Quintin Jardine - Alarm Call

In fact we hardly spoke to each other, we seemed consumed with our own thoughts, chose automatically from the menu. . I can’t even remember what we ate, and that’s unusual for me … and then just picked at our food.

We were back at the hotel and in our suite when the dam burst. I had just closed the door when I saw her shoulders start to shake; she buried her face in her hands and sat on the edge of the bed closest to her. I let her sob for a while, and then, when it had started to subside, I drew her to her feet and held her to me.

‘Oz, I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled into my chest. ‘I should never have got you involved in this. It’s taken you away from home, it’s cost you a packet, and it’s made all sorts of trouble for you. I can, can. .’ She broke off as a big sob racked her. ‘. . can tell that you’ve had enough, and that you’d rather be out of it.’

I’d been thinking just that, in spite of myself, but I could hardly admit it, could I? Besides, we had travelled a long way together, and not just in that week. And there was this too; in the course of our latest journey I had come to feel completely isolated from what I knew as home, and from the person around whom it all revolved. Susie had more or less ordered us both on this mission, and now she was giving me grief.

So I whispered into Prim’s ear the traditional Scottish words of comfort, ‘Don’t be fuckin’ daft,’ and pressed her even tighter to me. We stayed that way for the rest of the night.

When I woke next morning, at seven, my right arm was numb, trapped under her head. I eased it out without disturbing her, then peeled off the clothes in which I had fallen asleep, and headed for the shower. When I returned, still trying to dry myself adequately with a towel that was moist from the previous day, she was sitting on the bed we had slept on, with her knees pulled up to her chest, and her newly discarded clothes at her feet. Her face was puffed and blotchy, but she managed a small smile.

‘How can you do that?’ she asked. ‘You sleep all night in your clothes, yet ten minutes later you’re looking like a movie star.’

‘I am a bloody movie star,’ I reminded her.

‘Yes, now, but you’ve always been able to do that.’

I grinned at her. ‘Well, now’s your chance to do the same … although you’ve got a bit of work to do.’

‘I’d better get to it then.’ She jumped from the bed, only to pause on her way to the bathroom. ‘Do you know what’s sad, though?’ she said. ‘Now you are a movie star, you don’t fancy me a bit.’

I looked down at her figure; it had been trim before, but now it qualified as voluptuous. ‘Don’t you believe it,’ I told her. ‘I may be a happily married man, but I’m still a man. So, please, get all that out of my sight.’

She seemed cheered up by that dismissal; she spent about half an hour in the bathroom, but after she was done and dressed for the journey, everything was restored to normal. We ate a very light breakfast in the hotel courtyard, then checked out and set off on our journey.

I’d never driven from LA to Las Vegas before, but technology’s a wonderful thing. I switched on the GSP and did what I was told. All I had to do was steer the thing. It took us out of Westwood on Interstate 405, then on to I-10, through the mass of Los Angeles itself and out to San Bernadino, where it took the I-15 and headed for Nevada, across mostly open country, much of it desert. I put the Jaguar into cruise control and leaned back with not much more than a finger on the wheel, to enjoy the view from the almost empty highway.

Eventually, in the distance, Las Vegas loomed up before us; it’s one of the most amazing things I have ever seen, that fantastic skyline rising from the flat, arid landscape. The effect was as if we were standing still and it was coming up from the very ground itself to engulf us. It reminded me of the great scene in Spielberg’s Close Encounters , when the mother ship appears for the first time, and you’re stunned by the sheer size of the thing.

And engulf us it did, although the navigation system did its job to the end. It guided us along the Strip, past the steel and concrete wonderlands, until it told me to turn off and into the driveway of the Bellagio Hotel and Casino.

I left the valet to park the Jaguar, and to tell Hertz they could come and collect it, then I allowed a porter to wheel our luggage inside. The Bellagio’s reception area turned out to be around the same size as the whole of the Century Wilshire, if not slightly larger; at least, that was how it seemed.

There wasn’t just one clerk at Reception, there was a team, and they all knew who I was. They gave us the royal treatment, and within a minute we were being escorted to the lift. The suite that awaited us was bloody enormous. It was on the top floor with a view up and down the Strip. There were two bedrooms, each with his and hers bathrooms, and a living area the size of a driving range. I looked at Prim. She looked at me. I was used to luxury accommodation when I was working, but this left me as gob-smacked as she was.

There was a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket on the dining-table with a note attached. It was from Everett and it read, Welcome to the City of Dreams, Daze. I’m in suite eleven. I called him straight away to tell him I’d arrived, but Reception had already done that.

‘Hi, buddy,’ he greeted me. ‘When did your flight get in?’

‘I drove.’

He gave a great booming laugh. ‘From San Francisco?’ He had seen the telly news as well.

‘From the City of the Angels.’

‘Why the hell were you there? Are your wife and kids with you?’

‘One of my wives is, no kids; the extra room will be used, don’t worry. It’s a long story; I’ll explain when I see you.’

‘I can’t wait. Get yourselves settled in, then come along to my suite for lunch. Say around two.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but I’ll be on my own. Primavera’s expecting a phone call.’

‘Primavera? The lady we met in Barcelona? I thought you got divorced a few years back.’

‘We did, and we still are. That’s part of the long story.’

I left him wondering and picked up Prim’s case from the foyer. . the suite actually had a foyer. . where the bellboy had left it. I carried it through to the bedroom to the left of the living area. ‘This is yours,’ I told her. ‘I’ll be away over there.’

She grinned at me. ‘We might as well be in separate hotels,’ she said.

‘Maybe we should have been all along,’ I muttered. I took my suitcase to the other bedroom and unpacked it. I found a laundry bag and crammed all my used stuff into it, then called Housekeeping and asked them to pick it up straight way. I went to tell Prim she should do the same, to find her opening the champagne.

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘The ice is melting.’

‘Can’t let that happen,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll do that; you go and bag up your noxious knickers and all your other stuff. The Seventh Cavalry laundry service is on its way to the rescue.’

‘Thank Christ for that.’

When she returned I handed her a glass; we walked across to the window and looked out, taking in the amazing view. They say that all great cities are a collection of villages that have gradually evolved into a single mass, while retaining some of their own distinctive colour and characteristics. Las Vegas isn’t like that, not one bit, although for my money it’s a great city too. It’s a collection of extraordinary visions and follies, all of which have swum together to create a fairyland nobody could ever have imagined had they looked out across what was then desert, sixty years ago. It’s said that the place in which we stood cost a billion dollars, and it’s just one among many, and not even the biggest. God knows how much dough’s been sunk into the Strip, all of it dedicated to separating Mr and Mrs America from theirs.