missed the transfer in Frankfurt and now we’ve just circled Schiphol for forty-five minutes, waiting for a slot.”

Only an asshole like Joop would think it a good idea to whistle into a cell phone.

“Joop, listen. I need to take a shower and eat something. After that, I want to crash.”

“Shit, man. That’s all you want to do? Friday night is jol night, but if you’re creamed…?”

Creamed? Where the hell had this guy learnt his English?

“There’s just one other thing I need.”

“No sweat. An SMS is on its way with the number of that agency I mentioned. It’s not cheap but you can feel the quality.”

“I appreciate that. Meet me in the foyer at ten on Monday, OK?”

“Don’t wanna do anything tomorrow?”

“I got plans, Joop.”

“See you Monday then. Sweet dreams.”

Asshole.

He watched the scenery, such as it was. Grey, flat and bleak, with the occasional windmill to make sure you were paying attention. The hotel was a pleasant surprise. The first of the day. Street noise left behind, he glanced up at what looked like some kind of institution in its own grounds. Classy and quiet. His kind of place.

Goede avond en onthaal. Welcome to Utrecht, Sir. We have good news for you. You have an upgrade today, to one of our Empire Suites. Please follow the porter.”

A second pleasant surprise. Plenty of space, working area, two TVs, and most importantly, a vast bed. He palmed the kid a coin, who left him to explore the room in peace. Throwing off his coat, he sat on the bed. Heavy linen, an excess of pillows and a firm mattress, which would be seeing some action in the next few hours, if Joop wasn’t exaggerating about that agency. The bathroom was massive, well-furnished with towels and little bottles of wife-pleasing potions. He made a mental note to throw some into his case. And a wall of mirrors behind the bath. Better and better. His mood started to lift. There was a message on the flat screen at the foot of the bed.

Mr van der Veld

Welcome to Grand Hotel Karel V

We hope you enjoy your stay.

Flicking to Bloomberg, he started to undress, while checking the screen for any significant currency movements. As he kicked off his shoes, he noticed the ice bucket and chilled Krug Grande Cuvée. There was a card.

With compliments of D’Arcy Roth.

That explained the upgrade. Nice touch. Unnecessary, as there was no-one else in the running, but it certainly put their potential client in the right frame of mind. So, a shower, a glass of Krug, order room service and put a call through to this agency. All needs met.

As he unzipped his case to find his toiletries bag, he heard a discreet knock at the door. He frowned. Unexpected visitors, including hotel employees who wanted to ‘turn down’ his bed, were not welcome. He pulled open the door and his frown lifted. The neat grey suit, official clipboard and pulled-back sleek blonde hair told him she was a hotel employee. The pale skin, drawn over fine bones and high forehead, grey-blue eyes and cherub lips told him she was more than welcome. He checked the name badge. Annelise Visser.

“Good evening, Mr van der Veld. My name is Frau Visser and I …”

“Good evening, Annelise. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand. A momentary flush before she recovered herself to shake it. He was well aware that conventions in the Netherlands dictate that one should use surnames in formal situations. He didn’t give a shit.

“I am the Senior Hospitality Director, sir. I am here to check that your suite is satisfactory.”

“The suite seems fine, Annelise, but I do have one concern.”

The smooth dome of her forehead contracted.

“A concern? What would that be, sir?”

“The champagne.” He pushed back the door and indicated the ice bucket. “Can I be sure this is top quality? You see, I’m used to drinking the best.”

“Sir, the champagne is a Krug Grande Cuvée, and was specifically selected by your company …” a glance at her clipboard. “D’Arcy Roth.”

“They are not yet my company, Annelise. They want me as their client. But if you’ll consent to taste the champagne with me, I guess we can agree that the suite is satisfactory.”

A proper blush now. He loved a blush on a blonde. Pink cheeks, pale skin reddened with warmth. He wanted to turn her over, pull down those panties and spank her right there. Raise some heat in those cheeks.

“Sir, I thank you, but I am on duty right now. Drinking alcohol would be inappropriate.”

“This is the hotel that ‘exceeds your expectations’, right?”

“Yes, but …” She laughed. “OK, I will taste the champagne. But then I am afraid I must go. I have to consider the needs of other guests.”

