The decor, along with the persistent scent of Lysol and onions, set her on edge. But maybe that was just the disappointment about her husband’s heart attack, the disruption of their plans. They rode the elevator to the tenth floor and stepped out, walked to their room.

Harriet felt like she should help her husband into bed or, if he chose to stay up, help him on with his slippers and into some comfortable clothing and order some food. But he waved her off – though with a faint smile – and sat at the battered desk, going online. ‘See. I was saying. Fifteen dollars a day for the Internet. At Red Roof it’s free. Or Best Western. Where’s Josh?’

‘Getting your prescriptions.’

‘He probably got lost.’

Harriet placed a load of dirty clothing into the room’s dry-cleaning bag, which she’d take to the guest self-serve laundry room in the basement. This was one thing that she would not pay for, hotel valet service. It was ridiculous.

She paused to look at herself in the mirror, noting that her tan skirt needed no pressing and the brown sweater, clinging to her voluptuous figure, was largely hair-free. Largely but not completely. She plucked off several strands and let them fall to the floor; they had three German shepherds at home. She wound together stray strands of her own hair, milking to white, and pinned them into her severe bun.

She noted that in her haste to get to the hospital she’d hooked her silver necklace on backward and she fixed it now, though the design appeared abstract; no one would have noted the mistake.

Then a grimace; don’t be so vain.

Leaving Matthew, she walked into the hallway with the laundry and took the elevator to the lobby. It was crowded. She waited in line at the front desk, to get change. A gaggle of Japanese tourists clustered around their suitcases like pioneers protecting their women. A couple that appeared to be honeymooning stood nearby, adoring each other. Two men – gay, she could see – chatted enthusiastically about some plans that night. Young, leather jacketed musicians lounged, their feet up on battered instrument cases. An obese couple pored over a map. The husband was in shorts. In this weather. And with those legs!

New York. What a place.

Harriet suddenly had a sense that somebody was watching her. She looked up quickly. But didn’t see anyone. Still, she was left with an uneasy feeling.

Well, after the close call at the hospital, it was natural for her to be a little paranoid.

‘Ma’am?’ she heard.

‘Oh, sorry.’ She turned back to the desk clerk and got change for a ten.

She took the elevator to the basement and followed signage down two corridors to the laundry room, a dim space, dusted with spilled detergent and smelling of dryer exhaust and hot lint. Like the hallways, the room was deserted.