Hotel du Barry (13 page)

Once her father was buried, Cat turned even further inwards. She retreated into a sleep that lasted for days. Nothing could arouse her interest and she was usually found curled up in a foetal position on her studio floor or dozing under the chandelier in the Winter Garden.

Mary held a meeting down in the labyrinth and it was agreed that Cat should have someone with her around the clock. The staff all took turns keeping an eye on her. But the only people Cat woke up for were Sean Kelly, Jim Blade, Mary Maguire, Doc Ahearn, Henri Dupont and Bertha Brown.

Sean was able to retain Caterina's attention by telling her stories about his youthful escapades in Dublin. ‘So, there I was, kid. With my fucking pants caught on the iron fence and nine coppers' narcs bearing down on me. Brenda was screaming and carrying on like a pork chop. Rat-faced as usual. What could I do, Cat? Well, it went like this . . .'

Belinda was anxiously eavesdropping and so word filtered down to the labyrinth that Cat was coming good. It was the first time anyone had heard her laugh since the boss had died.

*

Mary was summoned to the du Barrys' private apartment. Sebastian opened the door. His chin was trembling and he wasn't his usual arrogant self. Her heart went out to him. ‘It's a tragic loss, Sebastian. You must be missing him something awful.'

He was too upset to speak and turned away.

When she entered Daniel's study, Mary was stunned to see that Edwina looked well rested and radiant. Clearly she was done with the mourning and it was business as usual. Edwina waved Mary towards a low stool on the other side of the desk. ‘Well, Miss Maguire, I suppose I should thank you for organising the funeral. It was surprising the number of people who incorrectly assumed I'd arranged the whole thing. I didn't expect such a turnout.'

Mary perched uncomfortably on the stool. ‘Daniel was well loved by many. And I knew what he'd have wanted.'

‘How very modest of you, my dear. No doubt you developed an eye for detail when you were trained up as a Hotel du Barry maid. How lucky you've been, landing on your feet like a clever little cat. Plucked out of the orphanage and set straight down in a sumptuous hotel. In your case it could be viewed as a sort of finishing school, a way of smoothing away the edges of your rough beginnings.'

Mary's face remained impassive.
Saucer of cream, Madam?

Edwina arranged two delicate Limoges teacups. ‘You've always been such a busy little bee, Miss Maguire. But I shall be very busy myself from now on. Now that I'm going to be actively managing the du Barry empire.'

‘I see.'

They sat in silence as Edwina poured the tea. She plunged the silver tongs into the sugar bowl and held up a lump of sugar. ‘One lump or two?'

‘Three, please.'

And this was from a woman who never took sugar. They both stirred their cups more vigorously than required. Mary felt a bubble of mirth rising upwards.

Edwina daintily nibbled on a digestive biscuit. Mary noticed a smear of blood-red lipstick on Edwina's teacup. Daniel had mentioned that Edwina's lipstick was all over their apartment: on towels, napkins, bed sheets, glassware and even his clothing.

He'd said, ‘Animals mark their territory with urine, it scares off their competitors. My wife does it with lipstick stains. Often when I remove my coat in public, someone tells me I've got lipstick on my collar. And I've got no bloody idea as to how it got there.'

Edwina and Mary sipped their tea in icy silence. Mary could hear Sebastian fluffing up the cushions on the balcony. It was a strange thing for him to be doing, given the army of maids on hand. The only sound in the study was Edwina biting into what Mary assumed was her second biscuit but it was actually her sixth as she had started in on the biscuits before Mary arrived. Finally Edwina spoke. ‘With the death of my husband, your position has become redundant. However, I'm willing to offer you another position within the hotel.'

‘Oh?'

Edwina's slender fingers hovered over another biscuit. ‘Yes. I'm willing to offer you your old position back. As a chambermaid here at the Hotel du Barry.'

She took a big bite of the biscuit.

‘Really?' Mary hid her smile behind the teacup. She tried flexing her buttocks to ease the discomfort of the hard stool. Edwina was poised to pounce on her prey and finish her off, but Mary held her tongue and waited.

Edwina delicately licked the biscuit crumbs from her lips as she shoved a cigarette into an elegant holder. ‘Yes. You must admit it's a generous offer. Naturally it will pay substantially less than what you
are used to.' She slowly lit her cigarette. ‘However, as you already know, this is the best offer you'll get. Given you were never qualified to become Daniel's secretary in the first place.'

With a flourish, Edwina extended a blue enamel cigarette box towards Mary. A rainbow display of expensive cigarettes. Mary selected a gold-tipped, turquoise cigarette. Edwina snapped the lid shut. Click clack. Mind your fingers.