He didn’t reply, but gestured to the sofa. She sat, knees together, the grey skirt riding up slightly. The lamp behind her created a halo effect. An angel. He smiled as he twisted the cork. She was going nowhere. As the cork popped, he caught the overflow in a flute, with a loaded glance at her to see if she picked up on the image. She returned his smile, politely. He slid beside her and handed her a glass. Before he could propose a toast, she set her glass on the table.

“I’m sorry, sir. Champagne always gives me the hiccups. Would you mind if I take some water? I can get it.”

He placed a hand on her knee. “Sit still. You’re my guest.”

She jumped at the touch of his hand. And he still hadn’t made skin contact, as she wore pantyhose. He hated pantyhose.

In the mini-bar, there was an array of different waters. He grabbed a bottle of Evian and showed it to her. She nodded. Returning to his seat, he placed the water in front of her and raised his flute.

“To a very pleasant stay in Utrecht.”

She tipped her glass to his and looked at him. “To a pleasant stay in Utrecht.” She sipped at the fizz and closed her eyes. “Mmm. I don’t wish to prejudice your opinion, but in my view, that’s lovely.”

Her voice was soft, intimate and breathy. He wanted to hear her say those words again. Mmm, that’s lovely. Preferably as she drew her nails down his back. He hadn’t even registered the taste, but his glass was two-thirds empty.

“I don’t know, Annelise, the jury’s still out. Maybe the second glass will clinch it.” He refilled his and she didn’t stop him replacing the tiny sip she had taken. A good sign.

“Now, what time do you finish tonight, Annelise?” His tongue felt thick and his speech sounded slow.

She swallowed some water and caught a stray droplet with the tip of her tongue. Shit, he wasn’t sure if he could wait till later.

She avoided the question. “Why are you in Utrecht, Mr van der Veld? Is it just business, or pleasure?”

He took another slug and leaned towards her. He felt hot, horny and even a little drunk.

“Until five minutes ago, strictly business. But now, I’m not so sore.”

That struck him as funny, because he wasn’t sore at all. But he was as sure as he’d ever be. He started to laugh, but her eyes were looking into his, with intent. Was it too soon to …?

She smiled and reached for the bottle, refilling both glasses. Her voice was low, full of suggestion. He watched her lips.

“Have I satisfied your concerns regarding the champagne, sir?”

That was flirting. No doubt at all. His body felt warm and heavy and soft, with the exception of his cock, which hardened as she placed her hand on his thigh. She lifted the flute to his lips.

“Satisfy my champagne yet.” His lips buzzed and seemed to be slurring. It didn’t bother him. He felt euphoric, completely relaxed. This was turning out to be quite a hotel. Who needed an agency when room service was laid on? She dropped her gaze to his crotch and up to his eyes. Pupils dilated. She wanted him.

“I guess you wanted to freshen up before I arrived?”

He nodded, and managed to mumble the word, “Shower.”

“How about I run you a bath? More fun.”

No mistaking that. She moved to the wardrobe and opened the door. He tried to tell her the bathroom was behind the other door, but she’d already found it. He laughed again. You’d think the staff … He reached for his glass, barely able to lift it to his lips. His arms were leaden as hell and he felt fantastic. No idea if he’d be able to perform.

 

Here she comes. Pulling him to his feet, helping him undress, just like a nurse, what with the gloves and all. Easing him into the bath. Beautiful; soft hands, warm water. He sinks up to his chin, smiling. He can’t recall feeling better in his life.

She’s smiling too. And singing. He recognises the tune and tries to join in. He wants to touch her face but he can’t move. He’s happy, stroked and caressed by this beautiful woman.

The patterns are hypnotic. Crimson clouds twisting and swirling in the water. He watched as clear water loses the battle, dominated by red. She moves to the other side and turns his wrist, as if she’s trying to see what he has hidden in his hand. It’s funny and it makes him laugh. She’s not laughing. Her face is sharp with concentration as she draws the razor blade along his vein, from wrist to elbow. More red joins the fray, and the clear water doesn’t stand a chance. Now she smiles and puts the blade in his right hand. He can’t hold it and it falls into the redness. He watches it fall, helpless. He heaves his head up to look at her reflection in the mirror and attempts a smile.

It’s not working. He looks like an old dog with wind.

 

Behind Closed Doors is the first in The Beatrice Stubbs Series.

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Till next post, in which I shall tackle a thorny issue – author ethics.