Chaos At Christmas – Episode 25
Chaos At Christmas by Ewan Smith
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- 1. Chaos At Christmas – Episode 25
She pressed her shoulder against his. “I should be going; I need my beauty sleep.” Kenny tried to think of a romantic response but his brain wasn’t working very quickly. Her hand touched his knee and squeezed it as if by accident. “I need to call a taxi but my phone is out of charge. Could I borrow yours, sweetie?”
“Of course,” Kenny said, handing it to her. He was pleased by her request. While she was on the phone, he would have time to work out a subtle and sophisticated way of suggesting that they take the taxi together.
She got to her feet. “It’s a bit noisy here. I’ll find somewhere quieter and be right back.”
Kenny watched her leave, all kinds of delightful possibilities swirling about in his mind.
However, the bright smile and dozy look dropped from Layanna’s face as she hurried through the crowd to the pavement outside the pub. She was certain that all kinds of fascinating things were happening at the Manor and she was determined to find out what they were.
She flicked through the photos on Kenny’s phone. There were any number of them but none seemed of much interest. But then her eyes narrowed; there was a file labelled ‘From the Manor’. She hurriedly opened it. Most of the photos were taken in the kitchen and were of the food that was being prepared. There were some of Kenny’s workmates but there seemed to be few, if any, of guests at the hotel which was what she was looking for.
She grimaced to herself in disappointment; she would need to return the phone to Kenny before he became suspicious. But suddenly her finger froze. On the screen, there was a blurred picture which looked as if it was a CCTV image.
She couldn’t believe it. George Clooney’s face was staring out at her. She hurriedly checked the date and time. The photo had been taken that morning. Could he possibly be staying at the hotel? As her finger flicked eagerly on through the rest of the photos, she used her free hand to call a number on her own phone.
News desk,
came a gruff voice.
“Hey, Derek, it’s Layanna here. You won’t believe the story that I’ve got…”
Ferelith was gripped by her dream. She was gazing at a huge green screen and on it were the blurred infra-red images of two people dancing. Somehow or other, she knew that they were herself and Geraint.
The two of them were swirling about, their movements perfect, their footwork exquisite. But now they were slowing. Now they were standing in each other’s arms. Now their faces were coming together. Now…now there was a strange chirruping sound.
“Groo,” she muttered in the darkness and fumbled for her phone. She pulled off her sleep mask and gazed blearily at the screen. “Hello Dad.”
“Sorry to disturb you, darling, but would you mind dropping by my office when you have a moment?”
Ferelith tried to think but her mind seemed to be working through treacle. The situation didn’t make any sense. “It’s a quarter to six in the morning, Dad.”
I’m afraid that we have a situation on our hands.
Ferelith was proud of herself. When she opened the door of her father’s office, it wasn’t even six o’clock yet. And though she wasn’t exactly as fresh as a daisy, she was showered and dressed and her hair almost looked brushed.
Her father wasn’t alone. Franklyn was speaking into his phone with a low but furious voice while Lyle was sprawled in a chair with newspapers scattered all around him.
Ferelith closed the door behind her. “What’s going on, Dad?”
Lionel looked at her wearily. “It’s the papers. Fosbury Manor is all over the front pages.”
Chief Inspector Ralph Ibbertson cut a frustrated figure. “My concern is for public safety. Hundreds of people have gathered outside the hotel grounds and the crowd is growing all the time.”
Lyle just shrugged. “They seemed fairly good-natured to me. Are they doing any harm?”
“For a start, they’re wandering about all over the road.”
Lyle looked at him curiously. “So it’s the traffic flow that concerns you rather than the crowd itself?”
“It’s two days before Christmas and the police are already stretched to the limit,” the chief inspector snapped back. “This is the last thing we need. You have to put out a statement, Mr Cranford.
The people have gathered here because of those ridiculous newspaper stories. They think, quite wrongly, that the hotel is full of celebrities. You have got to make it clear that nobody interesting is staying here at the moment.”
Lyle raised an eyebrow. “I might take that personally, Chief Inspector.”
Ferelith’s eyes suddenly widened. “Dad – you’re on TV!”
The television screen in the corner of Lionel’s office was switched on, though it had been muted when the Chief Inspector had arrived. Ferelith quickly turned up the volume. Lionel was standing by the entrance of the Manor with the crowd in a lively mood behind him.
“It’s the interview I did earlier,” he said but he was hurriedly hushed as the journalist pointing her microphone at him. “So who is really staying at Fosbury Manor at the moment?” she asked.
“We never discuss our guests in public,” Lionel retorted. “This is a hotel where people’s privacy is respected.”
The journalist snorted in disbelief. “What happens at Fosbury Manor stays at Fosbury Manor?”
“If you like. Our guests expect the highest standards of confidentiality from us. But I can assure you that the names being bandied about in the newspapers this morning are fanciful in the extreme. The journalists responsible for the stories have let their imaginations run away with them completely.”
“But there are photographs,” the journalist pressed him. “Images from the hotel’s own CCTV system showing the likes of George Clooney, Laura Dern and Kim Kardashian.”
Lionel shook his head. “Have you seen the quality of the photographs? It’s a nonsense. The people are barely recognisable.”
“Are you assuring us that none of those people are staying here?”
“As I said earlier, we never discuss our guests in public.”
“But you’re not denying that they’re staying here?”
“I’m neither admitting it nor denying it. This isn’t a matter that I’m prepared to discuss.”
The journalist touched her ear; she was getting a message from her producer. She turned to the camera with a dazzling smile. “So that’s the rather confusing situation here at Fosbury Manor Hotel in London. Back to the studio now.”
Marja and Tones, the programme’s hosts, appeared on the screen. They were sitting on a sofa looking at each other curiously. “What do you think?” Marja asked. “This is just the sort of thing that Lyle Cranford would do – to pack a luxury hotel with his celebrity friends over Christmas.”
Tone nodded. “And the manager wasn’t very convincing. He’s clearly hiding something. I reckon the celebrities really are there.”
Ferelith muted the TV and Chief Inspector Ibbertson turned angrily to Lionel. “That’s just made things worse! Why on earth didn’t you state clearly that none of those celebrities is staying here?”
Lionel’s cheeks flushed. “We don’t discuss our guests in public. It’s a matter of principle.”
“I don’t give a hoot about your principles. Even more people are going to turn up now.” He pointed a finger at Lyle. “You have got to put out a statement.”
Lyle shrugged. “It wouldn’t make any difference. People wouldn’t believe it.”
The Chief Inspector threw his hands into the air. “So what do you intend to do?”
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
“Lemons!? Now what are you talking about?”
Lyle turned to Franklyn, a grin on his face. “I’ve had an idea.”
