Room of Masks

"Good evening, Mr White."

I looked up from my screen to see my fellow receptionist, Rachel, smiling warmly at the tall, dark figure approaching our desk. I glanced at my watch and wasn't at all surprised to see that it was exactly ten o'clock.

The man leaning casually against our desk was at least six and a half feet tall, and nearly as wide, his muscular frame squeezed into a dark grey suit. He wasn't wearing a tie tonight, and I noticed how thick his neck looked through the open collar of his crisp white shirt.

"Good evening, Miss Kane, and good evening Miss Grant," he said, only briefly taking his eyes off my colleague to glance over at me, nodding a greeting in his curiously formal manner. He had a rather deep voice with a trace of some kind of accent, maybe eastern European. If I'm honest, I suppose I felt a little jealous; it was clear he was attracted to Rachel.

I'm not bad-looking in a girl-next-door kind of way, petite with hazel eyes and my chestnut hair scraped back into a neat ponytail, although I'd put on a little weight since I started doing these night shifts and fallen out of my usual gym routine. But I wasn't too surprised that Mr White only had eyes for Rachel with her slim figure and fair complexion, all blonde curls, glossy pink lips and dark blue eyes.

"You're looking well. How are you?" she said, flashing a bright smile at him as she fumbled beneath the desk for the key to the Peabody suite.

"Fine, thanks. Do you need to see my booking confirmation?" he asked, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"No, no need, we trust you," she said, handing him the key, and watching it disappear into his big, meaty hand. He asked this every week, but he was just being polite. We all knew that the bridge club he worked for had a block booking from ten pm until three in the morning, and had rented the Peabody Suite for as long as anyone could remember. Certainly as long as I'd worked at the Grand Hotel, which was over two years.

"Thanks, I'll hand it back later," he said with a curt nod.

I waited for him turn and stride off purposefully down the long corridor, then rolled my chair closer to Rachel and nudged her elbow.

"You're looking so well, Mr White, have you been working out, you great big hunky man?" I whispered in a high-pitched parody of her voice, as I fluttered my eyelashes coquettishly.

"Come on, I'm not that bad!" she protested.

"You are! You're such a shameless flirt, Rachel!"

"Was it that obvious?"

"Duh, yeah."

"Well, he is a good-looking man, you can't deny that," Rachel said defensively, as we watched his large frame disappear around a corner.

"Yeah, well I suppose if you like your men tall, dark and handsome, dressed in a nicely tailored charcoal grey suit, I mean if that's really the kind of man that does it for you..." I said.

I got on well with Rachel. I'd moved here to west London from my home town of Bristol a couple of years back, and she'd always done her best to help me settle in at the hotel. Although as I was still relatively new I seemed to get stuck with these 'graveyard' shifts. I guess I didn't mind too much; they paid more and the cost of living here was so much higher than I was used to.

As suggested by its name, the Grand Hotel was well regarded but a little dated. It had been built in the era of Art Deco and although there'd been some recent attempts to modernise it, it still felt stuck in the thirties with its cut-glass chandeliers, large gilt mirrors and garish floral carpets.

Before long, the members of the Hades Bridge Club started to arrive. I smiled politely and said 'good evening' as they drifted through the lobby, in groups of three and four. The men smartly dressed in dark suits with open-collared white shirts, and the women in expensive-looking evening gowns, all headed for the Peabody Suite where they'd spend the rest of the night, leaving in the early hours of the morning, towards the end of my shift.

"Don't you think it's odd?" I said thoughtfully.

"What?" said Rachel, who was smiling and nodding as a tall lady in a slinky bottle green dress walked past clutching a tiny bejewelled gold handbag, barely glancing in our direction.

"This bridge club, they're all so well-dressed. Have you ever actually been in there and seen them playing?"

"Well, no, I think Peter keeps out any non-members, that's kind of his job."

"Oh, it's 'Peter' now, is it?" I teased, causing Rachel to roll her eyes.

"And that's another thing: why does a bridge club meet so late on a Friday night and need a bouncer?" I continued.

"He's not a bouncer, he's a doorman," she protested.

"Bouncer, doorman, what's the difference? He's there to keep people out, right? To stop people seeing what's going on in there."

