Hotel du Barry (30 page)

‘A few of them are, if you count competitive darts. Look, the way I see it, what happens here is a better option than the cock baiting and cruel dog fights that are held in the back alley behind the Pig and Thistle. That's one thing I do admire about Edwina, she investigated those three bellboys who were exploiting starving stray dogs by setting up dog fights on the sly. She sacked the lads and took full responsibility for the dogs. And Edwina also quietly channels a lot of time and money into the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.'

They sat down and Mary said, ‘Edwina's a mass of contradictions. I've been typing up Otto Rubens' research on the psychological profile of multiple killers. You know what? Edwina's got similar characteristics. She behaves like an outsider who feels unloved and goes to extreme measures to punish those she thinks have betrayed, hurt or wronged her. Most staff are terrified of her because of her irrational outbursts and rages. They reckon she's bonkers.'

Cat shook her head vehemently, ‘To be sure, Eddie's got a massive chip on her shoulder, gets worked up easily and is devoid of empathy, but I refuse to see her as a murderess. Can we now talk about something else?'

Mary said, ‘What's the story with Thomas Rodd?'

Cat sighed. ‘She's really dark on him and she won't take his phone calls. Thomas keeps sending her love letters from Dublin and roses by the dozen, but she swears she's over him. She's lying. The other day I caught her chopping the heads off the roses he'd sent and burning his letters on the balcony.'

Henri said grimly, ‘That explains all the decapitated rose heads, burnt paper and martini olives we keep finding on the canvas awnings and pavement. Edwina must be hurling them from her balcony when she's primed on gin. I just assumed those debutantes in suite 828 were enacting voodoo rites again to undermine their rivals.'

Mary laughed. ‘I really miss working at the Hotel du Barry.'

Henri said, ‘Well, Maurie du Barry used to say that nobody ever really leaves. Not even the dead folk.'

Mary turned to Cat. ‘Just one last thing about Edwina. Jim reckons she loves you as much as she can love anyone but she doesn't know how to express it. It's just possible that when Chef attacked you, Eddie felt he was attacking her own. Maybe she sent a couple of hard boys after him and they accidentally drowned him in his own bathtub.'

Henri added, ‘And perhaps Edwina knew Jim suspected her and she wanted to put him out of action for a while. So she sent the same thugs after Jim.'

The door opened and the publican brought in a laden tray. ‘Here we go, Henri. I thought you might like to try my lady's sweet pickle relish with your Ploughman's Lunch. Old Pete reckons it's so sublime you could offer it to the devil, instead of handing over your soul for immortality.'

Henri rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘This looks delectable, Arnaud. My word, you certainly know how to cook and dress a ham. Ah, the aroma of your freshly baked bread. Splendid. Ladies, do not make mention of Arnaud's wonderful cooking at the Hotel du Barry, or our guests will be abandoning us, just so they can live high on the hog at the Salmon and Ball.'

Arnaud beamed. Compliments from his old friend Henri, were the equivalent of being awarded a prestigious Michelin Star. ‘
Bon Appétit!
'

Arnaud's Ploughman's Lunch was a cornucopia of Britain's best produce augmented by French and Swiss cheeses. Camembert, double Brie, Cheshire and Gouda cheeses nestled up to slabs of cured meats, slices of pink ham, fat curls of butter, chunks of bread and a broad selection of homemade chutneys, pickles and relishes.

Mary seriously doubted if England's ploughmen ever got to devour such a splendid feast. They probably had to make do with a heel of dry bread and a cheese rind if they were lucky. Poor sods.

Henri didn't speak until Arnaud's footsteps died away.

‘Cat, we wouldn't be here right now if Jim hadn't been attacked. Personally, I think the law should be involved. I kept telling him that but he wouldn't bloody well listen.'

‘No. Jim's absolutely right, there is no indisputable evidence. I suggest that we wait and see what Scotland Yard comes up with.'

Henri spoke slowly. ‘Bear with me for a minute. You know we could still keep an eye on Edwina. If she's guilty, it's inevitable that she'll crack at some stage. Doc Ahearn is concerned about her mental stability. You know this, Cat, but you're loyal by nature and don't want to admit it.'