Mary picked up Daniel's large desk lighter. It weighed at least five pounds and required both hands. When she lit the cigarette, the flame was so long it nearly singed off her eyebrows.

Edwina blew smoke in her face and Mary wondered if Daniel had ever wanted to chuck the heavy lighter at his wife's neatly coiffed head. Just thinking about Daniel made her heart contract painfully. She blinked several times and her tears retreated. ‘Actually, Edwina, I've already received three job offers.'

‘How extraordinary.'

‘Not really. You're one of the few people to underestimate me. Anyway, I've accepted Dr Rubens' job offer. I'm his new personal assistant
.
It's a very well paid position and includes a lovely apartment above one of his consultancy suites.' Mary languidly blew smoke at the ceiling.

The lengthy silence was broken by the sound of Sebastian thrashing the cushions with renewed vigour.

Edwina finally spoke. ‘You're lying. I know Dr Rubens socially, he attended my last soiree and I saw him only last night at Lady Astor's dinner. He made no mention of it to me.'

‘That's because I asked him not to. I wanted to tell you personally. Ring him, if you don't believe me.'

Edwina felt decidedly unwell. She tried to compose herself and failed.

Mary stood up and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Must be off. Thank you for the tea but given your nastiness, I could've used a
drink or two. We've never liked each other but had you been left with no prospects, I wouldn't have rubbed your nose in the shite. Goodbye, Madam.'

Mary left the room taking great care not to slam the door. She was determined to keep herself nice. Sebastian pumped her hand.

‘Well done and congratulations. She doesn't know it yet but I'm leaving in a few weeks' time to become Lord Harwood's personal valet.'

With a light step Mary left the apartment. Instead of taking the hydraulic lift she slid down the banisters just as she used to do when she was a chambermaid. Her actions used to drive Mrs Brown spare. Stiff penalties had been in place for
improper behaviour
and Mary frequently had her pay docked. She laughed at the memory of her former self.

Veering onto the second landing she plummeted straight into Sean Kelly. He staggered backwards and they almost toppled over the edge. ‘Jaysus, Mary! Are you trying to kill us both?'

‘Fuck me, it's the prince himself.'

She kissed him full on the mouth and laughed again.

Sean leant against the banisters with Mary still in his arms. He breathed her in, tilted her backwards and kissed her deeply. It was the best thing that had happened all week and he fervently kissed her face, throat and décolletage. Mary's skirt slithered up, revealing the creamy flesh at the top of her stockings. He lightly caressed her thigh but she slapped him away and yanked her skirt down.

‘Tsk, tsk. Always the opportunist. Guess what? I've accepted Dr Rubens' job offer and have just given my notice to Madam. I'm free of her.'

‘I'm just on my way up there – she's expecting me. Eddie's offered to clear my gambling debts. I'm in danger of being knee-capped by the hard boys.'

‘Frankly, boyo, you'd be better off losing the use of your legs for a while. To be sure she'll find a way of sucking the marrow from your lying, scheming bones. Pretty soon there'll be nothing left of you but an expensive pair of brogues sitting on the carpet.'

Sean winced. ‘Don't I know it. I reckon she's having me followed. She's always interrogating me about where I've been and who I'm seeing. Eddie expects full return on her investment.'

‘She obviously knows how devious you are.'

‘Mary, it's not always going to be like this. You and I –'

‘Enough. You know damn well I can't commit while you're busily making a living from your little black book. Do you have any idea how much that hurts me?'

‘Mary, I –'

‘Start doing an honest day's work and maybe I'll take you more seriously. Danny told me you were the best hotel manager he ever had. He reckoned your people skills were outstanding even when you were a bellhop, and that a member of the royal family tried to poach you when you were promoted to valet. Strangely enough, he made no mention of your skills as London's most sought after gigolo.'

‘Don't be like that, Mary. I'm just utilising what I've got going for me.'

‘Bollocks. You're wasting your talents. You could sell your art collection and buy your own hotel or restaurant. Sean, there's nothing you couldn't do if you set your mind to it.'

He tried to kiss her but she shoved him away. ‘C'mon, Mary, don't be so hard on me.'

‘You and I are nothing more than friends.'

‘That's not what you said last time I made love to you, darlin'.'

‘You got me in a weak moment, Mr Kelly. And now I must be off.'

She tried to brush past him but he pinned her against the wall and caressed her cheek. ‘Ah, Mary, you always give the game away
when you blush. Don't go. How about I cut detention and we drown our respective sorrows at The Dirty Duck?'

