Frequent Traveller (Cathy Dixon #1) (3 page)

‘Everything appears normal, proactive even,’ Cathy thought to herself.

In the end, they returned to the topic of the lobsters. The Engineering Manager let out a hearty laugh and a few of the others sighed as Charlie, the Food and Beverage Manager launched full-length into how his department received the least support in the whole property and how they would never be able to achieve higher sales if no one told the guests about their food promotions.

A niggling suspicion made Cathy gently interrupt the tirade and asked, "How does your department inform guests?"

Flabbergasted, he looked at her as if she had lost every single one of her marbles to even consider asking such a question. It seemed obvious, only to him though.

"We put posters everywhere in the hotel," he retorted.

"And ...?!" Cathy prompted.

"What do you mean and? There's no more and, and, and ...," he blustered. "This hotel is so bloody big, it's so expensive to put posters everywhere. There's no more and!"

He was flustered and Cathy could see the pieces falling into place. It wasn’t an issue with the chefs and it definitely was not the serving associates who were at fault. It was the department's Manager, plain and simple. Promotions were not planned. They were executed on the off chance that guests saw the posters and showed up.

There was no word of mouth before the promotion started, no advertisements and no flyers. The ignorant man contained himself strictly within the property when he should have ventured out trying to entice the locals into dropping by as well. As he launched on without commas and full stops much to the amusement of everyone else, the General Manager sighed.

He raised his hand to interrupt Charlie. He firmly prompted those not involved in the "lobster saga" to leave. Of course this meant more than half the room emptied out. The General Manager asked Cathy for a list of promotional tools and ideas they could utilise for future food and beverage promotions.

He also asked if she could spare another hour or so going through some publicity methods with Charlie and his food and beverage team. The General Manager wanted to ensure that food promotions "did not become the world's best kept secrets within his property" to the point no one came to the outlets. With a firm nod Cathy said she would gladly do it.

Of course with someone like Charlie who "knew everything", the meeting stretched into more than just an hour. The man had an absolute problem with listening.

A knock on the door was a welcome interruption as lunchtime neared and her tummy rumbled in hunger. She looked up as she heard her name called and received a thick brown envelope. Cathy's heart sank already knowing its contents. As the food and beverage team rambled on, she opened the envelope making sure all the material faced her alone. Inside was the photograph of a fair head man on his boat at the Oahu jetty, her next target.

KATHMANDU, NEPAL

July 2007

Nepal is home to more than twenty three million people and boasts the motto “Mother and Motherland Greater than Heaven”. Beneath the layers of a country filled with history, culture and passion, one city stands out a little more than the rest. Kathmandu is the capital of Nepal and home to more than one million people. Of all its attractions, the one that has made it most popular is the fact that the Buddha was born in the Kapilvastu District near the Indian border in 563 BC. The incidences that have followed this significant birth include political unrest, power struggles and harsh living conditions for its people. But the country is slowly achieving an economic boom. One of its more popular trades aside from farming, metal casting, wood carving, painting and pottery is the trade of Nepali paper, made from herbal components. The global trade of Pashmina shawls is also an added boost to Kathmandu’s economy. These colourful pieces are said to signify a woman's true beauty when wrapped around her body.

Kathmandu is also a popular tourist destination. Its streets are dotted with guest houses, hotels and eateries. Two popular streets have become increasingly attractive to tourists. Thamel is well known for its popular nightlife and is much newer to the tourist scene than Freak Street which is also known by its local name, Jochen Tole and was made popular in the 1970s.

It was along one of these streets that one would came across the majestic seven storey Kathmandu MoonStar known for its five-star splendour and attracted every passerby. But this was a place, only the wealthy could afford. For most people, this was the kind of property one spent years saving to visit yet found themselves always a few thousand dollars short, just to stay the night. Artistically decorated with various antiques, the lobby was filled with pleasant faced associates of local origin and many foreign guests.

Early on a Monday morning, the breakfast crowd started tumbling out of the elevators into the lobby. Most looked like they could use a few more hours of sleep while others rushed for the breakfast buffet. Behind the reception counter, Cathy was embroiled in a bitter war of words with the property's Front Office Manager.

"You are ruining it for all of us Cat! Every time you show up and head office tells us you are here to solve a problem, you go around creating more problems. Mr. Smith is a good guest to us and he tips us a hell of a lot of money. Stop making a mess of things!" he snarled at her.

Under normal circumstances the Front Office Manager passed off as jolly. A round faced man with spectacles that rested at the tip of his nose, he gave a welcoming smile to each of his guests. He also had the uncanny ability to recognise each guest by name which thrilled many visitors. But at this moment, his face was flushed with anger and he appeared ready to explode.

"Stop making a mess of things?! Are you even listening to yourself speak? And Mr. Smith, my God! Even you know that is not his real name!"

He made a feeble attempt to take a deep breath and appeared more flustered when he shouted back at her, "I do not care if it is his real name! In my job it is all about dollars and cents, you should know this! Room nights count! What a guest does in his room with those room nights is none of my business AND he gives us a lot of room nights. Every few months he comes to stay here for more than a week and in other properties. His employees stay with us too. You are going to put a stop to all of it and you are just being stupid!"

As he lost his temper even further, Cathy watched and tried to keep calm. The urge to strangle him increased the more she talked to him. But right now, more important things were at hand, one of which was getting the key to Mr. Smith's room. Anything less than getting into that room was unacceptable.

