Hotel du Barry (34 page)

It was Christmas Eve. Cat pivoted in front of her dressing-room mirror. Her new black velvet gown dipped in all the right places and caressed her curves. Plucking up a diamond necklace from Eddie's jewellery box, she pictured Eddie sashaying across the foyer, her diamonds stealing all the available light. Cat sighed, placed the necklace back in the jewellery box and glanced at the clock.

Was it fast? No. Was it possible that Julian's new boss was running behind schedule? Perhaps. After all, Sean Kelly's ship had been delayed for over a day, which meant he wouldn't get to the party until about eleven.
Dammit. Why can't these men get to where they were supposed to be, on time?

In her mind's eye Cat watched Julian disembarking from Francois Richelieu's private plane and glancing around. She saw him settling into the back of a Hotel du Barry limousine and helping himself to a whiskey. Cat shivered with anticipation and glanced at the clock again. Where was he? She'd so hoped to see him before the party began in the Winter Garden.
Perhaps something has happened. Why couldn't Jules just get on the ferry like everyone else?

Cat paced the apartment. Then she turned off the lamp in her sitting room and stepped out onto the darkened balcony. The
Christmas lights on the façade of the hotel cast a red glow over her bare back and shoulders. Cat shivered as she leant over the balcony to watch the crowd gathering below. The children's faces were bright with excitement. The party atmosphere intensified as waiters rushed around dispensing complimentary hot toddies and warm pastries. An old woman was furtively stuffing pastries into her handbag. Henri Dupont spotted her and promptly wrapped a dozen pastries in a linen napkin and dispatched a waiter to give them to her. The old woman clutched the booty to her chest and shuffled off, smiling.

A gaggle of debutantes were being scrutinised mercilessly as they wriggled their way up the red carpet. Their limelight was stolen by one of their own – a voluptuous deb, in a tight satin gown and dangerously high heels – whose substantial backside vibrated with every step. The spectators' eyes were irresistibly drawn to her peachy rump and when she stumbled on the last step there was a collective gasp. Fortunately Henri managed to break her fall and the crowd applauded enthusiastically.

A horse-drawn carriage pulled up and one of the horses dumped a huge pile of steaming manure right in front of the portico. The sound of musicians tuning their instruments drifted down from the direction of the Winter Garden. Maids, waiters, bellboys and valets could be seen smoking on the fire escape, their laughter and warm breath merging with the cold night air. From her vantage point Cat spied a young maid and valet snogging in a darkened doorway.

A Rolls-Royce slithered to a halt and out stepped none other than Danny's old friend, Noël Coward and the impossibly handsome actor from his highly successful play,
Private Lives
. By the looks of things someone else was being handed out of the Rolls. Cat craned forward, she couldn't see the woman's face but she would've recognised that flaming red hair anywhere. Coward was impeccable, wearing a white dinner jacket and a sly smile. As
usual he held a cigarette between his long fingers. The crowd went wild and the press photographers were in a frenzy, snapping away. Coward languidly blew smoke into the frosty night air as he posed nonchalantly on the red carpet with Mary by his side.

It seemed that Coward's fans had assumed that Mary Maguire was someone famous and young girls were pleading for her autograph. Cat grinned. Mary looked stunning in a column of apricot satin, ruched and draped around her slender body. The handsome young actor gallantly helped Mary arrange her white fur wrap. And when he wickedly kissed her bare shoulder, the photographers went into another frenzy.

That morning Mary had said, ‘Goddamnit, Cat, I'm really upset that Sean won't dock until late this evening.' Then she shrugged. ‘No matter, a charming actor I met at Romanoff's Theatre has offered me a lift in his friend's Rolls. This is not to be sniffed at. And he's promised to dance me off my feet until Sean gets here. I'm dying to see Sean but at least I won't be moping around like a lost penny. But guess what? Elsa asked me if I wanted to borrow one of her sensational evening gowns. Gawd, as if I'd say no!'

How typical of Mary to be so modest. A Schiaparelli gown. Noël Coward and friend as walkers.
If only Danny could see this. He'd love it. Whereas Eddie would be apoplectic, furious that Mary Maguire had managed to rise so brilliantly above her lowly station in life.