‘Sure. Right now I could use a drink or three.'

Edwina was smoking on the balcony when she saw Sean walk down the front steps of the hotel arm in arm with Mary. Her eyes narrowed when he pulled Mary close and gave her a slow, tender kiss. His expression was an open declaration of his love.

Tears streamed down Eddie's face. If he'd looked at her like that just once, she would have forgiven him everything. She watched the two of them until they turned the corner and disappeared from view. Then, tossing her cigarette over the balcony, she stepped back inside.

Edwina furiously tugged the servant's bell and paced the floor. Sebastian was certainly taking his time.
Insubordinate sonofabitch.
On hearing his footsteps on the stairs, she rushed into the hallway. ‘Did Mr Kelly leave a message for me?'

‘No, Madam.'

‘Are you absolutely sure there wasn't a note? A phone call? Anything?'

‘Quite sure, Madam.'

‘Don't just stand there. Make yourself useful. Take these damn tea things away. Mix me a very dry martini. Double. Five olives. Then order me up two bacon sarnies, a chip butty and spotted dick with clotted cream. Wait. I also want a bowl of ice-cream and two chocolate éclairs.'

Sebastian's face registered shock, then he quickly regrouped and changed his expression to that of obsequious submission. ‘Yes, Madam, right away.'

Edwina sat down, demurely crossed her ankles and thoughtfully studied her fingernails.

Jim rolled over and stared at the alarm clock. By the light of the moon, he could see it was only a quarter past three. He grunted, rearranged his pillow and pulled the quilt up around his ears. Turning over, he shut his eyes tightly. Sleep still eluded him. He felt the cruel exhaustion of his bones and tried willing himself to sleep. Counting sheep never worked for Jim. Instead, he pictured himself in a hydraulic lift. Beginning on the hundredth floor, he imagined himself reading out the floor numbers as the lift descended, hoping sleep would overcome him around the thirtieth floor. No such luck. As the fifth floor flashed past, he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. Bertha was leaning over him. Her long, loose hair tickled his bare chest. ‘What is it, darling? Can't you sleep?'

‘I can't stop thinking about Danny Boy.'

‘Tell me.'

‘I just know it wasn't suicide. I feel it in my bones.'

‘Explain.'

‘If Daniel was going to kill himself, he would have put his affairs in order. He would have updated his Will and provided for his daughter. There's no bloody way he would have left Cat at the mercy of Edwina.'

‘That thought did cross my mind.'

‘A couple of nights before he died, I found him in the Winter Garden. I was doing my nightly rounds and he was up there as usual, sitting in the dark. Alone. Staring out across the city, looking for something or someone. I coughed loudly and he turned around. He said, “Ah Jim, didn't know you were there. You move so swiftly and silently, a tomcat on the prowl. Sit with me, I want some advice on bachelorhood.”'

Bertha lit the bedside candle. ‘I don't follow.'

‘He wanted my help. He was willing to feign adultery in order to secure a divorce from Edwina. We were going to stage manage it down at his Brighton hotel. He admitted, “Eddie's made it quite plain that she doesn't want a divorce. But by God, we will divorce. I'll do whatever it takes to get unshackled.”'

‘Ah.'

‘He was calm, confident, a man on the verge of something new. He was looking forward to the future.'

‘But that was just one night in many.'

‘True. But he also confided in me about buying an oceangoing yacht and sailing to exotic places over the following summer with Mary and Cat. He was going to talk Mary into letting Sean Kelly join them. In other words, he had plans. He was thinking months ahead. Danny was anticipating a new life. He only looked despondent when he told me, “Eddie is being really difficult about the divorce, and she's resisting me every inch of the way.”'

‘Well, if it wasn't suicide, just how did he wind up dead?'

‘I don't know but I intend to find out.'

Edwina was annoyed at the persistence of the shoemaker. For days, Thomas Rodd had been leaving messages with the hotel concierge that read ‘I need to speak privately with Mrs Daniel du Barry'.
A shoemaker of all people was making demands on her time. Admittedly he was known in fashionable circles as ‘The Botticelli of Shoes', so maybe it wasn't a complete insult? Balderdash, it was not only an insult, he was being highly presumptuous. Mr Rodd might well be Britain's most accomplished shoe designer but nonetheless he was merely a shopkeeper.

Eventually curiosity got the better of Edwina and an appointment was made. She intended to allocate the man eight minutes and cram him in between her psychic reading and her facial massage. Eddie was a big believer in psychic healers and fortune tellers. One learnt so much from those who were familiar with the other side, especially those who were firmly on the dark side.

