Hotel du Barry (22 page)

Henri entered Spiro's Barber Shop and heaved a sigh of relief. The smell of hair tonic, cigarettes and pomade hung heavy in the air. The combination of dark leather seating, polished mirrors and waxed linoleum, made it austere yet extravagantly macho. Henri recognised it as the sort of barber shop that featured in gangster films, when the director needed a place to film the bad guys getting slaughtered; all those glossy surfaces on which to splatter blood.

Set against a wall was a well-stocked display case housing hair lotions, nail clippers, combs, brushes and nostril-hair clippers. The only decoration in the joint was a poster advertising imported hair tonic for premature baldness. A perky blonde with magnificent breasts was running her hands through the male model's luxuriant hair. Her eyes spoke of complete abandonment while his expression was one of complacent entitlement. The message was crude in its simplicity; have hair, will get laid.

Spiro's shop was a hive of activity. Three barbers were wielding cut-throat razors. The fourth was studiously trimming an elderly
gent's nostril hair, while keeping a firm grip on the cigarillo between his teeth. Henri paused to admire the barber's dexterity. Meantime the resident shoeshine boy was applying himself to the gentleman's footwear as he discussed the day's sporting fixtures. ‘Nah, you is better orf backing Dream On. The strapper reckons the mare's gunna be doped to the back teeth with the fast stuff.'

Henri tapped him on the shoulder. ‘For one so young, you're remarkably conversant with the corrupt side of horse racing. Take care. In my experience there's usually tears before bedtime.'

He slipped some coins to Spiro's apprentice who was sweeping the floor. ‘I'm just here on business today. Please bring me back a strong black coffee, Lazarus.'

Henri sauntered over to the waiting area. Sitting on the bench was his closest friend, reading the morning newspapers as he sipped his coffee. Henri sat down beside him. ‘So, has Scotland Yard made any progress?'

Jim Blade passed the paper over. ‘Nah. Check out the photograph.'

In bold typeface were the words,
Bolivian manhunt as murder suspect flees U.K
. Under the headline was a blurry photograph of Sean Kelly. Henri examined it closely. ‘This was taken about eighteen years ago – he looks about sixteen. How do they even know Sean's left England?'

Jim's voice was low. ‘I told them.'

‘You dobbed him in!'

Jim had turned away and was hiding his face. His shoulders shook as he searched his pockets for a handkerchief. Henri was stunned. Why had he betrayed Sean? Had the detectives bribed him? Impossible. Jim must have been tricked into divulging information and was now overcome with remorse.

He grabbed Jim by the shoulder and spun him around. Jim was laughing and tears of mirth were running down his face.

Jim wiped his eyes and beckoned Henri closer. ‘Listen, I know where Sean is holed up and it's not fucking Bolivia. A certain widow of Sean's acquaintance suggested he buy a fake passport from one of London's most treacherous narcs and fuck off to Australia. Had Sean done that, he'd already be in the slammer. Admittedly, Edwina wouldn't have known the forger was also a police informer. I sent Sean to a trusted pal down on the docks instead.'

Henri sank back down on the bench. ‘Thank God for that. You really had me going, you bastard. I damn near had a heart attack. Where did they get the photograph from?'

‘I asked Mary to dig up the oldest, fuzziest photograph she could find. Sean could be just about any Irish lad fresh off the hay wagon. There's no resemblance whatsoever to our suave lady killer.'

Henri shook his head. ‘You know, for one God-awful moment I thought you'd knowingly sent Sean to the gallows.'

‘Hell, no. I was just winding you up.' Jim stood up. ‘Back in a minute. Just have to have a quick word with Marcello.'

Lazarus reappeared, carefully carrying Henri's coffee. His young face was creased with fierce concentration as he navigated around the barber shop's chairs and the gentlemen's briefcases. He successfully berthed the coffee on the bench and grinned with relief at Henri.

‘Thanks, Lazarus.'

Jim returned and they sipped their coffees and watched the passers-by in companionable silence. The detective was the first to speak. ‘You know, the kid is doing just great these days. Have you seen the latest work in her studio?'

‘Not yet, but Bertha and Belinda reckon it's exceptional.'

