Office Eyes

You're expected at Victoria Station tomorrow, xxx.

Was all his text message read.

Hastily locking her phone and tossing it in her handbag to do the 'Euston dash'.

With seconds to go, she leapt through the first door of the first carriage she came across, just as the whistle blew. Having made it onto the 21:23 from Euston, she was pleased she had taken the extra minute in the office to swap her heels for trainers. The train now rolling out of the station before she'd even start to make her way through first class and towards the the front of the train.

She'd have loved to take a seat where she was but imagined she'd need to be on her general manager's salary to be able to justify that.

Still, she was pleased with herself because now she'd be home in forty minutes instead of the one hour and fifteen minutes the next train afforded. More so delighted she had finally received a signature on the £55,000 contract for an event she'd been negotiating. That in itself was an early birthday present. And so she mentally tossed it into the bag of things she had to celebrate that week.

Bags. Her hands were full of them. And as Loren moved along the carriages, she lovingly held on to them. Trying her best to save, notably the light robin-egg blue coloured one, from being smashed into the sides of the seats as the train hurtled towards her home station. After four years working at the hotel, both her colleagues and regular clients knew Loren did not work on her birthday. LL Cool J would have to be in residence for her to do so, and since that was not the case - she was out of the office tomorrow.

Her own LL was out of the country for another two days, leaving her at loss as to what she'd be expected for at Victoria in the morning.

Brain raced around Victoria train station as her legs made their way into every day 'Joe Bloggs' carriages. Pleased to find seats, she plopped herself onto the first two available on the right-hand side of the carriage. A definite perk of commuting at this time of the day or rather night.

Bags in the window seat, her in the aisle seat, she threw her head back and closed her eyes. Catch her breath. Relieved to be finally seated. Except now she desperately clenched her thighs. It'll have to hold she told herself.

A series of incoming text whistles drew her attention. Unwillingly, she opened her eyes, to see the passenger sat diagonally across the aisle from her checking his phone. It was him and not her who had received the messages.

These darn Samsung phones. I should change my message alert. And then Loren remembered her earlier text message, she sighed, one that was profound. Tried her best to blot out the text and indeed the sender. As she had not yet dare face him.

She reached for the bottle of lemon-and-ginger-infused water the head chef had prepared for her earlier in the day and took a sip. Compared with when Loren first started at the hotel, the relationship between herself and Chef Handerson had simmered immensely. From that of a spitting fat pan to a simmering, flavoursome jus. So much so, he made her fruit-infused water on the days he was in. Like an arrow, a thought shot through her. What if he was slowly poisoning her? Slowly, she swished the water around her mouth, tasted all of it before swallowed. And just as quickly dismissed it and laughed at the concoction and herself.

She peeked into the blue gift bag, but that revealed nothing. She, however, recognised the handwriting on one of the envelopes and knew immediately it was from one of her longstanding clients. And likely contained gift vouchers as they often did from her favourite department store. When the pull of the previous text message became too much, she gave in and picked up her phone again.

There was a text message from Ted, her colleague in the revenue department.

Sorry, I didn't get a chance to give you your birthday hug before you left, Ted.

Unlike Chef Handerson, Ted had been very welcoming to her, from her very first day at the hotel. An extremely humble and modest guy, who got on with everyone. It always appeared he was the first in, in the mornings and last out at nights. That was until one early morning Loren spotted him and the live-in duty manager wrapped around each other like mallow twists just outside her room.

And it was Ted who had supported her when she challenged Chef Handerson about the hostile way in which he always spoke to her. And somewhere along the prep, the virtual pots, pans and knives ceased to lance her way. Or could it be down to her having seen him on three separate occasions leaving a corner suite with the General Manager? And on each occasion, just after lunch.

But touched by the kind sentiment of his text, she patted her chest and smiled back at her screen.

Ahh hun, so sweet! And three warm hug emojis.

Was her text back. There was another text message, this one from Aidan.

Loren had been working at the hotel two full weeks before she met Aidan, who was away on holiday for two full weeks. But on his first day back, Loren felt his eyes, sparkly, blue as topaz tracking her as she walked into the office that morning. She stopped dead in her tracks next to where he stood at Ted's desk.

Aidan, this is Loren, one of the Events Executives. Loren, this is Aidan, our new Financial Controller.

Ted continued.

Aidan walked out into the aisle where she stood, reached out his right arm and moved his lips.

Hi, my name is Aidan, very pleased to meet you.

His Irish accent poured out like the original Irish Cream itself. Loren outstretched her arm, gaze unwavering.

Very pleased, are you?

A decided up tone at the end of her question.

Yes very pleased.

I see.

She responded with one raised eyebrow and a half smile after accepting his hold of a handshake, then letting go.

Unlike Handersen, Loren and Aidan got on from the get go. Her accounting queries got addressed right away, and any clarifications he needed regarding events, rooms conferences; she became his go-to girl. Only an office apart, there were days they chatted on the phone for up to fifteen minutes at a time. Usually it would start as a work query then on to pointless banter. You always knew when Loren was speaking to Aidan, she laughed a heck of a lot.

If you change your mind, the offer still stands for coffee tomorrow.

Loren smiled, wry, because Aidan was a factor in her present lover's tiff. Back in March, she had stayed late, managing a client's residential conference. Aidan, was also working late on the hotel's year-end accounts.