"Gosh, your imagination! It's a private, members-only club, it's just that they don't want other hotel guests wandering in and out. I mean, what are you expecting?" she replied, shaking her head, her blonde curls brushing against the padded shoulders of her navy jacket.

"Yeah, it's private alright. Do you know anyone who's actually been in there?"

"Well, no but..."

"I'm just saying they could be up to anything down there."

"Come on, just because we haven't been in there it doesn't mean anything. I mean, what are you suggesting, Beth? You think it's some kind of secret kinky sex club or something? Do you think there's a wild orgy going on in there, people swinging from the chandeliers...?"

"Well no, not a sex club, I'm just saying..." I started to say.

"You know you really need to get out more, Beth. How long's it been since you broke up with Derek?"

"Two months, nearly three."

"Well, you should get out there and find yourself another man. Actually, if you fancy it, there's this new bar..." she started to say, then stopped as a guest approached us.

"Hi, I seem to have lost my key card..." he said, holding out his hands and looking apologetic.

"No problem, Sir, now what's your name...?" Rachel said, ever the professional.

-

It was maybe an hour later when I noticed the young woman. She was standing in the middle of the reception area, under the huge chandelier, alternately glancing at a piece of paper that she clutched in her hand and looking around anxiously.

I'd often noticed guests like her, lingering in the reception area before setting off in the direction of the Peabody Suite. They were nearly always women in their twenties or thirties, and often dressed as if they were going to a party. Rachel was on the 'phone, so I looked over the desk and remembering my refresher training, I flashed what I hoped was a friendly smile.

"Can I help you, madam?" I said.

"Oh! Yes, I'm looking for the Peabody Suite," she said, as she drifted towards our desk. She was slim and willowy; her toffee-coloured hair scraped back and tied in a neat ponytail, held with a black ribbon.

Usually I would have simply directed her towards the long corridor to the right and slightly behind our desk but I saw an opportunity.

"Actually I'm just off there myself," I said, getting to my feet and straightening my navy skirt. "I'll take you down there."

"Oh no, that's okay, I don't want to be any trouble," she said, looking a little nervous and I rounded the desk, and invited her to join me by gesturing towards the corridor.

"Oh, that's okay, it's no trouble," I said, as she fell into step with me. "Are you part of the bridge club?"

"Yes, that's right, the bridge club. I'm just a guest," she explained.

Although it was a warm September night, she was wearing a long, beige raincoat, which she unbuttoned as she walked, and I couldn't help noticing that underneath she was dressed like a schoolgirl.

"So is it some kind of fancy-dress night?" I asked, taking in her fitting white shirt gaping open at the front, a rather short yellow-and-black plaid skirt and a pair of plain, low-heeled black shoes.

"Oh! Um, yes, that's right, fancy dress," she said, blushing prettily as she glanced down at her outfit, as if she'd forgotten what she was wearing.

"Well, you'll certainly turn a few heads," I said, as we rounded a corner. Mr White was standing in front of the doors to the suite, erect and solid-looking, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

"Good evening, ladies," he said, looking a little surprised to see me.

"Our guest was a little lost," I explained as we paused in front of him.

I stood and watched closely as the young woman handed him the piece of paper, her hands trembling slightly. I leaned in close but didn't have time to read it properly; I was only able to skim the text, picking up words like "invitation", "discrete" and "private club".

"Excellent, well welcome to the Hades Bridge Club, enjoy your evening, Cherry," White said, handing the invitation back then stepping aside and opening one of the large wooden doors.

"Thanks," the young woman said, smiling nervously as she slipped inside.

I started to follow, but he stepped in front of me, stopping me with a firm hand on my shoulder.

"I can only let you through if you're a member, or you've got an invitation," he explained.

"But I work here!" I protested.

"Sorry Miss Grant, they're the rules," he replied sternly.

"I, um, need to talk to the person in charge. There's been a complaint about the noise," I said, trying to think of some plausible excuse as I craned my neck, trying to peer around the edge of the half-open door. A complaint about noise wasn't likely as there weren't any guest rooms down here, but it was the best I could think of.

"Well, leave it with me, I'll pass the message on," he said, his dark eyes meeting mine as he kicked the door closed.

