The Eleventh Floor

by Shani Struthers

  “What the…?” She was stunned.

  “You didn’t think we were gonna come out here and not have a snowball fight, did you?”

  “A snowball fight…? Right! You asked for it. You’re in trouble now, Mr Mason.”

  “Promises, promises, Miss Daynes.”

  As quick as he’d been, she gathered a handful of snow too but already he was moving away from her, the depth of the snow requiring him to take comical moon steps backwards. Firing her first shot, it fell woefully short. “Damn,” she swore before gathering another handful and taking giant moon steps towards him. If anyone was staring out of their windows at them, they’d think they were a pair of idiots, she was sure of it – their laughter raucous as he aimed yet another fistful. That hit her square on too.

  Determined to wreak revenge, she managed to close the gap between them. But, just as she raised her arm, her feet slid from beneath her, causing her to fall flat on her face.

  “Aargh,” her scream was quickly muffled.

  Instead of helping, David continued to bellow with laughter and, despite the coldness of the snow being really quite crippling, she turned onto her back and lay there, grinning too. She felt like a naughty kid, one who’d managed to dodge the chores, and gone out to play instead. She hadn’t laughed this hard since… she tried to remember the last time, and couldn’t. Without the constraints of work, of family and friends, of illness, she was free! Elated, she flung out her arms and her legs, moving them up and down, in and out.

  At last he stooped to help her.

  “Come on, snow angel, that’s enough of that.”

  On her feet, they both dusted at her clothes.

  “You wanna go in, get changed?”

  “I’m okay, this coat is pretty waterproof.”

  Releasing her hand, he stood and looked at her instead. “So, it never snows like this in England?”

  She shook her head. “Have you ever been?”

  “To England? No, but I’d like to, one day. It’s on the wish list.”

  “When the Thames freezes over perhaps.”

  His eyes lit up. “Hey, does it really do that?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You’re the one who mentioned it.”

  “It’s a joke,” she replied, but not without amusement. In fact, he amused the heck out of her. “The Thames hasn’t frozen for decades, the sixties was the last time, I think.”

  “There you go, that’s global warming for you.”

  “I suppose so. Although right now, looking around me, I’m tempted to believe the sceptics.”

  “Never believe the sceptics,” he countered, relinking arms with her.

  Veering towards the left side of the building, Caroline couldn’t help but be struck again by the sheer isolation of their surroundings. In England, nothing was ever that far from anything else, whereas in America, there were giant swathes of empty space. She wondered again about the buildings that were supposed to have been built around here, the ones that were planned, but never came to fruition, and also about what was here before – the building that had been knocked down to make way for The Egress.

  A few metres from the hotel, her legs aching from the giant steps they were having to take, they finally stopped and turned, her intent to survey the building she was staying in, to get a sense of how tall, how grand it really was.

  “Like a lone sentinel,” she mused, “that’s what it reminds me of.”

  “Presiding over what?” asked David.

  “Failed dreams,” Caroline answered without missing a beat. She told him what Tom had said when they were travelling to her room and he nodded, not in the least surprised.

  “This might have been the ideal spot once,” he commented.

  It might have been, the town of Williamsfield expanding to accommodate it, but it was a gamble – a plan – that, for some reason, hadn’t paid off. And so it stood alone, on a highway leading downtown instead of being part of downtown proper. Not the only one of its kind, not by a long shot. In this land plenty of lone hotels graced equally lonely roads. Even so, she couldn’t help but feel a tragic sense of waste.

  It was grand, she decided. Although snow clung to it, she could see the two upper floors were grey stone with an overhung roof. In contrast, the middle floors, being the major part of the elevations, were cream brickwork, but the grey stone kicked in again at lobby level. On top of the hotel, sitting perch-like, were huge red letters, storey height at least, spelling out THE EGRESS. Impressive, beautiful, it was a façade to be admired.