‘My word it is, Henri. Getting all these commissions has taken Cat's mind off the recent troubles.'

‘You mean the widow's machinations?'

‘Yep. The kid was distraught about Sean's disappearance but Mary filled her in. Cat misses him something awful.'

Henri nodded. ‘Yeah, I miss the shifty bugger too. I'm hearing that around the traps too, apparently a lot of young ladies are pining for him. According to one debutante, there's no fox in the hen house to match him. He's become even more desirable since the press made him out to be some sort of maverick gunslinger.'

‘There's always a high premium on the bad boys.'

Jim pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Henri, who shook his head.

‘Jim, is Cat still trying to track down that woman?'

‘I don't think so. A slippery French diplomat was helping her for a while. I reckon he had ulterior motives. But she's too smart for the likes of him. And fortunately his investigation came to a dead end.'

‘How come?'

‘Well, he informed Cat that an infamous Parisian model was killed in an avalanche in Switzerland around the time Cat was abandoned. The young woman died in the snow, along with the two aristocratic brothers who'd been keeping her as their mistress.'

‘Ah, so Cat thought –'

‘Yes. But Cat hasn't given up. She's tenacious. When she went to Paris recently, she stayed in Montmartre and was seen hanging around asking a lot of questions.'

‘Blimey. How do you know all this, Jim?'

Jim grinned as he lit a match and ignited his cigarette. ‘The usual informants and I can read Cat pretty well. She's got all the advantages of having high intelligence coupled with a creative mind. Such as the ability to see connections between events that others assume to be completely unrelated.'

‘You're referring to the Edwina business?'

‘Too right. Now that Cat knows what Eddie's capable of, she's been asking me some hard questions about her background and Matthew Lamb. I can tell you, it's no picnic.'

Jim stood up, crossed the shop floor and pulled out his wallet. ‘When you get a minute, could you fetch us another couple of black coffees please, Lazarus.'

‘Certainly, Mr Blade.'

Jim turned back to Henri. ‘Coffee. It's the only thing that gets me through the day. Sleepless nights. I'm damn near going crazy.'

‘Thinking about Daniel?'

‘Ah, Henri, I lie in bed at three in the morning thinking there's got to be a connection between Daniel's and Michael's deaths and that homeless guy they pulled out of the Thames. Cat's in on it, too. She's been telling me what Daniel and Michael used to discuss late at night.'

‘Enlighten me.'

Jim took a deep drag on his cigarette. ‘It's common knowledge that Daniel was hell-bent on improving the lot of the dispossessed. Fortuitously Michael had powerful connections. So when they were looking at allocated governmental budgeting for slum dwellers, they came across some dodgy financial dealings that were being kept hush hush.'

‘Corruption? Embezzlement of funds?'

‘Both. Cat reckons there was alleged criminal activity going on in one particular government department. Subsequently Daniel and Michael made some impressive enemies when they brought the authorities' attention to the misappropriation of funds.'

Henri frowned. ‘Do you think there's a possibility that someone wanted Daniel and Michael out of the way?'

‘Maybe. They inadvertently ruined two or three political careers. So I figured that while Scotland Yard was busy sending its
finest after suspects like Sean Kelly, I'd investigate the politicians who had it in for Daniel and Michael.'

‘Where did you start?'

‘With their detractors. The bureaucrats who were always sparring with Daniel in the press and the politicians who were gunning for Michael. I'm still working on it.'

‘Any other suspects?'

‘There are, but I'm loath even to mention them at this stage. I'll let you know.'

‘I understand.'

They both fell silent.

Jim watched as Spiro lathered up a client's neck and proceeded to skilfully shave him. Only a fragile thread separated life from death. A man could be enjoying a coffee and confiding in his closest friend and the next minute find himself out cold on a mortuary slab. All within the blink of an eye. The Grim Reaper could appear anywhere, anytime. Daniel hadn't see it coming. Neither had Matthew Lamb, Michael James or Mikey Barthe. Although no doubt Mikey had seen more death than your average pedestrian.

One slip of Spiro's cut-throat razor and that young cove could be on his way to heaven or hell. Enough. I'd better start getting some serious shut-eye or I'll be sliding feet first into the existential void myself.

