Hotel du Barry (8 page)

‘Someone I once cared about. Deeply. It was a long time ago. Matthew Lamb is Edwina's brother. I met him when he needed a job. He was intelligent, personable and witty, but like many returned soldiers he found himself unemployed and destitute, so I personally trained him up to become one of our hotel managers. Later he changed careers.'

‘Why doesn't he visit us?'

Daniel's face was rigid. ‘Matthew died in a car crash. He was involved with a fast crowd. Disreputable people. His passenger survived but remembered nothing.'

‘Can I keep your Mr Lamb?'

Daniel slowly lit a cigarette and moved to the window before answering. He gazed sightlessly at the gritty sunset. ‘If you like, Cat. But it's probably best if you keep him hidden in your old nursery. Edwina would be devastated if she saw him – she's got no idea I even had the painting made. And you must never, ever ask her about Matthew. She gets distraught if anyone mentions him. He was the most important man in her life. They were very close. Perhaps too close.'

And so Matthew Lamb found himself surrounded by abandoned toys, board games, broken hockey sticks and all the paraphernalia young girls accumulate and toss aside. Cat was no longer interested in childish pursuits, for she'd discovered
Lady Chatterley's Lover
on Daniel's bookshelves and liked to read it aloud to her new friend. She fancied that the erotic descriptions of lovemaking made his blue eyes sparkle more intensely.

Somewhere in Kensal Green Cemetery, Matthew Lamb turned in his coffin. It wasn't the destiny he'd have chosen for himself.

*

As she got older, Cat's curiosity about Matthew Lamb deepened. One winter's evening about four years later, Cat went down to the labyrinth searching for Bertha Brown.

Bertha was instructing the maids in the preparation of breakfast trays. ‘Girls, pay attention. Mavis, stop flashing that ring around and concentrate.'

The maids were having trouble keeping their minds on the job. Mavis's engagement ring was inspiring admiration and jealousy in equal measure. Wilma rolled her eyes. ‘I mean, it's hardly as big as the Ritz, is it? If he was my fella, I'd make him take it back and get me a bigger one.'

Bertha pretended not to hear. ‘Then you fold the napkin like this and place it on the side like so.'

The maids giggled, dropped cutlery and generally got it wrong. Belinda had managed to cut her finger and was milking the situation. ‘Oi, look at this, girls. I've lost two pints of blood already. And it's me fucking ring finger. I'm out of the marriage market for life.'

Bertha glared. ‘Belinda, mind your language. I've repeatedly asked you not to swear in front of Cat.'

Belinda did her best to look shame-faced. ‘Real sorry, Mrs Brown.'

As soon as Bertha turned her back, Belinda gave Cat a pinch. They both giggled.

Bertha smoothed back her dyed black hair and tightened the apron around her wide hips.

‘Girls, let us continue. We're going to stay here until you get it right.'

Cat slid onto a kitchen chair, flipped open her sketchbook and started drawing the kitchen cats.

Eventually the maids were dismissed for the day. They tore off their aprons, lit up cigarettes and disappeared. The kitchen was
silent. From the direction of the servants' stairs, Cat heard Belinda shrieking, ‘Oi, it's the new desk Johnny. I saw him first, girls. Come on up, handsome! Don't be shy, we won't eat you. Yet.'

A male voice answered, ‘There's more than enough of me to go round, ladies. The queue forms to the left. Keep it orderly now. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back.'

More shrieks, whistles and ribald laughter.

Bertha grimaced. ‘He started in reception this morning. Another Yorkshire lad, full of himself. What's on your mind, sweetie?'

‘I want to know everything about Matthew Lamb.'

‘Oh?' Bertha carefully measured out the tea leaves. Two teaspoons and one for the pot. She busied herself laying out cups and saucers. Her cheeks were pale under the rouge. Bertha cut two thick wedges of cake, poured milk into the cups and remained silent.

Cat put cake forks on the kitchen table. ‘Please. Tell me about Mr Lamb.'

Bertha sighed. ‘What do you already know?'

‘I know Daniel was in love with him. But what's the big mystery about? He's been dead a long time.'

‘Sometimes it's better to let sleeping dogs lie.'

‘But you promised that when I turned sixteen you'd stop treating me like a child.'

