Hotel du Barry (18 page)

Cat sipped her champagne. ‘I was named after this drop. It was Daniel's favourite tipple.'

‘Should I address you as Caterina Anastasia then?'

‘Hell no. Just call me Cat like everyone else.'

She switched her gaze back to the window. Perfect. Jules was able to feign appreciation of the view while admiring her profile. Peripheral vision was a trick he'd learnt as a kid when he'd been apprenticed by his stepfather as a pickpocket.

Jules wished he could sit forever, sipping premium champagne and basking in her warmth and approval. Instead, he got to his feet.

‘It's getting late, Cat. I'd better shove off.'

At the door he felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her but didn't have the guts. She might slap him or even scream the hotel down. Then the hotel dick would beat him to a pulp. Jules felt inadequate to the situation. He looked at her uneasily and was astonished when she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks for all your help, Jules.'

She gave him a shy smile and closed the door before he could say anything.

Euphoria gripped Jules. And for the first time in his life, the syrupy lyrics of popular love songs suddenly made sense.

When he thought about it later, Julian Bartholomew couldn't remember how he'd actually got back to his room. He assumed he'd floated up the stairs to his attic bedroom in a daze but he couldn't be sure.

Jim knew though, because he'd watched Jules leave Cat's apartment and enter the hydraulic lift at precisely two minutes to midnight. Just as well the gobshite had given the stairs a miss. If he'd entered the gloomy servants' stairwell Jim would have lost all control and beaten him senseless.

The next day Jim stood with Cat on an upstairs balcony, gazing down at the former Hotel du Barry Toucan Court. The place was deserted, save for a French honeymooning couple chain-smoking Gauloises. The man's voiced bounced off all the hard surfaces of the Blue Room and could be heard clearly. ‘It's like the sea in here, Madeleine. Your skin's gone a peculiar shade of green-blue.'

‘Keep that up, handsome, and you'll be sleeping on the floor of the Wedding Suite tonight.'

Edwina had redecorated and renamed the former Toucan Court. Everything had been ripped out except for the white marble columns and marble floor. Round tables were draped in short blue linen tablecloths and the chairs, wallpaper, fine china and curtains were a nauseting shade of aqua blue. Hanging on the walls was a series of blue-green water lily paintings. The waiters were uneasy in their strange new pastel blue uniforms and white shoes. They aimlessly repolished the stemmed glassware, as the last shafts of daylight illuminated the honeymooners' blue cigarette smoke.

The maître d' whispered to the sommelier, ‘It's like being trapped underwater. We're drowning in Mrs du Barry's unfortunate taste.'

‘Yeah, it's the last gasp. I hate standing around doing fuck all.'

Jim shook his head and turned to Cat. ‘If Edwina keeps making sweeping changes like this, she'll kill the du Barry hotels. People come to the Hotel du Barry for a taste of old-fashioned opulence. It's no coincidence that your grandfather kitted this place up like Versailles.'

Cat leant precariously over the balcony and peered into the Blue Room. ‘How much afternoon tea trade do you reckon we've lost?'

‘The three to five o'clock rush is finished. I have it on good authority that our afternoon tea ladies have transferred their allegiance to the Ritz. Fortunately Edwina's been so busy decorating here that she hasn't had time to mess with the rest of the hotel.'

Cat shook her head. ‘I just don't understand Eddie. Things that are bog obvious to everyone else somehow elude her. These days when she makes a daft decision and it goes belly up, she refuses to take advice from those in the know. At least when Daniel was alive, she tried to keep a lid on her impulses. This Blue Room of hers is tacky.'

‘You know, Cat, Daniel's taste was austere and modern but he never imposed his taste on the du Barry hotels. He always consulted with Henri on the best way of maintaining Maurie's legacy. My job was to collect intelligence on how hotel clients and staff felt about any planned changes.' Jim's face was wistful. ‘Danny Boy was swell company, he loved talking horseshit about the meaning of life over a few ales. Henri was just saying how much he misses those bull sessions.'

‘I remember Eddie getting shitty with Danny because she reckoned she had better taste than the three of you put together.'

Jim grinned. ‘Let posterity be the judge, eh?'

‘She used to invent dramas so she could wake up Sebastian and send him downstairs to break up your –'

Jim and Cat froze when they heard the familiar staccato clip of high heels approaching. Edwina was upon them in an instant. Her
cold, blue eyes bore down on Jim but he smiled affably and leant back on the balustrade with his arms nonchalantly crossed. Edwina looked distinctly peeved and she placed an arm around Cat. She retained her firm grip despite the fact that Cat was trying to edge away. ‘Mr Blade, if you don't mind – I need a private word with my daughter.'