I take it you have a room booked tonight! He surmised.

No, I'm intending to catch the last express home.

By the time you get in, it will be time to get back. Aidan chuckled. But why aren't going to your other half?

We are sort of going through a break. A wry expression painted itself across Loren's face.

Aidan took off his glasses. What was it this time, or should I not ask?

Phoooo, the usual.

She finished the sentence there but he understood, got up and got two glasses and one of the house reds he kept hidden behind the coat rack, for such occasions. Except on that occasion the headache she had the next morning, said she may have had one too many. The unanswered twenty-one calls and text messages from her other half didn't help. And that's after coming to the hotel to pick her up after work.

Loren mentioned none of this to Aidan, though she suspected he must have guessed with all the office gossip of her man waiting for her in vain. They eventually telling him she had gone home.

She revisited the message that caused her to pick up her mobile in the first place, and re-read the text. There was no 'Hi' no 'Hello' no 'How are you?' No 'I miss you.' Okay maybe not the latter but he'd at least arranged something for her birthday, even if he wasn't to be in town. As the train pulled into her station, she yawned, feeling as tired as hell but relieved knowing she could sleep late the next morning.

Minutes later, Loren was hurriedly turning the key in the door to her apartment.

Her mobile kept ringing off the hook, and her bladder had lost all patience with her. Slamming the door shut, she dropped everything and got to the bathroom just in time. An egg sandwich and a bottle of J2 later she stood at the kitchen counter trying to figure out what the catch was with Victoria Station. But other than trains to Gatwick Airport go from there - nothing stood out. He didn't say to bring a weekend bag, although she had ample clothing at his, to furnish a mini getaway. But neither had she booked any time off outside of her birthday.

Enough pondering over that she thought as the Tiffany bag caught her eye once more. In the bag were two birthday cards, one signed by the conference and events team and the other by the accounts department with Aidan's signature taking up almost a quarter of the inside of the latter. What she hadn't realised was that there were two gift boxes inside the Tiffany bag. She untied the smaller gift box first which revealed a pair of silver earrings. In the second gift box was a matching silver bracelet. Looking at the items, she guessed it was Aidan who went out shopping. He'd also previously worked at Tiffany's. She messaged him back.

Thank you x 2. Will let you know regarding coffee.

In another gift bag was an elegant, print scarf, ideal for those cooler summer nights. In another, some chocolates, wine and spa vouchers. And in the envelope, just as she thought some Selfridges gift vouchers from Mr and Mrs Cohen.

Mrs Cohen and her husband have been regulars to the hotel over the years. An American couple now in their early seventies, they'd visit London every October and occupy one of the corner suites overlooking the square for three weeks at a time. Mrs Cohen had actually met her husband in the said hotel nearly fifty years ago while attending a bar mitzvah. They'd stopped visiting the hotel entirely when it fell into disrepair. But now fully refurbished and under new management, the hotel had won them back as regular guests. Loren happened to be the lucky soul who picked up the phone four years ago when Mrs Cohen called to make their reservations. As someone who had seen the hotel transform over many years, Mrs Cohen had a lot of stories to tell. Some of which Loren have related to prospective clients on show rounds to sell the property.

Because who doesn't love a good story?

Loren supposed she should at least acknowledge receipt of the text message and so picked up her phone to respond. And as she did a video call came in. It was Reiss. She inhaled, composed herself. Answered the call.

Reiss was laid in his bed, the duvet across his bare chest, his right arm holding the phone, his left arm behind his head. She recognised the double corded, navy blue and white duvet and pillowcase set she had bought last Christmas on the bed. But when did he get back? And why hadn't he said? He looked a little tired but rousing none the less. She had shied away from that bed since March, and suddenly she wanted to be there. On surer footing, she'd be assured of a full West Indian at breakfast and more. But at this particular time, she felt it best to keep the conversation above the duvet.

Oh hi! I was just about to message you.

He paused, his expression that of bemused.

Calling to wish you a Happy Birthday!

She was about to say It wasn't quite her birthday yet, when à quick glance at her phone said differently. It had just gone 00:01.

Thank you!

Voice almost clipped and she was unsure why because if anyone should be upset, it should be him.

What were you about to call to say?

The air was slightly terse between them. And Loren knew the reason all too well. Further, she had not yet gotten around to explaining herself. But Loren had no explanation to give. Saying her eyes became entangled with another pair of eyes in the office was just not going to cut it.

Well, since you're back what I was about to say no longer holds. I suppose the more important conversation is what time are we meeting tomorrow?

Ten o'clock on platform two.

Loren chuckled, her face now a genuine delight.

Is it Harry Potter's World tomorrow? Should I turn up with a witch's hat, T-shirt and jeans?

And here I had you down as a 'Lunchtime Lovers' type of birthday girl.

She smiled something sincere at the man that knew her all too well.

But by the way, that would be Kings Cross. Platform 9 3/4

What's Kings Cross? She asked.

Harry Potter.

They both went quiet. Loren with an amused puzzlement on her face while Reiss watched her cogs turn. And then it clicked.

Judging by how slow she was then, she guessed it must have been a turtle egg sandwich she'd been eating. She laughed at herself. Happy.