‘Me and my big mouth. Fair enough. Matthew Lamb was not well liked by the staff. He was a very competent manager but lacked the common touch. He thought he was better than the lot of us put together. Gave himself airs and graces.'

Bertha poured the tea. ‘When Matthew died in the automobile crash there was vicious gossip and the gutter press spread unsubstantiated rumours about his lifestyle. Because his vehicle went up in flames, there were problems identifying him. It was an ugly business that turned into a major scandal. Doc reckons
Danny had a nervous breakdown, made worse by the losses he'd experienced during the war. He'd lost both his brothers and most of the soldiers under his command. Then to cap it off, shortly after he returned from the war, Matthew Lamb, his closest friend died in that horrible accident.'

Cat's eyes widened. ‘He's never mentioned the army.'

‘Like many returned servicemen, Daniel doesn't like talking about the war.'

‘Tell me about Matthew Lamb's accident. Please.'

‘Daniel last saw Matthew in a Soho nightclub on the night he died. Some reckoned Matthew was drugged, but others said he was just liquored up. Yet the bartender swore he was straight as a die. Matthew's friends told the press that he'd been set up.'

‘Set up?'

‘They reckoned Matthew had been slipped a drugged drink before he left the nightclub and got into his automobile.'

‘What about his passenger? Who was he? Was it Daniel?'

‘Daniel? No it wasn't.' Bertha daintily dabbed her wide scarlet mouth with a napkin. She added two sugars to her tea. ‘Actually it was a she. A working girl.'

‘A prostitute?'

‘Yes. She'd taken up whoring as a career. Not surprising given the situation after the war. It probably seemed like a good idea at the time.'

‘How come?'

‘Many girls had been deserted by soldiers and it was their only option. Lots of young women were left with illegitimate children to clothe and feed.'

‘Was she Mr Lamb's girlfriend?'

‘I don't know. To his credit, Matthew was always very discreet about his women. It was rumoured that she was kept by two wealthy brothers. She was a real piece of work.'

Cat spoke with her mouth full. ‘What's her name?'

‘Cat dear, you shouldn't eat and speak at the same time.'

‘Sorry, this cake is delicious. Please tell me about her.'

‘I can't remember her name, it was something bogus. Fancy French names were all the rage for whores. Gentlemen love throwing away their money on girls called Gigi, Colette or Mimi. It makes them feel cosmopolitan. Well, after the automobile crash she disappeared. Completely. Being uncommonly pretty, she stood out in a crowd. So believe me, the staff would know if she was still around London. Jim covered all bases.'

Cat nodded, pressing up the cake crumbs and licking them off her fingers. ‘Daniel warned me never to ask Edwina about her brother. Why?'

Bertha lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘It's hard to say, really. Edwina is a strange creature.'

Cat cut an extra piece of cake and wrapped it in a napkin. Bertha remained sitting at the kitchen table. She stared at the wall. A forgotten cigarette dangled between her fingers and ash fell onto the table. Cat removed the cigarette from Bertha's hand and butted it out. ‘Please tell Chef the cake was out of this world. And thank him.'

Bertha stirred and shook herself back into the present. ‘Will do. And make sure you don't stay out too late tomorrow with Susie and Milly.'

‘How did you know?'

‘I know everything, pet. You can't pull the wool over my eyes. In fact, I know what you are going to do even before you do. Even Jim, who is quite the cynic believes in my intuition. There's no harm in you going to an afternoon tea dance, but under no circumstances are you to end up in the pub with those two. I want you to promise me.'

‘I promise.'

Bertha assumed a sterner tone. ‘If a boy treats you with anything less than complete respect, you must distance yourself. And make sure you always have enough money for your cab fare home. A young lady can't possibly ruin her reputation if she leaves at the first sign of trouble. And remember to sit as far away as you can from the cabbie. You don't want to encourage familiarity.'

Cat giggled and flung her arms around Bertha's neck. She inhaled Bertha's unique scent. It was a mixture of starched linen, rosewater and complexion powder, the scent of her childhood. And it still made her feel special and safe.

The painting of Matthew Lamb exerted a strange power over Cat. Sometimes she went up to the old nursery at night just to talk to him. In the darkness she could just make out his sapphire eyes in the reflected glow of the street lights. She'd often sneak him up to the rooftop, so they could watch the moon over London. He was the perfect friend: silent, attentive and willing to go wherever she pleased. Cat could tell Matthew Lamb her deepest, darkest secrets and he wouldn't rat on her.