A saxophone player stepped out onto the fire escape and toyed with a solo riff. The lazy notes drifted out across the dark waters of the Thames and once again Cat sensed Daniel's presence. She thought of his painted figure sitting up in the Winter Garden bar, with Michael by his side, waiting for guests to arrive. Initially Cat was worried the staff might find the two portraits disturbing but they were all dead keen on the idea. During the afternoon, several labyrinth staff had slipped up to the Winter Garden to marvel over the realism of the life-size paintings. Sebastian had personally
rearranged Danny's hinged limbs in a characteristic pose and supervised the positioning of Michael on his favourite barstool.

The head gardener had reverently attached a rosebud to Daniel's lapel. ‘Mr du Barry always wore white rosebuds at Christmas. One time for the wedding of one of his closest friends, he got us to dye him a white carnation black to wear in his buttonhole. Strangest fucking flower I ever saw in me life.'

The barman sidled over and whispered to Cat, ‘Would it be all right if I lit Mr du Barry's cigarettes for him and mixed his favourite cocktails tonight? I could just set them up on the bar in front of him. He always liked a Planter's Punch or two while the party was warming up. He'd say, “Maestro, go heavy on the rum, light on the juice and kill that maraschino cherry.”'

‘But of course, Pedro. We can't have Daniel sitting at your bar without a drink. I know he was very partial to French 75 cocktails too.'

‘You bet. He told me the French 75 was named after a French field gun used in the war. Fifteen rounds a minute and accurate even at a distance – like my cocktails.' He glanced sadly at the portraits. ‘These two liked nothing better than sitting right here, eating freshly shucked oysters at three in the morning and having a nightcap or three'.

‘Do you happen to remember Mr James's favourite tipple?'

Pedro placed an ashtray in front of Michael. ‘Of course. To be sure, he was a whiskey man but he also loved Pernod. I created an especially potent Pernod cocktail for Mr James and he christened it
Devil's Dilemma
. Because one wasn't enough and two got him walleyed.'

Cat laughed inwardly at the thought of London's gossip columnists reeling backwards at the sight of the late Daniel du Barry and his handsome lover, nonchalantly perched on barstools with cocktail glasses and cigarettes on hand.

*

Stepping back into her sitting room, Cat reached into an ice bucket and popped the cork on a bottle of Caterina Anastasia Grande Imperial Champagne. She poured two glasses and raised her glass at the louche figure reclining on the sofa. ‘
Joyeux Noël!
'

Matthew Lamb's sapphire eyes glittered back at her. In the half-light he looked even more like his twin. Cat recalled a distant Christmas party in the Winter Garden, when snow piled up against the glass and Eddie had danced a slow, sensual tango with Daniel. Her long showgirl legs had drawn every eye. She'd been laughing at something Daniel had said and her face was luminescent. Cat's eyes filled with tears. It surprised her that despite all the woman's failings, crimes and cruelties she still missed her.

Cat opened Eddie's jewellery box and chose her most ostentatious diamond earrings. She put them on. Perfect. The earrings glittered with wicked intent and Cat immediately felt Eddie's reckless spirit enter the apartment.

Cat jumped when the phone rang. It was Charlie calling up from the Reception desk. He spoke in a stage whisper. ‘Sorry to bother you but we've got an incident. The fraudster in 241 refuses to leave. We packed his bags but he won't damn well go. Claims he put valuables in the hotel safe and they've been stolen by our staff. And now he says he can't pay his bill because he's been relieved of his wallet. Insists on seeing Jim Blade. I could get our boyos to throw the sonofabitch down the stairs but it would ruin the festive mood. I don't want to upset those young street kids hanging around the red carpet.'

Cat fingered the earrings that lay coolly against her neck. ‘I'll be down right away.'

Matthew Lamb sulked as Cat applied lipstick and gathered up her velvet wrap. She kissed him on the mouth and left him with his
glass of champagne, staring out at the snow that was starting to fall over London.

The lift was empty but Cat sensed a ghostly presence. And when she entered the foyer she had the weird sensation that someone walked with her. A small terrier slipped its leash and tried to attack something unseen. The dog ran in circles around Cat, barking furiously and snapping at thin air. Cat glanced around the foyer suspiciously when it yelped as though it had been kicked.