  A silence that was almost reverent descended on them. It was companionable though, no hint of awkwardness in it. It was a silence she found comforting, that allowed her to drift, just as the snow was drifting, as Althea tended to drift, falling deeper into it…

  “What’s that? Look.”

  Shaken out of her reverie, she asked David what he was referring to.

  “There’s movement on the top floor, in the corner room.”

  That was Althea’s room, the woman she’d just been thinking about.

  “It looks like someone’s staring at us,” he continued.

  “Staring at us? Really?”

  She squinted too, could see the outline of someone, one hand holding aside the curtain as he or she gazed outwards.

  “Perhaps we should wave,” Caroline began and then noticed movement at other windows too. Not on the eleventh floor, but the floors below, random windows, random movement, as if they were indeed an object of scrutiny. One figure in particular caught her eye, was it on the fifth floor, or the sixth? She would have counted upwards just to make sure if she could drag her eyes away, but she couldn’t. She was transfixed.

  The figure had both hands pressed against the window, its head turned sideways, as if he or she were pushing against the glass, trying to burst through.

  The dream. It’s like my dream.

  “Oh God,” she whispered. “What’s it doing, what’s that person doing?”

  Once again their desperation was infectious.

  Before David had a chance to answer, she managed to tear her gaze away, swivelling around to stare in the opposite direction instead. There was nothing, absolutely nothing beyond them, just a whole lot of whiteness. No end and no beginning. Except there had been a beginning once, she reminded herself: hers, in room 210.

  “Caroline?”

  She knew he was calling her, but he sounded so distant.

  “Caroline!”

  Finally she faced him.

  “What is it,” he asked. “What’s the matter?” His hand was on her again, steadying her.

  “The dream,” she said and then her words died out as the clouds gave way and snowflakes spiralled downwards, a gentle flurry that would soon become a deluge.

  “Dream? Look, you’re shaking. You need to get inside, get some dry clothes on.”

  He was right; the cold had penetrated after all, her coat not waterproof enough.

  “Come on,” he continued, and she allowed him to steer her back to The Egress, their bolthole, and their sanctuary, the only shelter that was available to them. All the while she kept her head low, not wanting to see again the figure that felt as if it was warning her.

  Chapter Eight

  Having returned to her room, and showered as well as changed, Caroline had lain on the bed, exhausted but fearing sleep. In the end she couldn’t resist, waking more than two hours later, unable to recall if she’d dreamt at all. Even so, the first thing she’d thought of was the dream she’d had the previous night, that and the figure she’d seen at the window this morning. Was it just something her imagination had constructed? That was one explanation. There was no doubt she was tired, overwrought still from the events of yesterday, from finding herself stranded at The Egress for God knows how long. Rising, she’d freshened up once again before deciding to go downstairs to the lobby. Leaving her room, she’d pulled the door behind her, stepped into the corridor and that’s when she saw Marilyn, on
the eleventh floor too, hurrying to the room opposite Elspeth’s: 1102.

  “Marilyn, hi. Can I have a word please?”

  At first Marilyn didn’t respond. Her eyes seemingly trained on the floor, she had the key to her room already in her hand, and was about to insert it into the lock. It was only when Caroline called again, this time much louder, that she took any notice.

  “Oh, honey, hello,” she said as Caroline drew nearer.

  The smile on her face seemed a little strained and, lifting her left hand, she began scratching at her neck as though an itch had started up.

  Caroline apologised. “Sorry to disturb you. I was just wondering, you know…” she lowered her voice and inclined her head towards 1101, “…if everything’s okay?”

  “Oh, I see,” replied Marilyn, straightaway getting the gist. “Erm… perhaps you’d better come inside. We can talk in there.”

  “I don’t want to disturb—”

  “You’re not disturbing me, of course you’re not.” She made a show of looking at her watch. “My, oh my, look at the time. Won’t you join me for tea?”

