Hotel du Barry (31 page)

Bertha nodded grimly.

Jim took another sip of his tea. ‘After that we had a cosy little chat. When I put forward the proposition that he'd blackmailed Daniel, he flatly denied it. And kept denying it despite me applying a wee bit of pressure. In short he insisted it was a business deal. He'd sold Daniel a house in Brighton and he had documents to prove it. Given the skill of London's best forgers, legal documents mean fuck all. I fully intended to follow up on the matter – but instead I wound up in here.'

Cat leant over Jim's pillow, with a stricken face. ‘So he was the one who attacked you in the gymnasium?'

He touched her cheek. ‘Not so fast, kid. Although I must admit that did cross my mind when I went arse over tit down the stairs. I'll get to my attackers later. On their first visit I asked Clem and Stavros to follow the paper trail and find out why Daniel would buy property from the likes of Smythe without involving his lawyers.'

All eyes were on Jim as he took another leisurely sip of tea. Mary was on the edge of her seat, Cat fiddled with her bracelet and Bertha looked like she was about to combust. Jim said, ‘Cat, would you mind sticking your head out the door and asking a nurse for some water.'

Cat did so and then perched on the end of the bed. ‘Jim, you're killing us. What did they find out?'

He grinned. ‘Sorry, my mind does tend to wander. It's all the first-class drugs these charming nurses keep administering to me. Would you like the long or the short version?'

‘Give us the short.'

‘All right. Smythe was telling the truth. The house was owned by the head barman at the Hotel du Barry Brighton. The poor bastard drowned in a boating accident. He owed Smythe money
over a failed business venture and had foolishly used his house as collateral. So Smythe took possession of the house and kicked the barman's widow and her five young children out onto the street. Smythe's not usually described as a Good Samaritan. Can you see where this is going?'

Mary nodded. ‘So Daniel stepped in, bought the house from Smythe – probably at an inflated price – and quietly moved the widow back in.'

Cat added, ‘Danny probably gave the title deed to the widow and pretended he hadn't done anything. Christ, you've no idea how often he used to do this sort of stuff. He believed that if you were going to do charitable things you should do so as anonymously as possible.'

The nurse came in with the water. ‘Is there anything else you need, Jim?'

‘No, Simone. Thanks for that.'

She glided out quietly.

Jim nodded approvingly. ‘If you want some peace and a place to do some serious thinking, then hospital is the place to be. Although I must say I'm busting to get back to the hotel. As to your question, Cat, regarding who beat me up – Smythe was coerced into tracking down my attackers.'

Cat sat down almost on top of Jim. ‘Blimey, how did that happen?'

‘Clem put it to Smythe – off the record, in a somewhat persuasive manner – that he was the prime suspect in the case of the Hotel du Barry gymnasium attack. And that Smythe would be considered guilty until he came up with an alternative suspect. You can get away with that sort of irregular proposition if you weigh 350 pounds and are a big knob in His Majesty's Service.'

He took a sip of water and his eyes became drifty. Everyone waited but Jim was impervious to their tension. Bertha sighed. The
sooner they stopped doping her man the better. She hadn't seen him like this since the night they experimented with hashish at a restaurant in Istanbul.

Jim put the glass back onto the bedside table. ‘Well now, ladies, I'm busting to hear the latest on the widow du Barry.'

Mary said, ‘Jim, who beat you up?'

‘Ah, of course. I knew I'd forgotten something. Smythe used his connections to track my assailants down. It turned out that they were two layabouts from the Sailor's Arms who beat up civilians on a cash basis. No matter how much pressure Smythe applied – and he can be a bit heavy handed – they insisted the job was given to them through an intermediary and they didn't know who ordered the job or who paid their fee. Shortly after that they disappeared and haven't been heard of since. Clem and Stavros are following it up but I suspect that the whole thing is so convoluted that we'll never get to the bottom of the matter. Let's move on – how did the clairvoyant go?'

Cat glanced at Mary. ‘Well, apparently Edwina is trying to contact the dead so she can cut a deal. Lilith also told us that Matthew Lamb's automobile spun out of control just before it crashed. He was sober and not doped up as reported. At the time of impact he was desperately trying to brake but nothing was happening. The crash was horrific, an inferno.'