Mary Maguire ascended the steps of the Hotel du Barry, elegantly attired in a tight grey suit and silky blouse. Male heads swivelled to admire her shapely ankles and swaying hips. She smiled at George the doorman, waved to Charlie and took the hydraulic lift up to the ninth floor. Under her arm she carried a newspaper and a large bunch of yellow daffodils.

Mary knocked on Cat's apartment door and when it opened, she thrust the newspaper and daffodils into Cat's hands. ‘Morning, great news. Check this out.'

Cat scanned the article and carefully studied Sean's photograph. ‘I can see Jim's hand in this.'

Mary winked. ‘Ready to go? We've got time to take morning tea at the other place before our appointment.'

‘The other place?'

‘Yes. According to Henri it's the only London hotel worthy enough to compete with the Hotel du Barry. We dare not speak its name.' She clicked her fingers. ‘Enough hibernation, it's time you took a break from your work and got a bit of sun. Spring has sprung and a girl's mind should be lightly turning to hot buttered scones and witchcraft.'

*

It was a beautiful morning but Lilith lit several joss sticks and closed the parlour curtains. She would have preferred working in the warmth of her sun-drenched kitchen, but centuries of experience had taught Lilith that her clientele expected a touch of mystique with their psychic readings. More importantly, the darkness helped to shield her true identity. Lilith had never forgotten the lessons she'd learnt when she was on trial in Salem.

In the dim light she lit a dozen black candles and shooed the cats off the furniture. Hamlet and Aphrodite retired under the table to sulk, while Hecate stalked out to the kitchen where Medea was curled up in front of the wood-burning stove. Lilith dusted her crystal ball and covered it with a square of black velvet embroidered with crescent moons. She'd obtained the ball at great expense from a Venetian craftsman. It was hand-blown crystal and about the size of a man's head.

The current fashion was for Romanian gypsy fortune tellers and Lilith had adapted accordingly. She flounced her full skirt, applied red lipstick, draped a scarlet shawl around her shoulders and put on a pair of gold hoop earrings. Thankfully the fad for Indian mysticism had passed – London's weather had not been conducive to such shenanigans and she'd been reduced to wearing thermal ski tights under her chiffon harem pants. Lilith checked herself in the hallway mirror and primped her dyed black curls. The doorbell rang. The morning's witchcraft was about to begin.

Standing on the doorstep was the redhead she'd met at a theatre opening. Mary Maguire was accompanied by a young woman, an extraordinary feline creature with the most unusual violet-coloured eyes. The girl was wearing bohemian style trousers that somehow accentuated her femininity. She didn't seem concerned
with her own uniqueness or the effect she created. It was unusual for someone her age.

‘Lilith, this is Cat.'

‘Do come in. Care for a cuppa?'

Cat removed her sailor's cap. ‘No, thank you. We just had morning tea at the Ritz.'

They settled themselves at the round table. Mary lit a cigarette with trembling hands. Cat grinned when Hamlet leapt up onto her lap and made himself at home. He was huge, a magnificent black beast with startling green-gold eyes.

Lilith raised an eyebrow. ‘Strange. Hamlet is usually unsociable and never sits on anyone's lap. Let's get started.'

She whisked the velvet cloth away and ran her hands over the crystal ball. ‘This ball simply provides a point of focus but I sense you'd prefer I did not use it. We must have complete honesty. Am I correct, Cat?'

Cat looked startled. ‘Yes, you've got me there.'

Lilith plucked the heavy crystal ball off its plinth and neatly bowled it along the thick carpet. It rolled the length of the room before halting by the sofa, where it lay glittering in the candlelight.

‘Mary's told me nothing about you. I asked her not to, as I prefer a blank slate. So let's get acquainted and I'll tell you what I can see. Relax and look straight at the candle. I'm going to take your hand, like so.'

Two or three minutes passed. The only sound was the cat purring. Lilith finally spoke. ‘I sense you're questioning your purpose in life. You've just had another birthday, seven days ago to be precise. Strange. The fourteenth of April is your legal birthdate but your real birthday was five days later. Mary knows how this came about.'