  Tea? Caroline was surprised. Most Americans she’d encountered preferred coffee. “Yes,” she replied. “I’d love to.” It’d be nicer perhaps than sitting in the lobby on her own, reading the magazine she’d been flicking through the day before.

  Marilyn’s expression was more genuine this time; she beamed at Caroline, seemed delighted that she’d agreed. Opening the door, she moved aside so that Caroline could enter first. Room 1102 was the same configuration as hers, something to be expected, but whereas hers was more traditional in style, restrained even, Marilyn’s was somewhat vintage in feel with a patterned wallpaper instead of stripes, tiny flowers with accents of red and gold not clashing with the patterned carpet beneath her feet – the same as her one – but complementing it. No mean feat, Caroline thought, praising the interior designer. The curtains were floral too, and polished surfaces bore an assortment of knick-knacks, including several vases of various sizes and a dish with red and white striped candies in it. On a small round table, there was a tea service, comprising a pale green china teapot, and matching cups and saucers.

  “Sit, honey, make yourself at home,” Marilyn insisted, explaining that Elspeth had calmed considerably after such a ‘shocking episode’ and that ‘she went back to her room for some much needed rest, the poor darling.’ Apparently, she’d not seen her today so far. Having told all, she excused herself and went to the kitchenette to boil water for their tea.

  From the cushion-adorned sofa, Caroline continued to survey her surroundings.

  Home. That’s what this room looked like – as homely as Marilyn herself.

  “It’s nice in here,” she remarked when Marilyn returned briefly to fetch the teapot.

  “Isn’t it?” she replied, all hustle and bustle. “More personal than all those modern hotels that have sprung up. It’s not my usual room though. My usual is being renovated.”

  “Really? Where’s that?” Caroline enquired.

  “On the ninth floor. But I mustn’t complain, it’s remarkably similar.”

  Finally, Marilyn came back for good, one hand holding the handle of the teapot, the other supporting it underneath. She placed it back on the table and beckoned Caroline to join her there, pulling out a chair for her and patting the seat.

  Rising from the sofa to sit opposite Marilyn, Caroline watched as she opened the lid of the teapot and stirred before placing a strainer over one of the cups.

  “Milk? Sugar?” she asked.

  “Just a little milk.”

  She poured, her actions as neat as she was.

  “Thank you,” Caroline responded, duly taking a sip. Despite the fact that it hadn’t been left to stew, she detected a slight bitter note to it.

  “Darjeeling,” Marilyn said, nodding enthusiastically, “my favourite.”

  “I like it too,” Caroline replied. Usually. “So… you’ve obviously stayed here several times before?”

  Pointing that out caused some of Marilyn’s good humour to fade. She was an attractive woman still, impeccable even, her use of make-up really quite expert, making the most of her full lips and high cheekbones. Beneath the make-up, however, there were lines, scores of them, and in the blue of her eyes, sadness. Again Marilyn lifted a hand and started scratching at her neck, a nervous habit perhaps or a patch of eczema?

  “My husband and I used to visit,” she began, her voice initially curt. “We’re from Illinois, it’s such a flat state. That’s why we love it here, the hills that surround it. There’s so many opportunities for shooting and fishing, for getting back to nature, to the things that matter.” A wry laugh escaped her. “Oh, how he loved the valleys around here, and the rivers that ran through them. For hours he’d fish and I’d sit, happy to watch him. It’s a graceful sport, isn’t it, fishing? You have to be agile. After a while, I’d insist he come and sit with me. He never took much persuading. My picnics were no ordinary picnics, you see, they were really quite lavish; he could never resist them.” Her laugh became lighter, as she started to relax, clearly enjoying such memories. “Afterwards we’d return to The Egress, I’d take a bath, he’d make the cocktails. It’s a man’s job in my opinion, mixing drinks. There’s a science to it.” She inclined her head towards the drinks cabinet. “A Manhattan was my favourite, it’s such an elegant drink. He preferred a Sidecar, said it suited the mood of the hotel, I don’t know what he meant by that, perhaps that it was a popular drink back then, I never asked.” Her voice trailed off. “As you can see, I tend to stick to tea nowadays.”