Jim frowned. ‘So Cat, what are your deductions so far?'

‘Just before he crashed he yelled, “Fuck, she's really done it this time.” Which suggests to me that there was a woman in his life who was out to get him. And maybe she'd sabotaged his brakes.'

‘Edwina?'

‘It may or may not have been Eddie. I don't know too much about Matthew Lamb because I was never allowed to mention him. She once told me that he was the twin who was mothered while she was pushed away. I sensed that although they were very close, there
was bad blood between them. Eddie told Lilith she resented him winning Danny's love. So I guess there's also motivation.'

Bertha murmured, ‘Even Matthew Lamb didn't deserve to die in an inferno.'

Cat said, ‘Eddie doesn't have both oars in the water. Lilith said she's barely functional. She's obsessing about past mistakes, missed opportunities and cock ups.'

Jim nodded. ‘What do you reckon, Mary?'

‘She's coming unstuck as you predicted. Lilith said Edwina's got fresh razor cuts on the inside of her arms. Otto Rubens reckons when people mutilate their bodies it's not necessarily a cry for help. It can be a way of externalising pain and getting some sort of relief.'

Jim nodded. ‘Makes sense. She may have murdered two men and inadvertently bumped off another three. No bloody wonder she's losing her mind and turning into Lady Macbeth.'

Bertha's lips thinned. ‘And look how she treated Cat.'

Jim took her hand. ‘Bertha, let's dump the rotten stuff and look to the future. As Stavros puts it,
let it burn, let it burn
. Cat, is Sebastian with us?'

‘Yep. I spoke to him last night. He's dead keen to help. And terribly flattered to be taken into our confidence.'

Jim stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. ‘Well then, let's go over the details. There's no room for mistakes. We only get one shot at this.'

He glanced at Bertha and she realised that Jim had sharpened up considerably. Obviously he was rising to meet the challenge. His brain had shifted gear and by sheer dint of will he was overriding the pharmaceuticals in his system. She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze and blinked back tears.

My man is back and everything is going to be all right.

*

Edwina had spent another sleepless night. She studied her face in the mirror. There was no doubt about it, she'd aged over the last few weeks. New lines had appeared on her face and she'd lost even more weight. Every time she dozed off she dreamt that Matthew had manifested. Sometimes he appeared sitting on the end of her bed, or he'd just stand there watching her from the other side of the mirror. He never spoke. She thought he must be more than a figment of her imagination because she could smell his special imported cigarettes. They stank of rough tobacco and cloves, a sickly sweet odour that carried with it the smell of the graveyard.

Sebastian could smell it, too. ‘Perhaps the cigarette smoke drifts up from the rooms below, through the cracks in the floor?'

Not bloody likely. For it was Sebastian, on Jim's instructions, who was regularly lighting up and blowing the smoke wherever Madam might catch a whiff of it.

Edwina washed her hands again. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she just couldn't get them clean. She picked up the nailbrush and gave them another scouring. Then she splashed eau de cologne on her palms and winced as the alcohol bit into her raw flesh. She checked her watch. It was eleven in the morning but she had no recollection of how she'd spent the last four hours. Her coffee and toast lay untouched and the morning papers were exactly as Sebastian had left them.

Loneliness was her lot now. How she'd loved having breakfast in bed with Tommy; and vying over who got to read the interesting bits of the newspaper first. God, she felt like a drink. It was way too early for martinis but it was never too early for champagne. She'd heard that ships' doctors prescribed champagne for pregnant women, a clever cure for morning sickness. And champagne was known to be a nutritious, easily digested food. Edwina rang the bell and drummed her fingers as she waited.

*

Eventually Sebastian turned up. He seemed impervious to her agitation.

‘I want you to go down to Daniel's private cellar and bring me back two bottles of Caterina Anastasia Grande Imperial Champagne.'

‘Do you want me to open a bottle for you this morning, Madam?'

‘Yes. And what of it?'

‘Nothing. I just wanted to ascertain if I should get an ice bucket or not.'

‘Don't be idiotic. Of course I want a fucking ice bucket.'

Sebastian looked hurt. He'd only been back on the job a couple of weeks and already the honeymoon was over. ‘I'll fetch it right away, Madam.'

