Through Dead Eyes (2 page)

‘Great! See you later,’ said Saskia, before waving and driving away.

‘Alex!’ said his father. ‘You could at least have said goodbye.’

But Alex was still staring at the hotel window, searching for any hint that there was someone there.

Chapter 2

The lobby was small and modern and shiny but full of antique furniture. Old paintings and engravings in gilded frames were hung on the walls. Alex did not have much to compare it with, having stayed in very few hotels, but it looked expensive.

His father went to the reception counter and the manager, dressed smartly in a black suit and tie, smiled and looked for his name on the computer before giving him a key. Alex’s father raised his eyebrows.

‘A real key,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember the last time I was given a real key in a hotel. I thought you’d all changed to those swipe cards.’

A large grandfather clock nearby chimed the hour.

‘Yes,’ said the manager. ‘But our customers seem to like it. This one is for you, sir,’ he said, handing a second key to Alex, the metal chilling the palm of his hand as he took hold of it.

‘We have adjoining rooms,’ explained his father. ‘I thought you’d like that.’

Alex grinned. ‘Cool,’ he said.

He had never stayed in his own room before.

‘Interesting key rings,’ said Alex’s father, turning his over in his hand. It was a silver lion’s head, very worn and hollow at the neck and attached by a small chain to the key. ‘Is that the handle from a walking stick?’

The manager nodded.

‘Yes. My late wife would trawl the antiques market looking for anything suitable. She tried to pick objects that might have come from this type of house in the seventeenth century. A lot of the furniture you see around the hotel and the prints and paintings are things she bought. She said that the pieces spoke to her and she just had to buy them.’

The manager chuckled to himself.

‘I wish some of the cheaper things had shouted a little louder.’

‘What’s yours, Alex?’ asked his father.

‘I don’t know,’ said Alex, looking at the disc of metal, with its coiled silver rim, sitting in the palm of his hand.

‘Ah, yes,’ said the manager. ‘That is a brooch. Or at least it was. It would have held a cameo probably, but we only have the backing plate.’

The manager gave them the speech about what time breakfast was and where it was served, and then pointed to a man in a waistcoat standing nearby, and said that he would show them to their rooms.

‘They are a little tricky to find for the first time, I’m afraid,’ he said with a smile.

Alex and his father followed the porter past the small lift and up a narrow flight of stairs that curved back on itself sharply. They then walked along a corridor lined with old engravings of Amsterdam and through a fire door to climb an even narrower staircase that led to a small landing.

‘Here we are, gentlemen,’ the porter said.

The porter put a key in the lock of room forty-five and opened the door. He showed them where the bathroom was and how the television worked and how to control the air-conditioning.

‘Some people have complained that the air-con is chilly in this room. But if you feel cold, just turn this. Any problems, let someone know at the desk.’

The porter walked over to another door and opened it, revealing an almost identical room on the other side.

‘Wow,’ said Alex, stepping through the open door. ‘Is this my room?’

His father nodded.

Alex walked straight over to the window and looked at the view of the canal below.

‘Will that be everything?’ he heard the porter say next door. Alex put his bag on the floor. He had a double bed and there was a table and chairs. He noticed that there were flowers in a jug and a note leaning against it. He picked it up. It said,
Hope you enjoy your stay, love Saskia xxx

Alex turned back to the window, which stretched almost floor to ceiling. It was still dingy outside and rain was falling steadily. The glass was a partial mirror reflecting Alex and the room behind him.

He looked at the buildings on the opposite side. They were similar to the one he was in: tall and thin with decorated gable tops. A line of trees partially obscured them, and cars were parked beneath those all along the canal.

Looking directly down, Alex could see the place where Saskia had dropped them off. This was the very room he had been looking up at; he was sure of it. Just as he realised this, the feeling of dread he had experienced returned with its previous force and startling suddenness.

Alex spun round, sure that someone was behind him. The room was empty. Empty. Definitely. He turned back to the window, but so strong was the feeling that someone was there he turned to look again.

There was nothing – nothing at all – to account for the sensation. Still, Alex felt so troubled by it that he found himself checking behind the bathroom door, despite feeling more than a little foolish for doing so.

Though he had confirmed that the room was empty, the feeling of disquiet obstinately refused to go away.

Alex returned to the window and peered out into the murk, hoping that the view of the world outside would calm his nerves. The hotel stood on a stretch of canal between two bridges and if Alex looked right and left he could just see both of them.

A couple went by below, arm in arm, hurrying to find shelter from the downpour. Their voices carried faintly through the air, muffled by the window glass. The woman laughed and looked up towards Alex and he ducked inside, embarrassed to be caught spying.

Alex turned round again. The room was empty and bright. It was conspicuously free of dark shadows or peculiarities of any kind. And yet Alex could feel his heartbeat speeding. The faintest of breezes, almost imperceptible, moved the hairs on his arms as though someone had crept past him unseen. The connecting door suddenly opened and Alex flinched.

‘Nice rooms, huh?’ said his father. ‘I see you’ve managed to put your bag down. Any chance of unpacking?’

‘What?’ mumbled Alex.

His father walked across and joined him at the window.

‘It’s a good view, isn’t it?’ Then, noticing his son’s troubled face he asked, ‘Are you OK?’

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but then nodded his head. What could he say? His dad would think he was scared because he was in his own room. Maybe he was. Maybe he was just being childish, he thought – frightening himself over nothing.

‘Yeah,’ said Alex with a weak smile. ‘I just wondered if we were going to get something to eat?’

