That posh bloke who arrived in the Bentley was in the bar last night.
I was doing the bar shift. Lucky the place was quiet; he got well pissed. Started ranting on about his wife. Going to divorce him, take all his money, wanted the shirt off his back. A proper bitch he said.
I was still on reception when he appeared in the morning. Looked okay, considering. Going for a walk, he said. Told him rain was forecast but he didn’t seem to give a toss.
“Eric,” he said, “kindly give this note to my money grubbing wife when she arrives.”
Of course, later when I was making a brew, I steamed the envelope open; like you do, and read the message. It said:
Where the path diverges look for the discarded clothing, watch and wallet. That’s the cliff path.
I ran out of the hotel like Usain Bolt.
It was just as he said. A neat pile: pin stripe suit, shoes, shirt, old school tie. And the watch he kept saying was worth fifteen grand. I kicked the lot over the cliff edge. Not the watch of course. He wouldn’t need to know the time where he’d gone.
The writing group task : write a 200 word story written around a message given to me by another member of our group. Anonymously.