The hotel foyer was in chaos with guests coming and going and party-goers making their way up to the Winter Garden. Charlie had not exaggerated – client 241 was really stacking on a turn. Cat leant nonchalantly on the front desk, a trick she often used to reduce her height. It meant she was now able to look 241 in the eye. Or perhaps not, as the wretched man still only came up to her nipples.

He would not let Cat get a word in. ‘Who the hell are you? I ask for the hotel dick and they send me a girl. A chit of a girl, for God's sake! It's Christmas Eve and I'm being thrown out of my hotel because I've been mistaken for a sleazy conman. Unbelievable. And now I'm being told my valuables are not in the hotel safe! From insult to injury. And this cretin is refusing to reinstate me in my suite.' He raised himself up onto his toes and yelled, ‘Do you know who I am?'

Cat stared down at him. ‘Yes, I know you are a conceited bully and a devious fraudster who makes a living scamming luxury hotels.'

‘How dare you! Get out of my sight and call up Mr Blade. I refuse to deal with insubordinates.'

Cat stood up straight and towered over him. ‘Mr Blade is on leave until New Year's Eve. So you will be dealing with me, whether you like it or not.'

The client stepped forward threateningly but Cat did not budge. She bared her perfect white teeth and he recoiled as her strange eyes bore down on him. An eerie sense of calm swept over her. Inexplicably, she sensed Daniel's spirit protecting her.
I'm not alone, Danny hasn't checked out. Who else is here?

Cat tried to focus on the problem at hand. She said evenly to client 241, ‘Would you care to step into my office so we can discuss this matter privately?'

‘Absolutely not. I've done nothing to be ashamed of. I relish the opportunity of letting all these good folk know exactly how one gets treated here at the Hotel du Barry.'

Charlie made a sudden move, indicating he was about to vault the desk and throttle the pusbag. Cat placed her hand firmly on Charlie's chest and stopped him.

Her voice was so low that the client had to lean forward to hear. ‘I fill in for Mr Blade when he's unavailable. My name is Caterina Anastasia Lucinda du Barry and I advise you to remember it, because I am the sole owner of the Hotel du Barry empire. But let's talk about your many aliases, who are you tonight? Let me guess, Lord Havisham? The right honourable Winchester Thomas? We've been onto you for some time. In fact, I've taken your photograph and I'm thinking of posting copies all over London. So I suggest you leave immediately. And if you are gone within two minutes, I'll gift you a merry Christmas by resisting the urge to hunt you down and eviscerate you.'

The impostor's face froze and he took a step backwards. Then he meekly picked up his bags and scuttled off quickly, leaving his bowler hat on the desk.

Charlie said, ‘Impressive. I've never seen you like that before. How did you manage to photograph him without his knowing?'

‘I didn't, Charlie. I was bluffing. What is it with Christmas, eh? Fraudsters, conmen, deviants, whores, hustlers, criminals and
pimps. The hotel is crammed to the gills with nothing but troublemakers.'

Charlie laughed. As Cat flicked the impostor's hat into the bin she heard the street crowd cheering, wolf whistling and stamping their feet. Cat raised an eyebrow at Charlie and they glanced eagerly at the entrance. Henri was standing at the top of the stairs greeting the guests and Cat noticed that he'd lost his concierge's face and was grinning from ear to ear.
Who can it be now?

A woman erupted into the foyer in a flurry of red silk ruffles and flashing dark eyes. With glossy black hair cascading down her back and her wide mouth painted vermilion red, nobody could take their eyes off her. She was a primal presence; a woman of mystery, cloud and fire. Cat said quietly, ‘Who is she, Charlie? I thought I knew everyone on the guest list.'

Charlie spoke in a conspirator's whisper. ‘Ah, that's the flamenco dancer from the latest avant-garde production of
Carmen
. Henri and I went last night. Rumour has it she was brought in by the director at the last minute to inject some light, colour and movement into a lacklustre production. I don't have enough superlatives to describe her performance. She ate the stage and got a long standing ovation. Quite a few folk got teary eyed. You know, I've never seen Henri so emotional.'

Cat looked at the handsome man accompanying the dancer.
It's Doc Rubens but he's subtly changed. And it's not just his sleek black tuxedo or those Latino boots. He looks manlier, more sophisticated and just a tad dangerous.

Otto took the hand of his date and proudly presented her to Cat. ‘I'd like you to meet Señorita Perfecta Gonzalez – this is Miss Cat du Barry.'