The Resort Read Online Free Page B

on a sunny day without the snow and ice,” Margaret said. “Or Switzerland.”
    “Terrific, isn’t it?” Clete said.
    Margaret looked at Henry. “How much is this a night?”
    “I think it’s around eighty,” Henry said.
    “It won’t seem high,” Clete said, “when you see your room. It’s not like a motel or a city hotel.”
    They got back in the car, and Henry followed Clete’s instructions, pulling up and around the second triangular edifice to its rear, where a graceful wooden staircase went up to a landing divided into small patios overlooking the redwood forest and, far below, the breakers of the Pacific.
    “If you’ll give me your keys,” Clete said, “I’ll get your bags out of the trunk.”
    “I’ll help,” Henry said.
    “No need.” Clete opened the car trunk. “You’ve only got two small ones. Traveling light?”
    When they reached the landing, Margaret, taking in the view, said, “I wish we were going to be here more than a night.” She looked at Clete, who set down the bags, hoping he would say that they might extend their stay. He looked straight at her but said nothing. Strange young man, she thought. But so many of the young men she’d seen in California looked like that, lean and muscular, bronzed from the sun, walking on sneakers as if they were balancing on a surfboard.
    Clete opened the door of their room with a key. He let them go in first. The wall opposite the entrance was a continuation of the ceiling, an angled line of solid, sloping glass through which they could see the cloudpuffs drifting in the blue sky.
    Clete entered behind them, carrying the bags.
    “Everybody says it’s fantastic. Here. If you’ll just sign your name on this card and put your home address in, I’ll register you downstairs.”
    “That’s very considerate,” Henry said.
    “One moment,” Margaret said to Clete. “How do you open this huge window?”
    “The room’s air-conditioned, Dr. Brown, and it works perfectly.”
    “I prefer fresh air unless it’s very humid,” Margaret said.
    “I’m afraid it’s part of the architecture,” Clete said.
    “Too bad,” Margaret said. “Well, we’ll live with it, I suppose.”
    Only then did Henry sign the registration card. He handed it to Clete.
    “Will you be paying by cash or credit card?” Clete asked.
    “American Express okay?”
    “Sure thing,” Clete said. “If you’ll let me have your card, the girl at the desk will get you squared away.”
    Henry rummaged in his left pocket where he kept his singles folded, peeled off three, and gave them to Clete with his Amex card.
    “Oh thank you, sir,” Clete said, as if he hadn’t expected to be tipped. “You’ll find towels in the bathroom. The phone’s by the bed. It rings in reception when you pick up. The beds are firm. I hope you like firm beds. Breakfast is included in the charge. It’s served from seven a.m. in the main building—that’s the flatter one over there. If you need anything, just ask reception for me. I’m your man,” he said. “Take care now.”
    The moment Clete had closed the door behind him, Henry put his arms around Margaret, happy they had discovered a place like this.
    He kicked off his shoes and took in the king-size bed with its inlaid headboard. It looked, like the outside, very Scandinavian modern, but the wood was Californian, like everything else. He stretched out on the bed, clasping his hands behind his head.
    Margaret, her head supported on an elbow, was on the bed beside him, looking at her contented husband. “I wish we weren’t staying just the one night,” she said, “despite the window.”
    “Yes,” Henry said. “Yes, yes, yes.”
    *
    When Henry woke, Margaret’s face was so close to his it blurred in his vision. They must have fallen asleep in each other’s arms. His stirring stirred her. He took her chin in his hand and kissed her gently just to the side of her mouth because Margaret, as a courtesy, always wanted to brush her