The Hanging in the Hotel (23 page)

In physical appearance there was no doubt about their being related. Stephen had inherited his mother’s angularity, and had the same pale blue eyes. Like her, he had needed glasses from an
early age and, after a flirtation with contact lenses in his twenties, had now reverted to them. That he sported rimless ones was a point of fashion rather than a homage to her own, but Carole
could see how much they increased the likeness between them. And the fact that Stephen’s hair was prematurely greying only accentuated it.

Whether he was similar in personality, Carole realized with a shock, was another important detail she didn’t really know. Wouldn’t it be shaming to have to ask his fiancée
what her son was really like?

Because there was no doubt that Gaby seemed to know Stephen really well. Carole had had no idea what to expect from her potential daughter-in-law, and had been seriously anxious about the
encounter. Indeed, she’d woken at three and stayed awake for a couple of hours that morning, something that had rarely happened since the worst stage of her break-up with David.

If forced to put a face to Gaby before they met, Carole would probably have opted for an older version of Kerry. All she knew of her son’s choice was the implication of money – the
parents’ spending summers in the South of France, the casual booking into Hopwicke House. The image that had formed in Carole Seddon’s prejudiced mind was of a spoilt trust-fund baby,
someone who worked more for social convenience than financial necessity.

She certainly wasn’t expecting the plumpish, bubble-haired blonde with the comfortable body and broad smile who greeted her in the Hopwicke House bar. Nor was she expecting to be greeted
with a warm hug. The embrace took her by surprise, and she responded like a stick insect.

The first good news, though, was that Gaby was undoubtedly English. Carole tried, without success, to stop herself from feeling a politically incorrect glee at this discovery.

She had expected the young couple would be drinking deterrently fashionable cocktails, but they were both on white wine, so she ordered the same. While Stephen went to the counter to get her
drink, Gaby gestured to their elegant surroundings. ‘Fabulous place, isn’t it? Wonderful to see how the other half lives. I told Stephen it was daft to spend this much on a weekend, but
you know what he’s like.’

And again Carole didn’t.

What became clear during their conversation in the bar, and later in the dining room, was that Gaby didn’t have private money. In fact, the rich one in the partnership was Stephen. Carole
had known he was doing well at whatever it was he did, but she hadn’t realized quite how well. In a couple of hours, his fiancée told her more about her son’s current life than
she had ever known. Or perhaps had ever thought to ask.

Carole was also comforted to discover that Gaby was bored to tears when Stephen talked about his work. So it wasn’t just her. Even better, Gaby didn’t understand what he did either.
Carole realized her image of her son had been coloured by this. Since there were so many subjects off-limits in their occasional conversations – subjects like David, Stephen’s
childhood, Carole’s banal daily life in Fethering – she had allowed her son to go on about his work in exhaustive detail. At least the subject was a safe one. But by making him talk
about other things, Gaby revealed a whole new side to her fiancé, a side hitherto unknown to his mother.

To Carole’s amazement, she discovered her son could actually be quite funny. He had a disposition towards pomposity which she had always accepted as part of his personality, but Gaby
constantly punctured that self-importance. And Stephen took it from her, with good humour, even relish.

The proscription on talking about his work also revealed that Stephen Seddon had a whole repertoire of other topics for conversation, most of which – to his mother’s total surprise
– were related to the arts. This was down to Gaby’s influence. The ‘agency’ she worked for, which Carole had assumed to be something to do with the world of finance, turned
out to be a theatrical one. She represented actors, of both genders. (She explained to Carole, amid some giggling, that the word ‘actress’ had become very démodé in these
politically correct times. Now there were male actors and female actors.) As a result, most of Gaby’s evenings were spent crossing the country to see clients or potential clients in theatres
and ever more unlikely fringe venues. Whenever possible, Stephen accompanied her.

This was Carole’s biggest surprise in a day of surprises. Apart from a couple of early attempts on her part to take him to pantomimes, her son had never shown even the mildest interest in
the theatre. He was marginally more likely to go to a cinema, but even that hadn’t happened very often. So to hear him discussing the latest offerings from the National Theatre and the Royal
Shakespeare Company was, for Carole, like being introduced to someone she had never met before.

