Things We Never Say Read Online Free PDF Page A

the bougainvillea were pruned, when the pool was cleaned and filled and when the doors of the hotel were opened again.
    She glanced at her watch and retraced her steps to the front of the building. Just as she was thinking that he was late, a black SUV with the logo of the estate agent pulled into the car park, sending up a spray of gravel. The door opened and a man, younger than Suzanne had expected – somewhere in his twenties, she thought – got out.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was delayed on the road.’
    ‘No problem.’ She extended her hand. ‘Suzanne Fitzpatrick.’
    ‘Jaime Roig. Delighted to meet you. So, you are interested in the Mirador Hotel?’
    ‘Perhaps.’
    ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity.’ Jaime began to talk about the hotel, telling her what she had already seen for herself, that it was in a fantastic position overlooking the sea, that it was full of character and charm, that it was crying out for someone to restore it to its former beauty and bring the tourists to this unspoilt area, a mere half an hour’s drive away from the historic town of Girona.
    Suzanne let him talk without interruption. Until it got to the question of money, there was very little he could say to influence her. She continued to appraise the building and the gardens around it, moving into the shade of one of the palms as Jaime continued with his spiel.
    ‘Would you like to go inside?’ he asked eventually, and she nodded.
    He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, selected one and opened the doors to the hotel. Suzanne pushed her sunglasses on to her head, stepped inside, and then stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
    Jaime reached behind the door and switched on the electricity. A fluorescent tube spluttered a few times before it lit properly.
    ‘I’ll open the shutters.’ Jaime moved to the windows of what Suzanne could now see was a spacious reception area. There was a leather-topped marble reception desk to one side, pigeonholes and a row of silver keys on enormous fobs behind it. In the centre of the room was an expansive glass table. A few brocade seats were pushed against the wall. When the shutters were open and the daylight streamed in, Suzanne realised that a layer of dust covered the table and that the fabric on the seats was faded. But the floor was cool white polished marble, and the chandelier that hung from the ceiling was both ornate and elegant.
    ‘There are thirty-six rooms in total,’ said Jaime. ‘Also a restaurant, a bar and a salon.’
    ‘I’d like to see one of the rooms,’ said Suzanne.
    ‘Of course. Follow me.’
    He walked past the reception desk and stopped in front of the lift. So did Suzanne, who exclaimed in delight.
    Jaime looked pleased. ‘You like it?’
    Until now Suzanne had been able to keep her emotions under control, but she couldn’t help herself.
    ‘It’s amazing,’ she said.
    It was an old-fashioned cage lift, with inner and outer grille doors that were manually opened and closed. The metal frame and doors were painted in gold and green and were decorated with the coats of arms of Spanish noble houses.
    ‘Want to use it to go upstairs?’
    ‘Is it working properly? Is it safe?’
    Jaime grinned. ‘I hope so.’
    He pulled open the doors and she stepped inside. The wooden floor was worn, as were the brass buttons that identified each level. When Jaime stepped in beside her, he pressed 3 and the lift began to move slowly upwards. As it passed the other floors, Suzanne could see occasional abandoned items – a vacuum cleaner, a mop and (strangely) a guitar. She wondered about the people who had stayed and worked here, wondered what they were doing now.
    The lift juddered to a halt and Jaime opened the doors again.
    ‘This way.’
    He selected another key from the ring and led her to a room at the end of the corridor, which he opened. She stepped inside. He was about to turn on the light, but she stopped him. She walked over to the window and