‘Certainly, Madam.' Jim gave her a curt nod and strode off around the corner to eavesdrop.

Edwina let go of Cat, fished around in her handbag and retrieved a cigarette from a slim silver cigarette case. She took her time lighting up and then inhaled deeply. ‘Well, my girl, you've really done it this time.'

‘Meaning?'

‘My butler told me you've been playing me for a fool.'

‘Your
butler
?'

‘Yes. Julian informed me about you sneaking off the job and going to art school.'

‘He told you!'

Cat was stunned. Jules had said,
I'm not in the habit of blabbing to Madam.
He'd obviously played her for a fool. Perhaps he'd been in Edwina's pocket all along?

Edwina was cool in her contempt. ‘You didn't expect to get away with it, surely?'

‘You left me with no other option.'

‘Don't be stupid, Caterina. If you'd stated your case with conviction, I'd have reconsidered. I've told you before that I'm hardly the wicked stepmother. Now it's too late because starting from tomorrow you'll be working as a scullery maid.'

‘You can't be serious! Your logic is out of whack. First you didn't want me mixing with my friends down in the labyrinth and now you're sending me down there as punishment – as a scullery maid. At the same time you're denying that you're turning into the wicked stepmother. I just don't get it.'

Edwina placed her lit cigarette down on the edge of an eighteenth-century hall table so she could adjust her stocking seam. Cat knew she was playing for time in which to think of her next move.

Cat suppressed the urge to yawn and instead she practised the deep breathing technique that Dr Rubens had just taught her.
Four breaths in, hold for seven counts, breathe out to the count of eight. Again.
In her mind's eye she was gazing out the window of a white lighthouse overlooking the Mediterranean. An eerie sense of calm swept over Cat and instead of trying to placate Eddie, she let the silence expand.

Edwina flinched, she sensed something had changed in Cat and the silence destroyed her equanimity. ‘I did warn you, Caterina, you had this coming. And now you'll experience what it's like to live at the bottom of the food chain. Maybe you won't think so highly of your fine-feathered friends when you're no longer luxuriating in the lap of luxury on the ninth floor.'

Edwina's cigarette had burnt down and the faint odour of burning lacquer permeated the air. Cat grabbed the cigarette from the hall table and butted it out on the sole of her shoe. ‘Why are you being so deliberately nasty, Edwina? I don't get your sudden mood swings. You're chummy one minute and snaky the next.'

‘Caterina, you know damned well you've betrayed me and must be punished. You can't go running to Daniel now. I predict it will only take a couple of hours of grinding scullery work for you to see the error of your ways. But we will only discuss your future
after
I get a sincere, unconditional apology.'

‘I think you're overreacting, Edwina.'

‘Oh, come off it. It could be much worse. Even if it takes you longer to come to your senses, you'll be finishing at three o'clock. Giving you time to dabble in your hobbies.'

‘It's not a hobby, it's potentially a career.'

‘I've nothing else to say to you, Caterina. Don't be late tomorrow.'

‘What time?'

‘Chef expects you in the Grill Restaurant kitchen at five am sharp.'

Edwina turned on her heel, leaving Cat gazing listlessly at the Blue Room.

Jim ground his teeth. That yellow-bellied bastard had snitched on Cat. And Bertha reckons he possesses guts, gumption and integrity. Bollocks. So, what was the best way of fixing the gobshite? Maybe he could get away with knee-capping him in the laundry yard. Julian often lurked down there smoking instead of toiling for the Madam. Risky. If Bertha found out, she'd have Jim's testicles for garters.

At four-forty-five the next morning Cat took the hydraulic lift down to the basement. Her mood plummeted with every floor. When the lift stopped at the ground floor, she took the servants' stairs down to the Grill Restaurant kitchen. Bleary-eyed staff greeted her with surprise as they passed her in the corridor. The heating pipes had iced up and the labyrinth was chilly. Young service maids rubbed their chapped hands together and jumped up and down. A waiter tried to warm his hands on a silver teapot.

She heard Chef before she saw him enter the Grill kitchen. He filled the doorway. Cat wanted to laugh out loud. He was a caricature, a figure from
Grimm's Fairy Tales
. His pendulous belly hung over the waistband of his trousers and his chef's jacket was too short and tight.
If it's the same chef Mary told me about, then I'm in deep shite.

Despite the freezing cold he was sweating from the exertion of walking downstairs and his breath came in gasps. His bulbous nose was cratered with open pores and lank hair had been brushed over
the top of his scalp in an attempt to disguise a bald patch. He was standing several feet away but Cat still caught the stench of poor personal hygiene. Behind him were five young apprentice chefs craning their scrawny necks to cop a look at the new scullery maid. Their pasty faces gleamed with malicious expectation. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

Chef stepped closer and ran his eyes up and down Cat's body. He stared at her prominent breasts. ‘Everything seems to be in working order, wouldn't ya agree, eh boys?'

