“May I ask what all this is about?” the manager asked, unconvinced.
“He’s left a manuscript in his room that if not recovered in the next five minutes is going to give birth to more sworn statements than you have expletives in your vocabulary.”
“It is a suite, sir.”
“What?”
“Four hundred and thirteen is a suite, sir, not a room.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Several times the price, in fact. It also includes heated towel racks, self-fluffing pillows and a complementary pen.”
Oscar stared. “Well, nevertheless, I need to retrieve the manuscript in the next five minutes, or they’ll be bashing your front door down with enormous swathes of legally binding things.”
This was met with the sort of indifference that not caring specialises in, and paws were folded.
“It’s not complicated!” he gro
