Loofah stumbled back into the hush of the marble temple, while behind him the washroom door swung closed on the gurgling horrors within. For a few moments he stood manically smearing his palms against the denim of his jeans and shaking his head to expel the clammy, disinfectant scented images. Then he recollected where he was and, hiding his hands behind his back, forced an assured smile.
The foyer, however, was now empty. The receptionist sat behind her desk, writing in a diary. The power still throbbed and the silence still oppressed, but the Sales Team had – thankfully – returned to their selling.
A pungent tang tickled his sinuses and he looked down. A pool of turbid yellow liquid was oozing from under the door and, like a hungry amoeba, was sliding quietly across the polished marble towards his feet. Looking anxiously around, he hurried away, frantically practising denials and devising excuses.
As he again approached the desk the receptionist looked up and sneered discretely before returning to her work.
'Erm… excuse me,' he said, tentatively.
No response.
'Erm… sorry to bother you. Miss Leggett – can she see me yet?'
The brash effrontery of his persistence seemed to bear fruit. She laid her pen on the desk and with a vexed sigh pushed herself up and walked slowly towards the white-wood door beside the stairs. At the door she paused.
'Follow me,' she snapped, without turning.