I pull the wad of rubles out of my pocket and lay them flat on the counter, locking his gaze as I say, ‘ideal’no.’ Perfect. ‘That would be just fine.’ I pause, then I cock my head, too, mirroring him, and say in a low voice, in English this time, ‘This will more than cover my stay … and don’t try and rip me off, you little weasel. My father is a British diplomat and he will have you out of this job and in the gutter faster than you can say trakhni svoyu babushku.’ I take a step closer, pushing the money forwards as I do, and his hand appears from behind the counter to grab the notes, like one of those grabber machines with the crappy toys at the fair. He’s not too concerned with the threat against his grandmother I’ve made.

He blinks, once, and the smile slips, just for a moment, and then he says, ‘We’re delighted to have you here with us, Miss—’

‘Osborne,’ I say. ‘Carrie Osborne. I’m afraid I’m waiting for new documents to arrive, but I have this.’ I slide Carrie’s driving licence across the counter. Another useful nugget that was left behind amid her rapid departure.

He pushes it back, and gives me a small nod. Then he hands over a brass key on a huge metal fob. ‘Your suite is on the twelfth floor, Miss Osborne. Please let us know if we can do anything else to assist.’

30

Although the hotel isn’t quite as flash as I’d hoped, it is a good room. Far too big for just me, but it’s nice to be somewhere like this for a change. The bed is huge, wider than a king, and with crisp white linens that contradict the bling of the rest of the place. I like it. The bathroom doesn’t disappoint either.