Roger Brown was a harmless sort of bloke, not someone who went looking for trouble, but sensible and well organised. He was the junior assistant manager of the Sloane Towers, a luxury hotel in Kensington, London, with three hundred guest rooms and two fine restaurants. He had been doing the job for just under two years, since he had been promoted from an analyst in the back office. He was popular and easy going, although well trained and efficient. The guests of the hotel liked his quiet but purposeful manner and the staff recognised him as someone on whom they could rely, provided they carried out their duties satisfactorily. Roger was married to Constance, a South African girl whom he had met on a number nineteen bus. They had been married for four years and, as yet, had no offspring. Roger was a good-looking young man but he considered himself fortunate to have landed Constance, because in his eyes, and many others, she was a very beautiful young woman. Their friends were surprised that they had not made babies.
Roger had been born and brought up in suburban London. He was the product of a stable marriage, commuter-belt living, local school and high school, rugby, tennis, sailing and, latterly, a course in hotel and catering management. The family had lived in a semi-detached house with small gardens, front and back, in a tree-lined street. His mother had been the dominant adult in the partnership. His overseas adventures, as a child and young man, had been confined to camping trips in France, early on with his parents, and then later with his male chums.
Roger’s upbringing had allowed him opportunities that many young men of his age had not experienced, but his roots were decidedly suburban. His parents, who had certainly “bettered” themselves beyond their own expectations, were, nevertheless, relatively uncultured people. Although they possessed a gramophone, they did not own one classical music record and the home was almost devoid of books. In all their years of marriage they had never set foot inside a hotel and rarely attended the theatre, save for Christmas outings to the pantomime. To the best of Roger’s knowledge, his parents had never been to an opera, ballet or classical music concert. Rarely was there an intellectual discussion in the home and, although Roger’s mum and dad enjoyed a healthy sex life, they would never dream of discussing anything of this nature with their son, and certainly neither one of them was brave enough to explain the birds and the bees. Luckil
