To Be the Best (53 page)

Shane said something, and Philip opened his eyes, but he did not answer. He had not been listening to his brother-in-law.

He stared at the night sky. How magnificent it was tonight, a deep midnight blue, velvet smooth, cloudless, filled with diamond stars and the bright, winking lights of the city’s many skyscrapers. And off towards the eastern suburbs the sky was a curious amethyst spreading into the most vibrant of golds and a warm, glowing red.

It will be a beautiful day tomorrow, Philip thought absently.
Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky at
morning, shepherd’s warning.
How many times had his grandmother said that to him when he was a little boy growing up. Emma had always been fascinated by skies and the light in them. Unexpectedly, the beauty of this evening’s sky brought a lump to his throat and he did not comprehend exactly why. And then he remembered. Maddy, too, had forever commented about the clarity of light, cloud formations, the changing colours of the day as it moved into night.

Suddenly Philip stiffened, stepped closer to the window, frowning, his eyes focused on a dark cloud mass moving up above the skyscrapers several blocks away. How odd it looked. He couldn’t quite make out what it was. ‘Oh my God!’ he exclaimed a split second later. ‘Oh my God!’

Shane was on his feet, hurrying over to him. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you feel well?’

Philip swung around, grabbed Shane’s arm, pulled him over to the window. ‘Look! Over there! The black smoke billowing up, the red glow. Oh Christ, Shane, you’ve got a fire! The Sydney-O’Neill is on fire!’

Shane tensed. The breath caught in his throat as he followed Philip’s gaze. He did not know the Sydney skyline as well as his brother-in-law, and it took him a moment to distinguish the smoke, find its source. He knew at once that it
was
his hotel going up in flames. He had just located the huge expanse of glass window-wall that fronted his famous Orchid Room.

Without a word he pivoted, shot across the floor. Philip followed fast on his heels.

Together they took the elevator down, staring at each other speechlessly. As the elevator doors slid open both men hit the lobby simultaneously, raced out into Bridge Street.

They began to run in the direction of the Sydney-O’Neill, the sound of their pounding feet drowned out by the screaming sirens of the three fire engines hurtling past them at breakneck speed.

As Shane ran on, heading for the hotel, he was not sure what to expect when he got there. Disaster, obviously, but to what extent and degree he was uncertain.

Only a hotelier understood the true horror of a hotel fire and its nightmarish consequences. All of Shane’s senses were alerted for the greatest possible danger. There would be distress, panic, fear, chaos, every type of injury. Smoke inhalation, burns, broken bones, trauma, shock. And death.

Rounding the corner of the street, he came into full view of the Sydney-O’Neill, his pride and joy, his favourite hotel in the international chain. What he saw brought him to a complete standstill. ‘Oh God! No! No!’ he gasped. He was stunned, rooted to the spot.

His hotel was an inferno.

Flames, black smoke, heat confronted him. Helicopters circled and hovered over the top of the burning building, lifting people off the roof. Fire engines were in full operation with swarms of fire-fighters manning hoses from the ground and from ladders; others were using ropes and ladders to rescue those trapped on some of the high floors.

There were ambulances and police cars parked at various strategic points. Doctors, paramedics and the police were doing everything in their power to help those in need. Three ambulances carrying the injured sped past him, their sirens wailing as they headed to the nearest hospital.

Shane pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his damp face. He was sweating profusely from running, the sudden intense heat, and fear for those who might still be trapped in the hotel. The scene before him was appalling. Everywhere there was broken glass, debris on the ground,
blinding smoke that was lethal, the raised voices of police and hotel staff shouting orders, the sounds of crying and moaning from those in distress. A group of hotel guests, many of them in their night clothes, looked unnerved and frightened as they huddled together near a police car. Shane was about to go over to them when he saw two of the hotel’s porters assisting them. They were taken over to the ambulance set up as a first-aid unit; here they would be treated for minor injuries, shock and trauma.

Covering his mouth with his handkerchief, Shane pushed his way through the people milling around – hotel staff and security guards, police officers, paramedics and ambulance drivers. He had to get closer to the hotel, knew he must take command of the situation immediately.

A policeman stopped him. ‘You can’t go any nearer than this, sir. It could be dangerous.’

