Hotel du Barry (21 page)

‘A temporary inconvenience! Are you insane?'

‘Listen, by cooperating you'll be protecting me – and Cat – from a lifetime of innuendo and shame. By marrying well, I'll not only be able to protect her reputation but also ensure her future. You wouldn't want to see Cat ostracised by high society, would you?'

Sean studied her carefully. ‘My shite detector is going off like crazy, it's on red alert. Why don't I trust you, Eddie?'

Edwina kissed him on the mouth. ‘You're just being paranoid. And we really need a drink.'

‘All right. I'll grab the cognac. But I'm not done yet. Not by any means.'

He left the bedroom and she listened to his footsteps heading towards the dining room. Good. It gave her time to think. Edwina slid out of bed, slipped into a white velvet robe and arranged herself on the chaise longue so her assets were chastely but seductively displayed.

Edwina emptied her glass in two gulps and Sean poured her another cognac. Then he stood up, put his glass on the mantelpiece and studied her in silence. When she said nothing, he placed both hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Your anger has been out of control. I need an alibi. Do not refuse me, I beg of you. I could end up swinging on the end of a fucking rope.'

‘You haven't owned up to Chef's murder. Suspicious minds think it was you.'

‘What!'

‘You were overheard asking the Paymaster for Chef's home address.'

‘That's right, I wanted to beat the bastard up. Bullying Cat is totally unacceptable, she's a soft target. But Jim talked me out of it, he reckoned it was up to him to deal with Chef and I should stay out of it. And he was right.'

‘Balderdash. You've always been protective towards Caterina. It's one of your few redeeming qualities. Here's what I think happened, Sean. You lost your temper and either smothered Chef or drowned him. You once told me,
A man can drown in five inches of
water.
Then you took Chef to London Bridge and threw him into the river. To make it look like suicide.'

Sean's face turned white as he stared at her.

Edwina smiled and lightly caressed his cheek. ‘Don't worry. I have no intention of letting them hang you for two murders, tempting though it is. I will not supply you with an alibi but I do have a marvellous plan. I've been thinking it over for days.'

Sean was incredulous. ‘You screw me over totally and then have the audacity to announce you've got a bloody plan!'

‘Correct. You need to get out of Britain for at least a year, while this whole dirty business gets resolved. Eventually they'll have to concede that it was suicide not murder. You know what? I predict that within eighteen months it will be just another Hotel du Barry scandal.'

Edwina crossed the room and touched the base of an erotic painting. The panel slid open to reveal a hidden safe. Edwina turned the dial, retrieved an attaché case and placed it on the bed.

‘Liquidating your assets would arouse suspicion. Darling, there's enough money here to keep you going for quite some time. You can leave London under a false alias. Maybe go to Australia and establish a business, a luxury hotel or an exclusive brothel. Do what you like with this money but don't set foot in England until the law declares the case closed. Because if you do, I will turn you in to the police.'

Sean slumped on the bed.

Edwina reached into the attaché case and pulled out a small white card. ‘Here, take this. Ring him tomorrow. He'll set you up with false papers and a passport. I'll give you a head start by avoiding the police for another four days. My doctor can put me under sedation again. After all, I'm still grieving for Danny, and the shock of my daughter's accident has been debilitating. You're under suspicion for Danny's murder, and no doubt other witnesses
will materialise if I offer an extremely generous reward. Times are tough and street folk are desperate.'

She pulled him against her bare breasts and stroked his hair lovingly. The image reflected in the mirror pleased her and she held him tighter. Edwina wished she could capture the moment on camera for posterity. A small remembrance of a man she still loved.

Sean pulled away from her.
Jaysus, she's crazy enough to dob me in. This woman will do anything just to stay in good with the British establishment. And I'm just someone who is standing in her fucking way. Maybe it wasn't just Daniel who had a breakdown.

‘All right, Eddie, I get it. And I'm now begging you. Please, do not do this to me. If I flee England, I'll be declaring myself guilty. What do you want from me? I'll do anything if you'll just forget this crazy plan of yours.'

She threw her arms around Sean and kissed him passionately on the lips. He saw the tears in her eyes. ‘It's too late, darling. Go before I change my mind and call the police. I'll give you five minutes to make up your mind.'

Edwina slipped her feet into white feathered mules and left the bedroom.

Sean sat on the bed with his head in his hands. Nine minutes ticked by. The hall clock chimed. He rose to his feet, put on his tuxedo jacket, picked up the attaché case and left. His departing footsteps echoed through the silent apartment.

