Room with a View

Chapter 3 - Casa Faro continued

Unique didn't cover it. Exclusive and private most certainly did. If anything happened to him no one would even know. Did he get maid service, he wondered? He found a telephone on a small stand near the sink and he picked it up, flicking the buttons. Nothing. He heard a dial tone so he knew it worked . . . or at least pretended to.

The sink water was rusty for a minute but both taps seemed to work and after running for a minute the sputtering stopped and a very light beige liquid swirled down the drain. He went behind a right-angled partition, beside the trap door and found a tiny shower pit, made from formed tin with a hole for drainage, which was serviced by a bent pipe held up by a wire strung from the ceiling.

The toilet stood precariously close by and he could see that it would get a good soaking if the shower were to be used - as would unwary passersby from the stack that simply jutted from the exterior wall. The images from the brochure filled his mind and he felt a little sick.

In an ill fitting drawer in the bottom of the hazardous wardrobe he found towels, a face cloth, bars of complimentary soap and shampoo along with a menu for the resort dining room and a peeling, tin ashtray. Somebody had been here anyway. Miller let out a groan and went back to sit on the bed. At least it was soft and sheets looked clean and crisp.

He got out his pack, pleased to see the wardrobe didn't collapse, and opened it up looking for a fruit drink and found that both his drinks and his snacks were missing. He first considered that Miguel had rifled his stuff then thought back to the two kids rummaging in the various bags on the trip in and envisioned dangling them from his platform until they screamed themselves hoarse.

He shoved the pack aside and considered his situation. Certainly he'd paid enough that there should be some refund for convenience . . . food chits weren't going to cut it for Miller. He got up and tried the phone again, surprised when a soft female voice, in precise English, asked how she could help.

"Uh, this is Mis- Senor Hunt in Casa Faro. I'd like to know exactly how I'm supposed to get myself around the grounds and I would like to have a face to face discussion with the manager."

"I will have Miguel come over immediately, Senor Hunt. All you have to do is pick up your telephone, press six and I will answer. When you arrive, Senor Estrada will be awaiting your pleasure."

"Oh- okay. Thank you. Gracias." He hung up and quickly dragged his bag out, poking through for a change of shirt and his new shorts. When Miguel arrived, Miller was out at the end of the footpath waiting and he climbed aboard with a smile and a grunt as the little cart did a u-turn, mowing down the bushes, and raced back down the steep hill.

Carlos Estrada was a mahogany coloured stump of a man, as broad as high, in a crisp yellow, short-sleeved shirt with a mottled blue tie and beige slacks. A pencil line of black moustache squirmed over his lip as his face set itself in the mandatory smile assumed when greeting guests.

"Senor Hunt, welcome to Windy Palms. I am the manager Carlos Estrada."

The handshake was firm and brief and Miller adjusted his own features to match the greeting. "Sir, I would like to discuss the change in my accommodation. You see I've been-"

"Aah si, you are in Casa Faro. A magnificent view is it not?"

"Uh yes it is . . . but the view is not my compl-"

"And you received the complimentary dinner vouchers for our renowned dining room?"

"Uh, yes I did but-"

"You are very lucky, Senor Hunt. The resort is fully booked and we have had to put overflow up at a much inferior establishment down the coast." His shrug was equivalent to a gymnastic exercise. "Our popularity has unfortunately also caused us some inconvenience as well as success." Another smile and a less extravagant shrug.