‘Thanks, officer, for your warning. But I’m Shane O’Neill, the owner of the hotel. I must get through, do what I can to help.’

‘Go right ahead, Mr O’Neill,’ the officer said, suddenly recognizing him. He gave Shane a sympathetic look as he let him pass through the wooden barricade that had been erected.

Almost at once Shane spotted Peter Wood, the night duty manager. He grabbed his arm.

Wood swung around almost violently. A look of relief spread across his grimy face when he saw it was Shane. ‘Mr O’Neill! Thank God you’re okay! We tried to ring you when the first alarm went off around eleven o’clock. We realized you weren’t in your suite. But we didn’t know whether you were somewhere else in the hotel. We’ve been as worried as hell, keeping our eyes peeled for you.’

‘I was out of the hotel,’ Shane said. ‘Do you know how many casualties there have been?’

Peter Wood shook his head. ‘Not exactly. But I’d say
about fifteen people injured.’ He paused, dropped his voice. ‘And four dead I think.’

‘Oh Jesus!’ Shane drew Wood to one side as several guests were being shepherded to safety by a hotel security guard. When they were out of earshot, he asked, ‘Do we know what started this?’

‘No, but I have my own ideas.’

Shane peered at him swiftly, frowning. ‘You’re not suggesting arson?’

‘No, no. Why would anyone want to set the hotel on fire?’

‘A disgruntled employee, perhaps? One who’d been sacked recently?’

Wood said very firmly, ‘No, Mr O’Neill, I’m sure it’s nothing like that. If you want my opinion, I believe it was an accident.’

‘I see. Where did it start, Peter?’

‘On the thirty-fourth floor.’ Wood gave Shane a pointed look. ‘You were lucky, Mr O’Neill. You had a narrow escape.’

Shane stared at Wood, the full impact of the manager’s words suddenly hitting him. His own suite was on that floor, along with a number of other private apartments leased out on a permanent basis. There were rooms and suites for hotel guests on the thirty-fifth floor, and situated on the thirty-sixth floor, at the very top of the building, was the famous Orchid Room.

Shane exclaimed, ‘I can only thank God that I closed the entire thirty-fifth floor and the Orchid Room for redecoration last week. Otherwise this disaster would have been ten times worse if we’d had guests on the thirty-fifth floor, not to mention two hundred people dining and dancing in the restaurant tonight.’

‘Yes, we’ve all been saying the same thing.’

‘I presume most of the guests have been evacuated to emergency facilities in other hotels?’

Wood nodded. ‘To the Hilton and the Wentworth. We’re lucky in another sense, sir. The O’Neill was not filled to capacity this week.’

Philip ran up to them at this moment. He was out of breath, perspiring. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said to Shane, then turned, nodded to Peter Wood, went on, ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Not very much,’ Shane replied. ‘From what I can see, the actions of my staff and the various agencies called to the scene have been tremendous. It
looked
like chaos when I arrived a few minutes ago, but it’s not. They seem to have things under control.’ He glanced towards the hotel, his expression pained. Two of the middle floors were still burning, but reinforcements had been brought in; additional fire-fighters were tackling the blaze with renewed energy, would soon have it put out.

Philip said, ‘Perhaps I can – ‘

Neither Shane nor Peter Wood heard what he said next. His voice was drowned out by a thunderous explosion that sounded like several huge kegs of dynamite going off. It rent the air, made all of them jump. They swung to stare at the hotel. Shock and apprehension flooded their faces.

‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Philip cried.

‘Windows blowing out from the intense heat within the shell of the hotel,’ Shane said, shuddering. He dreaded to think that there might be more casualties.

‘But I don’t see any broken glass falling,’ Philip muttered, looking baffled.

‘Neither do I,’ Shane said. ‘But I’m sure that’s what it was.’

Peter Wood volunteered, ‘It’s probably the windows on the other side of the building, Mr Amory, the rooms facing Sydney Harbour.’

A young woman wearing a dressing gown, her face streaked with dirt, hurried up to them. She appeared
distracted, afraid. ‘Please help me,’ she said, tugging at Philip’s arm. ‘Please, please help me. I can’t find my little girl. She’s lost. I can’t find her. I know we got her out. I know we did.’ The woman’s face crumpled. She began to weep hysterically.