‘Of course,’ said his father. ‘How hungry are you?’

‘Starving,’ said Alex.

‘Hah!’ said his father. ‘You’re always starving. How do pancakes sound? It’s kind of a speciality here.’

‘Great,’ said Alex.

‘Unpack your stuff and then we’ll head straight out.’

Alex was already feeling better. Whatever it was that had jangled his nerves a few moments ago seemed to have utterly vanished. His father went back to his room and Alex unpacked his case.

Alex and his father headed for the pancake house the receptionist had recommended, walking along the canal and then over a humpback bridge lined with bicycles chained to the railings. A tourist boat puttered by beneath them and Alex could hear the sonorous voice of the guide pointing out buildings they passed.

Clouds still darkened the sky above the serrated roofline of the canal-side buildings but the drizzle that had been falling when they left the hotel was now dying away. The street had seemed almost sleepy from his hotel room, but down at street level it was anything but. The break in rain showers had brought the area back to life.

Cars and delivery vehicles now rumbled along the canal-side road, and cyclists sped this way and that. Only tourists walked, Alex noticed, and even then some of those wobbled by on hired bikes. There were bikes everywhere.

They were ridden by all kinds of people: stylish older women in expensive-looking clothes, young women in short skirts with long hair trailing behind them, men in suits, chatting on their mobile phones, their ties flapping over their shoulders.

Once over the bridge Alex and his father walked up the street facing them, past a row of shops and a cluster of tourists gathered round a map. Alex’s father put down the umbrella he had borrowed from the hotel as the rain stopped entirely and grinned at his son.

‘Great, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I love this city.’

Alex nodded as he stepped out of the path of a cyclist. It was great.

‘Look, this is it!’

Next to a café was the pancake house they were looking for, metal chairs and tables on the pavement under a blue-and-white striped awning. A group of Americans were leaving, kissing and embracing before they went their separate ways.

Alex and his father sat outside as the rain had stopped. The remains of the last shower dripped from the awning. It was humid and the clouds threatened thunder at any moment, but Alex was glad to be outside. It was nice to sit and watch the world go by.

It was a narrow, busy little street and although few cars passed by there was a constant stream of motorbikes, scooters and bicycles, pinging their bells loudly as they rode past.

‘What do you fancy, Alex?’ asked his father.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, scanning the long list of possibilities with a look of bafflement on his face. The menu was in English, but the choice was dizzying.

‘Have a bacon one,’ said his father, pointing it out. ‘You’ll like that.’

‘OK,’ said Alex, relieved to have the decision taken from him.

‘I’m going to have a coffee,’ said his father. ‘How about you? Do you want a fruit juice or a fizzy water or something?’

‘No – I’ll have a coffee as well.’

‘Really?’ said his father. ‘Since when did you drink coffee?’

‘Since ages ago,’ said Alex. It was actually only a few months since he had discovered a taste for it.

The waitress came over and though she greeted them in English, Alex’s father replied in Dutch. Alex smiled at his father when she had gone. It was funny hearing him speak Dutch.

‘It’s a weird language,’ said Alex, when the waitress had gone. ‘It sounds like you’re swearing all the time.’

His father laughed. ‘I wonder what we sound like to them?’ he said.

The pancakes were huge – like pizzas, overlapping the plates they were on. Strips of bacon were laid across them in rows.

‘They look good,’ said his father. He reached out and grabbed a small plastic bottle and began to squeeze the contents over his pancakes.

‘What’s that?’ asked Alex, curling his lip.

‘Syrup,’ said his father. ‘Try some.’

‘Syrup?’ said Alex. ‘On bacon?’

‘Just try it,’ said his father. ‘They do the same in the US. When you come to New York –’

‘New York?’ said Alex. ‘We’re going to New York? Cool! When are we –’

‘Whoa there,’ said his father. ‘I didn’t say we’d be going next week.’

‘But sometime?’ said Alex.

Alex’s father grinned.

‘Absolutely.’

‘Yes!’ said Alex punching the air.

Daniel Forbes in his English class had never shut up about his trip to New York the previous autumn – or ‘fall’ as he had insisted on calling it ever since.

When they had finished their pancakes, his father waved at the waitress and mouthed something in Dutch. She nodded and went away to fetch the bill.

‘I’ll take you back to the hotel,’ said his father. ‘Saskia will be picking me up soon.’

‘What about me?’

‘Sorry, Alex,’ said his father. ‘You know that I have to work while I’m here. They are paying for the trip after all.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Alex. ‘But it’s going to be really boring if all I do is hang out at the hotel every day.’

‘It won’t be every day, Alex,’ said his father.

‘Yeah, but it’s going to be today, isn’t it?’

‘Well,’ said his father, ‘we may have solved that problem. Angelien has agreed to show you round.’

‘What?’ said Alex. ‘Dad!’

‘Come on, Alex,’ said his father. ‘It’s really nice of Saskia to suggest it and good of Angelien to volunteer her time.’

‘I don’t even
know
her!’ said Alex, staring down at the table.

‘Well now’s your chance.’ His father stood up and handed some euro notes to the waitress.

Alex opened his mouth to protest but his father raised his hands.

‘I don’t want to hear it, Alex,’ he said, more firmly now. ‘I agreed with your headmaster that you could take time off school. We both know why. His only stipulation was that you produce a written piece about your visit. Angelien will be a very good guide, I’m sure.’

Alex had wondered how long it would be before his father mentioned the business at school. He scowled but made no reply. There was no point in picking at that scab, he knew.

Chapter 3