Edwina lay down on the sofa and closed her weary eyes.

It was quite some time before Sebastian reappeared, and what's more he was empty-handed. Edwina snapped, ‘Where the hell is my champagne?'

Sebastian bowed his head. ‘I'm sorry, Madam, but I can't locate it. I've looked everywhere.'

‘You're useless. Give me the key. Fetch the ice while I find it myself.'

Edwina descended to the labyrinth in the service lift. She was livid and in no mood to be pleasant. She pointedly ignored the labyrinth staff who greeted her. They shrugged it off. Nothing unusual about her rudeness. She'd been like that since Mr du Barry died.

Having thrust the key into the cellar door, Edwina groped around for the light switch. How strange, her hand could only feel a dusty wine rack. The light switch wasn't where it should be. Admittedly she hadn't been down there for weeks, so perhaps things had been changed around. When a large Cardinal spider ran up
her arm, she screamed and a pantry maid came running. She watched as Edwina clawed the spider off and ground it mercilessly under her heel. ‘Arrrrgh, just die, you filthy, filthy sonofabitch.'

The maid hovered. ‘Is everything all right, Mrs du Barry?'

Edwina glared at her. The girl was a cherubic dumpling and she looked to be about twelve years old. All the staff were getting younger while she was turning into a wrinkled old prune. Edwina snapped, ‘Of course everything is
not
all right, you stupid girl. Get me a goddamn candle or a torch.'

The maid scurried off and returned quickly with a candle holder and matches. Her hands shook as she handed them over.

After several attempts, Edwina managed to light the candle. When she stepped into the cellar, she noticed an oil lamp glowing in the darkness and moved towards the light. And there they were. Sitting around a small green baize-covered table were Daniel, Matthew and Michael. Their hinged limbs had been arranged so they appeared to be playing cards while they drank Caterina Anastasia Grande Imperial Champagne. All three wore evening dress and they were frozen in time. A tableau of three dead men.

Edwina raised the candle higher and Matthew Lamb's sapphire eyes glittered at her, his likeness was extraordinary. Although his tuxedo was years out of date, his nosegay was fresh. His long, elegant fingers held a cigarette and as it burnt, it gave off the same aromatic smoke she'd smelt up in her apartment. Her twin's glassy stare shook Edwina to her core and she recoiled.

The painted cut-outs of Michael and Daniel were also astonishingly life-like. Daniel was looking at her with the same quizzical look he'd acquired shortly before he died and Michael was regarding her with profound scepticism.

Edwina threw down the candle and ran from the cellar. Tears streamed down her face. Having no desire to be seen by any staff, she climbed the outside fire escape stairs to the ninth floor.
She then huddled on the landing outside her apartment for more than an hour until she'd stopped shaking and could control her tears.

Edwina entered the apartment to find Sebastian calmly polishing the silverware. He glanced up enquiringly.

Her tone was imperious, ‘I want to know who is playing cruel tricks on me.'

Sebastian looked perplexed. ‘I don't know what you mean, Madam.'

‘The light switch. Someone's placed a shelf in front of the light switch. And set up a tableau of three dead men. Who put those paintings down there? Answer me.'

Sebastian looked completely blank. ‘There was no problem with the light switch. And I didn't see any paintings.'

Edwina grabbed Sebastian by the arm and dragged him out the door. ‘How dare you lie to me? Let's go down there right now.'

They waited for the service lift in uncomfortable silence and rode down to the labyrinth without speaking.

Sebastian tried the cellar door but it was locked. Edwina hissed, ‘I didn't lock it.'

She shoved him aside and unlocked the door. ‘Right. I want you to show me the light switch that you reckon is still there.'

Sebastian gave her a puzzled look as he snapped on the light. Edwina gasped, for the switch was exactly where it should have been. And the dusty wine rack had vanished into thin air, as though it had never existed. She rubbed her forehead. ‘Go down to the back of the cellar. Move it.'

She hustled him down to the rear of the cellar and Sebastian stood on the bluestones looking confused. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at her with the unspoken question. There was nothing
there. No table, no oil lamp, no paintings. An abandoned, rusty corkscrew lay in solitude gathering dust.