Rain in Room Forty-Two

Room Forty-Two was at the end of a corridor where the carpet had faded more on one side than the other. The key was heavy, the door opened inward with a soft catch, and the room smelled faintly of cedar drawers.

There was a bed, a writing desk, and a chair beside a window overlooking roofs washed dark by rain. On the desk, the hotel had placed a small glass and a carafe of water beneath a round paper cover.

Nell opened her suitcase but took nothing out. The rain changed its sound as it moved from the window glass to the copper gutter, then from the gutter to a lower roof. She sat in the chair and listened to each surface in turn.

Across the street, a baker switched off the front room and left one light in the kitchen. Somewhere below, a lift settled at the ground floor. Nothing else announced itself.

Nell drew the curtains only halfway. She liked knowing the rain was still there, carrying on with the roofs and gutters after she had stopped following it. The suitcase could wait until morning. So could everything that had come with her.