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Room only
Mara Venn had retired from the Lydoran Bureau of External Reassurance with a modest pension and a handshake so prolonged it had felt like a final assignment. Six months later she booked a holiday under her own name. The confirmation said ROOM ONLY. She found this beautifully precise. No government, no emergency, no man saying he would explain in the car. Her sister Otti examined the booking. "You know that means breakfast costs extra?" Mara had not known. Already the civilian world was concealing things.
At the Hotel Lido Minor, in the entirely unstrategic seaside republic of Bellavere, manager Neri Sol offered them a room with a balcony. Mara opened her turquoise suitcase beside the white balustrade. A striped towel, a yellow sunhat and a pineapple drink with two paper umbrellas made an arrangement she could not improve by filing a report. Otti photographed the sea. She restored old upholstery for a living and had specifically requested a week in which nobody described a difficult man as an asset.
"You are allowed to be bored," Otti said. Mara promised she would give it her full attention. Downstairs a conference banner advertised PROFESSIONAL REASSURANCE WITHOUT BORDERS. She turned away too quickly. Otti lowered the camera. "You recognise the font." "The font recognises me." Neri called up that a gentleman wished to welcome an old colleague. Mara had spent thirty years being unavailable under false names. Apparently being unavailable under her real one would require practice.