Edwina listened to the apartment door slamming shut, then rushed back to her bedroom and threw open the window. She flapped the curtains to get rid of the cigarette smoke and kicked Sean's cigarette case and silk scarf under the bed. She splashed herself with French perfume, and then telephoned Room Service. ‘It's Mrs du Barry. Bring up a bottle of our best champagne and two glasses. Immediately.'

Edwina got rid of the cognac glasses. Then she applied more red lipstick, powdered her nose and checked herself from every angle in the mirror.

There was a tentative knock on the apartment door. She arranged herself in a sensual pose on the bed and called out, ‘The front door's unlocked. Bring it through to the bedroom.'

The sleepy lad who delivered the tray bore a startling resemblance to a younger Sean Kelly.

Edwina patted the bed imperiously. ‘Come, Dylan, keep me company. I'm feeling rather sad.'

The quantity of expensive perfume in the air made Dylan's head swim but he focused on the job at hand. His sly green eyes flicked over Edwina's bare legs and he admired her exquisite face. ‘Does Madam wish me to pop the cork?'

She lowered her chin and glanced up at him flirtatiously. ‘Mmmmnn, of course, but I need more than just a glass of champagne. You know what I like, Dylan. So let's not waste time on social niceties.'

Edwina took hold of his tie and slowly pulled him towards the bed.

Dylan grinned and quickly shrugged off his jacket.

Henri Dupont rose early and put his concierge's mask on. Before heading off to work he stopped by the bedroom to kiss his wife goodbye. She was flat on her back in their double bed, her golden hair spread across the satin pillow and her lovely rosebud lips moving slightly as she snored. Mimi was Henri's pride and joy. With her sweet nature, exquisite milky skin and plump pink cheeks, she was indeed
a dainty dish to set before a king
.

On arrival at the Hotel du Barry foyer, Henri checked the client ledger and turned to his assistant. ‘Ready, Charlie?'

‘Yes.'

‘Which Shakespearean character asked the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
. . .'

‘King Lear?'

‘No, Hamlet. Just before he gives Ophelia a hard time.'

‘Damn.'

‘Charlie, what's the point of me giving you complimentary tickets to the Old Vic if you're not paying attention, eh? Take notes if you have to. When you become a concierge you'll need to know a bit more about the arts than our guests. Not too difficult, mind you.'

‘Fine arts weren't exactly an option when I was growing up in Sheffield.'

‘Listen, I only know about the arts because my old man was an actor. And you're doing fine. You just need to swot up and learn a handful of impressive short quotes. Then everyone will think you know more than you do. That's how I manage it. So, let's have your morning report.'

Henri had noticed that Charlie's tie was crooked and his glasses were slightly askew but he'd decided to let it pass. If his wingman's sartorial standards had lapsed, something must have gone bump in the night.

Charlie said flatly, ‘Client in 241 claims his wallet was stolen from his room and so he can't pay his bill. I found the debutante in 37 face down on the carpet at four am in a pool of vomit. A near-death experience. Doc Ahearn had trouble bringing her round. She swore her drink was spiked at a Soho nightclub but Doc reckons she'd been sampling various drugs.'

Henri inspected his cuticles. ‘This is not optimal.'

Charlie sighed. ‘It gets worse. One of Mrs Brown's girls was mauled by the alcoholic bigwig in 117. And there were some infractions of the house rules in the Premier Wedding Suite but I've got it under control. They were using the bathroom for nefarious purposes.'

A middle-aged politician waddled past the desk with a morose underage blonde wedged under his armpit. Anyone could see that she was not his wife. The politician waved merrily and tipped his hat. Obviously a good time had been had but not by all.

Henri sadly studied the sunlight refracting off the highly polished surface of the concierge's desk. Sometimes he dreamt of living in a lighthouse. Just he and Mimi slurping down copious quantities of Château Lafite and watching ships pass in the moonlight.

Charlie coughed politely and Henri snapped back to reality. ‘Right then, Charlie. I want you to make some telephone calls. Find out if the guest in 241 is the same conman who tried to defraud the Savoy. Then I can brief Jim Blade.'

‘What about the doped-up debutante in 37?'

‘We get rid of her. Inform her that a chambermaid was bitten by a rat in her bathroom this morning. She needed shots. And we're bringing in the rat catcher. Be sure to look suitably mortified. Offer relocation to a luxury suite at the Savoy or the Ritz. At our expense. We can't relocate her here because we are fully booked out.'

‘But we're not. There'll be a couple of suites vacant in an hour.'

‘Charlie, as assistant concierge you must learn to lie through your teeth while oozing empathy and integrity.'