Philip put his arm around her. ‘I’m sure she’s in a safe spot. Come along, I’ll help you to find your child.’

‘She’s only four,’ the woman sobbed. ‘A baby, just a baby.’

Philip attempted to comfort her as he led her off. His own agony, his all-consuming grief were forgotten in the horrendous tragedy of the hotel fire.

By four o’clock in the morning the fire was out.

All of the injured, numbering some twenty-five, had been taken to the emergency room at St Vincent’s Hospital and to other hospitals in the city. The dead, totalling nine men and women, had been taken to the morgue.

Fire-fighters, police, and hotel staff were bringing complete order to the area. Shane had been in command for several hours, handling everything with cool authority and decisiveness.

The Sydney-O’Neill was a smouldering ruin, blackened by smoke, a burnt-out hulk against the skyline. Shane and Philip stood together in the rubble as dawn broke, looking up at it, both of their faces grim.

‘What a horrible tragedy,’ Shane murmured, turning to his brother-in-law. ‘So many injured and dead. It should never have happened. All I can think about are the families of those who have lost loved ones.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Well, I’m glad you were able to help that young woman. She was quite demented. Where
did
you find her little girl?’

‘In one of the ambulances, being looked after by a paramedic. She wasn’t injured, thankfully. Just scared, after becoming separated from her mother.’ Philip took hold of
Shane’s arm, wanting to console him. ‘I’m sorry this disaster had to happen to you, Shane. You’re suffering terribly because of the loss of lives, and for those who have been injured. But quite aside from that, I know how much you prided yourself on your safety systems.’

When Shane was silent, Philip added, ‘I understand what this particular hotel meant to you. I’m so very sorry. I’ll do anything I can to help you.’

‘Thanks, Philip.’ Shane rubbed his tired face, shook his head with weariness. So much for Blackie’s dream, he thought, remembering how excited his grandfather had been about building the Sydney-O’Neill. It was he who had found and bought the land on a visit to Sydney with Emma years before; he who had decided it would be the flagship hotel in the Antipodes. Blackie had not lived to see it constructed, but he had approved of the first architectural blueprints before he died. Now his dream had gone up in smoke in the space of a few hours.

‘I’ll build it again,’ Shane said, as if making a promise to his grandfather.

‘I know you will,’ Philip answered. ‘Now, come on back with me to the penthouse to clean up. You’re going to need clothes and the like. It’s a good thing we’re about the same size.’

Later that morning, showered, shaved and wearing his brother-in-law’s clothes, an exhausted Shane set up head-quarters in the board room of The McGill Corporation.

It was here that he held his first meeting, began the investigation into the cause of the fire at his hotel. With him were Peter Wood, the night manager who had been on duty when the fire broke out; Lewis Bingley, the general manager; Graham Johnson, managing director of the O’Neill hotel chain in Australia, various executives from the Sydney-O’Neill,
and Fire Chief Don Arnold, who had been in charge of the fire-fighters the night before.

Once introductions had been made, greetings exchanged, Shane went straight to the heart of the matter. ‘We’re looking to you for information at this moment, I’m afraid, Chief Arnold,’ he said. ‘I understand that you and your men have talked at length to many members of the hotel staff. Have you any idea how the fire started?’

‘Through carelessness on the part of someone staying in the hotel,’ the chief said. ‘From what we found on the thirty-fourth floor, where it began, and from what we’ve since discovered, we’re certain it was started by a cigarette. One that most probably fell into a sofa in a suite on that floor. One of the private jobs you lease out. In this instance, the suite leased to the Jaty Corporation.’

‘Could you go into a few more details, please, Chief Arnold?’ Shane asked.

‘Sure thing. One of the room service waiters came forward in the early hours of this morning. He told me that he remembered noticing an ashtray perched on the arm of a sofa in that particular suite. That was when he went to remove the dinner trolley around eight o’clock. I believe that the ashtray remained on the arm of the settee, that it was used several times before the couple occupying the suite went to bed. The ashtray later fell into the sofa, and a cigarette, which was not quite out, set light to the sofa. More than likely, it smouldered for a couple of hours until it actually burst into flames. Only seconds after waking, the two people in that private suite were dead.’