When Sebastian showed Mr Rodd into the study, Edwina was pleasantly surprised. Crafting shoes was essentially a medieval occupation. And she'd assumed all shoemakers were old men with pendulous bellies, gnarled hands, garlic breath and squinty eyes. But Mr Rodd was only about forty and very easy on the eye. His footwear was eye-catching, for he was wearing magnificent hand-tooled cowboy boots. He strode into the study and pointedly ignored the stool she offered him. Instead, he chose to stand tall on the hearth rug.

Astonishingly, Edwina's psychic reader had just foretold, ‘A tall, handsome, aggressive man with capable hands will storm into your life, Eddie. And he will sweep you off your feet.' Edwina maintained the sort of dignified expression appropriate to widowhood but her pulse was erratic and she felt decidedly warm and a tad moist. Celeste's prediction was coming true. The woman must be a witch.

When Mr Rodd spoke, his voice was deep and manly. ‘I've only got five minutes to spare as I have an appointment with an American client. So I'll come straight to the point, Madam. I live directly opposite your hotel – you can see my shoe emporium and apartment from here. A man I know only by sight, he lives
in a cardboard box in the alley below, insists he saw something suspicious the night your husband died. Mikey Barthe didn't have the courage to go to the police and he asked me to do so. I wasn't sure if the information was valid but conscience dictates I should mention it. You can then make up your own mind.'

Edwina lowered her chin, widened her eyes and gazed up at him.
My, Mr Rodd is certainly a fine figure of a man and just look at those broad shoulders.
It was impossible not to notice the way his tailored trousers emphasised his muscular thighs. She tried to focus. ‘And what crucial information does this cardboard box denizen wish to impart?'

‘He saw your husband up on the roof that night.'

‘Really?'

‘And Mr du Barry wasn't alone.'

‘What on earth do you mean?'

‘Mikey Barthe swore he saw two people
clear as daylight
up there on the parapet. They were illuminated by light streaming from what I've been told is your Winter Garden. Mikey said he saw the young man and Mr du Barry arguing. Then he witnessed a brief struggle and the young man shoved Mr du Barry over the edge.'

Edwina pressed her hand to her forehead and tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Mr Rodd –'

‘Please, call me Thomas.'

‘Thomas, this Mikey fellow, is he the drunk who's been living in the alley for quite some time? Rheumy eyes, urine-stained pants and unkempt black hair? Often seen lurking around the hotel entrance?'

‘Well, yes.'

‘Do you really think he's a credible witness? Couldn't he have been hallucinating? Or maybe he was suffering drunken tremors and seeing two men instead of one? If I go to the constabulary
and report the matter, is there any likelihood it will bring my dear husband back to life?'

And with that Edwina burst into tears. Thomas gaped at her; he still hadn't worked out how to handle a weeping woman. This unhappy beauty was clearly at her wits' end. Such a petite, defenceless little thing.

Edwina turned her lovely tear-streaked face up at him. ‘Oh, Thomas, my husband was so good to all those beggars, drunks and layabouts. No doubt they miss him too. Why, only last week a wino went to Scotland Yard and swore Daniel had been killed by German spies. Why won't they just let my Danny be at rest? Why must mankind keep seeking false truths?'

Thomas didn't quite catch the widow's drift but he was emotionally engaged nonetheless. He reached into his breast pocket and passed her a neatly folded handkerchief. His wife was keen on ironing and all his hankies had four perfectly pressed folds. Edwina daintily blew her nose and handed it back to him.

Thomas Columbus Rodd felt deep guilt and an unwanted erection as he slyly admired her tremulous pale beauty. How he longed to fondle her all over and kiss her adorable rosebud mouth until she willingly yielded to his aberrant desires. He reddened.
How fucking shameful to think such dirty thoughts about Madam, when her husband isn't even cold in his grave.
Mrs du Barry's tears had accentuated the impact of her sea-blue eyes.
A man could drown in those eyes.
Thomas felt a lump in his throat and mumbled, ‘I'm terribly sorry I upset you. Please don't get up; I'll see myself out. I do hope to see you again under less distressing circumstances. Here is my card. Goodbye, Mrs du Barry.'