Nobody spoke or made any attempt on the food. Cat stared at the fire. She looked up with tears in her eyes. ‘You're right, Henri. We fight like wild animals but she's always been a big part of my life. Since the Chef business Eddie's been trying to make it up to me. I know she wants us to start over but she doesn't know how to go about it. I can't help but feel sorry for her.'

Mary touched Cat's cheek. ‘Listen, here's an idea. How about we come up with a plan that would flush out a guilty person but leave the innocent unscathed? That way you wouldn't be trying to bring Eddie down, you'd be trying to put her in the clear. What do you say?'

Cat smiled. ‘All right, I'll agree to that as long as everyone keeps an open mind. And Mary, there's something else I want to know.'

‘What's that?'

Cat looked Mary straight in the eye. ‘I wish you'd tell me how Sean's going. I miss him like mad and don't believe all that shite about you not knowing where he is. There's no way he wouldn't be writing to you.'

Mary drained her glass. ‘Fair enough. He writes regularly. Sean's doing all right for himself in Texas. He's thrown in his career as a gigolo and is hell-bent on becoming an oil man. They must have seen him coming, because he suspects the prospectors sold him a dodgy claim. He won't admit defeat and keeps right on drilling. That's our Sean, always pursuing the impossible dream. You know, Cat, I only ever lie to you because I want to protect you.'

Cat stared into the fire. ‘I understand.'

Henri snapped his fingers. ‘Just had a thought. Eddie told me this morning that she's fed up with her fortune teller and asked me to find her another. What about the fortune teller you consulted? Could she be persuaded to leak us information on Eddie's concerns?'

Cat glared at him. ‘Henri, Lilith isn't a fortune teller. She's a witch with psychic powers.'

Henri nodded sagely and Mary elbowed him. ‘Don't be like that. She's the real thing. But we must be honest with her. Nobody in their right mind would mess with Lilith.'

Cat leapt up suddenly and knocked over her wine glass. ‘I've got an idea! It's so twisted it will probably work. There is a way to clear Eddie of all suspicion. But let's eat first and talk later.'

Henri passed around the plates and they attacked the food with gusto. More wine was poured and for a few minutes they forgot their worries and enjoyed the warmth of the room and the simple ease of being with old friends. They clinked glasses and Henri piled another log onto the fire. Sparks shot up the chimney and disappeared into London's smog.

Somewhere in the heavens a group of gods caught hold of the sparks and listened intently. Excellent news. It looked like the Hotel
du Barry saga was finally getting resolved. Even better, the gods and archangels would be able to defend their favourite mortals and meddle in the outcome. But if they weren't careful Lucifer might try and poke his oar in as well. Fortunately the gods still had the upper hand and the guilty parties had best brace themselves for the gods' next act. It would be bloody: guilt, intrigue, deviancy, subterfuge and tears would push tempers to the limit. Martinis would be flung in faces, accusations made, inebriated women would scream, sober men would weep and reputations would either be made or destroyed. And when it was all over? Justice would be carried out as befitting the crimes. For Daniel du Barry had been one of their own and the gods didn't take kindly to having him stolen from them so soon.

Cat left the Salmon and Ball and went straight to the hospital. Having maintained the lie that she was Jim's daughter, she was entitled to visit him throughout the day. She ran up three flights of stairs and arrived breathless in his ward. There was little change in Jim's condition but the blue-black bruises had yellowed and some of the swelling had subsided.

Matron informed Cat, ‘Your father's injuries are not as serious as we initially thought and his prognosis is better than expected.'

‘Great. Matron, it's very important that his employer, Mrs Edwina du Barry, doesn't have access to my father. She gives him high blood pressure and my mother fears it might increase the possibility of him having a heart attack.'

‘Of course, I understand. Mrs du Barry can be difficult. I'll continue to monitor Mr Blade's visitors and limit them to immediate family. Incidentally, your aunt telephoned a few minutes ago to see how he was. She's very anxious about her brother and will be in to see him tomorrow morning.'

Cat rubbed her forehead. ‘Uh huh. Which aunt was that?'

‘Mary Maguire.'

‘I see. Thank you.'

Cat thought she heard Jim snigger behind her but when she looked, his face was impassive. Matron straightened his pillow and left.

Cat sat down next to the bed and took his hand. ‘Jim, we really need your help. I've come up with a plan but it's leakier than a kitchen sieve. I need your expertise. Please, please wake up.'

