Hotel de Dream Read Online Free PDF Page B

this dress,” Melinda said. “I stink like a polecat. Where have all my pairs of trousers gone?”
    Mrs Houghton swore silently. Sometimes she wondered whether the university education she had allowed her characters hadn’t been an error. Johnny had rebelliously attended lectures in English literature at London University, before dropping out and then going on to the riots at LSE; Melinda had dabbled in graphic design at Hornsey. Johnny’s half-baked grasp of such things as realism, imaginative writing and the use of metaphor was more irritating than Melinda’s occasional pronouncements on modern art.
    â€œYou can have breakfast as soon as I’ve had my tea. Then off to the barber for you, Johnny. And no more trousers at the moment, Melinda. A nice coat and skirt—and perhaps a woollen dress. Now, are you both going to be good while I’m away?”
    As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mrs Houghton regretted them. Johnny clapped his hands to his long, greasy locks as if he had been promised a beheading. Melinda tore at her dress, which ripped open in front, showing the expensive new lingerie provided in her trousseau. She had never seen them look so unco-operative. And ifthere was one thing Cecilia Houghton dreaded it was the Block. She knew from experience that it could last for weeks, and that no amount of literary laxatives had the slightest effect on it, whether ingested in the form of the all-night reading of crime novels, or the short sharp jabs of gardening manuals. She must keep Johnny and Melinda sweet at all costs, for their relationship was of the utmost importance in the third part of the trilogy, the roles of the other characters kept to a minimum. Where was her compassion now? How could she hope to produce well-rounded personalities if she treated them with such insensitivity? Already, Melinda looked distinctly two-dimensional in her torn dress on the bed. Johnny resembled a cardboard cutout in his menacing attitude against the window.
    â€œForgive me!” Mrs Houghton went over to both and stroked them lovingly. Johnny, who had shown an evil streak at the Encounter Group therapy session to which Mrs Houghton had taken him in the first volume, shook her off roughly. Melinda gave a better response, filling out under Mrs Houghton’s gentle fingers. An idea flitted into the writer’s mind.
    â€œYou know I want you to say what’s going to happen! I want you to take over completely, and many times you have, my dears, only needing to be pulled in from time to time for the sake of the structure. Suppose we all sit down when I’ve had my tea—”
    â€œAnd we’ve had our breakfast,” Melinda put in, tears in her large eyes.
    â€œYes, yes. And then we can decide together what comes next. In the meantime, I’d like you to do a little detective work for me. There’s most definitely something odd happening in this hotel. And you are uniquely well placed to find out what it is.”
    â€œSomething odd?” Johnny’s eyes brightened for a moment. Then he glared again. “Your idea of something odd is a man forgetting to send flowers on his wife’s anniversary, MrsH. Sorry but I’m just not into sniffing round the marital rows in this dump.”
    â€œNot at all! There’s exiled royalty undergoing torture in the next room, Johnny. I heard it before you woke up. Now why don’t you slip in there in a minute and then report back later?”
    Some of the old life seemed to be returning to the characters, because both Melinda and Johnny burst out laughing and Johnny threw his cigarette end out of the window with his usual aplomb.
    â€œAnd I don’t have to go to the barber?” he said after a pause.
    â€œNot if you don’t want to,” Mrs Houghton lied. “No, some king or queen of a forgotten country is confined in there. You know my curiosity, Johnny. Melinda, will you?”
    The idea was