San Quirico D'Orcia, Tuscany Terry McLeod was starting to get pissed off.
Apart from Maria, the dumb but pretty girl on reception, the whole place seemed empty. God damn it! If he really had been from a hotel and restaurant magazine, he'd be giving this place a minus five for service.
Lunch had finished some time back and McLeod found the dining room deserted. It had been fully cleared of all dirty crockery, cutlery and tablecloths.
He pressed on with his search, and came across a laundry cart full of dirty linen by the back stairs, so he guessed the couple of chambermaids they employed were busy on an upper floor, stripping bedding and collecting used towels.
He pushed open the flap-hinged service door to the kitchen. A teenage boy in an apron, red-faced from his labours, looked up from mopping the floor.'iz?' he said.
'Hi there. I'm looking for Mrs King. Any idea where I might find her?'
Giuseppe stopped mopping and shrugged. Then, as an afterthought, he said, 'Signora King, she may be in the garden with her son.'
'Okay, thanks,' said McLeod. 'Can I go that way?' he added, pointing at the kitchen door that led into the private gardens.
Giuseppe moved protectively in front of it, holding the mop like a weapon. 'No, not that way, I'm sorry. That's private. Wait in reception and I will tell Mrs King you want her.'
McLeod glared at him. God damn it, minus ten was too generous for this place. If he had his way, he'd have the whole friggin' place shut down.