I was so close yet so far away! A quick glance beyond those doors would surely answer all my questions. I briefly considered trying to shove past him but even as I formed that thought I realised it wasn't a great plan. Up close, I could see the way White's suit looked a little too small, emphasising his muscular frame. If I tried anything, he looked like he'd just tuck me under one of those big arms and carry me kicking and screaming back to reception like a badly behaved schoolgirl.

"Yes well, see that you do," I said rather lamely as I spun on my heels and headed back to reception.

--

It was a little more than an hour later when I saw the young woman again. Looking up from my computer, I wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there in a little seated area off to one side. It was nearly midnight now and the lobby was a lot quieter, most of our guests having returned to their rooms.

I leaned over the desk trying to catch her eye, as she stood and fastened the buttons of her raincoat.

"Look, it's her!" I whispered to Rachel, but she shot me a look that expressed her total lack of interest.

I scooted round the desk, eager to find out how her evening had gone, but as I approached she turned away, fishing a mobile from her handbag and stabbing at the screen.

"Yeah, hi Marcy, I'm out now, are you on your way?" I heard her say, as I lingered nearby.

I watched her place her black handbag on her seat as she stood and began to pace up and down.

"Oh yeah," she giggled, "it really was quite something."

I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't resist edging a little closer, desperate to hear what she had to say, to get some clues as to what she'd experienced inside the club. I pretended to rearrange the flowers in a nearby vase.

"Oh yeah, totally! You've got to try it sometime, I mean seriously!" she enthused excitedly.

As she talked, something caught my eye; there was something not quite right about her handbag. I edged closer, trying to figure out what it was. There was something on top. At first I thought it was a handkerchief, which seemed old-fashioned but as I stood on tiptoe and leaned over, I was able to make out what it actually was: a pair of lace-edged white silk panties, scrunched up and lying just inside the open zipper.

I sneaked back to the desk, but Rachel was distinctly unimpressed when I excitedly told her what I'd found.

"So?" she said. "It doesn't mean she's not wearing any. Maybe she just likes to carry a spare pair."

"Oh, come on, really? Who does that?"

"Well, what are you suggesting?"

"Well, obviously she's taken them off at some point. I mean, what kind of bridge club requires you to remove your underwear?" I said, as her phone started to ring.

"Oh come on Beth, I haven't got time for this," she said, before picking up her phone and signalling the end of our conversation.

--

And that should have been the end of it. If I'd have stopped there, I wouldn't have got into so much trouble, but of course, that's not the kind of person I am. Most people would probably have let it go, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I'm the kind of person who spends their evenings reading crime novels and watching black-and-white thrillers from the sixties and I spent the rest of the week going over the events in my mind, and trying to figure out whether there really was something odd or if I was just letting my imagination run wild.

Next Friday, I arrived early and I found myself casually wandering around the Peabody Suite when I should really have been relieving one of the receptionists on the previous shift. 'Suite' was a grand word for one of a series of function rooms at the back of the hotel. The Peabody was the largest, consisting of two rooms: the large main suite and a smaller 'ante-room' that served as a kind of entrance chamber. Both were wood-panelled with plush burgundy carpets and subtle art deco lighting.

The Peabody had been hired by a local company for the day for some kind of team building workshop, and now the mahogany tables were covered with half-empty coffee cups and bottles of mineral water. A large whiteboard was covered with complicated looking diagrams and post-it notes. I hoped the cleaners would be in soon to tidy up.

I stared at the car park out of the large windows and wondered why I came down here. Perhaps subconsciously I thought I might find some clues to what would be going on later, but of course there was nothing, just a big empty room, filled with the debris of a business meeting. The real action would take place later in the evening and if I wanted any answers, I knew I'd have to find a way of getting a glimpse inside, but of course, the burly Mr White always stood guard outside. If only I could think of a way of distracting him for a few minutes, I thought to myself as I headed back to reception...

Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed as I explained my genius plan. I couldn't help noticing that she did that a lot recently.

"Come on Beth. I mean, really?" she sighed, shaking her head.

"Yes, really. You know he fancies you, he'll definitely go for it. One hundred percent."

"I don't know..."

"Come on, we just need to distract him for a few seconds."