She sat there until night began to creep across London but Jim didn't stir. Finally Nurse Chong stuck her head around the door. ‘I'm sorry, Caterina, but all visitors must leave now.'

When Cat stood up she clipped a metal dish and it crashed to the floor. Jim flinched. She distinctly heard him whisper, ‘Too tired now . . . but I'll be all right tomorrow. Tell my woman the bear is back in the game.'

Then Jim rolled over and went back to sleep.

It was eight o'clock in the evening. Lilith bustled around her parlour getting ready for her next psychic reading. It was chilly and Hamlet, Medea, Aphrodite and Hecate were curled up in front of the open fire. Hamlet was wide awake as usual, whiskers twitching and tail moving restlessly. Lilith had no need for a watchdog with Hamlet on the job. When he tensed up, she knew for certain that Mrs du Barry was on the front porch and about to ring the bell.

Sure enough, when Lilith opened the door Edwina was standing there in an elegant white fur coat. She looked nothing like the portrait Lilith had seen in
Vogue
magazine. Her piercing blue eyes had faded to a cold grey and now resembled the haunted eyes of a white wolf. Edwina's platinum-blonde hair had been nurtured by a skilled hairdresser but it was lifeless against the deathly pallor of her skin. Her manner was cagey but polite. When Edwina removed her fur coat, Lilith was shocked to see razor cuts on the inside of her arms.

Hamlet was on full alert. He kept his distance but his eyes never once left Edwina's face. Lilith made her client at home and lit several red candles. Taking Edwina's hand in hers, she closed her eyes and allowed the silence to lengthen. When Lilith spoke,
her voice was deeper, as though tunnelling up through time. ‘I sense you're unhappy in love. What do you want to know?'

Edwina lifted her head, her gaze was empty. ‘Will my lover ever come back to me?'

Lilith concentrated on the flickering candles and slowed her breathing. She saw Thomas Rodd, late at night gazing out the window of his luxurious Dublin emporium. ‘He yearns for you but it's primarily the excitement and drama that he misses. You're the most exciting woman he's ever had an affair with. But he will never return to you. He's a man who's heavily invested in being a protector, a knight. In a previous life he was a warrior fighting for lost causes. I'd describe him as a happy martyr.'

‘I'm being punished. My childhood was thoroughly miserable, I've been repeatedly disappointed in love and since my husband died I've had nothing but heartbreak. I now spend most of my time alone. I have all the material possessions anyone could want but nobody to love me.'

Lilith's eyes narrowed. ‘There's another question on your mind.'

‘Is it possible to make it go away? I want all this to stop.'

Lilith focused on the flame and as she did so, a young man appeared in her mind's eye. He made threatening gestures and laughed contemptuously. ‘Tell me, Edwina, who is the angry young man with startling blue eyes and golden hair who strongly resembles you?'

Edwina gripped the sides of her chair. ‘That has to be Matthew, my twin brother. He's been haunting me, provoking me, making my life a misery. Christ, how much longer can this go on? What the fuck does he want from me?'

‘I don't know. He was sneering and belligerent so I sent him packing. The dead have no choice in the matter. If they are told to leave by a living being, they must go immediately.'

Edwina whispered, ‘Matthew's never forgiven me. He despises me and is jinxing all my relationships.'

Hamlet leapt up onto the table and sat very close to Lilith. His hackles were up and he was watching Edwina intently.

Lilith said quietly, ‘What won't he forgive you for?'

‘Matthew was the apple of my mother's eye, the beloved. When we were younger we adored each other, we were all each other needed. But I got sick and tired of Matthew getting all the good things in life. I became the twin who came off second best and I suspected that he secretly took pleasure in my humiliations. Everything changed when he won Danny's love. I really paid Matthew out. A light had gone out in my life and I'd been left sitting in the dark all alone. I was perpetually in a cold fury and terribly jealous. But by the time I'd come to my senses and was ready to reconcile, he'd gone. You see . . .' Edwina struggled to get the words out, ‘Matthew died in a horrific automobile accident.'

A vision came to Lilith and she found herself standing on a street corner. It was a warm night. An open-topped sports car driven by Edwina's twin careered around a tight corner and veered straight towards a brick wall. The female passenger gripped the front windscreen and screamed. As Lilith leapt backwards she heard Matthew yell, ‘Fuck, she's really done it this time!'