  Nowadays? Caroline winced. “Oh, I’m sorry, your husband, is he—?”

  “Don’t say it, please, I beg you.” She held up a hand as if warding off evil. “It’s such an… ugly word, isn’t it?” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Leonard passed. Two years ago. It was all rather sudden. A heart attack in the night. I woke to find him…” Her voice trailed off and briefly she screwed her eyes shut. “Dear Lennie, he’d complain about getting fat, you know, but he wasn’t, truly he wasn’t, he was just… cuddly. He loved my cooking and I loved to feed him; I adored seeing his delight whenever I tried a new recipe, although meat and potatoes, any variation on that, remained his favourite. I looked after my man; so many women don’t, especially these days. Are you married?”

  The question when it came was unexpected. “Erm… no, no I’m not.”

  The idea of being single was clearly anathema to Marilyn. “Why ever not?”

  “Because I haven’t found the right person, I suppose.”

  Marilyn’s eyes grew wider. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you, honey?”

  Caroline didn’t know whether to be amused or offended. Her marital status, her age, they weren’t details she necessarily gave out to people who were as good as strangers. Perhaps it was karma for getting personal very quickly with David. “I’m thirty-three,” she said at last. Before Marilyn could say it, she added, “I know, I know, I’m an old maid.”

  Marilyn sat back in her chair, shook her head, and tried to deny it. “Oh no, honey, of course not. It’s just… unusual, that’s all, to be single at your age.”

  Was it really? Caroline had never really thought so, but when she did a quick mental round up of her friends, she supposed the vast majority of them, if not married, were certainly involved in a relationship of some kind. Whether all of them could be described as happy relationships, however, was another matter, even those who’d tied the knot. For years, Caroline had sat and listened to complaint after complaint, to so much heartache and grief, that usually she felt nothing but relief to be on her own; had cherished that fact.

  Marilyn had closed her eyes, her face becoming slack, or perhaps dreamy was a kinder description. “Finding your soul mate is so important. Lennie was definitely my soul mate.”

  “I’m glad for you—”

  “We met in our late teens.” Again Marilyn interrupted her. She’d opened her ey
es to stare intently at Caroline. “I was eighteen, he was nineteen, and I knew, right away, that he was the one. He took a bit more persuading, mind, wanted to be one of the boys for a bit longer, but I’d set my sights on him, and eventually he buckled.” She sighed. “We never had children, it just didn’t happen for us. There was a time in my life I was distraught about that. Oh my goodness, I’d get so upset, I’d cry buckets, but when I look back I wonder if that’s what made our relationship so strong. We had nothing to distract us, you see, it was just the two of us, for so many years, growing up together, growing old. Falling more and more in love every day. I miss him so much!”

  The last words came out as a sob and Caroline reached forward but Marilyn shrunk back. “It’s alright, honey, I’m okay, I… I get like this sometimes. But it helps, you know, returning to places that were familiar to us, although of course it’s painful too.”

  “I can imagine,” murmured Caroline, but she could tell by the way that Marilyn looked at her that she didn’t believe that. How could she, a single woman, identify with a widow? Caroline had to concede she didn’t believe her own words either. She couldn’t imagine. It was as simple as that. Would any man ever hold her in such sway?

  Marilyn pushed her teacup away. She’d barely touched it. “It’s our anniversary this week,” she revealed, staring into the distance. “That’s when we used to come here, for our anniversary.” Again tears were falling from her eyes, a gentle stream, one Caroline thought might never truly cease. Earlier, she’d thought she’d detected sadness in Marilyn, but now she realised how trivial a summarisation that was.

  Reaching up, Marilyn wiped at the tears and then continued to scratch at her neck. “This is our place,” she said, her gaze still averted. “And it will always be our place.”