‘Sorry, Henri. I'm a bit tired and missed that one. What should I do if she kicks up a stink?'

‘Pre-empt her by offering her a large discount on her bill. She'll agree as she's been drinking the hotel dry.'

‘I know. She just ordered Caterina Anastasia Grande for breakfast again.'

‘We don't need another scandal. What the hell's wrong with all these rich kids?'

‘Beats me.'

Henri drummed his fingers on the ledger. ‘Who got assaulted by 117? Did the bastard attempt forced sexual congress?'

‘Susie. She wasn't raped but she's black and blue all over and her left eye is bloody and gashed. Mrs Brown is furious and wants nothing less than castration.'

‘That's our Bertha. No half measures. Tell 117 that here at the Hotel du Barry we do not tolerate molestation of our staff. If he wants to stop the matter getting legal we can discuss financial compensation. Being a High Court Judge, he won't want the publicity. I know him well and he hasn't got the balls to scream blackmail.'

‘How much loot will you be going for?'

‘It's Susie's call. But believe me, there's no reason Judge Weston can't cough up for Susie's next holiday. All expenses paid to the Continent.' Henri stroked his chin. ‘There'll be no Butlin's holiday camp this summer for our girl.'

‘But what should I tell Mrs Brown? She's dead keen on bringing in the authorities.'

‘Tell her that if Susie wants to press charges I'll help her every way I can. But let's hold fire and I'll find out if she would prefer to settle the matter privately.'

Charlie nodded and made a brief note.

Henri adjusted his silk tie and perked up his jaunty pocket handkerchief. Sometimes only elegance and style could ease the pain of man's inhumanity to man. He assumed his concierge's face. ‘I'll now do my usual morning inspection, then I've got some important business at Spiro's. Don't send the page boys after me unless someone dies.'

Charlie was looking decidedly more cheerful. He flashed Henri a cheeky thumbs up. ‘
Woe, that too late repents.
'

‘King Lear having a whine to Albany.'

‘Impressive. Breakfast, Henri?'

‘Of course.'

‘Chef's special today is Angels' Brains in Hollandaise Sauce, served tidily on a split English muffin with modest parsley embellishment. And may I suggest a pot of Earl Grey tea, with a succulent wedge of Spanish lemon.'

‘A sublime choice. Double the order and ask Susie to join me for breakfast in an hour's time. I need to go over the details with her in private and arrange for the hotel's photographer to document evidence of her assault. You've had a really tough shift, so take an extra two hours off and I'll cover for you.'

Charlie grinned and tugged his forelock. ‘Your every wish is my desire, Milord. For as you know, here at the Hotel du Barry,
we live to serve
.'

The hotel was so vast that it took quite some time to traverse from one end of it to the other. Henri liked to perambulate slowly in order to ensure that everything under his jurisdiction was tuned to perfection. As he strolled the plush red carpet of his fiefdom, Henri made mental notes as to what needed fixing. The massed flowers in the foyer had to go; they were mundane and unimposing. Henri detested pink flowers, he felt they lacked dignity
. I wish to God the widow du Barry would stop interfering with the décor.
An opulent palace such as the Hotel du Barry should be knee-deep in savage red blooms and lush palm trees.

Henri observed that the top rail of a luggage trolley had fingerprints on its polished brass surface. He passed through the revolving foyer door twice and noticed two streaks on the otherwise spotless glass. In most hotels such details would probably be overlooked but Henri liked to set the bar insanely high. Despite his reputation for being a hard taskmaster, he had no trouble retaining staff and their loyalties ran deep.

Hotel staff greeted him in passing.

‘A lovely day indeed, Mr Dupont. How is Mrs Dupont?'

‘Top o' the morning to you, Henri.'

‘G'day, Henri. It's real noice being able to see the bleeding sun at last, innit?'

This greeting came from Bruce, a Tasmanian pastry chef who'd decided to practise his art in the old country. Despite dodgy etiquette and an impossible accent, he'd impressed Mrs Dupont. She was devoted to Bruce's Victoria sponge cake decorated with fat hothouse strawberries and cream. Mimi had been known to consume a whole cake in one sitting.

Henri took the service lift down to the labyrinth. Without knocking, he entered a door marked Room Service Manager.

Derek Jones was seated at his desk, stamping and filing dockets. His thin, hunched shoulders were snowed under with dandruff and his round glasses almost opaque with grime. When he opened his mouth, his weak chin vanished and he appeared to be speaking from a hole in his scraggy neck. ‘What brings your Lordship down to Hades?'

‘A problem. Dylan O'Shea.'

‘Oh?'

