They came back 15 or 20 minutes later and announced that they'd met Daniel Radcliffe. Not him exactly, but a vaguely Eastern European late 20s hotel concierge who was his spitting image. As far as Lily and Charlotte were concerned, the search was over. Nyssa told me that he had nothing except a single, and that only because the reservation holder never showed up. If we'd be willing to squish, he'd be happy to accomodate us.
I was in. We picked up our bags and turned to leave when Ms. A* stage whispered to me again to come over to her desk. I'm a sucker for a stage whisper. Plus, I had this idea that she'd finally come to her senses. "I'm not authorized to do this, but I can give you the suite for an extra 40."
You're kidding, right? I turned around and we walked out of Holiday Villa as righteously as we could after a day of planes trains and automobiles.
The Cleveland Hotel had an elegant foyer - marble floors, delightful moldings. It had all the class that Holiday Villa lacked. The room was indeed tiny. But the fixtures were ultra modern, the closet was sizable, the bathroom almost lux in its stainless steelness. Plus is had a mini-kitchen.
Harry Potter fixed us up with a cot for Charlotte (no, not that kind of cot - a real American cot) plus enough sheets to make a decent floor mattress bed for Lily and then some. We drifted off to sleep watching news about the phone hacking scandal, wondering who knew what, when.
The following morning, we checked out, connected with Carl, and then flew home.
Cleveland, we love you!
PS - I would have left cleaning staff a big tip, but I had zero pounds cash and zero dollars cash by this time. Please forgive me!
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