Mary blushed. Lilith continued, ‘You are standing at the crossroads of your life. You recently capitulated to darkness when
somebody tried to bend you to his will. I see him as an ugly man, mean and wretched in spirit. His vileness manifested physically in the stench of death. He weakened you by trying to break your spirit, but he failed. He died a cruel death.'

Cat was very alert. In the candlelight her violet eyes were positively iridescent. ‘Could you describe him?'

Lilith's eyes were closed. ‘He's wearing a white uniform, heavily starched. Could be a doctor or an orderly in a hospital. No. I can see him clearly now. He's standing in a kitchen and he's wearing a chef's uniform.'

Mary put down her cigarette. ‘Are you sure he didn't kill himself?'

Lilith placed her cool fingers on Mary's warm hand. ‘It wasn't suicide. He died by water but it was not self-destruction. He drowned in six inches of water. Yes, I see him lying in a bathtub.'

Mary and Cat exchanged looks.

Lilith said, ‘This chef is not your main concern. Interesting. There's so much darkness around you, Cat. But it's not coming from you. Something devastated you several months ago. A woman died. You were very close, it may have been your mother. No, it wasn't a woman. It was the man who willingly took the place of your birth mother. A man of extremes, a man of generosity and integrity. And I don't wish to sound trite but he was extraordinarily handsome. He's an archetype. His unique personal qualities made him enemies but I don't know why. Dammit, he's gone and something or maybe even someone is blocking me. Cat, I sense you are burdened and need advice. Go ahead, dear.'

Cat hesitated and she glanced at Mary for reassurance. ‘The man who died, the one you described as a man of extremes. Can you tell us how he died?'

Lilith took their hands, closed her eyes and focused. She felt herself moving onto ground she feared to tread and that a malicious
spirit opposed her. She slowed her breathing and went deeper. ‘I can see fire, it's a monstrous inferno.' Lilith broke into a sweat as she stared into the flames. She'd experienced this fire centuries ago and she was loath to go on but she was bound in servitude to the truth. ‘I'm moving through flames, they can't burn me but the heat is immense and the atmosphere is stifling and terrifying. Ah, relief. Now I'm on the other side and the cool night air is fanning my face and drying the sweat from my body.' Glancing upwards Lilith saw the man of extremes sitting on a high rooftop, his legs were dangling over the edge and he was partially hidden by the shadows. ‘I can see him, it's the man of extremes. Wait. Someone is creeping up behind him. It's probably a man but his face is obscured. I think it could be a younger man. They are arguing about something but I can't hear them. The young man just made a sudden unexpected move.' Lilith tried to scream a warning but it was already too late. ‘Oh noooooo! The older man is plummeting downwards. He's in free fall!' Lilith's vision faded abruptly as if a curtain had been lowered.

When Lilith opened her eyes, Mary and Cat were staring at her in horror.

Lilith said gently, ‘No harm can come to you when you're within my circle of protection. Cat is also being shielded by my familiar.'

Cat leant her head in her hands. ‘What you envisioned for us is the same as what a homeless drunk reported seeing. But my father's wife, Edwina, assumed Mikey was simply hallucinating – we all did. Please, can you tell us where we can go to look for answers?'

Mary added, ‘Scotland Yard is investigating and we've got a professional detective on the job but any insights would be greatly appreciated.'

Lilith closed her eyes and placed her hands, palms up on the table. ‘Both of you need to touch your fingers to mine and I'll see if I can take you back down with me.'

The candles flickered and Hamlet grew warmer on Cat's lap. His paws moved restlessly as though chasing a dream. As Cat stared fixedly at the candle, she felt herself being drawn into the flame. It was a place she'd never been before. She stumbled as the hill was steep and there were loose stones underfoot. Hamlet appeared in front of her, sitting on a dark object. He stared at Cat without blinking. Around him was a swirling vortex of black snow. Cat's fear of the unknown gripped her. She jerked herself back to reality and opened her eyes.

Lilith gently touched her face. ‘Be strong, Cat. I sense that you are more powerful than you think. Close your eyes and go back down. Tell us what you can see.'

Cat shut her eyes and focused. ‘It's hard to see anything because there's a lot of strange black snow. I think it could be a suitcase. Wait. No, it's a large leather bag and it looks like it opens in an odd way.'