‘I found him taking a kip in the luggage storeroom last week. And yesterday Charlie caught him curled up asleep in the cloakroom. Hibernating in Mrs Winchester's mink coat.'

Derek blinked nervously. ‘Dylan's got an unblemished record.'

‘I know that. But what I don't know, is why is he so knackered? Have you got him rostered on too many night shifts?'

Derek sneered. ‘Frankly, I don't think it's any of your fucking business, Dupont. Now bugger off, as we grown-ups have work to do.'

Henri sighed wearily. With one flick of his wrist he sent Derek's teacup and files crashing to the floor and sat down on the desk. ‘I can tell by your surly attitude that you're hiding something, Jones.'

‘Bollocks.'

Henri could distinctly smell gin on the man's breath. ‘You and I have detested each other for such a long time, haven't we? I know
you're a coward and violence terrifies you. So you'd better own up, Jones. Before things get nasty.'

Derek tried to slide out from behind the desk but Henri had judiciously wedged his foot under the chair's armrest. Derek was effectively pinned to the wall with no room for escape. Henri gave him a lazy crocodile smile and helped himself to the toffee jar, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his prey. The only sound in the office was Henri slowly unwrapping a toffee.

Henri sucked the toffee thoughtfully, while pointedly gazing at the Swiss Alps oil painting hanging directly above Derek's head. The silence lengthened.

Finally Derek caved. ‘All right. Dylan is providing extra night services.'

‘To whom?'

‘Mrs du Barry.'

Henri drummed his fingers. ‘She's voracious. You know damn well she'll suck him dry, before sacking him on some fictitious charge like theft. Dylan will not be able to get another hotel job in London. How can you fucking well stand by and allow that to happen?'

Derek broke out in a sweat but said nothing. Henri resumed his perusal of the Swiss Alps. It was a ghastly painting; the snowy peaks resembled dollops of grey blancmange. In the foreground a Swiss trollop wearing lederhosen frolicked with a miserable cow. Or was she making eyes at a surly bull? Artistic sloppiness infuriated Henri.

Derek fiddled with a paperclip and kept his head down. It was a relief when Henri finally spoke, his voice so dangerously low that Derek had to crane forward just to hear him.

‘Let me tell you how we are going to fix this, Jones. You're going to send Dylan down to our Brighton hotel for two weeks. Tell him we've got a staff shortage crisis. He can live in and benefit from some fresh sea air.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I'm not going to idly stand by and watch yet another lad fall into the clutches of our black widow spider. It sickens me to the core.'

‘I dunno, Sean Kelly's been a success. Until now, that is.'

‘He's the exception. Listen, Dylan's mother raised him on her own, without a red penny to her name. She doesn't deserve to have him turning tricks as a rent boy.'

‘Why send him to fucking Brighton? I need him here.'

‘Once he's out of Madam's clutches, I'll sort Dylan a valet job at another du Barry hotel. And you will cooperate. You will no longer charge for your pimping services. And you will stop exploiting our staff and instead start using established professionals. Or I'll have you hanging off a fucking meat hook in the labyrinth.'

Derek still refused to look at him, so Henri grabbed hold of his stained tie and twisted it until Derek gagged. ‘All right. Let go of me, you prick.'

Henri gave one final yank and then released him. Derek collapsed gasping on the desk. ‘Fuck you, Dupont! All right, I'll do what you want.'

Henri stood up. ‘That's more like it. And if you stop playing brothel madam I'll keep you supplied with French confectionery and top-shelf gin to ensure your compliance. Only hymn-singing Christians sincerely believe that virtue is its own reward.'

The door crashed shut behind Henri but before Derek could move he was back.

‘And for God's sake, get rid of that fucking awful painting. I'd be depressed, too, if I had to look at that dodgy cow all day.'

The door crashed shut again and the frosted glass rattled. Derek fished out a grubby handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. With shaking hands, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a flask of gin.

Henri made his way back upstairs to street level. He stopped in at the Gents washroom and scrubbed Derek Jones off his hands. He then made good use of a fluffy hand towel and accepted some cologne from the washroom attendant.

Henri's mood lifted. Humming cheerfully, he headed down the southern corridor and entered a marbled foyer that led to the hotel's arcade of shops. Rich women were already hard at work spending their menfolk's money. The perfumery had several hens gossiping at its gleaming counter and the beauticians were diligently spackling faces and filing away at claws.

The two Pfizer sisters waved enthusiastically to Henri as he strolled past their fashion boutique. He stopped to admire their new window display and nodded approvingly. The Misses Pfizer blew him sultry kisses from shiny cherry-red lips.