From under lowered eyelids, Edwina glimpsed his cowboy boots heading out of the room. When the door clicked shut, she rushed to the balcony. She desperately wanted to watch Thomas stride off down the street. Obviously a man like him would have already
been snapped up by a scheming female. Goddamnit. Edwina approved of his refusal to sit on command. Arrogant men were her speciality. With his neatly ironed handkerchief he'd come across as a housebroken mastiff, yet he still had his mongrel defiance. She peered at the apartment opposite. If only she could catch a glimpse of Mrs Rodd doing something unspeakably dreary in the Rodds' apartment. Preferably while wearing hair curlers and a hideous floral apron. Hell would freeze over before Edwina was caught wearing anything remotely resembling an apron. Her garment of choice at home was a lacy peignoir.

Sebastian dutifully reported the shoe designer's visit to Jim Blade. The two of them sat down in the labyrinth and mulled over the details. Jim had an office upstairs but in the cooler months he preferred to direct business matters from the cosy depths of the boiler room. It was an intensely private space and Jim kept a stash of booze down there for his cardsharping buddies. Peeling movie posters, Cat's sketches and yellowed horse-racing photographs decorated the grubby walls. Jim had furnished the place with a pockmarked table, rough wooden chairs and a low-slung shade, which created a puddle of green light on the table.

Sebastian loved visiting Jim's lair, which was as titillating as an imaginary tour of Hell. He felt privileged to be sipping the hotel's best cognac while seated in the place frequented by professional cardsharpers and corrupt Scotland Yard detectives. The furnaces were all fire and brimstone, sending warmth and wickedness up and out of the labyrinth. Sebastian fancied it was Jim's boiler room that generated the energy for all the dirty doings at the Hotel du Barry.

That morning, Susie had discovered three debutantes and two train shunters in the same big bed in 806. She'd reported to Sebastian, ‘Buck naked they were. Except for the real sexy shunter
who still had his yellow leather work gloves on. Them girls like a bit of leather with their slap and tickle.'

The girls had shown no shame. ‘Those shunters reckoned them girls picked them up at Waterloo Station. They'd been to a nightclub and was sucking down champagne and watching trains getting shunted around at two in the morning. Can't blame them debs, most Oxford and Cambridge students I've met are wet behind the ears. But I tell ya, Sebastian, them shunters could shove their muddy work boots under my bed anytime.'

Susie and Sebastian had chuckled immoderately over the juicy details. Sebastian was already missing the Hotel du Barry and he hadn't even left yet.

Jim finished rolling a cigarette and stared morosely at a poster of Greta Garbo blowing smoke at the ceiling. ‘Sebastian, what was that bloke's name again?'

‘Thomas Columbus Rodd. It's writ large on the awning of all his emporiums.'

‘Nah, I meant the homeless wino.'

‘Mikey Barthe.'

‘Yep, I know him. Used to be a professional gambler, lived by his wits. He came unstuck when his woman dumped him. She supported him by turning tricks, was a very talented amateur. Mikey's luck ran out and he ended up on the streets. Guess I'll pay him a visit.'

Sebastian looked thoughtful. ‘Excellent. If there was foul play we simply must get the matter sorted.'

Jim grimaced. Bloody hell, every man and his dog wanted to be a private dick.

Jim visited the alley several times but Mikey Barthe was never home. Other street folk denied all knowledge of his whereabouts.
However, after he slipped them some folding readies and a few packs of American cigarettes, they became positively chatty.

‘Ain't seen him. Try the Thames Tunnel.'

‘Barthe likes the hot air vent out front of Harrods.'

‘Mikey likes to keep to himself. A real gentleman.'

‘He don't trust nobody but he trusted Danny Boy. They used to have real long chinwags on the hotel steps. At four in the fucking morning. Meaning of life stuff.'

‘What do ya want Mikey for? He ain't been seen for over a week.'

Jim put the word out. He combed back streets and alleys all the way down to the Thames. Still no Mikey. Until one morning, when a call came through from Senior Constable Walker. ‘We've got him.'

‘Great, Bill. Can you trump up a charge and keep him in the slammer till I get there?'

‘No dice. Can't be done.'

‘Why not?'

‘He's been fished out of the Thames with a job lot of bullets all over his body. The killer was either fucking crazy or an idiot amateur.'

‘Bill, why would anyone want to unload a gun into a harmless old booze hound?'

‘Beats me. Usually homeless drunks freeze to death of their own accord, or their clapped-out livers do them in. Unless of course their fellow man strangles them, sets them on fire or beats them to death. It's been a brutal week, that's the third deceased hobo we've found. I'm thinking I need a change of career. Anyway, Jim, why are you so damned interested in Mikey?'

‘I'm kind-hearted. His chums from the alley were missing him.'

‘Yeah right, you lying bastard. See you tonight at the Plumbers Arms. You owe me so it's your shout.'