Cat was surreptitiously working her way through Daniel's collection of erotic and banned books. She smuggled them past Edwina by concealing them in copies of the
Ladies' Home Journal
. Edwina was thrilled Cat was finally showing an interest in feminine pursuits. But what she didn't know was that the Marquis de Sade had displaced Cat's interest in D.H. Lawrence's erotica.
Lady Chatterley's Lover
now seemed tame to her. She found French sadism and Henry Miller's sexually explicit novels far more informative.

When a Supreme Court judge was found dead and hanging on the doorknob of his hotel room, Cat remarked to Jim Blade, ‘Obviously he was masturbating and rather overdid it. Probably using self-asphyxiation to heighten his orgasm. Poor man. I feel sorry for his wife, too, given that he was kitted up in lady's
undergarments and gold high heels. Size thirteens. What is it about cheap black corsets that men find so appealing?'

Jim couldn't think of a suitable reply. He anguished over the possibility that he hadn't protected her enough. At what point had the kid become so worldly and knowing? Obviously she'd been talking to someone.
Who? I'm going to hunt this pusbag down
.
And when I find him, I'll tear him limb from limb and remove his fingernails with a pair of rusty pliers. Shove his testicles through a kitchen mincer and feed his brain to the cellar rats. Or, better still, hang the sonofabitch on a meat hook in the cold room. Let him slowly bleed to death. Drip, drip, drip.

Jim Blade often had revenge fantasies. They kept him company in his darkest hours. Sometimes in his capacity as a professional detective, he'd been able to act on his murderous impulses. It felt good.

As they reclined in bed one Sunday morning, Jim turned to his nearest and dearest.

‘I'm really worried about our kid. I don't think I've protected her enough; she's seen way too much. There are too many sordid goings-on in the hotel. She knows as much about sexual perversity as a Soho brothel madam.'

Bertha Brown plumped up a pillow. ‘Fret not, Jim. Children born during and after the war had shorter childhoods. They witnessed ugly and frightening events. Cat will be just fine. She knows she's deeply loved.'

‘She's still taking an unhealthy interest in Matthew Lamb.'

‘I know, she's kept his portrait. It's still hidden up in the old nursery.'

Jim sat upright. ‘That bastard is as much fucking trouble dead as he was alive.'

‘Her curiosity is natural. And that painting would appeal to any sixteen-year-old girl. It's mysterious and sexy. Cat's got no
idea that Matthew Lamb was as devious and shifty as a sewer rat. Nor has she heard the full story about that hard-hearted French bitch.'

Jim frowned. An acute pain shot through his gut. ‘God, I hope she never finds out. You didn't tell her too much, did you?'

‘Don't be daft, Jim, of course not. But her curiosity is only to be expected.'

‘Has she said anything to you about wanting to be my understudy?'

‘No.'

‘She's taken to following me around. Wants to know how I'd go about finding a missing person. You know what I think?'

‘That it's something to do with her birth mother?'

‘Yep. It's not just the questions. Cat's also made several trips down to the labyrinth. She's been snooping through the old reception desk books. I think she's trying to work out which debutantes were in the hotel the morning she was abandoned.'

Bertha wiggled down to get more comfortable in bed. ‘Curiosity about her mother is natural. It's just a phase. Now, about this detective business. Danny reckons Cat's got a real gift and should go to art school. Rather than wind up working in the du Barry hotels. Shouldn't we be supporting that?'

‘Cat's portraits are great. I've got a few up on the walls of the boiler room. Her sketch of my bookie, Marvin Jones, is a classic. She really caught his shifty eyes and lean ferret face.'

Bertha whispered in his ear. ‘Jim, I'd kill for a nice cup of tea. In fact, I would amply reward the first gentleman who procured me a pot of the stuff. Sexual perversities would be generously offered in return.'

‘Of course, dearest. I'll sort it right away.'

The bedsprings groaned with relief as Jim heaved himself to his feet. Wearing nothing but his watch, he padded across the bedroom
carpet. Bertha eyed his hairy back appreciatively. He was built like a brown bear, covered front and back in a thick brown pelt.