Apart from the theatre, there was of course another topic of conversation. The wedding. Needless to say, Gaby did most of the talking on the subject, but Carole had been unprepared for the
enthusiasm with which Stephen contributed his own views. She was also surprised to discover how little advanced the plans for September the fourteenth were. The young couple hadn’t even got a
venue sorted yet.

‘But won’t you be getting married from your parents’ house?’ asked Carole, who knew the conventions in these matters.

Gaby grimaced. ‘Wouldn’t work. They’ve only just moved to this little flat in Harlow.’

Harlow.
Essex
, thought Carole, with all the prejudice a middle-class person in West Sussex automatically feels at the mention of that county, reckoned by everyone – except those who
live there – to be the ‘commonest’ in England.

So what was all this about Gaby’s parents spending their summers in the South of France? Even as the question came into Carole’s mind, her potential daughter-in-law answered it for
her. ‘Also, Mum’d flap terribly about organizing a wedding. She and Dad always go to France in August, which is when the arrangements would be busiest. It’s my gran, you see.
Grandmère
. Mum’s mum. She’s in a home out there, bit gaga, but they always go and visit.’

Oh. So Gaby wasn’t completely English. Carole comforted herself with the thought that, on first meeting her, nobody would ever know it.

‘Where are you thinking of getting married then? Somewhere in London?’

Gaby gave a large expressive shrug which, now Carole knew her provenance, looked distinctly Gallic. ‘Don’t know.’

‘But we’ve got to sort it out quickly,’ said Stephen.

‘I know that, darling. But it’s difficult, isn’t it, Carole, when you don’t have any faith? I mean, I totally lost it with Catholicism in my teens, and Stephen’s
told me he was brought up without anything in the way of religion.’

Carole was a bit miffed. Was that the impression her son had given? Though Carole herself had never since her teens believed in any kind of god, she still put ‘Church of England’ in
the box marked ‘Religion’ on forms. Stephen had been christened, and he’d had to undergo school assemblies with prayers and hymns. The way Gaby described it made Stephen’s
upbringing sound godless.

But Carole suppressed such thoughts and asked, ‘So what are you going to do?’

Another – very definitely Gallic – shrug. ‘Find somewhere we like, set up the wedding there.’

‘What about here?’ Rather daringly, Carole gestured round the dining room.

Her son looked puzzled.

‘They do weddings here, I know. Suzy Longthorne told me.’

‘Is she the dishy one?’

‘That’s right. She owns the place.’

‘And seems to be doing most of the work.’

Carole had been too preoccupied with her lunching companions to notice before, but Stephen was right. Suzy Longthorne was doing everything in the dining room, with the help of only two
waitresses. All the tables were full, and the various courses were arriving on time, but at the cost of a lot of hard work. Perspiration shone through Suzy’s perfect make-up as she scuttled
back and forth to the kitchen.

Idly, Carole wondered what had happened to Kerry. The Sunday before, she remembered, Jude had said the girl was to have lunch with her parents. Maybe the relaxed terms of employment her
stepfather had organized for her gave her every Sunday off.

And if Kerry was unavailable, why hadn’t another emergency call gone out to Jude to come in and help with the waitressing?

Carole tuned back in to the conversation between her son and his fiancée about the possible merits of Hopwicke House as a wedding venue. They seemed surprisingly keen on the idea, and
Carole began to question her wisdom in suggesting it. If the wedding was right on her doorstep, she’d be bound to get involved in local arrangements. Better somewhere distant, anonymous,
where she would have independence, where she could just turn up for the ceremony and leave as soon as she wanted to. But she couldn’t deny that the thought of her son’s wedding being at
Hopwicke House did give her a little buzz of excitement.

At the end of the lunch, after lingering over their coffee, Carole insisted that it was her treat. Stephen demurred, saying the suggestion had been his and everything would go on the one bill,
but his mother stood her ground. She was so delighted to have met Gaby, she would like to buy them lunch as an early engagement present. On his own, Stephen would have dug his toes in, but
Gaby’s presence rendered him gracious. With a shrug and a smile, he accepted Carole’s largesse.