The vehicle smashed into the brickwork at high velocity and the impact sent the passenger flying over the windscreen. Miraculously she ricocheted off the bonnet and landed clear of the car. With blood pouring down her face and her arm sticking out at an odd angle, she managed to crawl to safety before the car exploded and went up in flames. Lilith felt the searing heat of the inferno as the passenger scrambled to safety.

She opened her eyes and gaped at Edwina. Fortunately, she was preoccupied in raking through her handbag for a cigarette. With
shaking hands, Lilith picked up a jade cigarette box and offered it to her. They lit up.

Lilith said flatly, ‘I think we both need a stiff drink before we continue.'

Across the English Channel, Josephine Marais was seated at her dressing table brushing her long, dark hair by candlelight. She was having an early night and had already changed into a flimsy satin nightgown. Putting down her hairbrush, she took another sip of her hot chocolate. Tonight she didn't have to work at being alluring, for she was completely alone and it was the maid's night off. Josephine could smear her face with cold cream and put her hair up in rags. Bliss. Her thoughts turned to the box of rose-flavoured Turkish delight awaiting her delectation. Even if she scoffed the whole lot in one sitting, nobody would ever know.

Her balcony window was open and a cool breeze blew through her apartment. Josephine was a big believer in fresh air. It was vital for the maintenance of one's complexion. Her hairdresser recommended one hundred brushstrokes but Josephine preferred to do at least two hundred. Beauty was her divine right, but it didn't hurt to be vigilant. ‘
Vingt-six, vingt-sept, vingt-huit . . .
'

He darted in from the balcony and was across the room before she could scream. She felt his cold gun pressing against the back of her neck. Josephine glared at his reflection in the mirror. Clearly she'd underestimated him. It had just never occurred to her that the young man would be clever enough to track her down.

Jules Bartholomew picked up the cup and finished off her hot chocolate. He grimaced and said in fluent French, ‘Too much sugar. You'll rot your pearly whites. You know, I've been knocking myself out to catch up with you. Just as well we've got all night because I've got plenty to say. Here's some timely advice, Mademoiselle –
if you're going to blackmail a lad and have him beaten up, don't employ amateurs to get the job done. They have a habit of leaving a trail as wide as the fucking Nile.'

Josephine feigned fear and submission. Then, when Jules tossed his flat cap aside, she ducked under his arm and sprinted across the bedroom floor. She seized the door handle but the door had been locked and the key was gone.

Jules was right behind her in an instant. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck and his gun pressing into the tender part of her spine. ‘Big mistake, Mademoiselle Marais. I was going to keep it polite but now it's too late. Hey, Alain, truss her up and tie her to a chair, will you? If she starts carrying on, shut the bitch up but don't cut her face. Just beat her black and blue and knock her senseless. I don't want you giving her the same fucking treatment that she dished out to me. Yet.'

Another young man stepped out from the shadows. In the candlelight his teeth seemed preternaturally white and he moved like a panther. Both arms had been tattooed, one decorated with an overblown red rose and the other a bleeding heart embellished with the word
Mother
. He didn't seem the type of man a woman could ingratiate herself with. In fact he didn't look like a man who even had a mother. Josephine suspected he'd sprung fully formed into the world, flaunting his sailor's tattoos and gold earring.

Her eyes widened when Alain jerked her arms behind her back, tied her wrists and shoved her backwards onto a chair. He lashed her ankles to the chair legs and she winced. The bonds were unnecessarily tight and he knew it.

Jules leant down until his face was nearly touching hers. ‘Dammit, I need a drink. Breaking and entering is thirsty work. Where do you keep your top-shelf alcohol? And those fancy cigarettes you like.'

Josephine tilted her chin defiantly but tears glistened on her cheeks. ‘Spirits and tobacco are kept in the cocktail cabinet. Front room.'

Jules grinned. ‘That's more like it, darling. You're adorable when you play the consummate hostess. Alain, let's break out Mademoiselle's best booze and cigarellos.'

Josephine tried to assume a haughty demeanour but her trembling mouth gave her away. ‘Why are you here, Julian?'

‘Just a social visit. I've been trying to catch you at home alone, without that rich sucker being on the premises. By the time Francois Richelieu the Third realises he's been duped, you'll have milked him dry. Shame, really. He seems a decent sort of chap.'

Alain was in no hurry to fetch and carry. He slowly caressed Josephine's bare back, his hands cold but surprisingly smooth. Alain cupped her breasts and made appreciative noises. Josephine shrank from the intimacy of his touch. He sniggered.

‘Hey, Jules, her teeth are chattering like fucking castanets. Don't fret, we are criminals, not rapists. Your virtue is safe tonight.'

Jules tossed Alain the bedroom door key. ‘Throw a blanket or something over her, will you? We don't want her to die of pneumonia before we've thrashed out an agreement.' Jules leant down so he was eyeball to eyeball with Josephine again. ‘But don't flatter yourself that your tears have softened me up. I'm not going to let you off easily. You are going to make full financial restitution for what you did. Dispatching trigger-happy thugs to do me over was simply not cricket.'

Josephine squirmed. The rough rope was biting into her tender flesh. In the back of her mind she identified the distinctive sound of cellophane wrapping being torn from her box of Turkish delight. Clearly it was going to be a long night.

*

Over the weeks Jim Blade had become the nurses' favourite patient. Unlike their other charges, he never complained. Jim refused to be glum and he liked making them laugh. At the same time he was utterly serious if they sought his professional opinion about shifty boyfriends, unfaithful husbands or a salesman's trickery. For reasons they couldn't comprehend, the nurses felt completely safe with Jim and pretty soon he was in possession of all their secrets. It was easier to tell the detective their problems than it was to talk to their lovers, spouses or in-laws. In turn, they treated Mr Blade exceedingly well and he never had to ring the bell to request anything. His every need was met, even before he knew he had one. They also let him bend the hospital's rules right out of shape.

In the middle of the night two of Mr Blade's associates had come up the fire escape – thus avoiding the Charge Sister and the night watchman at the front desk – and disappeared into Mr Blade's private ward, quietly closing the door behind them.

Nurse Petros had crept up to the door, put her ear against the door and listened in for a few minutes before creeping away. She reassured the other nurses on duty, ‘No need to call the watchmen. I think from what they were saying that they work for Scotland Yard but I don't think they're here on official business. I reckon they're close friends of his and I got the impression he was expecting them. Let's give Mr Blade some privacy, eh?'

A wise decision given the fact that Jim was quietly enjoying a flask of premium double malt whiskey.

The following morning, Nurse Jones announced, ‘Your wife and daughter just arrived downstairs, Jim. Here, let me get you a fresh pyjama top before they come in.'

Nurse Chichester walked in. ‘And I'll just spruce your bed up a bit. Do you fancy a nice cuppa?'

By the time Cat and Bertha entered, Jim was lounging like a king on his freshly plumped pillows. They settled on either side of the bed. Jim said, ‘Mary will be back in a minute. Close the door, will you, Cat? We don't want to be disturbed.'

Cat placed a basket of cherries on the bedside table. ‘Henri sent you these. Flown in from Spain this morning. Doc Ahearn will be in later today to see you. He's going to bring you some of Henri's special orange juice. Squeezed from Spanish oranges.'

Cat discreetly gave him the thumbs up signal and Jim grinned. Excellent. His old friend had thought of a way of smuggling in contraband vodka. He'd just have to put up with the orange juice.

Jim smelt the cherries and sighed with pleasure. ‘Dicing with death gives a man a renewed appreciation of life. Small pleasures become more important. The smell of sun-ripened fruit, the sound of laughter carried on the breeze. Ah, here's Mary.'

Jim took a swig of tea. It was already sugared, just the way he liked it. He felt like an overindulged maharaja. ‘I had another visit last night from two of Scotland Yard's finest, you've probably met them in the boiler room – Clem and Stavros. They've been following up on Gary Smythe.'

Bertha leant forward with anxiety etched on her face. ‘Jim, you never told me what happened.'

‘I didn't want to give you further cause for worry, Bertha. Basically I dropped by his posh apartment after midnight, when I knew he was out. I let myself in using a skeleton key and waited until he got home around one. After a minor disagreement –'

Bertha interrupted. ‘Don't give us a bedtime story. I want to know – what did you do to him?'

‘I gave him the water treatment. He got to see the inside of his lavatory bowl and then when he got lippy I acquainted him with his stylish bathroom tiles. I made a bit of a mess of his white evening shirt and inflicted some damage on his handsome face.
A tooth was lost and blood was spilt but it wasn't mine. Can I go on now, dear?'