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Neil Kirby on the five-star world of sex, lies and bribes
As a prince stands accused of murder at a London hotel, our writer tells of the secrets he kept as a top hotelier
A Saudi prince has appeared in court accused of strangling one of his aides in a third-floor bedroom at the Landmark hotel in central London. It is a case that sends shivers down my spine because it reminds me of the kind of things that used to happen in my days as manager of the Grosvenor House hotel, not far from the scene of the alleged crime.
As part of his job, a hotelier needs to be discreet and to hide all personal feelings, although there are clearly limits. My test came soon after a relative of the king of Saudi Arabia took over the sixth floor of the Grosvenor for his staff. Just a few days into his visit, a man working in the loading bay called me to say there was a Moroccan girl curled up in a ball underneath the desk in a nearby office, crying her eyes out.
I shot downstairs. In broken English the girl told me she had been travelling round the world with the Saudi prince for the past two years and was the personal slave of a princess. She’d tried to escape several times but had always been caught and beaten — and now the princess had whipped her for trying again.
When she lifted her blouse to show me her back, it was like a scene from a horror movie. There were five or six long slashes and underneath the wounds were old scars. “The Moroccan embassy,” she pleaded. I took her out through the staff corridors and hailed a taxi. As I handed the driver £20, she lay on the floor sobbing. Afterwards I didn’t even think about telling the police — to be honest, I was afraid I might lose my job if I did.
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If anything, hotel staff these days are even more worried about their employment — so they tend to keep quiet about odd or unpleasant things. Indeed, I suspect that staff at the Dubai hotel where the Hamas military leader was recently assassinated may well have known before the hit that something strange was going on. Hotel staff know far more than you’d imagine.
Some of the guests at the Grosvenor had mistresses. When I worked as a valet, I’d often ask: “Not with your wife today, sir?” “No, no, she’s somewhere else,” was the usual reply. And I’d receive a £5 tip.
Sometimes a guest would tell me there were a couple of girls coming to dance. So at the morning staff meeting I’d announce: “I’ve got some very important people coming to room 68 and I’m going to bring them up myself.” It was the best way to avoid unpleasant encounters with the hotel security staff. And to land me a £2,000 tip in cash every month.
Bribery, I’m afraid, is part of the business when staff have to cover up for clients — including famous ones. When Luciano Pavarotti stayed at the Grosvenor, his bed had to be made bigger and stronger — but not, as everyone assumed, just because of his weight. I knew it was because he entertained prostitutes three at a time. And he made sure I got a tip.
Once, responding to a call from a hysterical lady of the night, I discovered that the married man she was with had just died on the job. A month later I had a conversation with the dead man’s daughter. “He didn’t have a woman with him, did he?” she asked. “Of course not,” I said.
Neil Kirby was talking to Audrey Ward.
His book Celebrity Hotel is published by Book Guild Publishing and will be available on March 25
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