This Charming Man

Two

The reception was painfully busy and I had to stand up straight and grinning for about half an hour next to Mr Wentz's desk greeting customers. I remembered having this job when I first started working there and it was still the same torture it had been back then.

Mr Wentz told me that my customer, who I discovered was named D. Weekes after I peered over Mr Wentz shoulder at his customer book, was still having dinner and between Mr Wentz's phony greetings to customers, I managed to ask him a few questions about this elusive D. Weekes.

"Some businessman from the west. I assume he's visiting Valnesse for work or whatever. None of your business though, just remember that."

I nodded and looked away, silently cursing him. He'd probably had a bad day but Mr Wentz often seemed to have a bad day and it was always a chore to deal with negative people like him.

"Right then," Mr Wentz said, getting up from his chair behind the reception desk and placed his hand on my shoulder, "Off to meet Mr Weekes finally."

He lead me out the reception and over to the restaurant. It was busy as usual and raucous laughter rung in the air and the buzz of chatter made my ears tingle. Mr Wentz took me to the far end of the restaurant where it was immensely calmer and quieter. There were mostly older men here gathered around tables playing board and card games. The stench of tobacco was rife from the low hanging smoke clouds and I had to take shallow breaths to avoid coughing.

He led me to a table set in the corner. There sat a young-ish looking man with a large cigar hanging from his mouth and a heavy set frown on his brow. In front of him was his empty dinner plate and stacks of files. He was flicking through a handful of paper with tiny text printed on it when we approached and he looked up through thick rimmed spectacles at us both and smiled pleasantly. Mr Wentz gave his best customer smile.

"Good evening, Mr Weekes. I trust you enjoyed your meal?"

Mr Weekes nodded and placed the papers down on the table. "Oh yes, I did, thank you very much," he said as he removed his glasses and set them on the papers.

"Excellent. Well as you might have heard, whilst you are staying here, you will have an assistant to help you with anything you may require," Mr Wentz said, and pulled me forward so Mr Weekes could get a better look at me. I'd been hiding behind Mr Wentz out of fear Mr Weekes was going to be as leery as my last customer.

But Mr Weekes looked me up and down quickly and smiled. "Oh that's excellent. And I take it this young man is my assistant for this week?"

Mr Wentz nodded and patted my shoulder. "Absolutely, sir. This is Brendon."

Mr Weekes held out a hand for me. "Very nice to meet you, Brendon," he said with a pleasant grin.

Flustered, I hesitantly shook the man's hand and ducked my head. "N-nice to meet you too, Mr W-Weekes," I mumbled and cursed myself mentally for my sudden shyness.

Mr Weekes sat back and looked up at Mr Wentz expectantly and it took a moment for him to realise.

"Ah yes, right," Mr Wentz gabbled and smiled over at Mr Weekes, "Your suitcase is already in your room, sir. Brendon will show you the way and answer any questions you might have," and he walked away.

I swallowed nervously and shuffled closer to the table. Mr Weekes began gathering up his files and I waited patiently for him to ask me carry anything but he didn't. He just stood smiling pleasantly at me, his glasses on his head, his briefcase in one hand and a stack of files under his arm.

"Lead on," he said after a moment and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment and looked away before leading him out the restaurant.