“Aaron, listen and listen very hard. I do not care how much money he brings us or you for that matter. Sales will just have to pull their socks up when we do lose him as a guest. What I am more concerned about right now is putting a stop to what is happening. Give me your master key or I will have you reported as well!”

Her lips formed a thin line of determination as she stared him down. He knew it was an argument he could not win but recognised how much he stood to lose if Mr. Smith never returned as a guest. Yes, the hotel salary was good but the tips from Mr. Smith provided luxury items he could ill-afford otherwise.

Grabbing the master key off his desk, Cathy stormed off. The desperate man ran after her and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You have to stop saving the world, you cannot do it."

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. Her disgust was apparent while the rage on her features looked as red as her hair.

"I am not saving the world, just one girl who does not deserve what is being done to her! What if she were your daughter?! What then, Aaron?"

Any further confrontation and Aaron knew their argument would become a physical one. He stepped away from her. He looked down and shrugged, "You know what, do whatever you want. I'm not going to be responsible for your actions. You and the rest of corporate can go to hell for all I care!"

He stormed back into his office and Cathy watched his retreat. She was now even more determined to get into Room 403. From where she stood in the lobby she saw the so-called Mr. Smith with his newspaper and morning coffee at the breakfast bar. This seemed like the only opportunity she had to enter his room, unnoticed. All at once, she wished she had enough money and power to put an end to all of this. If only she could pick the phone and say, "Hey Demi, here is another girl the DNA Foundation can help." But no, she was stuck with offering an escape route with no guarantee of safety.

As she waited for the elevator, she mentally ran through her checklist again. Her friend at the women's centre, already aware of these proceedings, would be at the hotel in about twenty minutes. The centre was always overflowing and above capacity. They were able to immediately provide food and shelter. Medical and counselling resources would take another two weeks. But this was the first step. Cathy stepped into the elevator determined that no one would stop her.

Mr. Smith looked up from his paper and noticed the exchange between the two co-workers. Even though too far to hear what was being said, he understood that the conversation was not about mutual admiration for the flowers in the lobby. The man watched as Cathy faced her co-worker and made him feel small. Then he paid more attention to her rosy cheeks and pale smooth skin.

"Pretty," he thought "but not my type." Today, he felt like gloating. Once every three months, he came here for business and most certainly for pleasure. When asked at Customs what his reasons were for visiting the country, he always snickered. If they only knew.

"Beautiful, beautiful Kathmandu and all the pleasures you bring me," he muttered to himself.

His activity during these frequent trips was his treat to himself. No one back home had a clue of what he did during his 'business' trips. Nobody appreciated him. Nobody understood how hard he worked. His wife, Eleanor was too busy spending his money on charities to spare him a moment and his two teenage children were happy with their gadgets and holidays with friends. He did not exist in their world.

But during these trips, he was not a fifty year old balding accountant with too much weight on his belly. Here, he was King. All he had to do was open his wallet and he could, if he wanted, have a whole village at his feet.

Yes, life was good. He gave his family what they wanted and once every three months he got what he wanted. Everybody was happy and there was nothing wrong with that.

Upstairs in Room 403, no determination or gloating twirled in the room. The curtains were pulled slightly apart. Rays from the morning sun, threw light on the dark brown furniture and mahogany tables. On the wall above the bed, a colourful oil painting of a little girl in the park with her umbrella was displayed. A sad innocent smile on her face made you wonder about the thoughts running through her head.

On the bed, the sheets were a mess. Innocence had long since been ripped apart. A small, petite figure had pulled the bed sheets all around her. Tears stained her face which was twisted with grief and fear, if one could even tell the two apart.

Amita remembered the year before when the man had visited her home. He said she was one of the lucky few given the opportunity to work in a five-star hotel kitchen for $300 per month. Plus, she would have the advantage of learning English. All in all, it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

"Papa wouldn't have to work so hard. That is a lot of money that can help us a lot," she remembered telling herself.

Now, more than a year later or maybe it was two, time had so little meaning when you were in hell, she worked in five-star hotels and learnt English but not in a way she had ever dreamed of. From the day she left home till last night, it was man after man, night after night making her perform wretched acts she never even knew possible. Even when she did not like it, she had to smile or she would then have to feel the lash of a hard belt on her skin. Amita cried some more as these memories came back to her. As disjointed as the memories were, she knew where to look for the scars she had been given since she had left home.

Yesterday, when she was sent here she had fooled herself into thinking, 'Maybe, just maybe this man would be different. He seemed so nice and reminded me of Papa. He is much older than the rest. Maybe he will not touch me.'

Treating her to a large dinner, the man told her she could order anything she desired then took her on a shopping spree.

"Anything you want," he had said to her. "Clothes, shoes, bags ... nothing was off limits."

'Maybe he is really nice, no one has ever done this for me,' she thought.

Her excitement was short lived. When they returned to the room, he made her sit on his lap and said, "Now, you must thank me."

'How can I ever make it home to Papa after all the things I have done. Nobody would want such rubbish,' thought the girl to herself.

When the captive heard the door open, she quickly rubbed her face into the covers to wipe her tears away. When left alone earlier, with a repeated warning that she should not leave, he had announced he would be back after breakfast. Her hands had been tied to the bedpost with the hotel robe belt, a plush affair for the comfort of the guests. Even without the belt, she knew it was pointless to escape. She had tried before only to be found and beaten to an inch of her life, the soles of her feet burnt with cigarette butts.