They said goodbye in the hall. Stephen and Gaby announced they were going to have a walk and would collect coats from their room. But the eye contact between them suggested that was not at all
what they intended to do when they got back to the four-poster. Carole realized she wasn’t at all embarrassed by the blatant lust she saw in the young couple’s eyes; she found it
heart-warming.

After they had gone upstairs, she settled the bill with Suzy Longthorne at the reception desk. Carole had never in her life paid half as much for a meal for three, but she didn’t mind.
Such gestures were rare, not because she was ungenerous, but because she didn’t feel at ease with the flamboyance generosity usually required. Paying for this lunch, though, made her feel
good, even gracious.

Suzy Longthorne presented her customary polished exterior, but she looked absolutely exhausted.

‘That was a terrific lunch,’ said Carole. ‘You were a bit short-staffed, weren’t you?’

The hotelier did not take this as a criticism. She just grimaced and said, ‘Couple of people let me down at the last moment.’

‘Surprised you didn’t ask my friend Jude.’

‘Oh, I did, but she couldn’t make it.’

‘Ah.’ Carole took the proffered credit card slip and, enjoying her new mastery of the grand gesture, added a tip that would have covered a meal for three at the Crown and Anchor.

Carole Seddon drove the Renault back to Fethering in a haze of well-being. The most remarkable thing had happened. She found that she actually
liked
her son’s fiancée.

And, through Gaby, she saw the prospect of getting to know – and like – Stephen.

On her arrival back at High Tor, Carole was surprised to see Jude pottering around in her front garden. She had assumed her neighbour had some other commitment which had
prevented her from answering Suzy Long-thorne’s SOS. Carole was even more surprised to hear that Jude had received no summons to help out at the hotel.

It had indeed been a day of surprises.

‘I don’t suppose,’ said Carole, as she served coffee to Jude on Monday morning, ‘that you can think of any promises?’

‘Promises? Sorry, you’ve lost me.’

‘For this auction of promises thing. I want to get back in touch with Sandra Hartson – you know, Kerry’s mother – and I feel I need an excuse. If I had a promise to offer
her, she wouldn’t be suspicious.’

‘What kind of promises are they?’

‘Weeks at Spanish villas, weekends at hotels, dinners for two – all the kind of stuff the well-heeled middle classes value.’

‘Forget it. Unless someone fancies an afternoon for one at Woodside Cottage.’

‘Oh, and services.’

‘Like what?’

‘Facials, hairdos – usual stuff.’

‘Hm.’ Unconsciously Jude’s plump hand played with a hanging tendril of blonde hair. ‘I suppose I could offer a balancing session.’

‘Balancing session?’ Carole was constantly surprised by her neighbour’s new skills. Had Jude spent some time working in a garage? ‘What, for the wheels of their cars,
because most of them have got these huge big off-road vehicles with—’

‘No, Carole, no. Balancing their bodies, their personalities.’

‘Oh.’ The voice went frosty. This sounded like more of Jude’s New Age healing nonsense.

‘You’d be surprised how much take-up you’d get for it. Particularly from the women.’

‘But these are women who spend all their time tanning themselves and playing geriatric golf. I suppose they might want to get balanced to improve their swings, but that’s the
only—’

‘Well, if you don’t like the balancing idea, I could offer kinesiology.’

Carole looked blank.

‘Kinesiology is a natural health care system, based on muscle testing . . .’

‘Ah.’

‘. . . to analyse minor functional imbalances.’

‘Right.’

‘It’s a holistic system which uses massage, nutrition and contact points to balance the whole person.’

Carole nodded, but her face remained blank. ‘And you say the “womenfolk”,’ Caroline winced at the word, ‘of the Pillars of Sussex will go for it?’

‘I’m sure they will.’

‘Well . . .’ Carole wasn’t convinced, but at least she had something to offer Sandra Hartson as an excuse for getting in touch with her.

‘Why do you want to talk to Sandra, anyway?’ asked Jude. ‘Have you got some new line on the investigation you’re not sharing with me?’

‘Of course not.’ Though making a breakthrough on her own did have an undeniable appeal. ‘I’ve just a feeling that if we’re going to find out more about that night
at the hotel, using any contacts we’ve got with the Pillars of Sussex is going to be a good idea.’