The lads snickered. Chef's mouth made a moist sucking sound, similar to a kitchen drain emptying. It could have been mirth. He was clearly in fine form. ‘You'll call me Chef or Sir. As you is on the bottom of the ladder like, you get all them worst jobs, the scummiest jobs. Our usual scullery slapper is orf work on sick leave. She's a real shirker, that one. Your stepmother reckons I shouldn't show you no favours and that you need to learn discipline. She came to the right place, eh. So this is how it works down here – you have to win me over. And until I says you've earned me approval, you'll answer to the name I call you.'

‘I only ever answer to Cat, Caterina or Miss du Barry.'

The apprentices snickered again and Chef snorted. A fug of rancid breath enveloped Cat and her empty stomach churned. Chef stopped laughing and the lads fell silent.

Chef visibly expanded and grew even more immense. He leant forward and exhaled in Cat's face. ‘From now on you is known only as
Dog
.'

‘
Dog
! Are you mad?'

‘I remembers you well, illegitimate spawn of that slut Mary Maguire. You is the mongrel pup, spoilt rotten ever since Mr du Barry put a roof over your head. I knews you would amount to nothing. At least your stepmother has her head screwed on right. Anyways, enough of the chit-chats. Johnny, take Dog down to the
cellar and shows her the way we like our potato balls done. We is very particular about our balls, ain't we, my boyos?'

The apprentices tittered. One pimply youth stepped forward and led Cat out of the kitchen. His neck was covered in love bites. Cat idly wondered who'd want to kiss such a miserable specimen. And as they descended the dank stairs, she realised the Grill kitchen was not the coldest room in the hotel.

The icy cellar was unspeakably grim. Bluestone walls streamed with moisture and the place stank of decay. A dim light illuminated the centre of the room, leaving the corners dark and menacing. A single rotting lemon, surrounded by mice droppings, was illuminated in a puddle of light. Boxes of dirty potatoes were lined up next to a three-legged wooden stool. Johnny shoved a paring knife into Cat's hand and went back up the stairs without saying a word.

Over the next few days, Cat peeled mountains of vegetables and prepared the raw ingredients for cooking. She gutted all the fresh fish and the smell clung to her skin. She was constantly picking fish scales from her uniform and hair.

At night, she tossed and turned in her sleep and dreamt of suffocating under a mountain of potatoes. Every time she tried to escape, she'd be pushed back under the pile by Chef's apprentices, wielding long meat hooks. Chef stood in the doorway laughing, his open mouth a rank display of rotting teeth. Small wonder Cat stopped eating breakfast.

After work, she'd stumble upstairs to her apartment and draw a hot bath, then sit soaking up the warmth and staring at the bathroom wall. Sometimes she'd nod off and only wake up when the water turned cold. Bertha visited her every evening and brought her dinner up from the kitchen.

Bertha sat on the edge of the tub and washed Cat's back. ‘You smell like a mackerel. Let's just add some scent to the water. Lovely.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Stop being so stubborn, sweetie. Go and see Edwina, say you're sorry and try to reach an agreement.'

‘No way.'

‘Nothing can be gained by stonewalling her. Julian told me she just wants a token of an apology and then you can resume at Slade as a full-time student.'

Cat flung the face flannel at the wall. ‘Don't mention that lying, conniving turncoat to me.'

‘Cat, it wasn't Julian, someone else snitched on you. You know Edwina uses disgruntled staff as informants. Jim's been asking around the labyrinth; he reckons it was one of Derek's lads. And as we all know, Derek has been in Edwina's pocket for years. She's shifty all right; Sean is convinced Edwina used to pay someone to snoop on him and I think he's right. Apparently Edwina always knew where he'd been, and the names of the women he'd spent time with. Thank God she's finally dumped him.'

‘But Edwina told me it was Jules who snitched on me.'

‘What! And you'd take her word over his? Honestly sweetie, sometimes I could just shake you. Julian's absolutely devastated that you won't speak to him. He's very worried about you.'

‘All right, I get your point. So assuming it wasn't Jules who was it?'

‘It could easily have been Dylan. It's an open secret that he's . . . enamoured with Edwina.'

‘Fuck, I don't know how anyone could be smitten with Eddie. She's the most irrational person I know. But there's no way I'm going to kowtow to her.'

‘Cat, you've lost all perspective. You can't bring Edwina to her knees by doing long shifts as a scullery maid in the cellar. You'll just make yourself ill. My God, just look at how thin you are already.'

‘The smell of food makes me nauseous.'