Mary interjected. ‘Lilith, is this safe? I don't want to put her in danger.'

Lilith shook her head. ‘I don't practise the black arts and we aren't calling up the devil. Besides, Hamlet is protecting Cat. Let's just sit quietly and allow the knowledge to come to us. Breathe deeply and calmly, you are protected. I want Cat to hold the image in her mind and focus until her vision clears. Are you both ready?'

Mary and Cat nodded. They sensed that the room had grown colder. The candles flickered as though a spirit was passing through the room. Mary's feet were freezing yet she was sweating.

Cat focused. ‘I can see the leather bag again. It's old and worn and the handles have been stained by many sweaty hands. There's writing on the side – two initials, M.B. It's an old-fashioned script with lots of flourishes. There's also some strange hieroglyphs embossed into the leather. It's not a doctor's bag but it has medical value. It's been carried over seas and deserts, forded streams and
been lugged up mountains. The bag has been drenched by tempests and covered in snow and it's got holes – bullet holes? – in its side.'

Her eyes snapped open and she jumped up. Hamlet tumbled off her knee but managed to land on his feet. He looked distinctly shitty.

Cat turned to Mary. ‘I know that bag! It's Daniel's medicine bag. Remember Mary? You teased Daniel about bringing it to Venice.' She turned to Lilith. ‘It belonged to his father. Maurie had it handcrafted before he changed his name to du Barry. The initials stand for Maurice Barry and the symbols represent things that were important to him. Maurie taught Daniel everything he knew about medicine and those skills saved at least two soldiers lives. Danny also cured several soldiers of the venereal diseases they'd picked up in Egypt. Unfortunately we left the bag behind in Venice and it was thrown out.'

Mary murmured. ‘Actually, Cat, there's something I haven't told you.'

‘What's that?'

Mary was pale. ‘I went back to Venice after Daniel's funeral, just before Edwina sacked me. I wanted to close up the palazzo, settle some overdue accounts and organise the shipping of Daniel's personal possessions that he'd stored there. I had strict instructions from Edwina to get rid of anything that was old or had no value. She insisted only items of value should be retained. But I wasn't exactly honest with her.'

Cat said, ‘Go on. What did you tell her?'

‘I told her I'd got rid of everything apart from what was in the trunks sent back to London. But in actual fact I'd put together another trunk, addressed to Henri Dupont, and in that trunk were items valued by Daniel that I thought might mean something to you when you got older.'

Cat touched her arm. ‘That's lovely, thank you. So did you keep Daniel's old diaries and journals and his Oxford stuff?'

‘Yes. You see, Lilith, he'd moved it all to Venice because Edwina wanted to throw it all out. She doesn't like anything old including antiques. She'd already burnt all his mother's diaries and mementos when he was away on business.'

Lilith nodded thoughtfully. ‘Were there any items Mrs du Barry did value?'

‘Yes, she kept Lucinda's jewellery box. She informed Daniel that she intended having his mother's jewels reset. Can you imagine what it was like? Daniel went berserk and promptly dispatched Lucinda's jewellery off to a bank vault and all his other treasured possessions to his Venetian palazzo.'

Cat winced. ‘You mean like Maurie's letters and his brothers' photos, medals, diaries and stuff?'

‘Precisely. And one of the things I put in the locked trunk was Maurie's old medicine bag. It meant so much to Danny and I thought in time it would mean the same to you.'

Lilith nodded. ‘You made a wise choice, Mary. Such things are important. But tell me, where is Daniel's bag now?'

‘It's at the Hotel du Barry, down in the labyrinth.'

Lilith looked puzzled. ‘Labyrinth?'

‘Yes. That's the double basement in the hotel. I got our concierge, Henri Dupont, to put the locked trunk in one of his secret storerooms. I knew it would be safe there until Cat chose to open it. Henri is the only person with a key and I trust him unconditionally.'

Hamlet stretched luxuriously and yawned, he twined himself around Mary's ankles and glanced up at her. Hamlet's sly green-gold eyes glittered in the half light and she got the creepy feeling that he was laughing.

Mary shuddered.