"OK, listen. If I do this for you, and it's a big 'if', will you finally stop going on about this bloody bridge club?"

"Absolutely. Cross my heart," I said, drawing an imaginary cross on the lapel of my jacket.

"Okay, well if an opportunity arises, we'll go for it. But if I do help you out, I don't want to hear any more about it, alright?"

"Deal," I said.

--

It was much later, when I saw an opportunity to put my plan into action. Like last week, I spotted a woman standing in reception clutching a single sheet of paper as she tried to orient herself. She was a short, plump lady in her thirties. Although it was nearly midnight, she was smartly dressed as if she'd just come from an office.

"Hi, can I help?" I said.

"No, um, I'm not sure" she said anxiously, approaching our desk. She looked edgy, and I watched as she twisted a strand of her long, chocolate-coloured hair around one of her fingers.

"Do you want the bridge club?"

"Yes, um, maybe. Listen, can you do me a favour?" she said, seeming to make a decision. "I'm not going to be able to attend tonight. I've got something urgent I need to do, would you mind letting them know?"

"Sure," I said, trying not to appear too eager.

"You might need this to get in," she said, handing over the sheet of paper.

I watched her hurry away, back though the lobby and disappear into the night before reading it.

"Jade," it read, "you are cordially invited to attend the Hades Bridge Club on Friday the 22nd of September between midnight and 1am. Please remember to be discrete and we'll do all we can to make you feel welcome and meet your requirements."

It seemed like an odd invitation for a bridge club, which only made me more curious.

"Hey Rachel," I said, with a broad grin. "Looks like we're on!"

--

There was a spare photocopier in the corridor near the Peabody Suite that we sometimes used. I loitered next to it, as if I was waiting for something to print, sharing a mischievous grin with Rachel as she walked past carrying a tray of glasses. I watched her smile and nod at Mr White as she passed him, moving down the hallway towards the fire doors. As she reached the doors, she paused as she struggled to push open the door with her foot whilst still balancing the tray.

Mr White watched her struggling for a few seconds, torn between helping her out and holding his position. I watched as he checked the corridors were empty then hurried down the hall towards her.

"Hey, let me help you!" he said.

"Thanks," she said, flashing him a grateful smile over her shoulder.

Seeing my chance, I skipped after him, keeping my eyes in his broad back as I moved quietly towards the suite's entrance.

"Thanks, you're ever so kind," Rachel said, as he held the door for her then winked at me over his shoulder as I slipped inside, holding my breath as I quietly eased the thick wooden doors shut behind me.

--

I slipped quietly inside, my heart thumping as I eased the door shut behind me. I held my breath as I pressed my ear to the door, hearing heavy footsteps in the corridor outside, then the creak of floorboards as White re-took his position immediately outside.

I looked around the ante room and was disappointed to find that the large wooden doors leading to the main room were closed. I tiptoed across, pressed my ear to the door, and could hear the sound of a party: the low murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, high heels on the wooden floor, a loud burst of raucous male laughter. I tried the handle but the doors were locked.

We were never supposed to leave reception unmanned so I knew by now that Rachel would have hurried back and with Mr White's large frame blocking the way that I'd come, I was now unable to go forward or back, and was stuck in this small, dimly-lit room.

I looked around. I'm not sure what I expected to see, but it wasn't this. On my left were two racks of clothes, and I couldn't resist walking alongside one of the racks, running a hand through the clothing. It seemed like a fairly random collection of women's clothing in a variety of sizes, and as I looked closer I noticed that they were collected together to form different outfits as if for a fancy dress party. A French maid's outfit complete with fishnet stockings, a nurses uniform complete with a cute white cap, a smart policewoman's uniform with a pair of toy handcuffs. Curiouser and curiouser, I thought to myself.

On the other side, was a low table on which sat a varied collection of masks, from simple black 'Zorro'-style ones, which just covered the eyes, to large, colourful ones with feathers and sequins that would cover the whole top half of the face. Again, I couldn't resist examining them, picking up a light metallic blue one studded with tiny fake sapphires that sparkled in the dim light. It looked well made, the inner side covered with velvet of the same colour.

I was turning it over in my hands when I noticed the note, taped to the table: