Hotel du Barry (33 page)

‘Ah, I see. Back soon, Doc.'

Cat took the champagne out to Eddie, while Doc pulled up a chair and sat down in the shadows. He listened to the song and, in his mind's eye, he once again saw Daniel playing the piano in the Winter Garden. The chandeliers bathing him in a mellow glow, a forgotten cigarette burning away and a cocktail within easy reach. And always the young women watching him longingly, hoping to catch his eye as he sang the melancholy words. Dark hair falling over his eyes, his long fingers stroking the ivories.
Oh Danny Boy, why did you leave us? And how could you abandon your daughter to this madwoman?

Initially, the champagne seemed to calm Edwina down, but having emptied two glasses she leapt to her feet. Her movements were jerky and her eyes glassy. She wrapped the kimono tightly around her thin frame. ‘I'm at the end of my fucking tether. Time to check out of the Hotel du Barry. Nobody will be sorry to see me go. Did you ever feel just a tiny bit of affection for me, Caterina?'

‘Of course I did.'

‘That's good. I know I didn't deserve it. Listen, there's something I have to tell you.'

‘What?'

‘I didn't mean to kill him.'

The hair on the back of Cat's neck stood up. ‘Kill who?'

‘Your father. It was an accident. I got mad and lost control. But I didn't want him to die.'

Cat clenched her fists until her nails bit into her flesh. ‘What happened?'

Edwina's words were slightly slurred. ‘London's most wanted gigolo had too much to drink the night of our Annual Winter Garden Party. And the moment Sean's head touched the pillow, he passed out cold. Very unprofessional I must say. I came up here because I couldn't sleep, as usual. Danny was alone on the parapet with his legs dangling over the edge. It was his private place; he loved keeping watch over the city as it slept. He was a dreamer.' She paused and stared at the stars. ‘Pour me another.'

Cat did so and Edwina continued, as if in a trance. ‘When Danny brought up the subject of divorce yet again, I saw red. And by the time I came to my senses he was lying on the street below. I, I didn't –'

She doubled over, rocking with anguish. Her howls reverberated into the still night air.

Cat watched her through narrow eyes and took a swig from the champagne bottle. ‘If you cared so much for Danny, why were you trying to poison him?'

Edwina's glassy eyes stared up at her. ‘I wasn't. I just wanted to make him slightly ill. When he was sick, he was like a sweet kid and I just wanted him to need me again, like he did when Matthew died. I never imagined for one single moment that anyone else would be helping themselves to those medicines. In small quantities the antimony induces sickness not death.'

Cat couldn't bear to look at her. She focused on the Thames below. It was a languid serpent, forever twisting its way through infinite darkness. The river's cross-currents had turned the black waters into molten satin. For one insane moment Cat toyed with the idea of shoving her stepmother over the edge. She took five slow, deep breaths before answering. ‘Eddie, you know you're going to have to
make a police statement, don't you? They're going to be asking you about Mikey Barthe and Chef. And of course Jim Blade. I just don't understand why you went so far. Why the fuck did you do it?'

Edwina struggled to light a cigarette. She fumbled and dropped burning matches. There was the distinct odour of singed silk. Cat snatched the matches and cigarette from her hands, lit the cigarette and gave it back to her. Edwina swayed towards the edge of the building. When she looked at Cat, her face was drained of emotion and she was unnervingly calm.

‘I had no choice with Mikey Barthe. I knew he'd blab. I shot him myself with Daniel's old service revolver. I did him a favour. He was a walking corpse from all the booze and drugs. Mikey stank, his liver was shot, his brain was fried and head lice were driving him mad. They don't let stray dogs wander the streets in that state. It was euthanasia. Vets do it every day. If Mikey had been able to speak, he would have thanked me. I'm a lousy shot. I used up all the bullets and the wretched man took his time dying. A messy business.'

Cat drained the rest of the bottle. ‘Is that why you paid professionals to take care of Chef and Jim?'

Edwina laughed mirthlessly. ‘Who are you, the fucking police? Does any of this really matter? The one who does matter right now is Sean. I ruined his alibi and quite possibly his life. But I've left a signed letter in my jewellery box stating that Sean was fast asleep in my bed when an unknown assailant attacked my husband. I also stated that I denied Sean was with me that night – because I was ashamed to be caught out having sex with a professional gigolo. A small lie really, given all my other goddamn lies.'

‘But Eddie, I just don't get it – why did you go after Jim?'

Edwina shook the champagne bottle. ‘Dammit, it's empty.'

‘You've already had a skinful, Eddie, and you should lay off.'

Edwina yawned; she seemed to be struggling to stay alert. ‘You know what? I wasn't trying to kill Jim, I just wanted to slow him
down and stop him snooping around. I've always respected his intelligence, he's brilliant and really knows how to read people. On the night Daniel died, Jim had to restrain me. And when we were struggling on the floor, I looked straight into his eyes and saw that he was already on to me.'

‘You do know I've got no option but to turn you in, don't you?'

‘Caterina, if I thought the law would hang me I'd bloody well turn myself in. But they'll declare me criminally insane and incarcerate me for life. No way will I let those bastards do that to me. There's only one way out and you know it.'

Edwina dropped the bottle onto the tiles, walked barefoot across the broken glass without flinching and climbed up onto the parapet. Cat grabbed hold of her.

Doc yelled, ‘Edwina, if you get down from there, I'll give you a shot.'

Edwina edged out further. ‘Too late, Doc,' she shouted, ‘there's nothing in your bag of tricks that can help me this time.'

She twisted out of Cat's grasp, ran nimbly along the edge of the building and scrambled onto the upper roof. Cat ran after her and yanked her back. Edwina clawed Cat's face, bit her savagely and slam-punched her in the gut. They rolled precariously close to the edge. The pain was so intense that Cat almost let go of her.

Edwina cried out, ‘In my own way I've loved you and I don't want to hurt you. Goddamnit just let me go!'

Cat hung on grimly. ‘No way.'

‘We both know I'm damaged goods but I'm not insane. If you have a single ounce of compassion left, you have to let me leave!'

In the distance a dog barked, an ambulance siren wailed and Doc could be heard wheezing as he clambered across the roof towards them. Cat slowly relinquished her grip.

Edwina stood up and moved to the very edge of the building. She readied herself as would a professional diver. The anguish of
the last few months fell away and her face was serene in repose. She slowly raised her arms upwards, rose up onto her toes and executed a perfect swallow dive off the edge of the roof. As she swooped downwards the kimono blew back and she became a dark bird gliding on an undercurrent.

A flash of red satin and she was gone.

Doc helped Cat down and held her close. They stood together silently, contemplating the darkness below. The Thames flowed on as though nothing had happened. Eternal and sinister, burdened with centuries of London's aberrant desires, lost souls, abandoned dreams and grubby secrets.

Cat felt life slowly returning to her body. ‘Doc, nothing can be achieved by prosecuting the dead. Nothing. I don't want Eddie vilified and despised. I'm begging you, please forget what you heard. Let's just bury our dead.'

Doc carefully studied the night sky. ‘Cat, if that's what you want, then I'll tell them I got up here too late to see or hear anything. But I don't want to put you at risk.'

‘At risk?'

‘Yes. May I suggest that a witness, a trusted and respectable man of medicine, could verify that you were powerless to prevent Madam's irrational and unforeseeable suicide?'

‘My God, you're right. I didn't think of that. At least she's left written proof of Sean's innocence.'

They stood together in silence, watching as London slept. The moon hid its face when someone yelled for help down on the street below. Shortly after, the peace was destroyed by the shrieking of police sirens. The pandemonium from the street below increased and within seconds it changed Cat's life forever.

Doc took her hand. ‘The police will probably be up here in about fifteen minutes or so. Don't be frightened, I've got your back. Just tell the truth as you see it.'

‘What do you mean, Doc?'

‘Lie by omission. Tell nothing but the truth, but perhaps omit a few minor details.'

‘Such as Eddie's confessions?'

‘If that's how you want to play it. But for heaven's sake, fill me in quickly. Then I can back you up every inch of the way. We're in this together, kid.'

Everything went according to plan at the Hotel du Barry. Thanks to Doc, Cat du Barry's story was universally believed. And so it came to pass that the widow du Barry got away with a clean pair of heels.

The gods nodded at each other, hands were shaken and backs were slapped. Nectar was poured into goblets and numerous toasts made; the gods were known for their capacity to get loaded to the muzzle. The angels held their own party and got a bit wild with lutes and harps; the virtuous ones hadn't quite worked out how to get oiled, ossified or embalmed. The only angel who knew how to celebrate properly, was the fallen angel Lucifer. And his parties were to die for.

But it wasn't over yet, as the gods were never half-arsed when they meddled in mortal affairs. And they liked nothing better than letting things get operatic and out of hand, before they intervened with a clap of thunder and a heady dose of justice.

Mrs Edwina du Barry's spectacular suicide made the news bulletins of the BBC and the front pages of all the newspapers. Even the cruellest gossip columnists oozed empathy and compassion and Eddie's funeral became the event of the season. The service was held at the same church in which she and Daniel had been married. Anybody who was anybody was there, along with countless nobodies. Eddie was more loved in death than she'd ever been in life. Those who couldn't get into Westminster Cathedral stood outside craning their necks, trying to spot the principals in the latest Hotel du Barry tragedy.

An opportunistic journalist seized upon the tragic aspects of Edwina's life and when the story was published, the former Miss Eddie Lamb became an overnight sensation. The gruesome death of her brother Matthew played a key note. Eddie became the broken-hearted girl who'd masked her heartbreak after her twin was taken from her. An early picture of the two of them was published in the newspaper. So young, so blond, so beautiful and so very doomed. Other photographs were reproduced in the women's journals: Matthew and Eddie Lamb posing with their arms around each other on a tennis court, dancing cheek to cheek at a nightclub
or frolicking in the sea at Brighton. In most photographs Eddie was dressed in pristine white.

Investigative journalists joined the carnival and rehashed theories concerning the unsolved murder of Daniel du Barry while other journalists workshopped the theory that it was clearly suicide. Loss of her beloved husband had broken Eddie's heart all over again and she'd been forced to live an inconsolable life. She'd bravely soldiered on, however, giving generously of her time and money. Apparently her charity work had sustained her through the dark days following her husband's death. Eddie's philanthropy was overstated, her intellect elevated, her beauty fetishised and her many affairs written off as mere manifestations of a widow's grief. Eddie's deep love for her adopted daughter was lauded as were her impeccable domestic virtues.

When the saucy showgirl photographs came to light and threatened to spoil Eddie's myth, opportunistic journalists tweaked her past. No mention was made of the fact that Eddie Lamb had failed to make it out of the third row of the chorus. Instead, she was reinvented as a stage actress of great potential who'd given up the limelight for love. One hack even claimed to have seen her starring as Juliet in
Romeo and Juliet
. Apparently Eddie had given such a brilliant performance that he'd waited for her outside the stage door for a whole two hours. In the snow. Just so he could give her a single white rose.

The front steps of the Hotel du Barry were transformed into an altar and every day more wreaths and bouquets were delivered by the grieving populace. The underground station near the hotel had to be closed because too many people were pouring up the stairs and crowding the platforms and there were concerns the entire structure might collapse. People who'd never even heard of Eddie Lamb or Edwina du Barry found themselves buying floral tributes. Others were seduced into penning heart-felt sentiments on
sympathy cards. Cards and messages were attached to flowers and left to rot on the Hotel du Barry steps. Everyone wanted to pay homage to the celestial blonde who'd been chosen to keep the gods company.

Dr Otto Rubens delivered a peer-reviewed paper to the Royal Medico-Psychological Association titled, ‘The Mysterious Cult of Edwina du Barry'. Standing ovations all round and definitely one of Otto's finest hours. Dr Rubens attributed the current outbreak of mass hysteria to the fact that the British populace had never fully grieved for all those who'd been killed in the Great War. According to the highly esteemed Dr Rubens, prior to Eddie's suicide, Britain had been putting on a stiff upper lip. But now the sensational death of the vulnerable widow was being used to externalise Britain's grief and obliterate guilt over the wholesale slaughter of thousands of soldiers. By making the pilgrimage to the Hotel du Barry, civilians were in effect flagellating themselves for being complicit in a juggernaut of sanctioned violence.

Matthew Lamb rolled over in his grave and snorted with derision.

Edwina's stocks rose even higher when a former vaudeville star penned a song in her honour. It was a maudlin, sentimental piece and pretty soon the tune was being whistled by cab drivers all over Europe, as well as being sung in the chicest of nightspots. A crazy rumour went around the traps that there was going to be a musical based on Edwina's life. An all-singing, all-dancing revue with a cosy ending.

According to the rumour-mongers, several stage actresses were keen as mustard on getting the role, and in Paris the name on everybody's lips was Mademoiselle Josephine Marais. At only twenty-four years of age she was significantly younger than Madame du Barry but that was not a problem. For the youthful Frenchwoman would also be able to play Mademoiselle Lamb
as a skittish debutante. Then with the skilful application of stage makeup, Josephine would age beautifully for Edwina's tragic suicide scene.

While enjoying a leisurely breakfast on the balcony, Josephine read about the rumours in
Weekly Variety
and promptly choked on her
café au lait
. She flapped the magazine at Francois Richelieu the Third, who was sitting opposite her, looking devilishly handsome in a long towelling robe, silk scarf and stylish slippers. So great was Josephine's agitation that she failed to notice that her depraved poodle, Félix, was fornicating with Richelieu's butter-soft, suede slippers under the table. The dog growled at Richelieu when he received a kick.

Josephine seethed, ‘
Quelle horreur
! Hell will freeze over before I play that ghastly woman. What does my public want from me? I am a star, a diva, a
femme fatale
. I'm not a devious, gold-digging bitch like Madame du Barry.' She savagely ripped up the
Weekly Variety
, hurled it off the balcony and screamed, ‘
Merde
. Are you listening to me, Francois!'

Richelieu gave Félix another dexterous shove but the little bastard immediately started mating with his bare leg instead. Things were getting decidedly sticky. He gave the poodle another shove while pretending to gaze fondly at Josephine. ‘Of course, my darling. But I think you should give it due consideration. You'd look terribly chic in a blonde wig.'

Richelieu surreptitiously emptied a glass of iced water over Félix but as usual the dog just kept on rutting.

‘
Merde
, Francois. Don't even joke about it! You must fix this debacle. I want you to force the editor to desist or heads will roll. How dare he give substance to such
stupide
,
stupide
rumours?'

‘Yes, you're quite right.' Richelieu smiled disarmingly, while his mind worked feverishly on the dog problem.
How the fuck can I
exterminate this filthy little beast on the sly? Félix could easily tumble off the deck of my yacht or get sucked out of the window of my plane. No. It's way too obvious.

Julian Bartholomew had flatly refused to take on the job because killing domestic pets wasn't in his contract. But he'd flippantly mentioned that if his boss was ambushed on the Champs-Élysées again by his ferocious ex-wife, Madame Adele Richelieu, he'd be happy to take her down.

Richelieu frowned.
I should do my own dirty business. Surely the local chemist can concoct a painless, undetectable poison for Félix? What about antimony?

Somewhere deep in the bowels of the earth, a stunning blonde beauty came to the Devil's attention during cocktail hour. He'd spotted her the minute she walked in, dressed in clinging white satin and dripping with diamonds. Her defiant look told him,
You're already finished, Lucifer. Don't even try to resist me
.

Lucifer ordered the She-devils to bring her to him as he reclined on his ornate black throne. He was sweating and, as he waited, he fiddled with his gold nipple ring.
It's too damned hot in here. Or maybe it's just these fucking leather trousers.

Eddie stepped up onto the podium and stood in front of him. She dropped her chin, widened her blue, blue eyes and studied Lucifer's red eyeballs intently. He could hardly breathe. His black feathered wings rose of their own accord and twitched suggestively.
Who is this woman? And what delicious sins has she committed?

Edwina took a sip of her dry martini, languidly licked a green olive and shamelessly ran her eyes over his physique.
They lied. Lucifer is a man in his prime. Oh my, what a magnificent broad chest. You could slice bread on those cheekbones. And he doesn't reek of brimstone, he smells of fine French cologne.

Of course, he found her irresistible and fortuitously Lucifer just happened to be in the market for a new mistress. His favourite had been brutally murdered that very morning. The rumour doing the rounds of Hades was that an unidentified assailant had hunted Jezebel down, beaten her senseless, stuffed her into a mattress case and drowned her in the filthy River Styx.

Mourning the loss of a lover was not Lucifer's style. He sensed that the celestial blonde was rotten to the core. How timely. Lucifer desperately needed distraction from the nauseating goodwill of the impending Christmas season. He gave a secret signal to the leader of the band and the jazz session ended abruptly. The musicians shifted into sexy Latin American rhythms and even the She-devils perked up.

Lucifer folded his black wings, took Eddie's hand in his and led her onto the dance floor. When he touched her it was as though he'd received an electric shock. Lucifer's nostrils quivered as he picked up the unmistakable odour of fresh kill on Eddie's creamy skin. Nice, very nice indeed. He peered into her soul and saw she was evil incarnate. How long he'd waited for such a diabolical woman and finally she'd arrived. His heart was on fire and his loins tingled with eager anticipation.
Just as well my codpiece is concealing my erection. She mustn't find out that I'm already besotted with her.
It would give her the upper hand in the oncoming battle of wills and Lucifer never gave that to anyone; least of all a conniving, ruthless, clever mortal.

Lucifer gave Eddie a lingering lascivious glance and she responded by flashing her baby blues at him. Excellent. She was obviously determined to seduce him and already she was playing straight into his eager hands and his bejewelled codpiece.

The She-devils hissed and bitched amongst themselves. They'd already worked out that this greedy
femme fatale
was after nothing less than Lucifer's black, black heart.

Eddie was practised in traditional tango moves and so she defiantly raised her chin, flexed her shoulders back and tilted her pelvis slightly towards Lucifer. He was no slouch in the dance stakes and he knew that when she flicked her long legs it was the signal to start. He took charge and whipped Eddie around, held her close and they moved into the intricate tango walk. Eddie's rhythm was perfection itself and as they moved in tandem across the dance floor Lucifer's eyes did not leave hers. He was transfixed.
A man could drown in the blue ocean of her eyes.

And so the first of many tangos had begun.